A/N: Hello, I've updated with a (still very short) chapter 2! I'd like to thank my friends at Hetaplay and the Internet for any research/ficcing help, and I hope you enjoy the next installment!

-TIA/Megu

Emil paused next to a brick building, grasping for some sort of support as he tried to regain his breath. Blurs of people became blurs of blurs, blocking Emil from seeing the sky. He had apparently gotten too good at pushing past parasols and ornate walking canes. So good that he forgot to look where he was going. The young man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to get a sense of what part of town he was in. After a few breaths, Emil could gather that he didn't know where he was. After a couple more breaths, a dead air silenced the hustle and bustle of the streets. Emil opened his eyes and looked down to find himself standing on a river of broken glass.

His heart stopped, and his expression went flat. His eyes traced the shards of shimmering crystal blue and cloudy green around and back again, only to find it branching out in columns along where the ends of sidewalks used to be. Glass, glass, and more glass. All Emil could think of now was the crystal trail of glass as the noisy backdrop of a city hub faded into a cold stillness. Now unable to feel the rough, hard bumps of red brick, Emil found himself looking for a new place to put his hands on, his feet carelessly treading through the trails of broken bottles and a clear liquid strewn across the ground.

It was only a few steps later when Emil found himself determinedly strolling through the shards, not caring how many pieces stuck to his shoes while he trudged past nuggets of medicine bottle black. Emil was looking for something now, whether he was aware of it or not. He was looking for something, and though he didn't know what it was, he knew where.

Emil Stielsson was searching two years into the past, and the only way he could get to his intended destination was through this haunting trail of memories. Memories of coming home to broken glasses his mother left in a pile on the floor, too tired and fed up with having to clean up a mess that wasn't hers. Memories of standing woodenly next to his brother Lukas' door, listening for signs of life and perhaps signs of change if he was in the mood for it.

Memories that he had locked away in a suitcase when he decided to go overseas in search of Lukas after the day he left. Emil had brought a couple of pamphlets to read on the way there, and the catalyst of his decision to journey was tucked away in the left pocket of his vest. It was one of those often discussed "Dear America" letters that described in great detail all the glittering streets paved with gold and buildings of diamonds.

And now he stood. He stood here on streets of diamonds and buildings hiding gold, and it didn't feel like anything astounding or breathtaking or ethereal. It just felt… different. It felt sort of big. Too big for Emil to explore, and too big to even bother remembering. Too big for someone so small.

So Emil returned his focus to the glass trail, nearing a familiar shadow that washed over his feet as he stopped at a limp figure on the ground. Its chest rose and fell, its breath seeming to gasp for one more chance. But at what?

His hands shaking a little, Emil stumbled a bit before kneeling down to take a closer look at the figure. He blinked a couple times and soon found himself unable to consciously distinguish that the figure was wearing, and exactly what it even looked like, for the matter. Emil frowned and carefully rolled the figure over to puzzle out its facial features.

The figure opened its lids to reveal a pair of cloudy blue eyes.

Emil froze. Rising up and staggering back a little, he looked back at the figure one more time before running off to somewhere. Anywhere. He didn't care if it was the markets, the tenements, or that sketchy part of town that the Italian visited and Berwald often warned him about. He just had to get out there, two years forward to the present where he was finally away from it all.

Somewhere between these blurs, Emil figured, there would be somewhere safe. Somewhere that wasn't flooded with rivers of glass and the stinging memory of those cloudy, dull blue eyes. Eyes that were once alive before their owner drowned in that very river, eyes that Emil was looking for, but at the same time would rather forget.

He kept running and running, his own eyes paying more attention to the feet he had to avoid stepping on than the people who walked with them. The sidewalks he passed slowly grew dustier and dustier, and the chatter around me faded into an unfamiliar chorus of sharp, melodic singing. Around him there was a sickly sweet medicine-like smell in the air and next to him a large, chipped wooden sign. Emil stopped to try and read it, but found the dots, lines, and curves to unfamiliar for him to understand. It wasn't English, and it definitely wasn't Icelandic.

Giving up on this particular sign, Emil looked around to find something recognizable so that he could figure out what it was. But every sign had the same vertical, rectangular scrawl that Emil was apparently supposed to recognize. The small crowds of small people that passed him looked up from these indecipherable whispering and stared at him before walking away, gossiping even louder than before.

It was at this moment that Emil realized that he was, in comparison to the inhabitants of this area, very tall. And from he could gather the people around him did not seem to like that at all. Emil wondered if he was meant to be forever insignificant and forever small.

Perhaps he was only meant to be one of the millions of diamonds scattered on these busy streets.