Alfred said he'll come back. Arthur trusts him; he'll definitely wait for him.

"Alas, young master," says his helper, a young man, "it's already been five years now, hasn't it?"

"Yes. Indeed, it has." The head of the house, aged twenty-four, replies. "I am quite aware; why did you bring it up all of the sudden though, Toris?"

The younger man referred to as Toris clenched the hems of his shirt. "I worry for your sake, young master. His absence is doing nothing good for your health. Nothing at all."

"That's not it. You're lying, Toris." The young master responds calmly. "You're merely saying that what I have is nothing but mere false hope – don't try to claim otherwise, love. The fact that I am blind doesn't mean that I can't sense it if someone is lying to me…love, come down. Why are you crying?"

Indeed, there were some tears coming out of Toris's eye. "I c-can't help it." He stuttered between sobs. "It's just that…it's so sad. You shouldn't have to go through this heartache, sir. A person as kind as you never deserved loneliness as horrible as this."

"My heart was warmed by your kind words, Toris." Came the reply. "I'd appreciate it though if you don't pity me so much; honestly, I'm just fine."

"A-All right then." Toris wiped his eyes. "As the young master wishes. Rest assured that I won't pity you, sir, but admire you for your loyalty and strength."

"Thank you, love." Petal peach lips curl up into a smile. "You may go now."

The helper bowed. "See you tomorrow, young master Arthur."

Arthur heard light footsteps, then they grew softer and softer, and finally he heard the creak of the doors hinges and the unhanding of the knob from the outside. He sat still for a few minutes in his plush armchair before staring out of the window, feeling the breeze circle past his body.

He toyed with his blonde locks while his blank, green eyes looked beyond. Looked, not saw. For a moment, he controls his breathing, but then he suddenly can't take it any longer and bursts into broken sobs.

"Toris was right, after all." He chuckles softly as he started wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. "I am miserable. And quite pitiful too, I might add." He stopped rubbing his eyes and let the tears fall freely from his face, seeing that there's no stopping them. "Five years is a long time. I daresay that it's a miracle I still remember how he even looked like."

A gust of wind blows harshly from the darkness of the night outside his window. He shields his face with his book; for a moment, he sits as still as he could. After a few seconds of silence, he slowly uncovers his face and sighs.

"Elizaveta," he murmurs, "it's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Arthur, my dear." The intruder walks over to where Arthur is sitting and kisses his forehead. "My, you've grown. Puberty has been kind to you, yes?"

"No, it has not." Arthur scowls. "It's as if it is a side effect of our contract or something."

"No, no." Elizaveta shakes his head. "But you know fully well the real side effect of what you've gotten yourself into.

A pregnant pause fills the room. Arthur decides to break it by chuckling.

"Of course," he says, "it's hard for me not to remember. Not being able to see for so long truly is difficult, Elizaveta."

"But was it worth it, Arthur?" The woman hugs him. "Was he worth your ability to see…them?"

"Yes." Arthur replies without hesitation. "I don't regret becoming blind because of him. Not one bit."


It all started when Arthur Kirkland was still a mere thirteen-year old boy. An heir to a huge fortune, he was always targeted by his relatives and even by his own brothers. It turns out the joke was on the whole family, after all; a strange fire engulfed all aspects of Arthur's past. All his family members died from the fire that broke out right in front of him.

He ran. The heat was intense; it boiled his blood and melted his soul, but he still found the willpower to leave as fast as he could. He ran, even though his head was already bleeding. Then he heard them, the footsteps getting closer and closer. Some rival of his family wanted them all dead, perhaps. He moved faster; the footsteps also became more hurried, as if they were fully determined to catch him.

Run, he commanded himself, run.

He would definitely not let them get their way. On that spark of willpower that he expected would be his very last before he drifts away in an eternal sleep, he purposely bumped his head on a tree trunk and jumped to that abyss. At that very instance, he could actually feel his consciousness floating away from the future he'll likely never get himself acquainted with.

"Goodbye, mother, father." He whispered as he waited for death to come by blood loss.

Unfortunately for his last act of defiance, it turns out that fate has other plans.

"My, my, what do we have here?" A male voice thick with some accent – most likely French – filled Arthur's already failing ears. Gingerly, he opened his eyes and looked up.

It was a man clothed in what looked like a toga made from leaves. There were wings attached to his back. His body was hairy and his gaze was misty, but he was glowing.

He was, dare Arthur say it, a forest fairy.

"Now what's with that look on your face, mon petit lapin?" The Frenchman crouches down and looks into Arthur's eyes. "Seems you've gotten yourself in a pretty tight situation, oui?"

Arthur did not reply. He couldn't; his body felt so weak and his head hurt so much. Besides, he's sure that the bleeding would probably worsen if he ever moved his jaw.

"This has got to be some sort of trick." He said aloud, anyway. "My brain is playing tricks on me...my time is finally up, after all..."

"No, Arthur." The fairy shook his head and held the boy's bleeding head with one hand. "I am as real as you, see? You can feel my hand, right?" True enough, Arthur could himself being engulfed by the warmth radiating from the man almost to the point of suffocation.

Suddenly, the pain from his head disappeared. He felt the trickles of blood stop.

The French frog of a fairy has just stopped the bleeding.

"Don't bloody touch me, you sodding git!" Arthur practically yelled at the top of his lungs as he shoved the fairy's hand away. "I don't even know you. Sure, you're a fairy...but that fact that you're a French frog cancels out all the good in you!"

"The pained me so, my dear little Arthur." The fairy said without any contempt. "And I'm not a French frog because I happen to have a name. It's Francis."

"Francis, huh?" Arthur stood up and was surprised to find out that his body had stopped aching all together. "And you even know my name. What do you want from me, though?"

Francis moved closer to Arthur and knelt in front of him. "Like I said, you're in pretty much a very tight situation. I just assumed that you'd like to do something about it, non?"

"What do you mean 'do something about it'?" Arthur hissed. "I lost my family, I lost my fortune...hell, I could just kill my bloody self right now. How am I supposed to 'do something about it' in this condition?"

"Ah." Francis smirked, his eyes narrowing. "I expected as much. Would you like to have a contract with me, then?"

"A contract with you? Why on earth would I ..." Arthur was cut off by the sound of gunshots from a distance.

Francis's smirk grew wider. "Yes, of course you do. You can do it, you know. Have your revenge..."

"Have my revenge..." Arthur echoed longingly. His eyes wandered down to the grassy ground, contemplating. His head snapped back up when he heard more footsteps. "I would very much like to have that, thank you very much."

"I see, I see. Tres bien!" Francis inched closer. "I'll give it to, you then. The ability to use magic, I mean."

Arthur's eyes widened. He had loved reading books about magic, and frankly, he still believed that magic existed. And now, there was a forest fairy in front of him, offering him magical powers of all things...

"What's the catch?" Arthur managed to ask. The footsteps were getting closer; whether this was an illusion or not was probably the last thing on his mind right now.

"I'm a fairy of l'amour," Francis replied, "so I must take it."

"Wha-" More gunshots. "What do you mean?"

"I shall take it." Francis said. "Your ability to love."


Needless to say, Arthur managed to beat the hell out of his pursuers a couple of minutes afterwards. Even so, there wasn't anything that occurred to him; no guilt, no satisfaction, no relief, no nothing. Just plain emptiness, and Arthur wasn't even disgusted for doing what he has done.

Francis said that he is a fairy of love. He gives love and also takes it, quite literally at that. He said that he uses the strong emotions he gets from his contractors to stay powerful and survive; since Arthur was reminiscing about his mother and father during the time of his supposed death, the fairy sensed his distress and was immediately attracted.

Arthur was not complaining. Being the intelligent boy he is, he was able to retrieve the paperwork from his fire-proof safe – documents that he kept for himself just in case someone attempted to steal them – and got his fortune back, which was fortunately sealed away in some bank.

He made himself ten times richer. With a blank face, he set up his own businesses and companies and made his money grow. Of course, he felt no contentment because he basically couldn't. He was doing everything out of necessity.

And then he met him. He saw him in one of his trips; the young lad, even younger than him, has such wonderful blue eyes. It wasn't the colour of said eyes that attracted Arthur's attention, however.

It was the amount of endearment, happiness, timidity, and other emotions that the lad's eyes radiated when they first landed on Arthur.

"Hi!" The boy greeted, his voice pleasantly joyful but his accent too American. "My name is Alfred. Nice to meet you!"