A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading! I have this story all worked out (and have finished it twice). I will update every week until it's all on here. Hope you guys like it. :) More than can be said for the summary is that I would love feedback if you have any! -Sev

Willation's hands flitted around the Alchemic counter, drawing one powder or pigment after another. They combined in his hands to create a living, pulsing gelatin. His heart raced; he couldn't work fast enough as his fingers carefully molded a living creature, a human of sorts. Every inch of the thing revealed itself moment after moment, while he worked from its feet up. The gelatin hardened into empty flesh even as he worked, quickly creating a mold from which to work.

This would have to be right. Sheratan lay dying, and they didn't have time.

He nodded, forced to be satisfied with the full-grown creature at its height of three and a half feet. He collapsed the structure in his arms, carrying it back into the dungeon cell where Sheratan lay, convulsing. Powerful, black poison throbbed through her system, eating away at her heart even as she lay down. As he grabbed her hand, he watched the sword from only thirty minutes before, saw it flicker. He had expected to die, but she leaped in the way. He shook his head, tears pricking at his eyes. He couldn't lose her, not now. Alshain had killed himself. Willation almost wanted to think the latter a miracle, but Alshain could have healed her. He had, after all, fashioned the poison to kill anyone.

Now this would be their last chance.

Sheratan's long, red hair lay in tangles across her face and heaving lungs. She could see nothing, and sharp pain throbbed through her system, eating away at the cells within her. The world blurred; she almost anticipated dying, relative to this horror.

There had been no signs of blood, but a great, gaping gash claimed passage through her entire torso. The moment bleeding begun Willation would know he'd lost her. He rushed the gelatin mass to her side, then grabbed her fingers desperately. Her skin began to deteriorate, decaying into a frail sheet of gray. He threw his energy and his prayers to the Great Creator into his own fingers, and felt the healing pull at him. The poison coalesced in a black pool at his fingertips, and Sheratan writhed in pain. Only a heart-wrenching moan escaped her, and her eyes slacked back. Willation had never known her to scream before, and hoped now would not be the time such a circumstance changed. He'd never forget the chill of her voice in terrified agony beating against his ears.

Her emotions bared themselves in a simple cry as the gelatin in Willation's arms fleshed out. The black poison created a visible bloodstream until the skin began to layer itself, thickening. As Willation wrapped her in his cloak, features formed on the girl's face, and her flesh grew more opaque as semi-mortal form overtook her. Her nose and mouth, as well as the curves of her eyes, grew alike to Sheratan's. Thick, bushy hair sprouted in curls over the top of her head and grew down.

Only when her eyes flashed open did color begin to appear. Her lips were inky black, and her murky blue irises contrasted black blood in her eyes. Her hair grew dark red, a little more maroon than Sheratan's. A dark dot also faded into view on her left cheek, a mark of distinction. She would fit nowhere.

Sheratan finally felt the pain deteriorate; it had gone, but she knew it had to go somewhere. She turned her head, spotting a girl nearby. She furrowed her brow as she took in the details, what had happened as she watched black blood forge paths through the girl's system. Almost immediately a name came to mind. "Seville," she said weakly.

Willation's head snapped up.

Sheratan tossed her head at the girl, but the action stunned her, so she didn't move further. She moaned and laid back against the bed, trying to keep it subtle enough not to let Willation know. "She will live, won't she?"

He nodded, gently lifting the limp form up from the ground. The girl's eyes slacked back; he didn't know how long it would take for life to really come to her. She had no soul. Her life would be a false one, and her own existence created friction with the world. She would be too dangerous to live for very long.

"She won't last much time," Willation said carefully, laying her down in Sheratan's lap. The latter sat up abruptly, reverently holding the girl in her arms. The face looked nigh identical to her own; even the dark mark on her cheek in the exact same place.

Sheratan surveyed her. "We still ought to name her."

"Hence Seville," Willation prompted. He paused as he considered the name.

"Blood of darkness," they said nigh simultaneously. Willation looked up at Sheratan and realized how accurate the name would be as the girl's life played out. The name, while sinister and feared among Lavwuns, would not be a detriment to her social standing: Seville could never fit in with the outside world. If ever she were accepted by anyone outside of her creators, it would be too miraculous . . . until the moment she became dangerous to everyone around her.

Willation knelt down next to the bed. He knew what he had done. He had given life to something not meant to live. Not only did Seville defy the laws of the universe themselves, but the very blood in her veins sizzled with the desire to destroy, to be rid of itself in some way. Seville would fight the world and her own existence for the rest of her life.

After life she could go nowhere. Everything about her would be pain.

Willation didn't realize his face had soaked with tears until Sheratan's expression grew concerned, and she sat up. "Willation?" Her fingers graced his cheek, absorbing the tears there.

She feared what he would say. He didn't look too overjoyed, although he had just committed a monumental act. Apparently there were too huge of downsides to really celebrate this creation of life.

He brought Sheratan's hand down, holding it with both of his own. He swallowed before he launched into explanation, about how Seville couldn't truly live. How she would never die, but would decay upon losing the last of her blood, as it appeared to deteriorate little by little to rid existence of itself. How every day she experienced would be pain, friction with existence and friction with herself as such a dark creature. He could think of nothing to help. He could not heal her, for as a creature—or an anti-creature, he realized described her better—she relatively stood perfectly healthy.

Even as Willation related all of these horrible things, he realized he would have created Seville anyway, had he analyzed before what would happen and knew the consequences. He glanced up at Sheratan. He pulled Seville from her arms and laid her very carefully aside. The pale skin had not gone away; yet another freakish aspect to a permanent misfit.

Sheratan realized the dynamic of what she had done, of what Willation had been forced to do because she leaped in the way. But as she studied his deep, brown eyes and the tears held within them she knew she would never have let him die, even if she had known about Seville beforehand. Neither would have given up the already-broken little girl for anything.

Willation took Sheratan in his arms, sighing a little as he drove the consequences of creating Seville against the consequences of not, and he felt somewhat comforted.

"I would have lost you if she didn't exist," he said, and Sheratan buried her face in his shoulder. Then he felt a moment of peace, of the Great Creator trying to tell him something. He pulled Sheratan closer. "She will be all right."

Sheratan nodded against his shoulder. "I certainly hope so." He hadn't expected her to believe him, but she sounded a little hopeful if anything. She knew he would never lie. She believed what he said, although she'd never known how hard it could be to trust him.

"We'll raise her?" he asked. He meant more of an assurance, but he didn't want to force it on her. Willation would have to be gone the majority of the time; Sheratan would be raising Seville herself. "You will, I suppose. But I will teach her to fight, help you when you're tired."

Sheratan sighed and embraced him back. She actually looked forward to it, raising an anti-creature, or raising anything, with Willation's help. She loved him enough.

"Of course we will." Then she glanced up. "The poison. Alshain. Could she heal him too?"

Willation paused, and he squeezed her. "Yes," he said. "Don't worry. We'll take her back to the capital. He will not come back."

Sheratan didn't want to trust him, but knew anyone who didn't believe him usually ended up wrong. "Is it all right if we come here every year just to make sure?" Then she paused. "And to be alone? Just for a few minutes? Verusia insisted we never let anyone find out about Alshain or about us, so chances are excellent we will have to be careful at home."

He nodded, and she laid her head down on his shoulder. "Of course," he said. Admittedly he did want to have a moment once in a while to express his feelings and to hear hers; perhaps someday it would be safe for him to marry her. He closed his eyes as he thought about it. He had only kissed her once. He couldn't imagine doing it for the rest of his life.

Sheratan could feel him shifting. She wondered what he thought, why he tensed so every moment he walked by her side on the way down the mountain.