A/N: This is something of an ampliation of that cutscene in the Church, between Vincent and Claudia. Pretty much about that pairing; it is dedicated to HelloCaptain. All comments are appreciated. Enjoy.

Miserere mei

The ornamented walls, smeared of black and scarlet, seem to serve like a trail of blood would, leading directly to the victim of its cause; the chapel seems to serve as a small sanctuary for its occupant. She stands in front of the altar, drained of all strength, the atmosphere damp and weary on par with her exhausted emotions. Enshrouded by shadows, finding bliss in the middle of a chaos she has aptly titled the Nowhere, Claudia Wolf feels tired, but content; satisfied, nonetheless, that soon, everything will come to an end – no; to an actual beginning, the wonderful accomplishing of her plans, of her devout strategy. Purity; redemption through fire, the fruit of her great effort…

… Indeed, all those who never believed her motives to be anything more than an illusion of salvation, a hopeless longing, will be proved wrong as the Paradise becomes palpable, something she will be able to touch and taste and smell and hear, which she is even starting to see – all around her, the atmosphere, the calm built-up tension awaiting for an apotheosis…

However, there's still one detail which results in a bother, at the very least. A bug which had made her question so much in the past; possibly, the only thing gotten in the way of her faith, through all those years… Her very own feelings, curse whoever invented them, standing right there and now beside her in the shape of the man who once led her to believe she 'loved' him. So many experiences, so many feelings, so much to learn and be learned - all such a waste of time, now that they are so clearly divided.

Their eyes locked in a cold stare, deep olive green against an almost ethereal blue, for what seems like minutes, hours, until her faintly pink lips part to exhale a fatigued sigh.

"What do you want?" A redundant question; she knows; she doesn't care. Albeit she hasn't the luxury of understanding similar motives, Claudia Wolf has kept an inevitably close track of them. His expression, his gritted smile, still manages to stir particular emotions inside her: along with the faint annoyance, a cooling anger, she can still feel the vague flame of desire creeping up her spine at its sight, but she knows she hopes it's no more than a vague inconvenience.

Father Vincent rolls his eyes, each of his movements retaining their singular air of extravagance, of overdriven charisma. The unbrushed, tobacco-coloured locks add up to his worn out look, weary as if to compete with Claudia's, although both less pleasant and satisfied than her smug self. "For the two of you to die, that would be nice," He sighs, satire appearing in his voice to nobody in particular as he tilts up his glasses back to place as if to emphasize his words with yet another gesticulation. "Then I could relax."

As though her mind's eye was the scenario for some kind of twisted flashback, she can't help but relive, relive – the calm evenings under the night sky, the hue of his pale face under the moonlight, the pleasure he convinced Claudia of not being guilty – before Vincent's beliefs went astray. Frankly, going through such an important phase of her schemes without his support had not been planned, and the memories were painful to let go of—

But Vincent is only the second most important thing.

She's given him so many second chances in her mind – and, even though she is sure of being right about the trail the night will be taking, it is inevitable to still try. "When did you stop believing in God?" She asks, and her voice would be barely audible weren't it for the empty echo between the church's walls. "God lives. Just look around you."

Vincent's eyes narrow, his grimace still not decaying. "I do believe in Her, in my own way. I fear Her, adore Her. But I haven't lost my mind like you."

Cocking her head to one side, ethereal, platinum blonde tresses falling in an almost shocking contrast with her dark robes, Claudia quickly brushes away the poor impact those words manage in her, resisting the impulse of holding her head and taking a lone step backwards. As much as his taunting is like the stabbing of a strong barrier, she will not permit him to get his way – not again.

Not seeming to notice the danger he's putting himself in, Vincent's overconfidence once again takes a step ahead from him.

"You think that this is the work of God?"

– She sighs, not even bothering to try and remember how many times they've been through this. Instead, she focuses on the altar behind her; white, slender fingers reaching out against the red fabric, seeking something –

"Isn't this nothing more than your own personal nightmare?"

– Her teeth clench, fingers brushing against the required blade –

"Just like Alessa, 17 years ago."

– Alessa… soon… –

"If this is really the work of God, I'd say she has lousy taste!"

The snappy end to all his mocks does nothing to help; almost spitting the words, the level of pity she had started off bearing easily decreases. "Traitor," Claudia Wolf mutters, assuming he well knows that she doesn't mean it just in a religious sense. "You will go to Hell…"

This being a particularly recurring sentence by her part which gets involved in many of their arguments, the priest doesn't take any possible second meaning into consideration. When she warns him to go home, Vincent digresses; "This church is my home," He argues, more than visually displeased with Claudia's new point. Motioning to point all around them, "I built it with my power! The power of money that you view with such scorn!"

"Although," Father Vincent continues, his anger entirely evident now through his verbal attacks, one of the corners of his mouth curling up in a smirk which makes Claudia repress once again unwanted expressiveness, "I admit this atrocious scenery is all yours."

"If you continue to get in my way…"

"What?" He's close to chuckling, albeit edging on losing his nerves. "Will you kill me?" The sentence making its progress out of Vincent's lips is given a cut as the door opens with a growl, sentencing the welcome to the golden child of the ceremony. Momentarily distracted of their argument, two different pairs of eyes lay on the blonde, sweaty and blood-coated figure of Heather, who doesn't look too startled to spot them in such a way. Claudia's fraction of a smirk disappears upon hearing the priest's new taunting;

"Well," Vincent grins, exhibiting his sharp teeth through the disturbing ghost of a smile. "The guest of honour has arrived. Let's get this party started." He points sardonically towards Claudia with an extended thumb, addressing the teenager as though they were in fact alone, "Heather, go ahead and kill this crazy bitch – this demon who claims to speak for God. The time has come; you can kill her now."

The woman would have taken time to delight the irony, were she not blinded by anger.

A step ahead, a silver spark, a shiver down her back --

-- followed by crimson being spilled in milky skin --

-- and pure PAIN.

"You'll go to Hell!"

Vincent's mouth freezes in a gasp for air as the dagger is pushed into his back. For a moment, even his permanent calculating self is proved wrong – Claudia realises that this crime of passion should have been executed so much before – the suffering she would've spared, how much time she'd have saved, and how easy it all seems now that his figure is lying back in a pool of his own blood, still breathing…

She crouches at his next, one of her hands tugging at his untidy hair, even cradling his head in a twisted display – her own little revenge for his 'mocks'; before letting him cough once more, she pushes the blade again as deep as she can into his abdomen, two seconds after which Claudia might be ready to cry tears of relief.

Heather's shaken voice comes from beside her;

"What did you do?"

"Oh, nothing important." Claudia pants, her composure slowly returning to her – although maybe, in a first place, it had never gone after all. Not a thought about how she might regret having done that later – as of now, it feels like the last of her obstacles has been overcome, and—

"You're not going to run?"

Seconds of silence.

"I guess this is the end."

Claudia's surprised reply after hearing that sentence, "No," She corrects the young girl, in a thoughtful tone which could give chills. "It's the beginning…" A slight pause; a satisfied end: "As Vincent said: the time has come."

End