Think of this as a preface to SPM. This recounts the period of time that Timpani and Blumiere spend in hiding before they are split up. In this version of the SPM universe, Blumiere has gathered his "minions" for his own protection. Dimentio, Mimi, O'Chunks, and Nastasia will all show up during this fic, along with Timpani and Blumiere.

Summary: When Dimentio, a powerful mercenary, is hired to protect Count Blumiere and Lady Timpani from the tribe of darkness, he insists that the partnership remain strictly professional. But fate is soon to turn against them, and Dimentio and Timpani enter a dangerous, scandal-ridden courtship… a courtship that could send the world tumbling down around them in the blink of an eye.

CARD CASTLE

Prelude

You saved my life
With blood and through sacrifice.
The lessons that I've learned
I promise you I said:
Never again!
Never again!
No never!

Hey! It began with an ending.
Hey! We were fighting for the world.
Hey! My desire never ending.
Hey! The race. The race.

Love is a dangerous game to play.
Hearts are made for breaking and for pain.
I'm selfish and I'm cold.
I promise you I said:
Never again!
Never again!
No never!

-The Race by30 Seconds to Mars

I'm headed to Hell.

Dimentio—master of dimensions, pleaser of crowds, I am, &c., &c.—cuts swiftly through the night, a shadow on the backdrop of a storm. He wades his way across a long puddle, up to his ankles in icy water. It seeps through the pores in his boots, clammy and cold against his feet. He moves faster, draws his cloak closer about his ribs.

Good grief, he's skinny. Skeletal. As soon as he arrives at the castle, he's going to put on some weight. Using magic, maybe—there must be some spell to cause the illusion of weight until he's able to put it on for real. He tucks the message to himself in the back of his mind, where he'll be able to withdraw it as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

He moves through the storm. A flash of lightning illuminates something in the distance—Castle Bleck, in all its glory.

It's just as he envisioned it. Black, with tall spires and gargoyles to scare away outsiders. The lightning fades, and the silhouette of the castle fades with it.

It's more of a fortress than anything. It's armed with allies of the count that will scare out any intruder.

But he has been invited, called to the count's side. He has been appointed the glorious yet terrible job of Mercenary, to protect the count and his mistress.

He's closer to the castle, now. A few more minutes, and the storm has stopped. A red sun breaks through the clouds and bathes the castle walls in crimson light. Red is the color of passion, of desire.

Maybe it means something.

He nears the gate and stops. Runs his fingers along the iron bars. Looks at the castle one more time.

He doesn't want to enter. The fortress reeks of dark magic—he's the jester.

He should know.

And there's something about the castle that tells him he's not in Hell. No, this isn't Hell, this is another place entirely; Limbo, yes. Limbo, the home of the not-quite-damned, Limbo, where the impure pure find a twisted sense of peace. This is Limbo; strongly Limbo. Dark but dull, where the almost-sinners dwell and pretend that they are happy.

He knows this aura. He's been raised on it; it's in his blood. This is the aura of a slow and steady sadness, where gray waves wash in over and over again, dragging everything out under the watch of a bleak, tired sun.

This is more than a castle. It's a universe, an entire universe of complexity, complexity which drags and tumbles along but never goes anywhere. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the freezing cold bars, his consciousness reaching out to what's inside. He can feel radiating from the walls tender hearts that are in want of fervor. They are matches, all of them, waiting to be struck. And then he pulls away and smiles, composing himself. He must be quiet, he must be calm. He must act like nothing, so that over time, he shall become everything.

And already this place is becoming more interesting. Probably because I'm here, he jests, grinning inwardly. He snaps two fingers and the gate creaks open, the wet hinges groaning in protest. A light wind has picked up; the trees on either side of him, blooming with violet flowers, shake lightly. He shudders against the cold air but presses forward, clutching his wet cloak closer around his shoulders. The path leading to the castle is long and hardly worn; when he reaches the end of it, it almost feels like a relief. He takes a final breath of the brilliant morning air and reaches forward, throwing the great oak doors forward and watching as they cave into the chasm that is Count Blumiere's castle.

And then Dimentio—master of dimensions, pleaser of crowds, I am, &c., &c.— dons his trademark crooked smile because this is Limbo and it will not be Hell until he says it is. Hell—yes, what a place, and it will be Hell, but not yet.

No. It won't be Hell until he raises it.

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