Medusa returned looking more like herself than Crona realized they'd been expecting. Even so, they couldn't seem to keep from staring at the parts that were even more different than before: midnight-black hair, gold eyes whose gaze shimmered instead of froze, the thin black webbing that spread over her face now and again, that she had to take a minute to fight down.

(The time frame of the latter grew shorter with each occurrence, however, and their mother's soft, smug laughter only became more pronounced. They did not ask what particular difficulties, exactly, came with the theft of a Gorgon body; by now they knew better than to wonder.)

Despite her mild assurance that they were likely still alive, Eruka and Free had not returned to the castle with Medusa,and there was no indication that they would anytime soon. Things had returned to the way they were before...Before?

Something poked at the very center of Crona's brain, in a way that they did not like one bit. Before the mission to Arachnophobia, right? Had to be. So what was this sense - not like instinct, something closer to the surface - that there was another thing that they were missing -

"Crona."

The sudden cold of Medusa's fingertips gripping their chin felt like a lightning bolt straight through their body; though they knew their mother disapproved they couldn't stop themself from jumping and yelping. Medusa's eyes narrowed, but she did not comment on it.

"Are you paying attention to me?"

Well, they were now, so it would not be a lie and thus not a punishable offense. "Yes, ma'am."

"Repeat what I just told you, then."

Crona gulped. "W...W-Well - "

"I'll repeat it all, then. I saw you completed your first task thoroughly. Ragnarok, are you feeling stronger after those souls?"

Ragnarok snorted. "A bit. You couldn't have left us even one human?"

"Exactly what I was getting at, before I realized Crona was lost in space," Medusa said with a smirk. "How did it feel, Crona? Did you get what I wanted to give you?"

Crona blinked slowly. They supposed that they must have, even if they couldn't quite put words to the feeling. "Yes, I did. I...I am ready to continue."

"Then come with me."

They had never been in true danger of death, as far as they knew. They did not know the last walk of the condemned one, to kneel before the executioner's blade. But, they figured, this was close enough, this walk that they had taken too many times. Down the halls, bright as operating room lights and so unearthly white and clean that it was like no one lived here at all. Over the cold marble floors, on which neither of their feet make the slightest sound. To the perfectly square room at the end of the final hall, with one open entryway on one side, and a closed white door with a small golden lock, that seemed as if it could melt into the identically colored walls.

Medusa took her usual position in the corner nearest to the entryway, arms crossed and tail idly twitching. Her days of guiding their hand were long past. Her only purpose here now was to watch.

The second they stepped into the room, Crona's eyes roved towards the only spot of color in it: the figures at the center, bound and gagged and wriggling like a worm on hot concrete, only harder once it sees Medusa and Crona walk in. There's two...no, three.

(They were permitted to think "human," but they certainly have long since been trained out of thinking "like me," "like us.")

Instantly their vision blurred like a rewinding videotape, and time seemed to gather in a fog around them that slowed, slowed, slowed.

Fine. Fine. But they did not want to hear. They did not want to look. Over the years, their mind has molded to these thoughts, allowed them to fall into the noise and the static that took them away from it all.

Maybe there was begging, pleading, bargaining, through the thick wet towel tied in its mouth. They had learned long ago to block it all out. It made no difference, not to any of them. The blade lifted in front of them, up above their head with two hands, a chill running up the bones of both their arms. It was simple now, just one swift, decisive swing to sever the head, and this would be over. It would be over and they could walk away and descend back into the black static.

So why...

(...ka! Guard!)

Why...

(But if I guard, you'll die!)

Why was the screaming in their head demanding that they stop, instead of push forward?

"Crona, are you stupid?!" Ragnarok squealed. "Kill it! I'm hungry, let me at its soul!"

Crona's heart skipped a beat, and their body moved out of sheer panic. The sword flew down and cleaved through a thick, sinewy neck. Blood sprayed out, warm and sticky on their skin and clothes, blindingly red on the white marble around them. Screams rose in their head, grating right over the top of their skull. A soul glowed before them, but not for long.

"Now this is more like it! Get the others!"

They raised the sword again, stepped forward into the blood. The screaming shrilled louder, the remaining two figures struggled harder. But this time, when they looked...There were eyes, wide and bloodshot and so bright with fear. Green and red and...No, when they blinked it was blue and brown, what was...

"Crona."

Their mother's voice was low and soft, like the padding of a panther about to leap. Every part of their body went cold.

"Why don't you finish this, Crona?"

They were frozen, clutching Ragnarok's hilt in a shaking hand. They could not tear their gaze away from those eyes, could start to really hear the voices -

"Crona."

Medusa had never laid a hand on them to harm them, as she was so fond of reminding them. But the word was a long steel needle straight through their brain, and a whimper slipped out of their mouth. Disobedience was not an option.

The sword came down, once, twice. Stillness. Dark blood, gushing slowly. The screaming dulls back into static. They stood there, unable to move; they didn't hear Medusa stalking up behind them but they felt her approach all the same, until her nails were digging into the place between their neck and shoulder as she took hold of them.

"You disappoint me," she hissed. "I've asked myself this question since the day you were born, but perhaps you can answer it for me now: What makes you so weak?"

Their mouth had gone dry, and it worked itself without making a sound, like a fish out of water. They could hear Medusa gritting her teeth at their silence...their uselessness to her.

"How long must we do this before you learn your lesson, Crona?"

And before they could even think of an acceptable reply, Medusa was dragging them to the white door, opening it to the darkness within, and throwing them inside.

~0~

They have never tried to keep time in this place. The first time, they had been too young to think of anything like that, only of how badly they wanted their mother to come back for them. And when the idea had occurred to them, years later, they had seen no point. They could barely keep track of their own thoughts, how were they meant to count the seconds, minutes, hours, days? And it wasn't as if Ragnarok would bother to transform enough to put scratches into anything to mark them.

They wondered what such a thing would look like, after nearly ten years. They pictured this room covered with long and jagged lines gouged into it, by a sword not meant for simple scratches, in the brief flashes of light they get of it coming in and out. All the walls and all the floors. Every inch; nothing left untouched. Nothing left untainted.

They raised their hands in front of them and for just a split second they saw it: their own limbs, flashing in silvery white, skin slashed to ribbons. Nothing left. There was nothing left.

They felt their thin, cracking lips spread into a weak smile, and the weak ghost of a laugh starting to rattle up from their chest -

"Shut up!" Ragnarok's voice never weakened, nor did the little fists drumming against their skull feel any less like solid iron. "This is your fault! Can't you do anything right? Why'd you hold back?!"

They couldn't answer even if they could put together a sentence in their head. There was an image there, instead...The boy again. Shorter than them. Weaker, they knew for sure, though they didn't know how. Everything from the red of his eyes, to his pale and angular cheekbones, to the white spikes of his hair and black edge of his arm, said sharp. They were afraid to touch him, to meet those eyes, but when his voice came, dark and terse -

Hey, Crona. You should eat your food.

Their mouth worked without their thinking about it. Their head felt like a stone, pinning them down to the floor, but their body and brain were weightless. Their tongue hung out of their mouth, as dry as if they'd spent this past eternity eating sand. They'd vomited twice, first their last meal, then just bile, and the smell still lingered near their nose.

It didn't help to tell themself that it would be okay, that it would end eventually as all things did. It wasn't okay. They didn't know what 'okay' really meant, they didn't -

Now the girl. Again the girl. Who was...?

It's all right now. It's all right...

A spasm ran through their body that had nothing to do with their cramping muscles. The dark pressed in, the silence drilled into their ears, and they felt their mind spinning away from them, further and further. The black fog, heavy like a physical thing, was there again, holding everything down, suffocating them. But unlike all the other times, things were coming back up in its place, like corks floating and bobbing in a bucket of water. Sometimes it was the other boy, with a voice like booming thunder and strong, calloused hands that slam down and grip too tight.

Crona! If anyone starts messing with you, just let me know! I'll beat the shit out of them!

They had been afraid of him, too, at first. They hadn't known that such power could be used to protect instead of wreak destruction. But at first. Before they'd understood that power could be used to protect instead of destroy, that smiles and watchful eyes could feel like an aura of safety around their body instead of the ice-cold needle that pierced their soul.

But who?!

Other times it was the woman. Black and gold and always looking them in the eyes...But familiar as that was, they had only ever felt warmed by it. Safe...

When...?

But more than ever it was the girl.

The bright green fire in her eyes, burning strong and pure, as she spun the scythe larger than herself like it was an art.

Your soul is mine!

Arms, hands, so tight and unshakeable but gentle and warm. They wrap around them and all at once they know they never want to be set free of them.

It's not that you don't know how to deal with anyone.

"Ah..."

It's that no one ever took the time to deal with you.

Oh...Oh...The merging of one soul with another. Healing like the clearest water pouring over their body, to wash away all the blood. They can almost hear the soft wash of the ocean up onto the hot sand.

Who are you?

A smile, not a smirk. An offer, not an order.

Will you let me be your friend, Crona?

"Ma..."

Ragnarok scoffed. "Quit crying for your mama, dipshit. She doesn't give a fuck, you know that."

"N...No...I-I..."

It was a struggle to breathe by this point, let alone speak. But they knew what they were trying to say, they knew -

It always took them by surprise when the lock clicked and the door creaked open again, even if they were unable to respond in that way, lying on the floor like a dying dog.

Their mother's silhouette in the bright doorway loomed over them. "You've now wasted five days of our time, Crona. Are you going to make me do this again?"

They tried to manage a, "No, ma'am," but they couldn't make the sound come. They flopped their head weakly side to side. Medusa had seen the gesture enough times to understand what they were saying, and Crona understood what they were to do now. They forced their cramping muscles to work, forced their spindly limbs first to move then to support them as they got up. They shamble like a marionette, down the path of white light towards their mother.

This is always how it would go. No surprises, when they step back onto the killing floor, no person there except them and their mother -

They freeze three steps out of the door. They blink in the light. It couldn't be.

And -

It couldn't be.

"M...M-Maka?"

They could hear the smirk in Medusa's voice. "So you do remember her. Interesting. It would appear my serum needs improvement."

Crona barely heard her. They felt a hand go to their open mouth, their face contorted in horror. Their eyes were fixed on the girl on her back on the floor, hands and feet tied under her with thick rope, ashy blonde pigtails flying as she struggled, tears pouring from green eyes that -

Wait.

They blinked. The hair was a few shades too light and the tails too short. The eyes were more hazel than really green. Too tall, the long black jacket too small and the skirt too tight on her, the muscles near nonexistent...

It couldn't be Maka. And it wasn't. But even so...

"You've figured it out?" Medusa laid cool, thin fingers on their shoulder. "It's not Maka Albarn. But I got this one and made her up and I suppose she's close enough. So you may think of her as...Well. Whatever you like."

They couldn't look at their mother. Their world had narrowed down to those huge green eyes and the rippling of Ragnarok under their skin. Their mind knew this was a stranger, no different than anyone else before. Their soul, on the other hand...

"Maka," they bleated faintly.

"You know who she is. You know what she is. And so you know what must be done with her, Crona."

Maka - the girl - let out a wail that would be earsplitting if not for the gag in her mouth. There was fear all over her, every bit of her. Would Maka ever make a sound like that? They remembered her voice...Yes. Yes, she had.

But, Soul, if I guard you'll die!

They felt it again. The rushing of their veins, Ragnarok flowing into their hand. The hard and frozen ball in their chest, the unbearable tightness of it. But this time there was no snake twisted around their head to guide their hand.

These doors open inward.

They must protect themself. They did know what must be done.

They only open one way.

Only one way to escape. Only one way for them to go, no other path exists for them.

They didn't feel themself lunge. They didn't hear themself scream. The next thing they knew, they were mere inches from the girl's face, and Ragnarok's blade had cleaved cleanly through her torso. Their eyes still could not let go of hers, as the light faded so fast from the green-gold. There is a renewed wailing in their ears, a soul-shredding sound of pure horror and grief.

And for that moment, they were not in the white room. They were in a dark and cavernous place, empty and echoing and foreboding, and the doors only opened inward and against those doors lay a meister and weapon, in pieces too. Weak and dull, with lightless eyes and waxen skin and pale blue souls floating above their eviscerated chests.

There was no courage in this place. There was no warmth. None of that thing they had reached for, not realizing it was out of their grasp.

This was what happened. This was who lived and who died and how life had to go on. They couldn't take it any other way, they -

Their mother's hands were on their arms again, to still their shaking body, and they didn't have to look to know that she was smiling.

"Excellent work, Crona. I trust you'll know what to do, should you ever see dear Maka again."

Crona turned to face her slowly, knowing that she would recognize the curl of their lip and the hateful narrow of their eyes as not being for her. Not truly.

"Who's Maka?" they snarled.

The corner of Medusa's mouth jerked upward. "Why, you're correct, Crona: no one of any importance. Come. We'll go have our dinner, you've more than earned it."