Author's Note: Sorry that it took me so long to update. My internet hasn't been working so I wasn't able to get online and post. I know this story had been kind of short, but it's really just as glimpse of the afterlife for Violet and Tate. I think it's pretty realistic. Also, I wanted to wrap this up before I started writing my fic for the exchange. Thanks again for all of the reviews! Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

The day that Bethany had her sixteenth birthday was the day that Violet finally lost her fragile grip on her own self-control. She'd been waiting for her own sweet sixteen for nearly two decades, but it wouldn't ever come. She was forever fifteen, and to watch the people around her—particularly those she didn't care much for—age and move on was impossibly difficult to watch. It wasn't fair, but Violet knew the awful truth, the truth that negated all of this thought: life was not fair, and neither was death. In fact, it was all incredibly unfair, and nothing could ever be justified or avenged. The children Tate had killed all those years ago should not have died, yet they did, and they were confined within the hellish prison that he had built for them for the rest of eternity, never changing or moving on, just the same as their killer, just the same as her.

Violet watched as Beth applied her makeup, coloring her plump lips with bright pink lipstick. The skirt she wore, in Violet's opinion, was too short, but she had never known anything about what was sexy. She was not sexy, not in the least. She was just Violet Harmon, and it never surprised her that she was not sought after by the opposite gender. Tate had been the first boy to ever take interest in her, and she was certain that he would be the last. When she had been alive—when she had believed she was alive—she had hoped that her looks would improve with age. Now, nothing would improve, not even her understanding of life. She had stopped moving, stopped breathing. She'd stopped. Everything.

Without being heard, Violet seethed, groaned and hissed. The notion that this was what she envied made her sick, made her murderous with rage. She had never wanted this life, yet it was just the life that she now looked on with irrational yearning. Hadn't she always instead that it was petty? That none of those things that Bethany had mattered? Hadn't she always loved herself the way she was, or pretended to at the very least. Violet had chosen her fate, so why did she feel so cheated.

"I know you're here, Violet." Bethany hummed to herself, running her fingers through her hair, and Violet appeared. There was no use in hiding. They both knew what was happening. The tension in the air was practically tangible. "What's the matter? Jealous?" Violet didn't say anything, only fumed at her through the reflection of her bureau mirror. It was white, with little pink flowers, and she hated it almost as much as she hated its owner. Neither one of them was anything like her. On the contrary, they represented everything that she wasn't, never had been, everything that she opposed and despised in the world. "I don't see why. You have Tate. But you abuse him too, don't you? Aren't you ever happy, Violet? I guess not. That's why you killed yourself, isn't it? Am I right? That's why you downed all those pills."

For a moment, she wondered if this had been one of the things that Tate had discussed with her. She tried to think, tried to remember what she had heard from the confines of the bedroom closet, but she had been too flustered. She couldn't recall a thing about the words he had spoken. All that Violet could remember was the blinding rage, the hurt, the way his body had leaned into hers as though pulled to it, the way people moved together naturally in intimate situations. It was easy to see where the night had been headed before she had showed herself, and Violet briefly wondered what things would be like then if she had been able to keep a hold of her emotions, if she had just faded out silently as she had wanted to do. This was not the time to contemplate this, however. These thoughts were dangerous and she had tried shamefully to avoid them. Anger boiled in the pit of her stomach as she thought of all the things she would have liked to have done in that moment, as she had watched Tate and Beth from the shadows that night.

"Did he tell you that? Did he tell you how I died?"

Bethany smiled, stood. Violet was surprised to note that this girl was a few inches taller than her, with long, exposed legs that she hated to admit were nearly flawless. "He tells me everything, sweetheart. He told me that you're happy now. I don't see it. At least, I don't think it'll last long. You're too unstable Violet. You died with a lot of conflict, and I don't think you'll ever get better. Do you even love him? Or do you just use him for what you want?"

The idea was so outrageous. Violet could hardly bring herself to form the words she wanted, needed, to get out in the open. "I hate you." The sentence hung in the air, mixed with tears that Violet hadn't realized were there. The voices had begun again, the voices that Violet had long ago decided belonged to the house and not to her at all. They were invaders, corrupting her mind, but she wanted to obey them. "You don't understand what love is, Pike. I died because I loved him. I'm here, forever, because I love him!" Her voice had risen to a shriek now as the tears poured down her cheeks. She had begun to sob, harder than she ever had. There was too much conflict and she was quickly losing her grasp on what little self-control she had managed to maintain. If Bethany knew what was good for her, she would leave before things went too far.

But the Murder House had other plans, and it would not let her go. Violet had given in to it now, and it would keep its hold on her until it had accomplished what it needed to. Beth was only too naïve to understand the threat, the real danger which hung in the air around her. She was nothing but a bully, and she didn't understand how easy it was to die in that place, how naturally it came. She would never see her seventeenth birthday.

"You don't know anything." And it was all over faster than she had ever imagined it could be.

As Violet pried her hands from where they rested around her victim's throat, the darkness receded, and she saw what she had done. Beth's body had gone cold, lifeless. She had held on longer than necessary, still filled with all of her righteous anger. But, as she beheld her handiwork, the sin that was now her cross, she was horrified.

Tate was by her side not long after, having heard her cries from wherever he had been. Instantly, seeing what had unfolded in his absence, he felt the guilt that he had so feared. He should have been able to stop her, but it would have been pointless. This was what Violet had been headed towards all along, and Tate had always known that he wouldn't be able to stop her. The house had gotten its way, consumed another soul that never had the smallest chance to triumph over it.

"What did I do?" Violet screamed, falling into his body, her knees gone limp. "What have I done? I don't remember…but I do…I don't…" Her hysteric didn't stop as he pulled her over to the bed, wrapped her in her arms as she shook violently with the impact of what she had done. Over and over again, she watched the life drain from Bethany's eyes, remembered the way she had felt oddly powerful standing over her. The shame was too much. She wanted to die, but it was too late. She already had, and that was the worst part of the whole thing. She would never be able to escape the truth of what she had done, because Bethany would be a part of her for the rest of eternity. They would wither away together, as souls trapped in the same hell. Perhaps, one day, Beth would be able to understand.

Tate hushed her as people began to bang on the door. He helped her to fade out when Mr. and Mrs. Pike finally broke into the room. It reminded him of all the scenario's he'd made up in his mind when Violet had died, in those hours after her expiration when he had contemplated what to do with her body. He'd dragged it to the crawl space. He's assumed that Violet would remember, but she hadn't. It had made everything so much easier. He'd wanted to let her believe that she was alive, because he'd always wanted her to be happy. It was all he had ever wanted, and he'd destroyed that.

Now, however, he was all she had. He kissed her lips, pulled her lovingly off the bed and out of the bedroom, up to the attic. They watched as the ambulances pulled up, along with the police cars. Violet would never be taken away, but the threat was there in their hearts all the same. She was a killer, just like him, but she would never have to face the consequences.

"I didn't want this for you, Violet." Tate hummed, looking deep into her eyes, tears pooling in his own. "I wanted you to live. I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to live in the world because it's a better place with you in it. I never wanted you to die…I didn't want this place to have you. I didn't want you to have to live with this guilt because I knew it would kill you all over again. I love you, Vi. I love you so much." It was his turn to be hysterical, his turn to be comforted. She took his face in her hands, tried futilely to kiss away his tears, but there were too many of them. They fell in a deluge down his face, breaking her heart with each salty drop. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry."

He would have kept saying it if her lips had not captured his, more passionately that he could have expected. When she pulled away, she was crying too. "It's not your fault, Tate. I did this. I killed myself and I killed her too. That is not your fault."

Their love making that night was comforting, passionate. They needed it, not just wanted. That night, they served each other as lovers, and she had never felt more broken or more complete. They were both horrible monsters, and they would pay for their sins with every hellish day that passed, every moment of their eternity. But they could escape into one another and, as monsters do, they would ignore the truth. They would not feel the impact they had. At least, they would try their hardest not to. This was what reality was, but it was also their fantasy. Tate and Violet could not judge anyone, and this took away the pain between them. Because she now saw what it was like to be encompassed by the darkness. It was a frightening power, but she understood. She forgave him, as her mother had been able to even though she never had. This was a new beginning, taken from another soul's end.

Another spirit joined the company of the Murder House, but she would not be the last. Death was natural in that place, inevitable. Tate and Violet had found a violet peace in this fact, and the others would learn to do the same. When you have forever to pay for your life, the value of it pales. There is no loss, only torture for what you truly are. Ben, Vivien, Tate, Violet…they all felt this, just as the others did, the ones who had been there so much longer than they had. And Bethany would understand one day, just the same.

Love had killed them all. Passion had been there demise. Now, they all lived off of fear—fear and death.

The End.