Tsumi – Amethyst: Let's just say that Zell's had enough and decides to kill himself. I invite you to follow him through his last few hours. Go ahead.

I am standing in the rain, the reflection of my face dancing on the pavement. The news he gave me has rendered my features pale, a stark contrast to the vivid black artwork beside it. Lightening, directly above, highlights the freakishly gaunt eyes that would once glow with ancient emotion, now simply devoid of all considered attractive.

My reason for being here is simple. The moisture around me is softening my skin, making it easier to penetrate with his weapon of choice – The Gunblade. But I will not do it now: I will have a dignified death, at the venue of such a happy ceremony.

His news should bring me happiness… Is that not what love is about? Is it not about living to please your significant other, to reassure, respect and care for their well being, with no thought of your own? Is it not about living to see their face, to hear their laughter, to draw strength from each other during hardships?

If only this were true for our sketchy relationship…

No…

… Friendship.

We have never been lovers. And now, for many reasons, I will not know what it is to be the sole focus of someone else's life.

My foot kicks at the shimmering image beneath me, and I look, for one last time, at my surroundings. This is the place where it will happen… But I can't hold this city of grandeur to blame.

Lightening strikes again, my vision lost to the reflections from the glass buildings around me, and when the moment is over, I manage a smile. My cheek muscles move just slightly, lips pulling up for a second: a lost man's last respects to the city of Esthar.

My feet move. They tread, for the final time, the twisting pathways to the Presidential Palace, and I admire it's grandness as I slowly approach. The smooth and yet angular edges of the Palace shine in the heavy rainfall, the blue tinted walls colouring the rain that touches it, like a dye of some sort.

The thought that this will be the last time I will ever see this city does not dishearten me. If anything, it makes me happy. I can be away from the emotional pain that I cannot bury, the pain that will ruin his big day. I can't do that to the man I love, and so I must do this. It will be another burden from his shoulders.

Some weeks from now, the Palace will host a beautiful ceremony. Flowers will adorn the polished surfaces within; the aroma of a freshly baked wedding cake will hang in the air, and the divine symphony of classical instruments will announce the arrival of the blushing bride, eyes fixed on the besotted ones of her groom.

And I will not live to see it. And to be honest… I'm glad. I would rather live with the physical pain of his treasured Gunblade, than that of the pain I'll feel when his lips utter the sacred vows of marriage, and confirm that which I don't want to believe. And then his lips will meet with hers in a state of unmarred joy, the two now bound together in holy matrimony.

Even now, I can't bear to think of him as married: Somehow the role of loving husband does not suit his stony persona. And the thought alone transforms me into an entity of pain, body slowing beneath the ruthless waves of sadness, poisoning my body, like a sickness.

I ignore the quarrelling guards at the entrance and proceed to my room, moisture dripping onto the immaculate floors, bones chilled to the very core. I hear voices deep in the heart of a discussion, exploring possibilities for anything and everything related to a wedding. I hear the proud father running ideas off a list, and the usual amount of input from his son.

"… Whatever."

There. The last word I will ever hear him say. I want to pause, to tell him what I am about to do, but my feet are determined to stem the thought. Before I know it, I am standing in my room, and I am holding a very small, dagger-like Gunblade. It's similar to the ones given to the youngest of trainees, just to give them a feel for the weapon. And now it will do its duty for me.

I pick up the weighted weapon and admire its sheen in the dark room. The deadly blade – sharpened, smoothed – gleams, and for a moment, I am certain that I can see my eyes mirroring the mischievous look, but then the instance is gone, and I cast a weary eye over the darkness of my room.

It's my time to go.

I silently offer an apology to my GF's… Quezacotl and Doomtrain… Sometimes their thoughts seem more coherent than mine. I thank you for giving me that sanity, but I am sorry that you must see this weakness of mine… Him…

Lightening strikes. I place the blade across my wrist and drag it across, marking out the area where I will cut – Just beneath my beloved gloves. My skin dents, the edges of skin that the Gunblade didn't touch become fluffed – Skin. I see beneath a thin layer of skin dark red spots, but I'm not bleeding… Yet.

I set the Gunblade back in the place it just marked out for me. Without warning, I snap the blade across, and I gasp in pain – Beautiful, stinging pain. Blood has seeped along the width of the cut, and I lick at it curiously. It tastes somewhat coppery, but I like it.

I repeat the action again and again, and the strikes at my wrists get deeper. I cry out in pain, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood, when a vast amount of dark, thick liquid suddenly begins to ooze from my wrist – I've cut a vein. I smile freakishly, and drive the Gunblade deeper into the sensitive wound, gritting my teeth as I hiss from incredible pain. Above the roaring sound of blood in my ears, I hear the faint droplets of blood hitting the floor, standing out from the constant noise of the rain outside.

Sure enough, I'm getting a headache. It's distracting me somewhat from the pain in my wrist. The thudding started out slow and weak, but now the feeling is more intense. I feel as if a second knife is stabbing at my mind, and I fall to my knees, eyes staring at the blood splattered Gunblade in my hand.

I never wanted things to be this way… If only you could have loved me.

Zell Dintch was later found in his bedroom, lying face down on the blood stained carpet. He had the tiniest of smiles on his face. No letter could be found at the scene of his death, and no one he was close to had any contact with him before he ended his life. The only clues were the drying tears on his cheeks, the blood stained Gunblade…

And one pure, white feather.