Kristoph turned to look at the man standing in the doorframe. Although his voice held a hint of humor in it, there was an undulating coldness that threatened to overtake it. The man's brown hair was pulled together in a loose braid, and his arms were crossed. The fact that he was smiling did nothing to ease Kristoph's growing feeling of nervousness.

"I…" Kristoph tried to search for a convincing excuse, but could come up with none."I was always curious about this room. I just wanted to see for myself what was so enthralling about it."

"I see. And tell me, did the room coincide with your expectations?"

"I was only in here for a few minutes so I'm not really sure," Kristoph lied. Kristian's eyes slowly made their way around the room, as if soaking in every little detail. "The only object of interest I looked at was the painting. That was all."

"And what did you think of it?"

The question surprised Kristoph. "It was very…distinctive. I never saw anything quite like it."

"My paintings are quite brilliant, are they not? It's quite insulting that such beauty must be limited to this quaint little room. However, I am a patient man and will wait for the opportune moment to present such masterpieces to the outside world. Now, we must decide how to deal with this belligerent attitude of yours." Kristian put a finger to his lip as if in deep thought. "I believe I have found a way to quench any rebellious thoughts that may have entered your mind. Come along."

Kristian reached out and grabbed Kristoph's arm, leading him out of the room and into the hallway. His grasp was strong and constricting, making Kristoph feel as though there was nothing he could ever do to escape from it. He tried to catch a glimpse of Kristian's expression, but the light reflecting off his father's glasses prevented him from getting a good look.

"Now, I realize that you are in the bothersome stage of your life known as adolescence, and that seditious thoughts may find themselves leaking through your head, " began Kristian, still holding on to his son. "However, you must realize the sacrilege behind such thoughts and immediately put an end to them. Although you may find that there are ample amounts of second chances to correct your wrongs, I can say with utmost certainty that you will find no such comforts as you age. When you reach adulthood, you will find that errors you make will stay with you for a long time."

Kristoph felt Kristian's harsh grasp tighten, and bit his lip. "Adam and Eve betrayed the trust of the Lord, and they suffered the consequences for such actions. Just as He did, I too expect cooperation."

The two suddenly stopped in front of a small door near the end of the fifth floor hallway. Kristian grabbed the brass handle with his free hand and yanked the door open. The room was small, only slightly bigger in size than the North Room, with black walls and no windows. A large book was placed on a small brown desk with a wooden chair off to the side. Various paintings of religious figures decorated the walls, and a relatively large bookcase was standing against the back of the room next to a 

small fireplace. Kristian motioned for Kristoph to sit in the chair by the desk. He did, and for a moment Kristian stood silent, the smile never leaving his face.

"Tell me. Are you aware of the reason why Hell exists in the first place?" he finally asked.

"I believe it was created by God as a place to send the rebel angels who fought against him," Kristoph responded. He absolutely abhorred this room. The figures on the walls appeared to be looking at him with disdainful, condescending eyes. The heat emitting from the fireplace in addition to the lack of windows gave the room a smothering quality, which Kristoph felt was similar to a child suffocating a baby with a blanket.

"You are absolutely right. And just why is it that He gave those treacherous angels eternal damnation?"

"The angels challenged God's authority."

"Exactly. Their own pride was their undoing, you may say. Are you familiar with the name of the leader of the insurgents?"

"They were led by Lucifer, I suppose."

"Well, you certainly are full of surprises!" Kristian's smile grew even wider. "That is correct. Can you tell me the other alias of Lucifer?"

"…Satan. The Devil."

"Indeed he is. God's authority is incontestable, you see. His rules must be adhered to unreservedly, as do mine as long as I remain chained down to this sinful earth." Kristian's hand fell lightly on Kristoph's shoulder in an almost fatherly, comforting manner. "God's kingdom is a truly wonderful place. Everything in it has been crafted with utmost perfection and attentiveness. That is why His kingdom has no place for sinners and blasphemers such as the rebel angels. Those disobedient wretches needed to have been locked away, isolated from the righteous ones who deserve the breath of life they were given."

Kristian's grip suddenly tightened. Kristoph winced, but tried to not let the searing pain that filled him show. His father's eyes shone with amusement as he leaned down and spoke in a slightly softer voice, without losing his commanding authority. "Kristoph, His kingdom has no place for you. It pains me to admit this, but even I cannot disobey the rules of the Lord. Your birth was shrouded in sin, you see. As you grew older I expected you to realize your sins and resist temptation, but I can see now it was a rather foolish assumption. The world does not need you. No one needs you. It would be best for everyone if you were to remain isolated in a prison of fire and brimstone, much like Lucifer himself, rather than taint the world with your unholy thoughts."

"That can't be true," Kristoph finally said, faintly. He turned his head slightly to look at his father, who still had that artificial smile plastered on his face. After seeing him, he quickly turned his head down, heart rapidly beating. What frightened Kristoph the most about his father was not the authoritative posture, mock smile, or even the cruel and spiteful words, but the eyes. Eyes that, behind the amusement and disdain, reflected an almost-animalistic madness in them.

This man is insane.

"Oh? I will admit I am quite curious as to your justification for this erroneous line of reasoning. So why, exactly, do you believe my interpretation to be false? Do you have any proof to claim otherwise?"

Kristoph looked downcast, refusing to meet with his father's delusional eyes any longer. "I do have proof."

"…come again?"

"I have enough proof to negate your claim, at any rate." Although Kristoph was very tense, he couldn't ignore the feeling of pride that was welling up inside of him. Finally, after all these years, he had a chance to prove his father, who had made his family's life miserable, wrong.

"Well, then!" Kristian's smile just grew even wider. "Don't hold back on my account, by any means. Show me this decisive evidence that you claim is in your possession."

Kristoph took a deep breath. A part of him kept telling him that he was presenting evidence to a lost cause he had no chance of convincing, but the other half of his brain, the side that was desperately yearning for self-aggrandizement, emerged victorious.

"What it essentially boils down to is that nothing I, or anyone else, can say will change your mind. The only proof you will accept is a word higher than your own." Kristoph motioned to the large Bible sitting on the desk. "In the Bible, Deuteronomy 24, I believe, it states that children should not be blamed for sins their parents have committed. Even though you say my birth was shrouded in sin, I was not the one doing the actual sinning. Therefore, I should not be condemned for an action I had no say in."

Kristoph looked at his father with eyes full of resolve. Kristian merely tilted his head, smile never wavering.

"How odd. I cannot recall such a passage ever being mentioned."

Liar. You basically memorized the entire book. Now just because something in it doesn't agree with your current situation, you just decide to ignore it?

"Perhaps you just…forgot. If you want to look to check its authenticity, then you can just look in there." Kristoph motioned to the Bible again. He felt a surge of pride as Kristian sat in silence for a moment, a finger to his lip as if in deep thought.

"I don't believe that will be necessary." Kristian kept smiling, eyes fixated on Kristoph. After his initial mental victory, Kristoph's satisfaction began to dissolve into feelings of anxiousness. Why was he just staring at him like that?

"You do raise a startlingly decent point, I will admit," Kristian finally said, looking at his son as one would look at a rare creature instead of a human being. "However, I find you to be lacking decisive evidence."

"…How? You're the one who assumes I'm inherently evil because of the circumstances surrounding my…conception. I just showed you proof that contradicts your belief. How is that not decisive?"

Kristian simply threw his head back and gave a brisk laugh, which echoed throughout the small, dark room. "What you told me was a passage about children. However, what you failed to address was yourself. A child born from sin is not a child at all, but merely a devil in angel's clothing."

"But that's ridiculous! You can't possibly believe-"

Kristoph stopped short. Madness danced in Kristian's eyes, as if relaying a silent message: "Possibly believe what, Kristoph?"

There's no use arguing with him, Kristoph numbly noted as he watched his father slightly tilt his head to the side. The man was arrogant, spiteful, mentally insane, and most of all dangerous. Although Kristian had never physically hurt him enough to cause serious injury before, Kristoph had no doubt in his mind that if pushed too far, his father would not hesitate to inflict as much pain as he saw fit. The papers in the North Room only reinforced that belief.

"If we're finished with this senseless drivel, I would like to take my leave. To atone for your extreme lapse of judgment, I want you to copy a passage from Isaiah 14. It goes along the lines of Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming…How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer…thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit.' I believe it to be quite fitting, given the situation."

"How many times?" asked Kristoph, surprised. That was it?

"Enough for it to finally sink in. Or, when you're unable to write anymore," Kristian smiled seemed to grow even wider. He reached over to the bookshelf and tore a few sheets of paper from a red notebook. Snatching a pencil from the shelf, Kristian placed the items in front of Kristoph. He started to move towards the door, before suddenly stopping, as if a new thought suddenly occurred to him. He leaned his head down towards Kristoph and dropped his voice to a low, commanding whisper.

"During your charming little tirade, I noticed you did not address my other point. The one about you not being needed, of course. Naturally, I do not hold this against you, I just merely feel the need to point that out." Kristian reached out and gently put a few of Kristoph's loose strands of hair behind the boy's ear. "And although you may have some misgivings concerning who really is in charge of this household, I can assure you that the person in charge is indeed myself."

Kristian stood up and slowly walked towards the door, before turning to glance back at Kristoph. "I suggest focusing on that passage. It may prove to be a welcome distraction from the otherwise dismal atmosphere of this room."

Kristoph heard the door behind him slam shut, along with the jingling noise of a key being turned to lock the door. Kristoph gave a loud sigh as he rested his chin on his hand. Although he was felt relieved, not to mention suspicious, about the fact that his punishment merely consisted of copying lines, Kristoph still couldn't quench the feeling of apprehension that was building up inside of him. Kristian's voice and words echoed through Kristoph's head:

"No one needs you."

He swallowed and began to methodically copy the Bible passage. It couldn't be true, could it?

It can't be; Father was only saying that to rile me. I mean, there's no denying that Father is not exactly fond of me, but there are still other people who rely on me, I'm sure. I don't think Mother wants me dead…at least, I certainly hope not. I'm sure Adelle cares somewhat for me, even if I did ruin her dress. She's always been so kind, but does she truly need me? Probably not…but Klavier…yes, Klavier definitely needs me. He always asks for my help, after all. Father was just trying to toy with my mind, again. I have Klavier, my brother. After I finish these stupid lines I'll go back to him. He needs me, after all.

With newfound drive and enthusiasm, Kristoph went back to writing his lines with a slightly more positive attitude. Trying to ignore the haunting figures on the walls and the heat from the fireplace, Kristoph finished the passage and repeated it again. And again. And again.

As the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes turned to hours, Kristoph's attention slowly began to wane. The stifling air combined with the intense heat was giving Kristoph a painful headache. He looked around the room for a clock, but only saw the painted angels and saints wearing solemn expressions. For some reason, Kristoph grew irritated at the paintings as he continued to scribble the passage down on the piece of paper.

It's almost as if they're staring at me.

After what seemed like another hour passed, he buried his head in his hands. He was incredibly tired, and the pounding sensation in his head didn't help either. Kristoph felt a dull, throbbing sensation in his right hand and moved it up to the firelight so he could see it better. His whole hand was red and raw, with faint traces of blood at his fingertips. He blinked, not quite comprehending what was going on. After a few seconds it dawned on him that he wasn't able to notice the pain in his hand from writing because he was too distracted by his headache as well as his determination to write the passage.

Kristoph gave a small sigh of frustration as he cradled his damaged hand. At least six hours had passed since Kristian exited the room. Six hours Kristoph spent writing that stupid passage over and over, with no one coming to check on him.

That is strange. Surely someone would have stopped by. I've been doing this for six, maybe seven hours. Where is he?

Kristoph's eyes drifted around the room, once again hoping to spot a clock. His search was to no avail, but Kristoph's eyes landed on something else. Across from the desk was a large painting of what 

appeared to be God. He was pointing angrily at a figure who was absent from the picture frame, making it appear as if God was pointing at him. The small plaque under the painting read, in small letters, "The Banishment of the Immoral."

The banishment of whom? Adam? Eve? Maybe…Lucifer? It doesn't matter. Either way, I'm stuck here until Father decides to come up again, whenever that may be. Was he trying to prove something to me by having that painting here? Was he attempting to liken this punishment to Lucifer's? That's simply ridiculous. Lucifer supposedly was banished to Hell for eternity, while I'm only here for….

Kristoph suddenly stopped his inner musings as it suddenly dawned to him just what exactly Kristian was planning on doing.

Forever. He doesn't plan on letting me out. This is my Hell, and he doesn't plan on letting me ever leave it.

All of a sudden, Kristoph felt extremely lightheaded. Trying to ignore the searing pain in his head and hand, he walked over to the door and gave it a few desperate bangs. Silence. Panic welled up in Kristoph's chest as he fruitlessly tried to pull the doorknob. He didn't want to die; not here, not now! Not when Klavier was out there, all alone, innocent, and unassuming.

Klavier…

A sudden wave of horror and nausea overwhelmed the boy. Klavier. Kristoph though of his little brother, trying desperately to find his brother but to no avail. The poor child, who might not even live to see the age of nine.

Father's trying to kill me, I have no doubt in my mind of that. But what about Klavier? In one of those hideous letters, he said something about dealing with him…does he mean like this? Like giving his son a slow, painful death? He's insane. Completely and totally insane. I need to get out; I need to help Klavier! My Klavier!

Kristoph gave the door a few more bangs, before realizing how utterly ineffective it was. He was on one of the highest floors in the manor; of course no one was going to hear him.

If possible, the room seemed to become ever hotter as Kristoph leaned his back against the wall and clutched his arms. The various saints and angels depicted on the walls became more distorted, looking more satanic than holy. He shut his eyes, thinking of all the people important in his life.

His mother, Katarina. The woman who he adored, even though she rarely gave him a passing glance.

Adelle. The only person who genuinely cared about both him and his brother growing up.

His father. The man who he absolutely despised, yet could not help but respect.

And his little brother, Klavier. The rambunctious little child who always wore a grin and needed Kristoph more than anything.

Klavier needs me. I can't die yet. I can't I ca-

The room finally overtook him, as the boy's eyes slowly shut and the world as he knew it turned black.

--

Author's Note: Wow, what an upsetting chapter. Things eventually get better for Kristoph…or worse, depending on how you look at it.

Thank you everyone who's been reviewing so far. You guys are wonderful!