Dislaimer: Pandora Hearts and all the characters belong to Jun Mochizuki.

Spoiler warning: Break's past.

Note: This is a translation of a story entitled "Podwieczorek", by EternalCry (link doesn't want to insert itself, you can find it in my favourites), who has agreed for the story to be translated, and also has seen the translation and approved of it. If you have the happiness of knowing a beautiful language called Polish, go on and read the original :)

Now, enjoy the story as much as I have, and remember to review so that Miss EternalCry will see my translating urges and ideas are not entirely random and irrelevant ;)

(Edit: Miss Author has recently changed her penname to Fox-says.)

"Teatime"

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Look out, look out – in a moment, the clock will chime five o'clock. Highest time for tea!

So you lay the table hurriedly, as everything should be ready for her when five o'clock comes. White tablecloth, flowers, porcelain service, silver cutlery and silver plate with colourful cookies, why do you like sweets so much actually?

Tick-tock, tick-tock, ding –

Five o'clock.

Five o'clock has chimed, highest time for tea, isn't that silvery jingle of a little bell lovely, how pleased to see, but please get seated –

Maybe today a cat with gouged-out eyes won't jump onto the table, meowing shrilly and flooding the snowy whiteness of tablecloth with blood.

Maybe the little girl in white whom you invited for tea – or did she invite you? – won't start screaming, causing the whole of your world to shudder. Maybe she won't rush at you, won't reach to your face, won't –

No!

You leap to your feet before her sharp nails can reach you, you jerk the tablecloth and push the table away.

Among the clatter of broken dishes you hear a cat's meowing, and the loud beating of your heart, and a scream –

But it's not she screaming, not she, these are the screams of those dead in vain, killed in vain, for eternal affliction to you and despair with no end.

Five o'clock has chimed, five o'clock has passed, highest time for tea –

No, today there won't be any tea!

You jump out of bed, unable to catch your breath, in agony jabbing your fingers into the hollow eye-socket.

Five o'clock has passed, passed, and you've been deprived of everything, left wounded in anger and despair. Blood on the face, on the bedding and on the hands, but the only thing you see with the eyes you no longer have is the cheerful dance of the laughing child in white and the black cat.

Cat, cat, black cat – it crossed your path, brought misfortune and now derides your helplessness, glancing with one your eye.

And the girl, who a moment ago was observing you with a smile while licking tiny fingers tainted with your blood, is now standing in the doorway and looking at you wordlessly with wide-open eyes.

Kill, kill –

You hurry towards the bedside table, as you have seen scissors there, scissors left by another insane child, but it's insignificant just now – induced by fear and hatred you hurry for the scissors, and blood is everywhere! Blood –

"Xerxes!"

You halt, you freeze, remembering this name and yourself who is defined by it. Not Kevin. No. Xerxes. Xerxes hasn't met the child dressed in cleanliness and the blind cat yet.

"Xerxes, Xerxes, please!"

The child standing in the door of your room and crying is not the miserable girl from the abyss of hopelessness. It's Sharon, little and helpless Sharon, who is unable to help you if her mother isn't there; she's looking at you, scared, and there are tears flowing from her eyes – and you can't remember if you have seen her crying even once before.

Sharon.

You smile apologetically.

It's them who reminded you what a smile should be when you returned from the bottom of despair.

Yet now Sharon begins to cry more – your crooked smile can only frighten when blood is streaming down your face.

"Xerxes, say, what has happened? Did you… It was a nightmare, right? A nightmare?"

You stay silent, for you want neither to deny nor confirm her words.

In your ears, the deranged laughter is still ringing.

Laughter, laughter, giggle, creeping in the corner and glancing with one eye – yours, from you taken, never forgiven.

Ding, dong, ding, dong.

Five o'clock has passed, passed, it's after tea already, white dress is nowhere to be seen –

"Xerxes..."

Small arms surround your waist all of sudden and Sharon is crying into your shirt. You are staring at her – with one eye, one eye, you don't have the other, no, the other is watching you curiously from outside the window – and you hug her carefully, uncertainly, not wanting to dirty the girl with blood.

You seek words for a while before you find your voice.

"Miss? Miss, please, stop crying."

Upon your request the sobbing begins to cease – Sharon is clearly trying to check herself, she's always so composed, you must have scared her a lot – her hands are still embracing you tightly.

Apart from her trailing-off cry you don't hear anything now – the bell at the cat's neck jingles no more, the spoilt pet hid somewhere, ding, dong – silence lazily takes under command your room and the two of you.

"I thought… I thought you had nightmares no longer, and I never imagined that… How, how could you do this to yourself?"

Ah, right – blood in incessant rivulets oozes slowly from the left eye-socket. You can even feel a dull pain, but this pain only resembles the old pain of madness and loss, so you ignore it, since if you didn't, the cruelly smiled girl would come again –

Enough.

"Miss. Please calm down."

You hush her and you smile, and it's an honest smile – that smile full of gratitude and the feeling you recall from time to time, when you're with one of them – and you hope Sharon will soon return to her room, leaving you here alone.

No, you don't want loneliness, loneliness is the insane room with toys that scream with voices of the dead, and laugh at human naïveté and human hopes and -

She let go of you and pulled herself out of your embrace.

She raises her eyes at you, and her eyes are wet with tears yet full of determination.

You don't know what to tell her – for you won't say – will you? – that a girl in white danced into your room again, carrying a black cat devoid of eyes in her arms, and so charmingly and sweetly asked a favour, granting your wish, in return taking only one your eye, that you couldn't refuse her.

"You will never forget, and never forgive."

This is not a question.

"I won't forget, Miss. This madness can't be forgotten," you reply with a sigh and you smile at her once more, although this time sadder.

Her warm hand reaches to your cheek – a gentle gesture that says more than she has ever spoken in words. You didn't expect that, she surprised you, thus you don't answer her in any way, but she doesn't withdraw her hand.

She smiles at you – bitterly, still through tears – and whispers something you don't understand.

And then, then she leads you gently to the chair standing before the extinct fireplace, expecting you to sit down and wait for her to come back.

The moment the door closes after her, you hear a rustle outside the window. The moon has reluctantly emerged from behind the clouds and is looking askance at your blood-stained hands, ding dong, crimson-eyed murderer, murderer, went away unpunished, returned from the land of dead completely insane –

Sharon comes back, you can hear her on the other side of the door, so you turn away from the silently mocking moon towards her.

She has brought a bowl of water and bandages; sad and earnest, without waiting for your reaction she begins to rinse the blood from your face.

So many times has she seen how her mother has tended you.

You are still not sure why they bother, but you remember what gratitude is and you serve them with all your heart, all your might.

The girl carefully bandages your unfortunate head – mad, mad, Mad Hatter, it's not true you didn't go insane, it's only because of them that you are still here and not returning to the source of all madness.

When she finishes, she steps back and moves to the window, opening it wide, letting in the chilly night air – and the taunting of stars, and the contemptuous silence of the moon hidden behind the clouds, and the chuckle of wind, and the jingling of a little bell at the neck of a lost cat which must be black –

"Xerxes, isn't there anything else I could do for you..?"

You stand up and approach her quickly, quickly – before she can hear that insane shriek outside the window, tearing the darkness apart – and you hug her close.

"Thank you, Miss. And I'm sorry for the trouble."

Silence lasts for a while before Sharon speaks in a somewhat trembling voice, in which you can hear tears once again, but she's brave and doesn't allow them to flow.

"We don't want to lose you, Xerxes."

You smile at her – the smile is wide, joyful and nasty – and you kiss her lightly on the cheek.

As you expected, the girl backs off immediately, breathing in rapid gulps of air and probably blushing.

"I know, Miss," you announce, still beaming widely, winking at her.

She shrugs – you manage to notice that the blush hasn't left her features yet – and sets to depart.

At the door she hesitates for a little while, turning to you, and you realise she is afraid to leave you alone.

Adorable, the child in white laughs, leaning against the windowsill of the open window, observing you with rapacious interest –

No, no. It's only the clouds that unveiled the moon once more, letting it spill silver light over a part of the room.

"Good night, Miss," you bow to her, with only a faint shade of mockery, and you promise, entirely honest: "This won't happen again."

"Good night," Sharon hence replies, smiling charmingly, and closes the door behind her.

And you, according to the promise, ignore the disappointed child outside the window and draw the curtains, determined not to look into the brightness, careful not to spot the eye glowing red in the dark, and you go back to bed.

Noiseless steps of the girl twirling gracefully through the air make your head ache, but if you focus on the jingling of the cat's bell, it's easier to drift off, after all you have already got used to that loathsome sound, and you fall asleep –

You dream –

A dream about a bloodless teatime for which Mad Hatter was invited because little Sharon in her kind heart felt sorry for him.

You are grateful for this dream.

FIN