Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Soul Calibur. But Namco-Bandai does.

Author's Note: I was holding a tiny guessing game about my coming Tekken Fanbook, and IbukiXiao won it! So he requested a oneshot involving Amy.

It's been a long time since I've written for Soul Calibur (March 2009, was the last time. Sadface), which I'm not happy about, so I was glad he requested a SC oneshot instead of a Tekken one. I wasn't sure what to write so, I just… wrote. Its sorta canon, sorta not. I do want to get back into this section – let's hope this is the first step. Enjoy!

FATAL FLOWER

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I hope you know
I won't forgive you.

- roses

Amy loved roses, but she never told Raphael.

He seemed to know anyway, as he brought her roses everyday – a sign of his eternal gratitude and thanks for her safe silence. It seemed he knew of her love for the flowers anyway, because her cheeks always heated up that little bit whenever her foster Father brought her some. She appreciated being cared for, after being left for so long, but she couldn't really voice it. She'd merely smile when Raphael said that he loved her like a daughter.

She would always put them in ceramic vases, make sure they were watered everyday, and would trim off any of the bad petals so that the rose still had its dignity as it continued to die. When the day came, there would always be another one in its place, and she knew that he'd put them there for her to light up her darker world. She always found the greatest joy in the smallest of things… The smallest, most fickle of things.

- red

The colour red reminded Amy of beautiful and horrible things.

As she stared at the blood pooling on the floor, it only reminded her of the more horrible things. She felt vague things like worry and fear for him, but she did not let it show. To crumble in the face of such a situation was to show true weakness – and Amy was not weak. She merely collected Raphael's body and dragged it to somewhere soft, where he could rest for a while. She would nurse him, just as he had nursed her several times before.

But the wounds weren't normal – crimson liquid was still oozing down his paling skin, but there was something far more sinister lurking beneath the torn tissue. It would seize her and taunt her in her mind, like a demon in disguise. Her throat felt like it was closing up with every breath she took, and it felt like the world was turning redder with every blink. She wondered how long until the saturation started to fall too, like their mind and health.

- violets

Amy hated violets, but she never told Raphael.

She hated how vibrant and alive they were in a world so tortured and dead. Every time she saw them, she wanted to stomp them out beneath her petite, little feet – eradicate them from her world, because her world was not fit for something as horrible as that flower. Her world was not fit for thing as unworthy as that, and she would see to it that when Raphael returned from his journey, she would remove them first.

She would always go out of her way to release a childish glare at the flower if it were around. She had requested several times for the servants to remove them from the gardens – and they would, but they would always find a way to grow back. It reminded her of everything good, and how persistent that side of life was in trying to win one over – in trying to create a smile on her white face. Well know this, world – Miss Sorel would not be swayed.

- blue

The colour blue reminded Amy of the things she could lose.

She could lose her new home, as swallowed by the sky, or the faraway sea. Her valuables – clothes, toys, the lot – could go with it, never to be seen again. She could lose herself somewhere in the future, to a blade or a disease, or the curse swarming through her veins. But none of those really mattered as much as the possibility of losing her foster Father.

If Raphael was ripped from her world, then it would turn from a ferocious red to a wintry blue. She never told him that as he left to go create a better, more perfect world for the pair of them, but she was sure he understood. She merely waved goodbye and clutched at her stomach, which was in an unusual amount of pain from the infection; and as he took several steps out of the castle, the colours changed and dulled.

- hope

Amy hated hope, but she always had it for Raphael.

She never used to hate it, but since she'd changed, and since she'd realised what the world around her was really like, she loathed it with every fibre of her being. It always created false feelings to hold onto and draw strength from inside – but the rebellious reality would enforce its wicked ways and destroy hope. Yet the feeble creatures – she – would still hold onto it, and she didn't know why.

Everyday, she hoped that Raphael would return safely to her world, unharmed. Everyday, she hoped that he would've found what he was searching for, so that they could just go back to living the way they used to, and go back to cultivating their untainted and lonesome realm. She wondered about how bad the journey was, she wondered about what he'd encountered; but most of all, she wondered if her hope was in vain – if she had been forgotten and left behind again.

- forgive you

Albion was cocooned in her delicate grasp, dripping those last few tears.

She stared at the senseless Servant of the Evil Seed, feeling nothing, but still full of questions – but mainly hate. How her sheer love and devotion morphed into something so cold, she didn't know, but she could feel the weight lift off of her petite shoulders as she gazed at Raphael's gaunt and lifeless stare. It felt strange to see him in such a way, but then again, Amy had not seen him in years.

Years – it took Raphael six of them to return to her, empty-handed and emotionless. When he returned, he said nothing and did nothing but stare at her. When he returned, she wasn't sure how to conduct herself – the man abandoned her when she was fourteen, for some sick quest that he had never explained to her, for a reason that was now lost, for their worlds were eternally divided.

Six years had passed, and everything that they had worked for together was stripped from them, broken and annihilated into a thousand tiny shards of their former hearts. He did not raise his sword or protest when she drew Albion, and he did not cry, screech, yell or hiss in distaste or pain as she injured and killed him. He let her do it, because he was in the wrong to have left her for so long; the fatal flower, blooming at last.

And as she stopped at the top of the stairs of her new, lonely world and empty mansion, Amy span and looked over her shoulder. Furrowing her eyebrows, she threw down Albion, unconsciously listening to the screaming rings as it skittered down the stone stairs; and under her breath, she recited to the resonating soul that was sure to still be around, "I won't forgive you…"

…for abandoning me like you promised to never do.