Under the scarlet sky
Chapter Nine

'Alice'


Bernkastel feels... empty.

She didn't expect to feel empty. After cracking open Clair's body, breaking brittle bird bones and paper-pale twig like limbs, drenching her hands in blood, bright rusty red up to the elbows, Bernkastel expected to feel something. She's doesn't know what, but anything would be better than nothing…

…Right?

Surely, after cutting into the illusion of the 'witch' (a lonely servant girl hidden behind blue eyes and blonde hair; it's funny how six years can feel like one thousand when your heart is broken), Bernkastel should feel victorious?

Bernkastel knew how weak, how pitiful, Beatrice really was, even from the beginning. Perhaps it was instinct. After all, Bernkastel used to read many stories to Auaurora. Some tales revolved around deception, and young girls who disguised themselves as others to seek approval, or even 'love'. Doesn't that story sound a little familiar? Perhaps because she read those stories, and her natural instinct, Bernkastel was able to tell. It's easy to pick the real witches apart from the wide-eyed, love struck little girls. Beatrice was a child who had stolen the title of a 'witch' with no real knowledge of what being a witch really meant.

How funny.

How laughable.

Bernkastel knows what being a witch means. She knows it all too well- because she had to achieve her title by cutting out all the human weakness from her heart. She became a witch when she ceased being human. Being a 'witch' means being alone; flitting between fragments desperately, searching for something to latch onto. Something to live for. Something to give your endless life- looping round, like a circle- meaning.

It never works.

That is what it means to be a witch.

It is the crushing boredom, oppressive loneliness, the segregation from the rest of humanity and- in the end- that breakdown of moral values in the desperate search to entertain yourself (even if it's only a few hours; a drop in the ocean compared to a witch's never-ending life) that makes witches heartless.

Happiness drains away.

Pain is the only thing that remains.

Pain and fear and boredom.

Always.

Forever.

Beatrice was too human to be a witch because she still had the capacity for happiness. She still had the capacity for love. And, in the end, she got her happy ending; waltzing off into the Golden Land hand in hand with her fairytale prince. Witches don't get happy endings though, do they? Witches get burnt in ovens or dissolved to ash and scattered in the breeze.

Witches don't get happy endings because they are irredeemable.

Evil.

Witches are cruel and bitter and cold and twisted- because all witches were humans once, but the world doesn't let them remain that way. The world squashes those innocent, wide-eyed children with its gnarled fingers to derive pain from purity.

How do you create a monster?

You abuse somebody to the point where all their morals bend and break; you shatter them like glass; you snap their spine and poke out their eyes and leave them to rot away in the darkness surrounded by dripping water and scurrying rats and the knowledge that maybe, if they're smart enough and they don't stop thinking, they can prize themselves of that hell to wreak revenge.

You make a monster by abusing somebody... and then giving them power.

Is that really so evil?

Aren't monsters something to be pitied, then?

Why is it that humans can have happy endings but witches cannot?

Bernkastel might have beaten the illusion of the witch- but an 'illusion' is all she shattered, because Beatrice was never a real witch anyway.

Bernkastel hasn't won anything.

Her fingers are covered in Clair's blood.

Her head is filled with Beatrice's secrets.

And her heart is filled with...

Nothing.

It's empty.

Maybe Bernkastel thought- a foolish, stupid thought- that if she defeated Beatrice, defeated this sick emotion of 'love' that twists the mind and inspires hopes in a hopeless world, then she would triumph. But, in the end, Bernkastel was the one waiting for a miracle.

Witches don't win.

Witches never win.

Beatrice is happy with Battler.

And Bernkastel is... alone.

Just like always.

Well.

A small, emotionless smile tugs at Bernkastel's lips. Her eyes remain cold and icy. There is no humor about her face- but her expression isn't derisive or cynical or even cruel. Instead, it's self-deprecating- and maybe a little sad.

Stupid girl.

What were you expecting, anyway?

By engaging in this game with Beatrice, she was on the losing side to begin with. It was like trying to play a game of chess with only a king; completely impossible to gain the upper hand over your opponent, who still has all their pieces. Bernkastel struggled bravely- but struggling just isn't good enough. In the end, Beatrice and Battler defeated her.

The prince and princess lived happily ever after.

But nobody cares what happens to the witch.

Nobody ever wants to know.

And nobody thinks to ask.

"Hey, Bern?~ Are you okay? You look... a little down."

The only people who care about witches are other witches.

But… maybe that's okay…

Maybe she's not alone after all.


"Penny for your thoughts?~" says Lambdadelta. Her voice is unusually gentle, even though there's some teasing humor laced between her words. Then again, Lambda wouldn't be Lambda without that cat-like smirk; eyes sparkling, mouth shaped like a sideways '3'. It's ridiculous, but it's strangely comforting, too.

Bernkastel can't help but snort at this. "My, my. Are my thoughts really only worth that much?"

"Welll, it depends~ If you want to talk to me about... I dunno... the weather, or tea, or something, I wouldn't even pay a penny~ Kikikiki~"

"What if I happen to find the formation of cumulonimbus clouds interesting? Perhaps I was dying to have a conversation pertaining to them."

Lambdadelta smirks. "Then I would say all these years of umeboshi tea and boredom really have broken you, my dear Bern~ You better watch it, or you'll end up like your good friend Auaurora."

"No... I'm not at that stage yet. I can still remember my name."

"I wouldn't let you forget it," says Lambdadelta, smiling. "You know that. I'll always be with you, yes?~"

"Annoying me every step of the way."

"Of course~ And forever it shall be~ Kikikiki~"

Bern pauses.

Despite her playful giggle, Lambda's red eyes suddenly seem so intense; almost as if they're going to swallow her up. Bern shudders, as though maggots are embedded in her bloodstream; flowing under her skin. She doesn't know what to say. How did such a light-hearted conversation (rare, but not entirely unheard of, between Lambda and Bern. Mainly they occur between five and six in the morning, or thereabouts, when both are tired and Bern can't remember to feel afraid and Lambda can't remember, in reality, she's incredibly annoying and pushy and dominating) turn into this?

W-why does she feel afraid?

She doesn't want to be alone- and yet, at the same time... when you're alone, nobody can hurt you.

Lambda might be there to remind Bern she's alive now- but promises aren't eternal.

'Forever' is quite a lofty statement.

And Benrkastel knows it's a lie.

'I'll come back for you. I'll ride a white horse and I'll rescue you- and you can be my princess! Ihihihi!'

Just like that.

Unfulfilled promises cause only pain and misery. Love never remains.

Boredom is the only thing that remains eternal.

That, and fear.

In the end, Bernkastel doesn't reply.

She can't.

"Tch." Lambda sighs, rolling her eyes. Then- moving quickly, too quickly- her fingers take Bern's shoulders. She presses their faces together. After years upon years of physical contact and honeyed words dripping poison Bernkastel shouldn't recoil from this- but she does, and she hardly knows why.

Bernkastel hates being confused.

Lambdadelta holds her feelings between her fingers. She's being played with.

"Bern, don't look at me like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're staring at me like I'm a stranger," Lambda clarifies. "Sometimes your eyes look so dead and empty. It pisses me off."

"I apologize that my facial features do not meet your high expectations."

"Muu... I-it's... you..." Lambda scowls, throwing her hands in the air as she tries to make a point- and makes it badly. "Sometimes I'll be having a conversation with you, and you'll reply and it's fiiine- but then I say one little thing, and in a split second-" Lambda clicks her fingers "-your eyes go all empty and you start looking away, ignoring me. Don't ignore me, Berrnnn~"

"You're being paranoid."

"Paranoid? Me? Eheheh." Lambda giggles to herself- but her face soon darkens. Her smile doesn't look cheerful. Instead, it's almost terrifying; a twisted grimace that makes even Bernkastel feel something vaguely akin to fear, because she's never seen Lambda look like that before.

Never.

Lambdadelta's fingers- still clad in those black gloves- cup Bernkastel's cheek; but it's not tender at all. It's harsh- forcing Bern's head up like a doll so their eyes meet. Carefully blank purple, enraged crimson.

"Bernkastel." When Lambdadelta next speaks her voice is unusually cold; incredibly serious. She doesn't sound like herself anymore. Or, rather... she does sound like herself. She sounds like the real Lambdadelta who isn't hidden behind a constructed façade of stupidity and large smiles and an insatiable sweet tooth. Lambdadelta isn't feared for nothing. Beneath her sugar-coated lies her words are tipped with poison.

Even so, this side of Lambdadelta is easy to understand. Bernkastel almost feels relieved.

Pain is simpler than love.

It doesn't hurt as much.

Or, rather… pain is a more direct form of love. They both have the same outcome.

"I'm not paranoid," says Lambda coldly.

Lambdadelta's grip on Bern's jaw tightens. Idly, the empty-eyed witch wonders whether she'll tear it off... not that it matters. It isn't like Bernkastel is that fragile. She might look like a doll, but if she gets broken she can fix herself easily using magic, and it doesn't even leave any visible scars.

"I know there's something wrong, Bern! You've been acting really strangely lately- even more than usual, and you think I wouldn't notice? You think I don't care? Because I do notice- I'm more perceptive than you think- and I seriously, honestly, cross my heart, if my lie may I swallow one thousand needles, care about you! If you think I'm lying you can make me swallow those one thousand needles yourself! You want to try, hmnn?~"

Bernkastel doesn't answer. She doesn't respond at all. Instead, she remains icy; a porcelain doll that can't be broken, a clockwork toy that has already wound down. Not human.

Barely even alive.

A witch.

Which is exactly the same as a monster.

Monsters don't have feelings. That's why nobody mourns them when they die at the end of fairy stories.

Nobody would mourn Bernkastel.

"It's okay to pretend you don't have any emotions now," Lambda hisses. Her eyes are dark red pin-pricks on a backdrop of lily white; just like Clair's blood as it soaked her elegant skirts. "It's okay for you to sit there looking down on everybody, as usual- but it's different when you remember you're not quite as heartless as you'd like to think, now, isn't it, Beernnnn?~~ Kikikikiki..."

Lambda's voice drops to little more than a whisper, but Bernkastel hears every word. They slice into her keenly, until she wonders whether this is how Clair felt. Dresses tearing, bones breaking (and breaking again), blood rushing and heart beating and insides spilling out onto the floor.

Hey, Clair, is that how you felt when I pulled the truth of your pathetic existence out for all eyes to see?

But Bernkastel can't talk to dead girls, so she'll never know.

She knows what Clair was- but she'll never know what she felt.

Clair was a story book to Bernkastel; one of the heavy, leather-bound compendiums of fairytales Bernkastel would read to Auaurora. This was back when Bernkastel was young and innocent and not so horribly afraid. Clair was an object; not a person. Did story books even have thoughts and feelings?

Maybe not.

Clair was a projection of another's story into a discarded vessel; an old Beatrice that was then thrown away like junk, trash. Unneeded and unwanted.

But maybe she did have some thoughts of her own in that empty head of hers.

Maybe... she was afraid.

She probably didn't want to die.

Well, that's base human instinct- nobody does.

Not even...

Not even Bernkastel.

Bernkastel has never been confronted like this before- not by Lambdadelta. But... it...

...hurts.

Just a little.

Not that much.

Not really.

But it's… painful… almost like being pricked by a thorn on a rose. Roses are deceptive with their beauty- beginning foolish people to talk hold of them; and that's when they bite into skin and draw blood. Drip, drip, drip.

Maybe Clair wasn't afraid to die. Maybe she really was an object; all individual thoughts and feelings fleeing her head before Bern ever buried her hands in it. Maybe she was numb.

It's better to be numb.

Nothing can hurt you.

"That's right~" says Lambda, a smirk splitting her face. Her free fingers bury in Bernkastel's hair; tugging at the blue locks she used to thread candy through, forcing them to maintain eye contact even though it's starting to hurt. What hurts? Lambda's hands or Lambda's words? Both?

R-really...?

"It's easy to sit there pretending you don't need me- pretending you don't care; but that's not true, is it? When you fall asleep your brain starts to pick at things you like to think you've risen above, riiiight? Dark rooms and hushed voices; it's so lonely and cold in here and I've been here so long, why won't somebody save me? I distance myself from people when I'm awake... Look down on them. Think I'm better than them. But when I'm asleep there's nothing left but me and my head and my memories and I'm all alone. Always alone. Why won't anybody come and save me?"

Lambda no longer looks quite so angry. Instead, her voice is broken; the soft mutterings of a small child lost in a dark forest- a child who has searched round and round in circles for days and nights, but there is no trail of bread crumbs and no gingerbread cottage either. There are no princesses or princes in this wood, and there aren't even any cackling witches waiting for young children to fall into their clutches. There's nothing but the darkness and the cold and pain and fear.

Loneliness.

Beginning for company. Your mother, father. Friends.

Or even a wicked witch who probably wants you dead.

Just somebody... anybody... to reassure you that you're not the last person alive in the world- and that somebody still cares.

Bernkastel still shivers when she thinks about it.

Maybe she's never escaped from that forest. It's still inside her head, and she can still see it clearly when she closes her eyes. Maybe she's still circling round by herself- a small girl in a dark, scary, unforgiving world- and she still can't find the trail of breadcrumbs (but she can't find the birds who ate the trail either) and her Master is never coming back.

"I don't want to be alone," Lambdadelta whispers. Her eyes are a little too wide- and there's some strange insanity lurking behind them (but Lambda has never been entirely sane to begin with). "I-I don't want to be alone... not anymore... I-it's so cold in here, and so dark... A-and when I close my eyes, I'll be back there again... W-when I go back to sleep, I'll be in the same closed room... A-and then it's just me... And my heartbeat… And my breathing… And… And… And silence."

Lambdadelta smiles.

"Isn't that what you're thinking when you fall asleep?" asks Lambda, leaning forwards closer- far too close. Her teeth are too sharp; her words grow canines that cut through flesh. "Haven't you ever felt that lost and hopeless, Bernnn?~ Isn't that why, when you wake up from your nightmares, you always turn to me? To check you're still alive?"

Bernkastel doesn't reply. She can't talk. Words are like cotton balls in her throat; they're choking her. Suffocating. She can feel her eyes prickle- b-but no... Surely that's an illusion?

Surely that's a lie?

S-stupid...

Lambdadelta's smile softens slightly. Her fingers move away from Bernkastel's hair; no longer gripping it with her horrible intensity. Lambdadelta takes her gloves off slowly, casting them aside- before bare fingertips slide across Bern's cheeks gently.

"It's okay," says Lambdadelta softly. "It's... fine. Because I feel like that when I fall asleep, too."

"I-I never said I felt like that..."

"You didn't have to say it 'cause I know. Instinct. Intuition. Fear," says Lambda. "When you're not trying to hide how you feel, I can usually tell what's going on in your mind... and it's usually fear. Seriously. You're not nearly as good an actress as you like to think, Bernn~ But, eheh~ I guess somebody who's spent their whole life telling stories never really bothers to learn how to act in stories themselves. Is that true?"

Bernkastel's shoulders stiffen. "I-I don't want to talk about it."

Lambda sticks out her tongue. "Well, bad luck, because I do."

"D-do you have to be such a brat?"

"And do you have to be so stupid?" Lambdadelta snaps back. "Bern... It's okay to admit you need somebody sometimes. Really. And I'm not going to go anywhere. I promise."

Bernkastel looks down at her lap. When she speaks her voice is soft, almost... vulnerable- and she's disgusted with herself, but she can't help it. She's broken. Horribly broken. Maybe she wasn't quite so safe on her pedestal after all (but Lambda was always the only one who could reach- because she was the only one who could ever understand).

"People don't keep their promises."

"Bern... It's not a matter of whether I want to leave you or not." Lambda's voice is raw, painfully truthful- unmistakably truthful. Her eyes look suspiciously damp; tears beginning to pool against her spiky black lashes. "I can't leave you."

Bernkastel blinks. Her eyes widen slightly- the irises shrinking in a vast pool of milky white. Her lips fall open in a small 'o'.

Lambdadelta reflects, with a small, melancholy smile, that is perhaps the most shocked she's ever seen the stoic Bernkastel- but really, logically, Bern shouldn't be that surprised. She shouldn't be surprised at all.

She didn't say anything that surprising.

"If I abandoned you, then what would I have left?" asks Lambda. Her voice is bitter. "I-I've already been alone for... such a long time. Too long! I don't want to remember! I don't want to feel like that again! S-so you understand... t-that if I left you... A-and I didn't have anybody else to turn to… I'd go quite insane, y-yes? Hehehe..." A humorless laugh that stings like shards of glass. "I-I think we're pretty similar in that respect, aren't we?~ The only difference is..." Lambdadelta closes her eyes. Pauses. Inhales, exhales. "I'm not afraid of admitting it. I'm not afraid of saying I get lonely sometimes… All the time. Eating away inside of me… Kihihihi~"

A shaky breath. Red eyes snap open; filled with bad memories and fear and pain and need and she's not even ashamed; she can't even hide it. There are tears, too. How weak. How pathetic.

How...

Tragic.

It reminds Bernkastel of the look in Clair's eyes before she fell- strings cut like a marionette- to the floor. She tumbled in a pile of snowy white, cloth and lace and silken hair strung through with pearls. Her skin was pale. Her blood was red. She was beautiful, like a princess- but she was empty, like a Russian doll. An unwanted personality stacked inside that lonely maid girl who fell in love with Ushiromiya Battler- but Clair was chipped and imperfect and she couldn't contain all that love inside her- so that child created more Russian dolls with pretty painted faces.

But Clair wasn't empty.

She wasn't.

There was... something... in her eyes.

There was still enough of a person inside of Clair for Bernkastel to kill.

Lambdadelta looks a little bit like Clair did.

Bernkastel felt numb then- but she feels the opposite now; because she can, quite simply, feel too much.

"Sometimes I hate you, Bern," says Lambdadelta, her bare fingers cupping Bern's cheeks; skin and against skin and it's so soft and warm. "W-when you look at me like you don't even care it hurts, you know? It really does. Because I have a heart that actually can be hurt- and I'm not like you, and I don't try and hide that! I know that I can't be alone- I-I know that I'd go insane without you. B-bern... I need you."

A pause.

Bernkastel can feel her heart beat faster and faster.

Her hands are covered in blood; the red, red blood of a pretty Russian doll with a tortured look hidden just behind her empty face. It makes her feel sick.

The prince and princess had their fairytale ending- an ending Bernkastel wanted to prevent because... because...

"I know you like to pretend you can't feel anything and you don't need anyone- but that's a lie, right? That's not true! If you didn't need me you'd push me away- but you never do! That's why, isn't it? That's why you hated Beato so much, and it's why you introduced Ange to the game, and it's why you fought alongside Battler! You can't stand the idea of people being in love because it scares you! You know you need somebody else, but you don't want to admit it, because you're afraid they'll leave you- just like Auaurora. So you tried to destroy that love. It terrified you and you hated that it terrified you- so, in return, you hated Beatrice. You hated Battler. You hated Ange. And even your own piece, Erika... And maybe you were jealous, too. Fear and jealousy- and running away from things you don't understand! Isn't that a little childish for a witch like you, Bern?"

"B-be quiet..."

"Isn't that pathetic?"

"S-stop it..."

"Don't you think it's time you stopped trying to hide behind those blank eyes and that haughty attitude?"

"L-lambda-"

Lambdadelta's fingers reach Bern's shoulders once more; digging into flesh- preventing escape.

Trapped.

Cornered.

A lost child in a dark forest- but I can't find the way out; where did I go? What can I do...?

"I don't know what you think you are, but you're still a human! You still have feelings! If you didn't have emotions you wouldn't look so frightened and so scared and so lost- a-and I don't want you to look like that! Why can't you just let yourself be happy? That happiness isn't all going to disappear the moment you reach for it! The whole world isn't conspiring to make you miserable! A-and you might think I'm lying… but I was always telling the truth. Always. At least, to you."

"L-lambda-"

Lambdadelta reaches forward (she's trapped; a cat cornered, nowhere to go you can't run anymore because she caught up to you and your lies in the end just like you always knew she would with her sharp eyes and sharper smiles); eyes filled with so much feeling, jagged-edged emotion, that it cuts and tears and leaves purple-black bruises.

Lips that drips love and poison in equal parts, too.

The only lies were the lies inside Bernkastel's mind.

Lambdadelta always told the truth.

Always.

The liar was always that lonely, lost, scared young girl. That girl who had always been inside her head; waiting to catch her off guard when she fell asleep.

The liar had always been Bernkastel.

Always.

Lips press against Bernkastel's with urgency- but it's warm and gentle, and maybe Lambdadelta was always that loving and Bernkastel never noticed- or maybe Lambda used to try and hurt her to reach that scared little girl who still lived inside her mind... But this is, perhaps, their first kiss.

Their first real kiss.

During all the other kisses Bernkastel disengaged herself; said it didn't matter- she didn't need anybody. Physical affection merely filled empty time in her bland and boring monochrome life- but it didn't have any meaning. Lambda didn't care. Bernkastel didn't care.

At least, that was what Bernkastel told herself.

But...

But deep down inside, she did care.

She really, truly did.

And she doesn't want to be alone.

Not anymore.

Not when she's destroyed all the one other person who, potentially, would have stood by her side.

Erika.

Lambdadelta's lips are warm and soft, and the small breathy noises from the other witch's mouth are soothing; they make Bern's heart stammer in her chest until she can hardly breathe. Is this love? Touches like fire that singe the flesh, a thump-thump-thump that hammers inside her chest like a baby bird beating its wings?

She's never felt like this before.

She never wanted to feel like this before- because the world would take it away from her.

"Life isn't conspiring to make you miserable, you know."

Or maybe she was just paranoid.

Maybe it's good to be paranoid- because it stops you from being hurt by broken promises and unachievable dreams.

Too much.

T-this is too much.

Bernkastel is going to drown in all this feeling; lips against hers that are so gentle it stirs strange feelings in her chest she's never felt before- feelings she was sure were dead, and there are fingertips without gloves pressing against her cheek, cupping her face and her eyes are stinging, salty and-

"N-no more, stop, stop it-"

Bernkastel pushes away, her hands taking hold of fabric on Lambda's chest, trying to push her away- and Lambda's hat is knocked aside, her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks flushed. Bern can't do this, she can't- it hurts too much, it's, it's…

It's…

I-it's frightening.

Being loved like this is…

It scares her.

She can't do it- and Bernkastel knows she must sound pathetic, her voice is begging (she's never begged before) but nobody can do this to her other than Lambdadelta. Her mouth tastes of honey and sugar and saccharine; almost as if Lambda has infused their bodies together with sickly sweet spit, and Bern feels ill, unclean, she wants to curl up in a corner like a cat and hide with her hands stained with blood-

But she doesn't want to be alone.

She wavers; trying to push and pull Lambda away and towards her, and her hands freeze, her skin is pale and she's swallowed Lambda's spit, swallowed part of this blonde witch with the eyes filled with love and she can't pretend it never happened and-

And-

Panic.

Fear.

Lambdadelta opens her mouth and Bernkastel doesn't want to listen.

But she does anyway.

"Bernkastel... Please don't push me away." Lambdadelta's voice is truthful; sincere. Horribly so.

She smiles.

"Bern… I'm not lying, I swear, I'm not…" Fingers brush through Bern's hair; soothing. "B-but… Bern, I... I love you. I've always loved you."

Bernkastel flinches, but…

But she always knew that.

That was why Bernkastel never pushed Lambdadelta away.

That was why Bernkastel curled up, cat-like, against Lambdadelta's sleeping body when the nightmares became so bad they crippled her.

And that is also why...

Bernkastel- for the first time in almost one thousand years- blinks at Lambdadelta... opens her mouth... maybe she's going to say something- b-but she can't. She doesn't.

Because, instead...

She starts to cry.


a/n: Okay I lied. This isn't the last chapter. There'll be one more uber-short one ^_^;
These two are really adorable, aren't they? I mean, despite their messed up and dsyfunctional relationship... I think, in the end, they really need each other.
Also, I can't resist talking about Clair. I love Clair. She's so sweet, and her fate was so horrible... ;A;
Perhaps what happened to Clair in this fic, and the emotion Bern sees before she kills her, can be related my other umineko fanfic about Clair, 'there are only ashes here' XP

~renahhchen xoxo