Chapter Four

Corrupted Lamb

Ilya examined herself in the mirror one morning, and thought that she just might have grown a little taller since last she'd been measured. And about time too. But then, she had been told she should expect to grow much more slowly—if at all—going forward. The fact that she might be taller then, actually felt like a small triumph to her, though she couldn't think why. She thought she might've been able to answer that question once a long while ago, but now…everything about that life before now felt like a cloudy, murky dream.

At the tender age of eight, she had come to know what it was like to snuff out another life with her own two hands. Since that day, she had approached everything in life much more coldly. Except for one aspect of her life.

All that her father and mother had left behind, all that they had been unable to take with them to Fuyuki, Japan, all the things that Kiritsugu had given her as presents over the years. Honestly, she didn't know what to do with any of those things, but she couldn't bring herself to let go of them either. A very small part of her was still attached to them, to that reminder that she had once been a bright and happy girl, with a mother and a father who had both loved her dearly.

By now, Ilya had fully accepted that she would have to go on getting by on her own. Certainly she had Elke, acting solely as her maid for the present, but she felt no affection or sense of companionship for her. Which was just as well, as Elke didn't seem to care about things like that. Actually, there were moments when Ilya would examine the Einzbern homunculus out of the corner of her eye with not a little suspicion. She had learned from this homunculus that it would be a mistake to ever trust anyone other than herself again, and her father Kiritsugu's abandonment had been a harsh reinforcement of that for the year since coming to terms with that horrible, world-shattering truth. Still…she was disinclined to trust Elke quite as much as anyone else, and she had a sneaky feeling that Elke, rather superiorly, probably assumed she was above suspicion of anything merely because she had given Ilya that weapon.

Obviously, she had no idea of what it could be that she should be suspicious where Elke was concerned, but nevertheless, it was there.

Just so, she felt instinctively that she needed to wait for something, and in a mannerism that recalled something that still lived faintly within her, Ilya licked her two forefingers and smoothed out a few locks of her silver bangs before saying, "Okay, Elke. I'm ready."

Though she said this however, time had not made her time spent under the knife in the Alchemy Chamber with Grandfather Acht any easier. Despite her newly developed stoicism, that all broke apart into shrieks of pain once the Einzbern family head started cutting her open, poking freely into whatever exposed vein he was working on to infuse with enhanced Magic Circuitry.

A human-shaped cluster of Magic Circuits….

All this passed in a haze, and Ilya couldn't be sure anymore whether she still cried out for her mother or for Kiritsugu. Only the pain stayed with her. And while Acht took his leave without a word, he left Elke to wordlessly bandage Ilya up as usual. What was the point of even dressing herself up in that outfit of a purple blouse and prim white skirt when she was presented to her grandfather this way, when this was all their relationship would be: her being slid out of the dress and into a surgical gown?

Then Elke too left, having been called away to deal with another one of Jubstacheit's "specimens"—more of Ilya's homunculus sisters.

Ilya sat on the edge of the operating table, alone in the chamber, the places where Acht had cut her open that day throbbing beneath the bandages soaking her clotting blood. She stared at her hands and before she knew it she was shaking, unable to regain her composure, crumbling as her true despair threatened to engulf her from within.

"I…why…? I…I don't like this…why can't this stop…? I'm…I'm tired of this…I don't want to do this anymore…why do I have to be cut open like this…why can't it stop…?"

Because of him….

And then the thought of her father flickered in her mind…the man who had left her to suffer this way, when she'd thought he'd always love and protect her. So thinking of this, her shaking hands began to shake not out of temerity, or even shock, but out of a growing itch inside them to find their way to Kiritsugu Emiya's throat and squeeze until she'd choked the life out of him…or slice a blade across that throat just as she had done to Mieke….

Even though such thoughts frightened her upon reflection, in the heat of the moment, she felt them sincerely and without remorse or hesitation.

Then that flickering image of her father became a growing flame in her heart, and she ground her teeth together until the pressure popped inside of her, and without another reasonable thought she grabbed a nearby glass beaker and hurled it against the opposite wall with a yell.

"It's all his fault!" she snarled, and reached for another beaker.

By the time Elke returned, summoned by the commotion, Ilya had leapt off the operating table and was halfway to destroying all the lab equipment within reach of her, the ground littered with glimmering broken glass at her feet.

"Miss Ilyasviel!" Elke scolded, only for Ilya to cut her little foot open on one of the shards of glass as she whipped around like a feral child.

The both of them gave a gasp, and only then did Ilya feel the pain of her injury as she stared at the fresh red blood flowing from her foot. But rather than succumb to tears, she gave another yell of frustration and fell to her hands and knees, something desperate within her driving her to find a shard she could use to cut herself again and again.

"Miss Ilyasviel!" Elke snapped, marching across the broken glass in her boots and picking up Ilya by the collar of her gown as though she were picking up a kitten by the scruff of the neck.

Ilya struggled of course, groping for that perfect shard of glass. "NO! LET ME GO! I'LL CUT MYSELF AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL YOU CAN'T CUT ME OPEN ANYMORE!" she wailed.

At this point, Acht himself came to investigate the ruckus, and his icy eyes went dangerously wide upon seeing the wreckage thus done to his precious Alchemy Chamber.

Then, much like that day he'd shouted at her to stop crying so long ago, he shouted at her again, unleashing his cold fury, with only Elke to shield her.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? ELKE, PUNISH HER AT ONCE!"

But then Ilya let out a strange, very sardonic and mirthless laugh, and even as it tumbled out of her, there was, at the same time, a small part inside of her that was frightened to hear something like that come from her.

"Punished? I'm already being punished!"

And then the gnarled pain within her heart grew so acute that she thought for a split-second she might die if she couldn't find the means to get to Kiritsugu right then and there somehow and kill him with her own two little hands.

Just as fleeting, this peak ebbed away, and all Ilya could do then was go back to struggling against Elke's hold on her, screaming like some wild and angry animal. She was however vaguely aware that something in her crimson eyes must have risen up that shocked even Jubstacheit, because the anger drained from his face as he and Elke stared at her, and when Jubstacheit repeated his order for Elke to take Ilya away, he croaked the words, returning once again to his own grave and reserved demeanor.

So Elke obeyed with a nod, dragging Ilya out into the hall, only to stick her with a needle full of that sedative she liked to keep on hand whenever Ilya got out of sorts like this. If Ilya didn't know better, she might've said she'd actually grown addicted to such injections, and the rare dark peace they brought her.

Hours later, she awoke blearily in her bed in her room, her fresh wounds tended to, the pain barely there anymore. Only to realize that she had tears in her eyes.

Had she been…crying in her sleep?

Hastily, Ilya wiped them away, banishing such foolish things. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, once more regaining her new, collected, if jaded, persona.

"Quit being such an idiot," she muttered under her breath to herself. "You will never achieve victory in the coming Grail War behaving so childishly."

Outside it was dark and snowing, while a fire crackled in the hearth of her fireplace, keeping the room warm. Ilya though almost didn't feel it. Feeling emptier and emptier by the moment, she slid out of bed and crossed over to the window, gazing out into the swirling, silver darkness. Then she padded out of her room, dressed in her nightgown, and into her parents' old room, doing nothing but collecting dust, as Ilya rarely visited it anymore.

She traced her fingers over the neatly made-up bedspread, thinking about the time her mother told her about the day she was born. She had been born in this room, after all.

"Well, it was a lot of hard work for your Mama, but she was glad to it," Irisviel told her with a kind of reverence.

"Did it hurt?" Ilya asked, across the little table in her parents' bedroom, where they were painting pictures of flowers together, copying from a book—Irisviel's elegant and polished, Ilya's lumpy and blotchy.

"Yes," Irisviel admitted, not without difficulty. But then she smiled brightly for her daughter and touched the side of her face, her red eyes overbright. "But Mama would do it again, because I could never regret going through all of that, when you, my wonderful, beautiful baby girl was born because of it. Mama was so indescribably happy to finally hold you in her arms."

Ilya dropped her paintbrush and reached up to clasp her mother's hand in both of her tiny ones. "I'm sorry though, Mama, that it hurt."

"Don't be silly," Irisviel laughed, shaking her head. "You are a precious gift to both me and your daddy."

But Ilya bit her lip, still unsure. "Was Daddy sad about it? About you being so hurt?"

"Yes, even though Mama wouldn't let him stay with her while she was having you," Irisviel admitted, looking forlornly away at the table covered in her and her daughter's paintings, but not really seeing them, it seemed. "So I never speak of this with him."

"I thought you and daddy talked about everything though," Ilya said, tilting her head to one side in confusion.

"Some secrets we keep," Irisviel told her, looking at her again, with a strange kind of wisdom in her eyes, the kind that passes between mother and daughter…and Irisviel and Ilya were even more than that. "To protect each other's feelings. Daddy loves you and Mama so much, and it's hard for him sometimes, because he'll always want nothing more than to spare you and Mama from pain, and he knows that that won't always be possible. I know he's strong enough for it, but I still want to spare him any more pain as much as I can."

"Because you love him so much back?"

"Yes."

"Well then…Ilya wants to do the same too, for Daddy. Because she loves Daddy so much! And Mama too…!"

Though the sadness at the memory washed over Ilya's locked up heart, no tears came this time. When she put her mind to it, she had disciplined herself well for all this time thus far.

What sort of secrets then, had Kiritsugu kept? Ilya could only conjure possibilities, but she realized she should have known all along that her father might deceive her one day. And her mother too, she supposed: why else would she have mistakenly said that Kiritsugu would do anything to spare her and her mother pain? If he did, he would have come for Ilya by now.

No. He had hidden the truth from them both, and her mother had suffered for it, then Ilya too, paying that terrible price.

After all, why not, if there had been secrets he'd kept from her and her mother? Had such secrets been here then, from the moment he'd stood beside this bed, at this window, holding baby Ilya in his arms for the first time?

Yes, they must've been.

But there could only be speculation on this too.

Ilya hugged herself and shivered. Then she slipped out of the bedroom and into the main hall outside, wandering into the dark of the castle, thinking what a cruel lie her father's love had been, and wondering why it had been so. There was so much she still didn't understand, and that just made her angrier with her father, if that were possible. All the more eager to kill him, make him pay for what he had done to her and her mother.

She tipped her head back and looked up at the ceiling, but like everything and everyone else in this castle, there were no answers to her burning questions to be found here either.

All that her future held now was the Grail. At least if she could have revenge, she would die happy. In fact, the idea of exacting vengeance made the truth of her sealed fate of death following in her poor mother's footsteps feel inconsequential to her. Really, what was the point of reclaiming a life she wouldn't be able to spend with the father she had adored, the father she could do nothing but hate with all she had left inside her for what he had done?

In the end, it would be wondrous to have that moment…have it and then be freed from her sorrow.

On the other side, I'll find Mama again…Mama….

Ruminating thus, Ilya didn't realize where she was until she came out of her thoughts and found herself down in the halls below, towards the Alchemy Chamber. Taking the steps further down, Ilya felt gripped with a scrap of curiosity still left, if withering, inside her. So she crept beyond the chamber where she was always operated and experimented on, to where she had never been before down here…to where she caught a faint blue light shining out of a room as yet unexplored by her. Not that she'd ever fancied exploring such a horrible place like the Alchemy Chamber before, as the place had held nothing but pain for her.

There she came across what she quickly realized were the other of the Einzbern "specimens". Encapsulated in each glass cultivating tank, all of them ranged in a row, was a homunculus being created just like Irisviel had been. Though it made Ilya tremble to venture to look at the truth of how it was the Einzbern homunculi were created, she felt the time had come to force herself to do it. She passed by each tank and brushed her tiny fingers over the metal plates engraved with labeling runes she couldn't read. Each specimen was naked and asleep, enveloped in amniotic fluids. Each tank was hooked up to a kind of device that seemed to be getting readings of some sort.

Were they dreaming, maybe? Did everyone dream a dream that they forgot after they were born into this world? Did Ilya? If she did, had it been happy? Would she have known?

And if she did, did that mean that…unlike these homunculi…she might have…a soul…?

"I wondered when you might come and seek this chamber out, child," said a voice like the rustle of old pages.

Ilya turned to find her grandfather at the doorway to the chamber, hands tucked in the sleeves of his white and gold robes as usual. He was being strangely gentle, Ilya could feel it. He even seemed to be looking at her with a rare kind of fondness.

But then he regarded the specimens in their tanks in the same way, and Ilya quickly surmised that it was with the kind of fondness that she might admire a picture she had painted and was pleased with.

Jubstacheit drew closer to the tanks and touched his palm to the glass of one, passing his hand over the sleeping face.

"You need not be afraid of it," he went on, as Ilya watched him with her red eyes. "Your mother was born the same way. It is how things are done. Of course, you are an exception, as you experienced a human's birth from your homunculus mother. But crossing homunculus and human blood…has given us you, our greatest achievement yet. Created with all the linked wisdom of our beloved Lord Justeaze…born as a human being with all the power of a human mage, making your construction flexible, easy to manipulate, and able to grow even more powerful from that." He looked over at her wondering expression. "This will make you the most powerful mage in the Fifth Grail War, if not the world."

Ilya sucked in her breath. "It will?" she whispered, in spite of herself.

Acht nodded. "Tell me, do you hear the voice of Irisviel now and then? And of Lord Justeaze?"

"Yes," Ilya admitted. "Sometimes as one voice."

The corners of Acht's mouth twitched. "The Grail speaks to you more clearly than it has to any of your predecessors."

"The Grail…." Ilya bit her lip.

It was disturbing to her, somehow, that even though it was her mother's or Lord Justeaze's voices she was hearing, it was really a communication from the Grail. Or both, maybe. It unsettled her, because it made her fear the memory of her mother in some ways, as though in death she might've become some terrifying phantom, a dark ghost reaching out for her, to drag her into some deeper darkness, as it spoke to her of the inevitable Fifth War, of how the Grail had been incomplete, and therefore had not been completely destroyed, and still yearned with the pulse of the unborn to achieve physical form at last in this world.

"Yes, child," Acht was saying. "And through you, the Third Magic will at last be achieved, the miracle for all of humanity."

Ilya blinked up at this man, who called himself her grandfather, as he did share blood with Lord Justeaze in that she was his ancestor, like all of the other human Einzbern kin…and yet…though he looked at her with a kind of esteem she'd never seen on his face before, she couldn't help but be perturbed by that too.

Actually, it started to upset her.

Because he only spoke of human salvation.

What about the sisters who had come before her? And her poor mother…who certainly hadn't been saved…but had been cast aside so easily…not just by her father, but by this man too….?

Grandfather Acht bent over and took Ilya by the chin. "The final preparations are coming to fruition, fret not. Your Magic Circuits grow more vibrant each day, such that you will be able to accept the final incantation fully into your body…a Mystic Code designed solely for you."

"What Mystic Code?" Ilya had to ask.

Acht ran the pad of his thumb across Ilya's cheek, but it was so cold it almost felt more like a claw than a thumb. "The Dress of Heaven. The key to…."

"…the miracle for humanity."

"Yes. Very good, child."

Acht withdrew and straightened to his full and imperious height, tucking in his hands in the sleeves of his robes once more. "Rejoice. With your victory, we will forge the greatest and most honorable tribute to you yet, your holy and pure image forever maintained in the beauty of colored glass in the grandest window of the Summoning Chamber, as all of the Vessels who have come before you." He even smiled, just a touch. "You are our heroine, Ilyasviel."

"Heroine…."

Another memory surfaced, one of when she and her mother had been taking a bath one night, and she had asked her mother:

"Mama, can I ask you something about Kiritsugu…?"

"Of course, Ilya. What is it…?"

"Well…sometimes…I think he might be sad about something…but…when I ask him about it, he just smiles and says he's happy. It isn't something Ilya did, is it?"

"No, Ilya, it's nothing like that at all!"

"Then what's wrong…?"

"Ah, Ilya. Your daddy's working very hard so that day will come when you can leave this castle. You know that right?"

"Uh-huh! Kiritsugu promised he would take Ilya to see the starbugs. Ilya hasn't forgotten…."

But Ilya had trouble remembering the rest. So much had happened since then.

As she thought about this, lamenting all the more how she and her mother had been lied to again and again by Kiritsugu, Acht took his leave of her, drifting out of the chamber like a specter. Ilya turned to watch him go, and staring after him, she began to tremble again. With all of the unborn homunculi in their tanks behind her, a dark, nihilistic sensation began to consume her from within, even as she was too young still to put it into words.

Her tiny hands curled into fists, and a new anger rose up, one that made her want to vomit quite as much as that horrible dream she'd had of Kiritsugu killing her and her mother.

"All of us…me…Mama…we're nothing but empty dolls…never destined to have any kind of happiness of our own…we're all the same…and Mama…she didn't even…have a soul…." With a painful gasp she pounded once on the metal plaque of the nearest tank, and looked at the specimen inside forlornly. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, the tears coming back against her will. "No identities of our own…we're all…the same…simple puppets…even…even me…!" She ground her teeth again. "These Einzberns…who do they…WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?" she demanded of the vaulted ceiling above, shrouded in shadow.

And then she did something she hadn't allowed herself to do in a long while, and sank down against the end of the cultivating tank, letting herself sob until all of her tears had run dry.


Ilya began to watch Elke with even more growing suspicion as the snowy weeks wore on. Was it because she had just never really liked her? Why had that been? Had she not liked her because she'd always sensed something suspicious about her, or had it been because, unlike Nele and Mieke, she had done nothing reminiscent of her mother's sweetness? To the point of holding Irisviel von Einzbern in contempt?

Somehow, Ilya could not abide that.

It made it worse when Elke tried to emulate that for Ilya, to give that appearance when Ilya knew she didn't really feel that. Whereas Irisviel's red eyes had been full of sparkling life, despite her fate, and even Mieke and Nele had had their moments…and she supposed that one called Aloisia had been the same…Elke's eyes never once sparkled so. Even when she smiled, those crimson eyes were dead.

She was the emptiest one Ilya had ever seen.

So, you lie too after all, do you, Elke?

Such thoughts rose up as Elke did things like serve Ilya tea, or groom her, or give her lessons in basic education or etiquette, or give her the bath she would take every evening. Ilya then would only nod in solemn appreciation, her crimson eyes continuing to be ever watchful.

Yet, this went on for months and months and months, with nothing coming of it except for Ilya's growing frustration that there was nothing to set off a kind of trigger within her to ventilate that frustration by some means. She tried to find ways, but nothing settled the increasing disquiet in her mind, not books, not the useless toys she rarely played with anymore, except for the ones that made use of her brain. Even Klara, her precious stuffed lamb, spent more time on her bed than in her arms.

Eventually though, Ilya decided to just accept it for now. After all, the two of them rarely exchanged words anyway, so it wasn't as though they exchanged opinions enough to stir anything more in her heart than this simple frustration that was nothing more than an itch she couldn't reach in order to scratch. Day in and day out, Elke served her tea while she read a book by the window, then gave Ilya her lessons, then her bath, and then escorted her to the Alchemy Chamber, tending to her afterward before feeding her and putting her to bed.

That and there was talk of the Grail War, looming ever closer, to distract her as well. Acht began discussing things like what Class would best suit their needs for this time, what Heroic Spirit they should summon in order to achieve their ends successfully. Going over what reading Ilya had done into these matters, she put in that she got a certain feeling where the Berserker Class servant was concerned. She felt a logical instinct towards that Class, as though compelled by the will of the Grail, or perhaps knowing that the Grail already intended to choose this Class for her.

As she calmly and flatly laid this out for Acht, Acht took it into serious consideration, stroking that frozen waterfall beard of his, and Elke stood silently by, awaiting instructions as ever.

Honestly, Ilya was getting the sense that the idea of the savage Berserker Class gave her some kind of satisfaction, as though it fed something hungry within her that she alone couldn't seem to sate. As she thought about it, she smiled a rather bitter smile to herself, a subtle one, just a tug at the corner of her mouth.

Now all that's left is to find a Heroic Spirit that could fit in that Class, she mused, and she went into her afternoon reading time that day with that thought in mind.

She curled up as usual in the chair by the fire in her own room, and Elke came in as usual with her afternoon tea, the same kind her mother used to drink with milk.

But instead of simply taking her leave, Elke lingered, asking with that artificial smile of hers: "And how are we feeling today, Miss Ilyasviel?"

Ilya raised a cool eyebrow at Elke over her book on ancient Greek myths. "Feeling? Fine, same as always."

Actually, if she could give what she was feeling a color, it would be a bluish shade of gray. But she didn't expect Elke to really understand that.

"Oh? Just 'fine'." Elke squinted strangely at her, still wearing that smile. Then she said, "Very well then, Miss Ilyasviel. I shall leave you to it." She bobbed a curtsy and left, and Ilya watched her leave with perplexity for a moment, before brushing that aside and turning back to her book.

The rest of the day played out like normal, ending with the pain of experimentation and getting cut open again. And the following day played on just as usually.

But again, something different happened when Elke served Ilya her afternoon tea.

"Yes?" Ilya prompted when Elke didn't say anything this time.

Then Elke assumed an air of muted, if pretended, regret. "Well, Miss Ilyasviel, I am afraid I also have some news to report, though I hesitate to inform you of it, as you might find it distasteful to hear."

"Oh?" Ilya laid her book aside and folded her hands in her lap. "Well, that's of no consequence. If you need to tell me, then I need to know. So…what news do you have for me?"

Elke lifted her eyes from the floor, and for a moment, a strange shadow flickered in her crimson irises before she said, "We have received word from our seeing eyes within Fuyuki City, Japan, that your father, Kiritsugu Emiya, has died."

At first, the words sounded to Ilya as through water, and she had to think about them for a moment. Just to be certain she had heard correctly, she said, slowly, "Oh…he's…dead?"

"Yes, Miss."

"My father…is dead."

As this thought settled inside her, Ilya felt confusion bubble up as she had not felt it since the days in the wake of learning of her father's betrayal. Those days of being torn between outright hating her father and desperately wishing for a reason not to, to be able to simply love him as she always had before. Even now, she supposed, she still grappled with that at odd moments.

Now…he was dead. On the one hand, his death meant simply that her revenge was being taken away from her, like everything else of value to her had. On the other hand…he was quite as gone from this world as her mother was. Dead and gone. Dead and gone and he had never come back for her.

For one weak moment, she thought of the way he had laughed with her, out in the snow, playing with her, and something twinged painfully within her, a tearing from her cold and hardened heart.

"Ilya, do you want to ride on Daddy's shoulders, so you can see the walnuts better?"

"Okay! Lift Ilya up high, Daddy!"

"Alright then, princess! Up we go...!"

"Wahoo…!"

…and the way he would nuzzle her nose, calling her his sweet Ilya…that soft voice telling her those wonderful stories about Queen Ilyasviel and her knight and steed, Kerry….

"Daddy…."

She put a hand to her chest, if only to quell how painfully it beat faster and faster, how hard it was for a moment just to breathe, while tears prickled threateningly at the corners of her eyes.

"Daddy…you…."

And then she found her anger and her hate again, that it wasn't enough that he'd betrayed and abandoned her to a meaningless life of pain and death, but that he had even taken away her chance to confront him, to grab him and shake him until he told her everything, to strangle cries for mercy out of him, beat on him until he apologized just like all those times he'd cheated when they'd played their walnut game….

Damn you. Damn you, damn you, damn you!

Shutting her eyes and struggling to regain her composure as her small hands curled, she asked, with an effort: "What about…that…son…of his…? Is he still…there…?"

"To my knowledge, he is," reported Elke without hesitation.

Hearing this, Ilya found her collected serenity again. She gave a sigh of relief even, her mouth curving again into a smile as she opened her eyes to the ceiling. "Good," she said, the purpose that had been driving her, slipped from her grasp, once more coming within reach of her again, and she gripped tightly onto it. "Then there's no reason to worry." Her smile widened. "I will simply make that boy suffer and die in Kiritsugu's place," she said, though she imagined she might have to give that more thought later on. For now though, coming to this resolution was enough to quell all that roiled painfully inside her at the news of her father dying.

Then she further thought to herself, narrowing her eyes as she leveled a glare at Klara sitting so prim, innocent, and half-abandoned on her bed: Even so, maybe his death was painful. Maybe he suffered. I hope—I hope he did.

Thinking this though, she choked on her next breath, as though something within her rejected such horrible thinking about the man she had adored as her father. Her red eyes went wide, and she thought just for a moment again that she was losing her grip on her purpose of revenge once more.

When she found her breath again and gulped on air, she found Elke peering at her with some semblance of concern, blinking as though confused. Ilya saw her vision waver, and then she felt that trigger she'd been waiting for, pulled and released, though she couldn't fully explain why it was so.

What I wouldn't give…right now…to spill her blood…yes…I'd feel better…after that…wouldn't I? She was always horrible to Ilya…after all….

The wheels in her brain turning again, her grip regained once more, Ilya grinned a grin that anyone who really knew her would see as far too sweet for her, fully feigning innocence, secretly relishing in it even.

"Elke? Would you mind doing me a favor?"

Elke blinked, but clearly believed nothing to be amiss. "Of course, Miss Ilyasviel. What do you require of me?"

"I wonder if you might take me down to the Alchemy Chamber?"

"But, Miss Ilyasviel, it isn't time for your daily procedure yet."

"I know. But I wanted to see…my…our…sisters."

Elke stared at her and then said, "Oh. I understand now." And then she smiled artificially again. "Very well then, Miss Ilyasviel. If you'll follow me."

On the way out, keeping behind Elke so she wouldn't see, Ilya grabbed the knife off the tea tray and pocketed it. It wasn't ideal, but Ilya felt she could work with it.

Down in the darkness of the chambers below, Elke glided ahead into the room where the cultivating tanks were kept. From Ilya's last visit, nothing had changed as far as she could tell.

More importantly though, there was no one down here to disturb them at the moment.

Ilya's mouth went dry, and she licked her lips, her entire being poised, her mind focused. She narrowed her red eyes icily as they carefully watched Elke's back, watched her as she stopped…

…she was going to turn around, she could see it…

…so…

…she should strike…

…now.

Elke was saying something, but Ilya didn't hear her. Her feet were already flying beneath her as the homunculus started to turn to face her, unaware…or perhaps, just now aware.

But it was already too late.

Ilya drove the point of the knife, and even though it wasn't very sharp, something in her will allowed the blade to sink into Elke's back as effectively as a full-fledged dagger. Elke jerked and gave a choked cry of surprise and pain, and turned shocked eyes over her shoulder onto Ilya, staring disbelieving at the little girl murdering her.

Then she gave a harsh cough and smattered the stone floor of the chamber with blood, falling forward onto her hands and knees. Ilya withdrew the knife as she fell, flicking blood off the blade with a single swish before coming at the prone Elke on the floor.

"Wait…Ilya…what're you…?"

Even as she held up a hand, Ilya brought the knife down again, slicing past her hand and across her face. Elke fell back with another cry of pain, and then Ilya went for her neck.

Though Ilya did garner some satisfaction from this kill, she felt nothing besides even as she was covered in Elke's blood, even as she refused to stop until the jerking, struggling Elke fell limp. There was still some life left to her, but not much. Ilya stood over her victim, this puppet who thought she could replace her mother, who thought she was above losing Ilya's trust...when she had had the gall to cause her pain, to inform her of her father's death, no thought of all the suffering Ilya had thus endured and would endure in the time to come. As she watched her die, Ilya caught her breath as though she'd been running, her heart pounding violently in her chest, her gaze pitiless as Elke reached up for her one final time before collapsing with a final, gurgling gasp, her head and limbs hitting the floor with a thud. Then she became quite still and dead on the ground, her crimson eyes blank and frozen in that look of shock that her charge had come up behind her and killed her, seemingly out of nowhere.

And then Ilya stepped back, flicking more blood from the knife, the virulent beast baying for flesh calming and subsiding. She couldn't be sure why, but from deep within her bones, she felt this was something that had to be done. Just so, she started to feel drained in the wake of committing her second kill, and all she could think of now was longingly of a bath to wash away the blood.

But then she heard movement behind her, and there was Acht…staring at her as if he had been expecting this. Or rather that he might have been pleased about something.

"I gather you have learned of the death of Kiritsugu Emiya," he guessed, his glacial eyes drifting once with intense sharpness over Elke's corpse on the floor.

Ilya tugged at her blouse and skirt, also soaked in blood. That would have to be washed out as soon as possible, especially out of the white of the skirt. "It came up," she said quietly.

"Ah." Then Acht gave a sigh, as though there was something about Ilya that actually legitimately gave him contentment, even as a man who had apparently learned nothing of what it meant to feel true joy and happiness himself. "Look at you. As little as I liked to think of that man since I began to sense his coming betrayal, I do find it admirable what he gave to you as one of your blood. You are indeed as cold and ruthless and savage of mind as he, the Mage Killer, once was."

Ilya gripped the handle of the knife and narrowed her eyes. "Do not speak to me of him. He is dead, and I have nothing to do with him, save for what business I still have with the son he chose over me. That and the Grail are my only reasons for living."

Acht inclined his head. "Very well. Of course. As you say."

And so saying, Ilya returned from her bath upstairs dressed in fresh, clean clothes, as she ordered once and for all that all of her toys and other childhood mementos be tossed into the fireplace and burned. Another one of the Einzbern maids was tasked with this and did so, and Ilya watched as each precious treasure turned molten and ashy...even Klara, in the end, after pausing just for a moment, tugging at the multiple-repaired ears one last time before tossing that in too, past caring, past feeling anything for it anymore. After that, she demanded that everything left in the office her father had once occupied receive the same treatment, though the desk and bookcases had be burned in a fire outside, they were just too big for the fireplace.

Burn away all those memories, Ilya thought, as now flames consumed the desk she used to giggle and hide under when she wanted to sneak up on Kiritsugu, or play at making him find her. Burn away all those memories…that mean nothing to me anymore.