Apple's Note: Just a ficlet based on a pic I posted on DeviantArt. This story is set a little bit before the Masquerade chapter in Volume 1. It's also rather serious minded, so I apologize if this isn't what you're looking for. It also doesn't make any sense, so, once again, I apologize.

Point of No Return

"Is that...the young Viscount von Verkoltenstein?"

"It is! My...he just gets handsomer and handsomer every year, doesn't he?"

"Indeed. Why, he's looking more and more like his brother."

"Oh, yes...Erik..."

"Oh what I wouldn't do to have the viscount as my paramour..."

"Really."

"Oh, please...don't tell me you're not thinking it as well."

"Well, why do you suppose he's dressed as such?"

"Didn't you hear? Prince William is having a masquerade at Tempus Manor. He's invited practically everyone and their grandmothers to attend."

"Truly? Then...why is the viscount still here? It's almost evening..."

"Who knows? Although I'm not complaining if I am allowed to keep watching him like this..."

Kristine glared at the group of young women situated not so far away, whispering rather unsubtly to one another as they stole glances at Morgan. Her Morgan. The nerve of some people. They were in a graveyard for pity's sake. What terrible manners.

Muttering to herself, she couldn't help, but think about the young viscount and her time with him.

She remembered there being a time where she despised everything that was Morgan von Verkoltenstein. She hated the child with the passion of a thousand burning, white hot suns--and then some. She hated the child so much that she went to great lengths in the young viscount's life to rid the theatre of his presence. Even kill him. She had almost succeeded once upon a time.

Kristine had been a mere ingenue then; one that idolized the handsome and talented owner of the Opera House, Erik von Verkoltenstein and of whom had great aspirations in life. She wanted to become rich and famous; to be loved and adored. She ended up juggling between the eldest von Verkoltenstein and the tone deaf middle child in the hopes of reaching those lofty goals of hers. At first, it had been alright. Spats between the brothers were rather the norm--especially when they explicitly concerned her. Victor would worry over her well-being, at how she was treated; Erik would argue over her dreams and what she aspired to become. Fights sometimes came into play, jealousy at incredible highs all around her. And she had been just fine with that. She never meant to fall for Erik. Not at all. But loved him she did, though she continued to play both him and his younger brother, if only to fulfill her own selfish wishes.

But she loved him, surely. There was no doubt of that. Her heart had bled for him since the realization and she even began to ignore Victor in the hopes that the man would pay more attention to her. Yet still, the brothers fought and fought and fought. But she was fine with that, because it was completely normal for two grown men to fight over a lovely woman, wasn't it?

And then he came along.

Morgan hadn't always been sinfully beautiful; the Don Juan he was destined to grow up to be--the living image of forbidden love, you might say. The boy had been tiny then, awkward and sullen, yet sweet. Erik had introduced him one day out of the blue. The child was the apple of his brother's eye. It was as clear as day the way Erik looked down upon little Morgan with a tenderness the singer had only thought possible when the man looked at her. Yet here was that warmth she thought was only reserved for her, shining down gently upon the one known as Viscount Morgan von Verkoltenstein. Even Victor seemed to cherish the boy in his own way. It was while watching the three brothers intract with one another did Kristine come to one very calm and detached realization: Morgan had to go.

The soprano tried many things to get rid of Morgan. She played nasty tricks on him like giving him a glass of salt water to drink and switching his costumes so he went out wearing frilly dresses and other nonsensical articles of clothing. She started threatening his life by dropping random objects from high in the rafters, balconies, boxes and fly network. She even went as far as to destroy the grand chandelier in the main hall to try and scare him away. Morgan withstood it all and it infuriated the woman to no end because it drove the brothers closer and closer together and further and further away from her.

But all this had been child's play for what she had in store to finally end the viscount's young life.

Morgan, Kristine knew, had taken a shine to her after Erik decided that the three of them should have voice lessons together. He openly admired her and often tried to show her affection. Deciding to use this to her advantage, she took the boy on a secret rendez-vous to the Haunted Mansion north of the Opera House. It was an old house owned by no one and was a place nobody would ever miss should it be burned to the ground...

"Morgan?"

The brunnette looked up, startled from her reverie. Before her she saw a young woman standing in front of Morgan, of whom was dressed in a very resplendent red costume. He wore Red Death like a second skin and was a ravishing sight to behold. His half skull mask was held loosely in his right hand, his left laid upon his hip; he wore leather black gloves. For once his long hair was left loose and it was being lightly blown by a gentle breeze. He looked like he was made of shifting darkness, swirling blood and magic. He took her breath away.

Apparently, it also took the other woman's as she suddenly keeled over when he turned his gaze towards her. He deftly caught her before she hit the ground, then righted her. Kristine watched quietly as the young woman began to profess her love to noble, saying that she had been in love with him when she had first laid eyes upon his form in the sunset, smiling at her as he welcomed her to his theatre. Morgan gently tried to dissasuade the girl of her nonsensical thoughts by telling her whatever came to his mind. He had a lover; he was betrothed (he actually was for a while, but it had been broken off s quickly as it had been forged); he had sworn to priesthood--whatever he could do to keep himself out of the clutches of those he did not deem worthy of him.

'Worthy of him'. Oh, there had once been a time when she had thought he wasn't even worthy of her notice. How she horribly teased him as a boy. His heart must have broken a hundred thousand times before her eyes, but it simply mended itself and became much stronger and determined to gain her attention...until it simply grew up.

A cold dread filled her entire being as the dark haired man rebuffed the woman trying to win his affection, a horrible conclusion floating about in her mind as she looked up at Morgan as he walked away from the girl who began screaming at his back.

She remembered how he had cried at her own back all those years ago. How he asked her to return. Demanded why. And she never uttered a word to him...she simply let the fire burn between them and didn't bother to watch as the bridge that held them so close metaphorically began to crumble. She regretted her actions now, with so much lost...

Everything had changed. Even as he walked towards her, a smirk upon his lips, she knew he could just as easily walk away. She was scared of losing him. She was scared of being close to him. He was like water escaping from her desperate grasp; he was the burning fire she was afraid to touch. She didn't want to let him go; she would lose him one day. He was a way of asking for repentence; he was a constant reminder of her sins.

He was her promise.

"You shouldn't be so terrible, Morgan," the soprano mildly chastised him, forcing a weak smile.

Morgan shrugged before slipping the skull mask onto his face, tying it up from behind. "I haven't the time to make pleasantries with those I dislike, let alone those I do not even know properly," he replied coolly, as if he hadn't broken another heart again. It was sad and fitting really, how the roles seemed to have switched between them. If someone would have told her that she would be pining after the greatest bane in her life a decade or so ago, she would have laughed, then promptly smacked the person upside the head with a prop shield. She wasn't worth his time--not anymore, no matter how prestigious her position in the Opera House. She wondered how long it would be before she would be found screaming, crying and ranting at his back as he walked away from her...

She couldn't stand the thought. And that cold dread began to spread once again, starting at the deepest, darkest part of her heart before worming its way through her blood and making her feel numb.

She smiled pleasantly. "I suppose not."

He looked at her levelly from behind the mask, eyes brilliant in the early evening light. They held a bit of warmth within them--or maybe, perhaps, it was just the reflection of the setting sun playing tricks on her. He held out a gloved hand for her to take and she stared at it for a long while before taking it. He lifted her up from her seat on a fallen tombstone with ease, catching her in his arms when she stumbled. And then he was off, with his back to her.

There would be a day he would leave her. There was always that possibility. She had past the point of no return and there was no amount of magic in the world that could fix what she had done.

But by god, was she not going down without a fight.

She ran after him until she was in step with the noble and her arm was linked with his. He raised an eyebrow behind the mask, but said nothing.

"I'm surprised that Prince William would be throwing a masquerade ball. He usually hates such functions," Kristine stated, looking ahead of them.

"...I'm surprised, too," Morgan replied softly, looking down at her. He smiled a little and continued onward without so much as a glance back.