The Haunting Of Yuuri Shibuya Chapter 7

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Your encouragement, and critiques make it possible for this story to be the best that it can be! Thank you to everyone who took the time out of his or her day to leave a review. I love ya'll!

I look forward to hearing what you have to say about this chapter. This one took a while to conceive, I'm trying to get the pacing of the story to flow smoothly. But we'll start to see some answers, and progressive action on the next up-and-coming chapters. I didn't give myself a limit to how long I wanted the story. I know how it ends, and I have the main story arc. I just didn't want to limit myself or the story prematurely.

Note: Obviously, Yuuri is older in this fic. I actually drew a pencil sketch of how he looks in THYS. I haven't uploaded it yet, because I plan on coloring it, but if you're curious as to what Yuuri looks like in my story, you can find a picture here:

(remove the spaces) http: / i251. photobucket. com/ albums/ gg307/ Elisians_Bane/ Yuuri and Wolfram Love/ YuuriMaouIcon01. jpg

Be warned, it's pretty small, but you get the idea.

Disclaimer:…..wouldn't it be more surprising if I said I owned it?

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Chapter Seven: Where I End (The Thirteenth Day part Two)

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When the healers came with the stretcher to take the king away, Alphonse was right there. He refused, even if it inconvenienced the healers, to let go of the thin hand that grasped at his fingers painfully. He whispered words of comfort in response to the faint babbling of the fallen king, who stared blankly at the ceiling as they carried him away.

Back down the hall, turn the corner, through that god forsaken rain-soaked walkway, up three flights of stairs and another right turn to the king's bedroom, Alphonse's step never faltered. He kept up expertly with the stretcher, all the while holding that little hand like a life –line, and never letting his gaze wander from the grey pallor that was King Yuuri's pained face.

As he made true to his word, Alphonse mind kept replaying the same scene over and over again across his eyes. The king kneeling, bending, snarling, pulling, suffering right before him, attacked right before him and he could do nothing. His oaths sworn meant nothing in that moment, as they had before. An unseen enemy had its way with his master and Alphonse could not think of any way he could have fought, protected, or stopped the attack.

The king told him to stay back. Stay back from what? Himself?

Alphonse looked up when the doors to the royal bedroom were kicked open and he was made to move aside as the healers gently lowered the king onto his bed. The king had gone death white. A thin film of sweat covered his forehead and cheeks. His eyes had purple circles and his mouth quivered, forming silent pleas to those who helped him.

But that hand. That little hand, bony and cold, never lost its strength as Alphonse had to pry the fingers open so that he could get out of the way. His action brought about a pitiful whimper and grasping fingers, but Alphonse had to adhere to the healers. He sat down absently on a chair by the wall and watched blankly as the healers went about removing the king's outer clothes. Once they were done, he immediately moved the chair to sit beside the king, and took his hand again, pity and worry moved him.

They checked him for injuries, but found none. King Yuuri was unconscious now, but his face remained frozen in that pained expression. He looked so small in the huge royal bed, and frail. It struck Alphonse how the great and mighty demon king was little more than a young man, a child really if you compared his age to the rest of the court.

"What happened?" One of the healers asked suddenly.

Alphonse quickly scanned over the images of earlier, he had no idea how he could explain what he saw in a way that didn't make it seem like the king was insane, because Alphonse knew better.

"I…he," the soldier began feebly. "He…was running and I thought he was being chased, so I went after him, but-"

The sound of the door hitting the wall effectively cut off Alphonse's testimony and he looked up to see the generals and the royal advisor burst in with identical worried expressions on their faces. The advisor, Alphonse believed his name was Lord von Christ, immediately let out a horrid wail and threw himself at the king's bedside, placing his hand on the king's side and babbling incoherently.

"Gunter, get a hold of yourself!" Lord Voltaire scolded, coming to stand behind the wailing man.

"Oh, Gwendal! I can't help it! It pains me to see him suffer like this!" Lord Christ sobbed.

Alphonse remained quiet, not sure how to greet his superiors when he held the king's hand so intimately, and yet, he didn't want to let go, didn't want to see the king hurt.

The second general, Lord Weller, came to stand next his brother, but remained silent. He only stared at the sleeping king with worry and guilt, hand nervously twiddling with his sword hilt.

"What has happened?" The advisor repeated the question of earlier, looking to the healers that surrounded the king. The healers looked at each other and then at Alphonse. The generals and advisor followed their gazes and noticed Alphonse for the first time.

"Alphonse?" Lord Voltaire was the first to speak.

Alphonse stood up to bow to the lords, still holding the king's hand. "At your service, my Lord. Forgive me for not greeting you properly."

Before Alphonse could finish his apology, Voltaire waved dismissively. "It's not important. What is important is what happened and why you're here." He said the last part while he looked at their entwined hands.

"Gwendal, who is this?" Gunter asked from his position at the king's side.

Alphonse answered for him with another bow. "My name is Alphonse von Weber, I'm Lord Bielefeld's lieutenant."

Gunter blinked at him. "Ah, yes. I remember you now."

"Alphonse," Gwendal said firmly. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Alphonse hesitated. He really didn't know how to go about explaining what happened. He wasn't sure if the lords knew what was actually going on. They didn't have experience with this sort of thing. He could tell them what he saw and how he saw it, but would it make them think that the king was mad, or would they believe him at all? He had no idea.

Noticing the impatient looks he was getting, Alphonse resolved himself to telling the truth.

"I was heading inside when I saw his Majesty running into the western end of the castle," he began. "I thought he was being pursued so I ran to him, but he kept going and I didn't see anyone. I ran after him and I heard a scream."

Alphonse paused for a moment to see the lords' expressions. But they, with the exception of Lord Christ, were stony faced and waited for him to speak. Alphonse took a deep breath and continued.

"He ran to the hallway where the pictures of the Great One and the Great Sage are and he was kneeling." Alphonse paused and took a deep breath. "His Majesty was attacked," He said with as much authority as he could. "By an invisible assailant. He was struggling against something that was trying to pull him to the wall. But he couldn't escape its grip. The thing eventually gave up and he collapsed in pain. I think it was an invisible attacker."

They all stared at him like he had grown a second head, and Alphonse doubted if he should have explained it so…honestly. But he was the type to call it like he saw it, and he saw the king being nearly torn in two by some terrible, unseen creature.

No person could have done that to himself.

Lord Christ turned to Lord Voltaire and Weller. "It sounds like another fit," he whispered.

Lord Voltaire nodded. "Marko is on his way here. I just summoned him."

Alphonse froze. Marko?

A groan from the bed drew everyone's attention to where the king lay. King Yuuri was fidgeting in his sleep, eyes clenched shut and glistening in a cold sweat.

The four men immediately crowded around the bed as the king slowly regained consciousness. Bloodshot eyes cracked open slowly and wandered, unfocused, around the room before settling on the worried faces of his retainers.

"W-whhh…." Yuuri croaked, eyes squinting from the bright lights.

Lord Christ leaned into King Yuuri's view. "Your Majesty!" He cried as he placed his hand on the man's shoulders. "What has befallen you?"

Yuuri had been staring blankly at Gunter's face as he spoke, but when the advisor's hands clasped at him, the king's eyes went wide as dinner plates and he launched himself from Gunter's grip to cower in the corner of the bed with a panicked wail.

"Your Majesty?" Lord Christ actually looked hurt, but he reached out for the king again, only to have the monarch tumble off the edge. He landed with a dull thump, but was quickly on his feet and backing into the farthest corner of the room, staring at them like a hunted animal.

"Yuuri!" Lord Weller called. He slowly walked around the room towards where the king was pressing himself into the wall, as if willing the structure to absorb him.

"Yuuri," Lord Weller said again. "Calm down. It's just us. No one's going to hurt you."

Lord Weller reached out his hand to King Yuuri, but he only stared at it like it would bite him. "It's okay," Lord Weller smiled at the king. "Come here to the bed so we can look at you."

"What is going on here?"

Four heads whipped around to see Marko glide through the doors, looking most annoyed at having been disturbed from whatever he had been doing.

A cold chill ran down Alphonse's spine as he watched the doctor enter the room with that familiar smug look.

A whimper from the corner drew Marko's attention to where King Yuuri still stood. Lord Weller still had his hand extended to him, but was watching Marko saunter around the bed to flank him.

"He's having another fit," Marko stated, without looking at anyone, but the trembling man before him. "Get him on the bed, so I can examine him."

"Come on, Yuuri," Conrad finally reached out and gently grabbed the king's hand. With little effort, he guided him to at least sit on the bed.

As soon as the king was settled, Alphonse returned to his place by the king's side, never taking his eyes off Marko.

The doctor noticed this and returned the cold glare. "Do I know you?"

"I don't know," Alphonse said petulantly, forgetting the presence of his superiors. "What do you think?"

Marko stared t him for a bit. "You look familiar…" Marko muttered.

"Marko," Weller said. "Examine him." He nodded at the king, who sat in the same position Conrad had placed him in, not making a single noise or move to indicate awareness.

Marko nodded and immediately went to examining the king. Bending arms and scrutinizing legs, Marko was silent as he checked to the king for any physical injuries, all the while he made Alphonse retell the incident, who spoke with a noticeably clipped tone.

King Yuuri allowed Marko to touch him as he saw fit. He didn't fight or buck the doctor. He was like a large doll, staring into the distance while they fussed over him. Alphonse, however, was keenly ware of Marko's every move, and his every move made him all the more distrustful.

After a few minutes, Marko sat away from the king, who had slid into a lying position, and began to rummage through his bag he had brought.

"His hallucinations are getting worse, as to be expected," Marko said flatly. "I'll increase the dosage of his medicine, and prescribe a higher concentration of the narcotic. That should keep him subdued."

"Is that really necessary?" Lord Christ said worriedly. "His Majesty has hardly been able to function with the current dosage and it makes him nauseous and unwilling to eat."

Marko didn't even seem to acknowledge Lord Christ's concerns. "The change is progressing at a peculiarly fast rate, I fear. These visions are worse than before if he believes an unseen force is attacking him."

Alphonse mouth was moving before he had a chance to stop himself.

"He doesn't believe he was attacked. He was attacked! I just told you!"

All eyes were on him, and the soldier almost regretted speaking out of turn. He must have been breaking at least three rules of propriety by raising his voice, even slightly, against someone of greater rank. But when he saw the mildly annoyed, condescending expression on Marko's face, he didn't feel the least bit sorry.

"Alphonse," Lord Voltaires voice was stern. "You said there was no one there in the hallway, but you and the king. What else could it be?"

"Exactly what I told you, my Lord," He said. "The king was acting like he was being attacked and-"

"The key phrase is 'acting'," Marko sniffed.

The soldier's temper rose faster than he expected. "Don't interrupt me!" He snapped, ignoring the gasps from the room at his blatant disregard for class status. "I know what I saw! I said there was an invisible assailant. His Majesty was struggling against an attacker!" He looked to the retainers for reassurance. "If you had been there, you would know what I mean! This wasn't something internal! His Majesty really was-"

"But, you also said it looked like his Majesty was fighting against himself. Being torn in two is what I believe you said," Marko stated, disdainfully.

"I said," Alphonse glared at the doctor. "That it looked as if he was being pulled in two directions. Like someone is pulling against someone else trying to get free!"

Marko was not moved. "If he was struggling against a being, you say, then why didn't you come to his rescue? Why did you just stand there?"

Alphonse stumbled. He really had no answer for that, and it made him want to punch the smug old fart in front of him. "I-I….it was…"

Marko placed his bony hand on Alphonse's shoulder. "Because there was no one there," his voice was absolutely agitating in its mockery of soothing. "I'm sure he told you he was attacked. But in reality, this was just a hallucination - an illusion of the mind. Look at him." Marko gestured to where the king lay, facing upward, eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling. "He's incapable of determining reality from his own mind."

Alphonse jerked his shoulder away from Marko, like it burned him. "That's because he's high as a cloud on that medicine!"

"Alphonse!" Lord Voltaire barked, Alphonse immediately retreated within himself. "Calm down! Doctor Marko here specializes in this sort of thing."

"But! But, my Lord!" Alphonse said, desperately.

"We know what's wrong with his Majesty," Gwendal said. "He's going through a transformation. His human and demon blood are merging. The change is affecting him. This is to be expected." Gwendal looked down at the soldier with finality. "He was not attacked." The general groaned. "Though, this was supposed to be kept a secret from the public."

"But-"

"I remember you now." Marko said suddenly, recognition dawning on his thin face.

Alphonse turned to Marko with disgust. "As you should!"

"Weber!" Now Lord Weller admonished him. "You're not helping us by being rude!"

"A soldier with the same uniform as you was one of my patients ten years ago," Marko continued. "A young demon."

"His name was Niklas von Dietrich!" Alphonse said. "And he was more like your subject than a patient!"

"Weber!" Conrad stood up and moved between the two men. "You are obviously distressed. Go home, and rest. We will watch over the king and see to his care. Thank you for helping when you did. But, we have everything under control now."

Alphonse could only stare at his former teacher, ashamed that he had spoken so in the company of men he admired, but Marko was just so….! That fake doctor!

"Alphonse," Lord Weller said with cold finality. "You are excused."

He hesitated for just a moment, stealing at glance at the king, who was still a lifeless doll on the bed. He didn't want to leave him. He just couldn't leave him in the hands of that man.

"Alphonse." Lord Weller's voice was like ice.

"Yes, my Lord." Alphonse heard himself mutter before bowing and leaving the room, dejected and angry.

Alphonse stomped down the hall to his room, a thousand different thoughts running through his head and none of them complimented Marko's claims.

He was embarrassed at his own behavior and frustrated at how he wasn't able to properly defend himself. Granted, if he were in the opposite position, he would think himself a moron, or insane, or both.

Of all the people in the world, Alphonse never thought he would see him again, that he would even dare to show his face after what happened. The fact that he hadn't changed in appearance only made Alphonse angrier, because he remembered that smooth, cold, and arrogant tone all too well.

Instinctively, Alphonse touched his left wrist with his right hand to feel the gold chain-link bracelet that was hidden under his cuff. Touching the metal made him feel slightly better; it was like being close to the one he loved most.

It was like he had been watching the events of before, but with different people in the roles of his friends who had stood with him as he listened to the doctor prescribe stronger drugs to his beloved. Stood there while he listened to the doctor, completely ignoring what his Nikki had been trying to tell him.

"But, Al! I really saw something! I'm not lying! Why would I lie about something like this?"

"He's just suffering from the side-effects of the medicine."

"You were dreaming, Niklas. It was all a dream."

"No, it wasn't! Why won't you listen to me?"

"Niklas. Go. To. Bed."

Alphonse grimaced as he continued down the hall. Guilt overwhelmed every fiber of his being as he recalled that tiny, weak voice pleading with him, calling out to him for help and what did he do? Nothing. Just listened to the doctor like an idiot.

'Not anymore.' He thought adamantly. 'I won't let it happen again. Not to someone else.'

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Wolfram read the pages of the novel he was holding, but his brain wasn't even trying to comprehend the letters and words on the yellowed paper. Wolfram couldn't even remember why he had picked up the book anyway. It was some stupid adventure tale of dragons, magic amulets, princesses and the eternal fight against evil. Pure, shallow fluff, and one of his favorite books from childhood. Wolfram would always reread the book when he visited his family lands, just to relive the happiness, and carefree days of yesteryear. He always wanted to bring the book back to Blood Pledge with him to share with Greta and Yuuri, but he always forgot for some reason.

Wolfram sighed for probably the three millionth time that afternoon, and let the book drop from his fingers and onto the floor. He collapsed back onto the soft mattress of his bed, staring blankly at the red velvet canopy. He just couldn't bring himself to concentrate on anything. His mind was a mosaic of disconnected thoughts and feelings that plagued his waking moments.

He had long ago tried to rid his mind of his fiancé, over and over again, only to have images of Yuuri's face, hands, smile, everything play across his eyes, one after the other.

Wolfram let his head fall to the side, and the side of his room came into view. There, on the bedside table was the little block of 'tampered' tea, right where he had left it after his uncle's visit.

The prince mulled over his uncle's last words, the claim that Yuuri had willingly agreed to their wedding without any pressure from his uncle or brother. For a moment, Wolfram thought his uncle was just making it up. But, as he thought about it more, he couldn't help but feel that, maybe, just maybe, there was something there.

Wolfram shook his head free of those thoughts. As if. It was making a mountain out of a molehill-he was over analyzing. Yuuri wasn't a confrontational person to begin with, so him actually putting up a fight against two of the most intimidating people in the world was far-fetched.

Wolfram glared at the little tea block, if he flicked his wrist and snapped his fingers, he could incinerate the wretched thing and be done with it. After all, it was an insulting object to have in his possession. A reminder that no one believed he could win Yuuri's heart without serious help, if at all.

The sky was dark grey now as the afternoon gave way to the evening. The rain had weakened to a steady fall, instead of the violent downpour that plagued the land. At breakfast, Wolfram listened in silence as his uncle conversed with one of his advisors about a break in one of the dams in a border village that was causing terrible flooding and turning farmland into lakes.

Wolfram remembered a time when it had rained a lot and the courtyard back at the castle had flooded. He chuckled at the memory of Yuuri's reaction when they had ventured out on a whim into the yard.

"Goodness! Wolfram, we could start a rice paddy out here!"

The blonde laughed out loud this time at the memory. He didn't know what a rice paddy was, it was just the way Yuuri said it like it was the most astounding thing, that made it funny. The phrase 'rice paddy' was a funny thing in itself.

Wolfram yawned, and he gazed lazily outside at the rain. The sound of storms always made him really sleepy, no matter how much rest he had gotten the night before. It was a given, the drone of the water hitting the glass was like a monotone lullaby that put Wolfram out for hours.

Pale lids drifted closed over green eyes, the fist Wolfram had been making plopped open as he dozed off on his soft warm bed, the sound of the rain fading into the background.

When he opened them again, he was no longer in his room, but standing outside a beautiful villa by a lake. The sun was bright and warm against Wolfram's skin, the breeze carried the sweet scent of flowers and new leaves, and the sound of birds echoed in the distance, as a pair of rabbits flitted across the front yard.

It was a vision straight out of a storybook, and after a moment's examination, Wolfram's face lit up in recognition. It was his aunt Giselle's summer villa! A warm, fuzzy feeling welled up inside him.

'Oh, How I remember this place!' he thought in wonder. He walked up the little cobblestone pathway, stopping to examine the hundreds of flowers that lined the way, he remembered helping his "Auntie" plant these flowers as a child and her treating him to fresh homemade ice cream, which he also helped make.

His smile widened as he took in the place that held his most treasured memories. He used to always visit Aunt Giselle every summer for a month, and spend his days playing in the backyard, swimming in the pond, building forts out of fallen branches, so much fun! It was one of his goals to bring Greta and Yuuri to this place, his utopia. The ideal location for a new family, and he knew Aunt Giselle, with her children all grown, would delight in having an adorable child visit her again.

"Aunt Giselle?" Wolfram called as he opened the ornately decorated door. He paused to take a long sniff of the house. He remembered this scent! The scent of pine wood furniture, baking cookies, and fresh fruit caressed his nose.

He was answered with silence. 'Odd.' He walked into the foyer, looking back and forth for his aunt. If she wasn't outside, Aunt Giselle was always in her study that was immediately to the right of the entrance. Surely, she would have heard him.

"Aunt Giselle?" He called again. He was in the kitchen now. The familiar ceramic plates lined the shelves next to the cabinet of crystal wine glasses trimmed with gold. The wooden counter was polished so that he could see his reflection enter the upside-down version of the room. A plate of cookies rested on the counter next to a pitcher of milk.

Wolfram's favorite childhood snack.

The blonde indulged himself, and took a small cookie decorated with frosting and nuts from the plate and swallowed it in two bites. He absolutely adored frosted sugar cookies. Thanks to them, he always gained at least five pounds during his visits.

The afternoon sunlight poured in from the big windows and the open door that led to the back yard. He could see the lake shimmering in the distance, and the little boat his aunt bought for him and took him fishing in. Aunt Giselle was probably the only woman in the kingdom who regularly fished.

Something moved outside the door that caught Wolfram's eye. Forgetting his quest for his aunt, he snatched up a second cookie and walked to stand in the doorframe. As he munched on the treat, he could see the entire backyard of the villa. It looked much like the front, with a small stone path leading to the dock on the lake. Flowers lined the path and the gardens of vegetables and fruits.

The peacefulness was so distracting, so enthralling. Wolfram felt more relaxed than he had in what felt like years. Finishing up his cookie, he rubbed his hands on his breeches and looked out to the gazebo, where he noticed something moving.

He walked out into the yard to get a closer look. He was surprised when he saw someone sitting in the swing in the gazebo, rocking slowly back and forth. The gazebo was covered in rose vines, making it difficult to make out the person other than their feet dangling and the top of their head. A leg extended gracefully from the swing and Wolfram immediately recognized the shoe and the black pants.

He looked at the other man with pleased confusion. "Yuuri?" He called, his voice sounded far away for some reason.

The swing immediately stopped, but Yuuri made no move to acknowledge the other. Thinking he was playing a game, Wolfram scoffed, and stomped over to stand directly in front of his fiancé. Yuuri still didn't look up, and Wolfram placed his hands on his hips in feigned annoyance, though he was happy to see him.

"Yuuri!" Wolfram said. "Didn't you hear me calling you?"

The dark man continued to stare at the lake, past the demon prince. He had his arms placed at his sides, he sat slumped slightly forward, and his eyes held a dreamy, blank look.

"Yuuri?" Wolfram said again, worry etching his fine features. "What's wrong, Yuuri?"

Yuuri finally turned his attention to Wolfram. He slowly stood up from the swing and walked up to him, still dreamy and blank, water dripping from his hair and clothes.

Wolfram's eyes went wide. "Yuuri! Why are you all wet?" He placed his hands on soaked shoulders to force Yuuri to look at him. "What happened?"

Yuuri looked directly at Wolfram, his face was white, and his lips trembled. Those eyes, those eyes were like black storm clouds, and pierced Wolfram to his core.

"Wolf," Yuuri whispered brokenly. "Hold me."

The king slumped forward into surprised arms. Wolfram instinctively wrapped his arms around the shaking man, not caring that his uniform was getting wet.

Wolfram was really disturbed now. "Yuuri, you're scaring me. Please, tell me what's wrong. Why are you wet?"

"I'm sick, Wolfram," Yuuri muttered into Wolfram's shoulder. "I'm really sick."

Wolfram tightened his hold on the king. "Shh, it's alright. We'll get you some help."

It suddenly clicked in Wolfram's mind that Yuuri was completely alone. That was not right. Conrad was always off to the side, watching over his godson. He wouldn't have let Yuuri go around in wet clothes.

"Did you just come from your world?" Wolfram asked, hoping to get some kind of explanation from the disoriented man.

Yuuri shook his head as best he could with it buried in Wolfram's shoulder. Wolfram was becoming increasingly scared by Yuuri's behavior. He looked around for Conrad and the others, but to no avail. There was no one here.

"Yuuri," Wolfram whispered into black hair. "Where are Conrad, Gwendal and the rest?"

Yuuri pulled back and stared at Wolfram with cold, dark eyes. Wolfram was frozen under the piercing gaze of his fiancé, and the dread that had been building in his gut renewed its efforts when Yuuri slowly turned his head to look out onto the lake. Wolfram followed Yuuri's line of sight over the sparkling water. The sun was beginning to set over the far away mountains, casting the water in red and pink. He scanned the water's surface, while Yuuri's eyes remained steadfast. He finally caught sight of four floating objects in the water, just beyond the tiny dock.

Wolfram's blood ran cold.

"No..." He shoved Yuuri away and stumbled towards the water's edge. "No! No! No! No!"

He screamed in anguish as he clumsily waded into the water, arms shaking, reaching for the bodies of his loved ones. Cold fear rendered his mobility almost nonexistent as he staggered up to the first body, floating face down in the water. Conrad.

Bile rose in his throat, he reached out with a trembling hand to touch his brother's shoulder. But the body only bounced like a buoy at his touch, lifeless. Completely lifeless. Water splashed onto the cold corpse, staining the torn clothes pink. Wait, pink?

Wolfram thought he was going to vomit his own heart, when he realized that he was wading in his own brother's blood. He could see the corners of a deep gash nearly decapitating the once proud soldier, blood lazily oozing into the water, tainting it and Wolfram's pants.

Tears burned at his eyes, Wolfram looked at the other victims, and he was gone. Gwendal, and Gunter floated just a few feet away, or really, what he could only determine was them. The only positive identification was their tattered, bloody clothes. Their bodies were mangled, torn, broken, limbs missing, heads floating away from the bodies, faces contorted and frozen in fear and pain.

He reached for them, sobbing, even though he knew they were no longer with him. His fingers pulled at his eldest brother's tattered jacket. He shook the body, a feeble act commanded by his frantic mind, in desperation, for some tiny chance that his brother, his surrogate father, was still alive.

Wolfram cursed, he shouted, he cried. His voice echoed off the mountains and trees, a blood-curdling chorus of despair, of denial, of anger.

Begging, calling, pleading for them to wake, for this to be a nightmare.

Something bumped Wolfram's hip gently, rousing him momentarily from his grief only to plunge him ever deeper when he saw the wide brown eyes of his daughter. His Greta.

His screams reached a new decibel, carrying the tumultuous emotions he was feeling. His mind was blank, he couldn't think. He could only scream at the bloody corpse of his precious daughter, his love, his life.

He gathered her little body into his arms, and held her close. Mouth forming words, lungs breathing air, vocal chords making sounds, but he couldn't decipher what he said. All he could feel was pain. All he could think was pain. All he could say….

A splash, a ripple, Wolfram was no longer alone. His screams died down to sobs when a hand was placed sympathetically on his shoulder and squeezed. Yuuri was behind him, a small, empty smile on his face.

"Why?" Wolfram whispered, his throat hurt from his screams. "Why?"

Yuuri didn't say anything, but wrapped his arms around Wolfram's quaking shoulders, holding him much the same way he held their daughter. Yuuri's lips brushed against Wolfram's neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath chilled skin.

Wolfram could do nothing, except lean into the touch, craving any kind of comfort in his sorrow. His sobs continued as he looked longingly at their daughter. He froze and was filled with horror when he noticed the blood on Yuuri's hands and sleeves wrapped around him. Panic, and disbelief welled up within him.

"Please," He said, no begged. "Please, tell me you didn't do this. Tell me you didn't do this to our daughter!" He nearly screamed the last part and whipped around, glaring accusingly at his blank companion. "How could you!" He screeched. "Tell me!"

Yuuri said nothing.

"Speak, you idiot!" Wolfram shrieked.

The corners of Yuuri mouth twitched into a dark smirk. White, sharp teeth bit at red lips. Yuuri just watched him, amused.

Wolfram suddenly felt a presence behind him. He slowly turned around, still clinging to his daughter's body. A sharp gasp tore through his throat as the dark shadow emerged from underneath the water, less than a yard before him.

The shadow formed a figure in a black cloak, water and blood dripped from the fabric as it grew to stand nearly twice his height.

"They deserved it." It was Yuuri's voice behind him, but the words were spoken by the shadow. "They all deserved to die."

Wolfram felt hot breath against the back of his neck. Yuuri curled his cold hands around his pale throat.

"I will have justice."

The last thing Wolfram heard was the sound of his own neck snapping before he was plunged into the red darkness.

Lightening cackled, Wolfram sat up bolt straight on his bed. The room was pitch black from the night. The wind howled outside, rattling the windows. The blonde demon's heart ached as it pounded against his ribs struggling to steady his raging mind and nerves. A nightmare.

He leaned forward with a groan, running his fingers through his air in a feeble attempt to banish the horrid images from his mind. He wiped away sticky tears from his grainy eyes as he calmed his beating heart and shallow breathing. He didn't move for a long time, he was still in the darkness and random flashes of light, convincing himself that it was all a dream, despite of the fact that he could still feel Yuuri's hands on his neck.

He was still in his uniform, splayed on top of the covers of his bed, in his room, and far away from the bloody lake.

'It was a dream. It was a dream.' He chanted to himself.

But it had felt so real! He had tasted the cookies, felt the cold water, and held Yuuri, held his daughter. He didn't experience the loss of the senses commonly found in dreams. He could have really been there.

He touched his neck where Yuuri had held it. It ached, and felt stiff. Wolfram shuddered at the memory. Yuuri's eyes had never looked that way, had never looked so blank, so cold, so…evil.

Wolfram nearly jumped out of his skin when a strong wind threw open the windows, banging them against the walls. Water from the outside poured in to soak the floors and window seat, the wind howled around the room and created a swirling vortex that knocked over books, sent papers flying and made the dying embers of the fire dance weakly.

Wolfram grunted as he got up from his spot on the bed to force the windows closed. He had removed his jacket before he lay down, and only had his thin white undershirt to protect him against the freezing wind. The wind grew stronger and Wolfram cursed as tiny ice drops hurled into his face, chest and arms. He might as well have been naked for the scant protection his undershirt gave him. The wind and rain were so fierce they could have had little teeth attached to each drop that bit into his skin.

He reached out to deftly catch the swinging windows and with a grunt, he slammed them shut, the wind whistling through the cracks.

The windows clicked shut, and he fastened the latch. He gave one last glance out into the blackness. The storm seemed to be moving now.

A shadow formed, a face appeared on the other side. Wolfram screamed and fell to his backside, clawing at the carpet to get as far away as possible. When he looked again, wide-eyed, and heaving, at the window the vision was gone. There was nothing there.

Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he had yet to wake from his own nightmare - a dream within a dream. But he swore he was awake and he swore that he saw Yuuri standing, floating, outside his bedroom window, a horrid grin on his face, and the head of their daughter dangling by its hair from his fingers.

Wolfram's vision went black.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Greta's yellow dress was a stark contrast to the grey mess that was outdoors. Her cheerful bouncing in front of her dark haired father was an even starker contrast to his sluggish meandering down the covered walkway that lined the courtyard. They were heading towards the west wing, where the rooms were larger, the trials of court were farther away, and where they could be father and daughter rather than King and ward.

A basket swung gaily in her hand, filled with sweets, breads, cheeses, and fruit. They certainly couldn't have lunch in the courtyard like they usually did, but they could still have it in the reception hall. The smaller ballroom had huge windows that touched the ceiling and took up the entire wall. They could create the semblance of outdoors, while staying dry. Greta had also packed her drawing supplies, and extra supplies for her father so they could sketch together, while they watched the storm.

A sharp sigh from his daughter, caused Yuuri to turn his attention to the young girl. She pouted at the gray world beyond the walkway, and leaned against the railing before flopping over in childish consternation.

"Look, Daddy Yuuri!" She whined. "It's so gross out there!"

"It is, isn't it?" Yuuri said quietly, looking out into the flooded courtyard. He joined Greta at the rail, placing his hand comfortingly on her brown curls, freshly done that morning.

"I'm tired of being indoors," she pouted. "I want to go outside, and ride my horse! I just got her, and I haven't even had the chance to ride her yet! It's not fair!"

Yuuri ran his fingers through her hair comfortingly. He didn't like being cooped up anymore than she did. He probably had less freedom, with all the treatments, check-ups, and work. But, she was such an energetic child. To keep her locked up from the outside was probably the cruelest form of punishment to her.

"It will clear up soon, Greta-chan," He said, using his own special pet name for her, and she beamed up at him. Greta got a kick out of him using phrases from his own language, and even demanded once that he teach her. Yuuri delighted in her interest, glad to not to feel like his obvious foreignness was something to hide, like the others made him believe.

He needed to spend time with her more than she could ever understand. He needed the assurance that his role, and the change, would not get in the way of him being a father. So strange, he was only eighteen, and yet he saw fatherhood as his most important role. It was certainly the role that gave him the most joy, and the most accomplishment. Spending time with Greta was the only way he could stay grounded in reality amidst the insanity that was the kinghood.

"Daddy?" Greta's voice cut into his musings. "Are you okay?"

Yuuri smiled, and continued to pat her head. "I'm fine, Greta." He said. "Just watching the rain."

Greta's little brows furrowed in concern. "Are you sure? I mean, Uncle Conrad told me you weren't feeling well. If you're tired, we can go back."

"No," He said firmly. "I need to get away. I'm fine. After all, it's been a while since we spent time together, just the two of us." He gave her a gentle hug, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. His smile widened when she nuzzled her nose into his jacket, tickling him.

"Daddy," Greta said quietly into his chest. "I love you."

Yuuri's heart melted, and with it, his fears and concerns with that tiny proclamation. He kissed the top of her head, and squeezed her tighter. "I love you, too."

The rain suddenly died down to a drizzle, and the wind changed directions, no longer blowing water at them. Yuuri noticed the tiny droplets of water in is daughter's hair, shining like crystals, weighing down the giant curls that took two hours in the dresser's chair that morning.

"We should keep moving. Your curls will fall out if we stay in the rain too long." He said as he pulled away from her.

Like most girls her age, Greta saw her hair as her most important asset. Her tiny hands went immediately to her head. "Oh, darn! Let's go, Daddy." She picked up her basket, and hurried down the walkway, leaving Yuuri in her dust.

Yuuri smiled, the first real smile he had in ages, as he watched her go. Greta never failed to make him feel better, like he wasn't a total lost cause in this crazy world he ruled.

"Your Majesty!"

Yuuri turned around to see the soldier from yesterday walking briskly down the walkway.

"Um, hello," He said, not recognizing the harried soldier.

The soldier came to a stop in front him, and gave a short bow. Yuuri noticed that his hair was dark red, and stringy with rain, and sweat. Maybe he had just come from the training grounds.

When the soldier stood up, Yuuri's memory clicked. "Alphonse?"

"At your service, your Majesty," Alphonse said with a smile. "It's good to see you up, and about."

"Ah, yes, well," Yuuri stammered. "Gwendal said I could take the afternoon off."

"Lord Voltaire tells you when you can leave?" Alphonse was looking at him funny.

"No, he just lets me know when the work is done," Yuuri explained. "I get so bogged down, that I lose track sometimes."

"Oh…"

"Is there something you needed?"

Alphonse shifted his weight to the other foot. "No," He said slowly. "I was just making sure you were all right. You had quite a day, yesterday."

Yuuri blushed in embarrassment. He couldn't remember much of what happened. He only recalled fleeing from his office, and then waking up in the infirmary surrounded by his retainers. Someone held his hand, and he thought it was Wolfram, but that couldn't be it.

"Were you," He began hesitantly. "Was that you who helped me to the infirmary?"

"Ah," It was Alphonse's turn to blush now. "Yes, I …found you in the hallway, and I alerted the generals."

"I see," Yuuri whispered. "I apologize. You weren't supposed to see that…no one is…"

Alphonse merely smiled. "There is nothing to apologize for, your Majesty. If you are ill, you are ill. There's nothing wrong with that."

Yuuri continued to look at his shoes. "I guess so. My retainers don't like it when I cause a scene. But, it should be getting better soon. My doctor, Lord Marko, says it's normal, just destructive."

"Lord Marko, huh?" Alphonse's face darkened. "Is he overseeing your care?"

Yuuri hesitated. "Ah, yes, he is."

"Does he know what you have?" Alphonse's tone was calm, and pleasant. He looked at Yuuri with sparkly hazel eyes.

"Um, yes," Yuuri said after an awkward pause. "He knows what's going on with me, and he seems to know what he's doing." Yuuri decided to leave it at that. Gwendal had told him that it was best if he kept the details of his illness a tight-lipped secret. Castle gossip was bad enough as it was, he didn't need people thinking he was insane. Even though Yuuri thought he was.

"I see," The soldier murmured, when it became apparent that Yuuri would not share any more. He looked Yuuri boldly in the eyes, disregarding for a moment, any impropriety of his next words, his eyes were determined, and pleaded with him. "Your Majesty, you don't always have to listen to what Marko says, okay? I know he's a doctor and all, but he's never had his patients' interests in mind. Ever."

Yuuri was confused. "What do you mean? He seems to know exactly what to do, which is better than before. He gave me medicine that helps me."

Alphonse looked at the ground between his boots.

"I'm just saying…" He said slowly. "I've...worked with him before, and he's not acute, when it comes to patients needs." He peeked up through his shaggy bangs, like he was skeptical of his own explanation.

Yuuri found Alphonse odd. He had never spoken directly to the soldier, even though he had seen him multiple times on the training grounds. Alphonse never had an interest in him other than as a soldier and his king, so it was strange that he would go out of his way to talk to Yuuri about his health.

He was probably just trying to be nice.

Yuuri gave his best smile to the soldier. "Well, thank you for your concern. But, I think we have it under control." He really didn't know what else he could say.

"Oh, well then…That's good, I guess." Alphonse murmured.

"If you will excuse me," Yuuri said, indicating with his head the direction Greta had gone. "I…kinda have to get to my daughter now. She's waiting."

Alphonse immediately straightened up, blushing. "O-of course! Please forgive my intrusion, your Majesty.

"It's okay," Yuuri said cheerily. "I'm really glad you were there to help me. It really means a lot to me."

"It was my honor, your Majesty." Alphonse spoke with more earnestness than was probably necessary. But, Yuuri wasn't saying anything.

Alphonse bowed and turned in one fluid motion, and set off in the direction from which he had come. He was only a few feet away from Yuuri when he suddenly paused and said, almost imperceptibly over the dull drizzle.

"Your Majesty, if you are ever in need. I will be there." Not even waiting for an answer, he was off again, and disappeared around the corner before Yuuri could really comprehend what he had said.

Yuuri stared at the empty space for a bit, and then shrugged off the weird exchange. He really needed to catch up with his daughter. No doubt, the girl had already set up in the reception hall, and was waiting impatiently for him.

He had nearly reached the entrance, when a flutter caught his eye. He looked down at one of the bushes that lined the walkway, covered in pink flowers and dark green leaves. He bent lower, and saw a large black butterfly quivering among the soaked leaves, taking shelter from the rain.

Yuuri watched it in fascination. He had never seen a butterfly this early in the spring, it was rarer still to see one when the weather was bad. This particular butterfly was a rare breed that was native to the northern areas of Shin Makoku, they never came this far south beyond the mountains of the Christ territory. The breed was aptly named the Black Royale, for its ebony wigs with silver trim, and that it was the largest breed of butterfly in Shin Makoku with a six-inch wingspan.

The creature fluttered from one perch to another, closer to Yuuri. The Black Royale's jerky movement alerted Yuuri to its injury. Its left wing was bent at the top, and the tip dangled painfully in the air. The butterfly struggled to maintain balance with its bad wing as its skinny legs clung desperately to the leaf as the rain picked up, and beat at the butterfly's meager shelter.

As if in a trance, Yuuri slowly reached out his hand to the frail little thing, the tip of his fingers brushed against its tiny feet, coaxing it to himself. The creature, amazingly, immediately stirred at the disturbance, and instinctively alighted onto his fingertips. It crawled a bit, its bad wing held at an odd angle downwards, while the other fluttered in the wind. It made its way to perch in the center of his palm, and he withdrew under the covered walkway, out of the rain, and moisture. The butterfly calmed at once, wings slowly opening, and closing as it settled in his hand.

With his free hand, he reached out to lightly run his finger along the delicate edge of its broken wing. The creature twitched, but did nothing to escape his touch. He touched its little feet, gently pushing until it shifted to the side of his palm. He curved his fingers to prevent the temptation of escape, and the butterfly complied, seemingly glad to be dry, and supposedly safe.

He continued to ghost his finger along its ebony wing. The creature quickly grew accustomed to him, and relaxed under his ministrations. He touched its antennae next, this time making it twitch again, and again he prevented its escape by curving hi fingers. He traced the edge of its good wing, before returning to the injured one. He lingered over the bent and dangling tip, feeling the butterfly recoil in pain.

Could butterflies feel pain?

He pinched the bent tip between his finger and thumb, and twisted until the tip broke free of the butterfly. The butterfly panicked in his hand, and tried to fly away, but he cruelly encased it in his fingers, effectively creating a tight cage, that prevented any movement. He took the dislodged tip in his fingers to casually examine it. He turned it over between his fingers, studying the black dust that smeared across his calloused fingertips.

The butterfly twitched, and stumbled in his hand, desperately searching for a way out. But, he only tightened his grip, which dislodged the delicate feathers on its wings, and bending its last good wing askew. He stared at it with disdainful boredom, and proceeded to rip off the remaining wing.

He tossed the wing into a puddle at his feet, as he opened his palm flat to watch the pathetic insect stumble in a circle around his hand. It staggered and tripped over the lumps, and creases of his skin, before it leaned against his thumb, trembling.

Yuuri made a sound. It wasn't a chuckle, but it was a sick show of satisfaction at his work. He reached again, and broke the tip of its good wing. It struggled. He slowly tore off the rest of the wing, and now the beautiful marvel that was the rare Black Royale was an ugly little black and brown bug that writhed in a disgusting manner in his hand.

He sneered at it. How utterly pathetic. How incredibly shallow. Nothing without its wings. Just like any other stupid, useless thing that crawled the earth.

Its antennae were next. Plucked like stems of flowers, and tossed aside, landing somewhere near the discarded wings. It was convulsing now, not even trying to escape at this point, just a black, weak thing completely at his mercy.

Just an ugly little bug now. He decided to punish it for its delicacy by popping off a leg. Now it was crippled. Death would be merciful right now. A kindness. A kindness that Yuuri didn't have.

The corners of his mouth twitched. A ghost of a smile. The only indication of emotion on his face as he tormented the poor little thing.

"Daddy Yuuri!"

Yuuri's head shot up at the sound of his daughter's impatient voice from ahead of him. Greta stood in the entrance way to the west side of the palace, hands on her hips, and an indignant scowl upon her face. The basket was missing.

"Daddy!" She whined. "I was looking for you! I've already set everything up in the hall, and I got our painting stuff set up, too! I waited, like, forever!"

Yuuri smiled widely. The cold, sadistic glint in his eyes was replaced by a warm sparkle for his daughter, completely disregarding of what he had just done.

"I'm so sorry, Greta," He replied. "I got distracted. Here I come."

He turned his palm over, and watched the still living body of the butterfly tumble to the ground, and land next to its beautiful wings. He continued to smile at Greta, as his shoe crushed the dismembered body of the Black Royale, and walked to follow Greta's retreating form into the castle, leaving the corpse of an innocent creature behind to rot.

* * * * * * * * * * THYS * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter Seven, everybody!

Wow, I actually feel like a complete jackass for writing that final scene. No actual butterflies were harmed in the making of this chapter! I do love butterflies, and the final scene made me feel really guilty.

When we think of a butterfly, what comes to mind?

Please leave a review. They make me write faster. And I'm always eager to hear what you all have to say about the story and its progression.

A big thanks to my beta SweetxSnowxDream.

You all enjoy the rest of your summer!

Ciao!- EB