Author's Note: Greetings once again to all of you who are returning from reading my other Gorgeous Carat story, "Letters to the Darkness". This one is meant as a sequel to it: since it centres around Laila, however, it's written entirely from her point of view. I hope that you all enjoy, and I'll try to update as quickly as I can!

Disclaimer: I own no part of Gorgeous Carat. Also, I acknowledge that the idea for this story grew out of Kasey Chambers' song, "The Captain".

Dedication: To everyone who knows what it's like to be a surrogate sister. You have my deepest sympathies.

Chapter 1: Unhappy Endings

Until recently, I never knew what people meant by the phrase "three's a crowd". Now that I know, I wish I didn't.

Before Florian came along, I couldn't imagine a Paradise greater than my life with Noir. It made me feel special to be included in so many of his schemes, to be one of the only people with whom he could share a companionable silence. I liked to think that, in return for his patronage, I was fulfilling one of the most important roles in his life: that of a friend, a confidante. In my most proud moments, I almost convinced myself that he thought of me as family.

I knew that something had changed that night, when he left the party at the Rochefort mansion. I had seen the glare of obsession in his eyes too often to fail to recognize it then, but there was something more, something I didn't want to see at the time.

I wish I'd never seen it.

At first, immediately after Florian came to live with us, I could still attach names to my feelings. There was jealousy, possessiveness, even protectiveness. I saw what their relationship was doing to Noir, and wanted more than anything else to tear Florian from his life, to erase the brand that his new obsession seemed to have burned into his heart so quickly, so indelibly.

I suppose that I was scared, more than anything. After all, if Florian was claiming such a strong hold on Noir's heart, could there be any room left in it for me?

Of course, my feeble efforts to turn Noir's head back in my direction, back toward the past, where I had believed that it would always belong, failed miserably. I was powerless to dispel his feelings for Florian, and so I was left to watch them deepen into the love that I've always craved, but never had a chance at.

There's no job as completely dead-ended as that of the surrogate sister.

It would have been easier, I think, if I were able to hate Florian, even a little bit. I know how to deal with enemies: I've had a lot of practice. But his friendship is infectious: I couldn't, and can't, help liking him. He's so gentle, and strong, and beautiful, in both the shallow and true meanings of the term. It's so easy to see why Noir loves him, and that just makes everything harder.

On the surface, everything is fine. Florian has integrated himself into our lives, as well as the household; he and Noir have recently realized that their feelings for each other are reciprocated. We're set up for a fairy tale happily-ever-after, and the brightest future possible, given our histories.

That's the reason that I don't think I'll be able to stay here much longer. Everyone here is so focused on their future, and I can't stop living in the past. I can't stop myself from clinging to the memories of Noir and I stalking the streets of Paris, alone together. I can't stop wanting those days, that relationship, that life back, and the wound reopens each time I'm reminded that they will never return.

I've thought about this often since Noir and Florian's relationship crossed the boundary of 'platonic'. There are logistical problems, of course, the kind of things that I might not have thought of until I was out on the street with my suitcase: where will I go, and what will I do? I know that Noir would give me enough money to survive for a long time if I asked him to, but I can't. The entire point of leaving would be to sever as many of the ties between us as possible, and taking Noir's money would defeat that goal as completely as staying would.

In this case, I can't afford to do that. I can't afford to condemn myself to a lifetime of being second best, when I know what it felt like to be first. I owe it to myself, and to the memory of the days when Noir was mine alone, to step out of his life as gracefully as I can. And I will, as soon as I can figure out how.

Perhaps what I lack is not a plan, but the strength to execute it.