Cornelia crept into Nunnally's office as the morning light subtly making its way into the room. The green curtains were loosely sealed, Pendragon's views effectively blocked from sight, while the wooden floorboards moaned at the sudden alarm. That old wheelchair was still sitting there in the corner, next to the copper lamp that was attached to the walls. The entirety of the room was warm, glowing in the midst of the sun's willing revival, the paintings next to it bright in melancholy. There were neat stacks of papers surrounding the corners of her desk, some of which she had just gotten today, others from way back when. Cornelia never paid attention to the blossoms growing near the windowsill, nor did she heed the dirge-like whispers of the maids outside, who were frantically trying to warn her of their mistress's violent temper.

Cornelia stopped there, in front of Nunnally's desk. She was in her favorite green dress again, the one with white sleeves that went all the way to her wrists. Personally, Cornelia didn't think it suited her anymore; after all, Nunnally wasn't going to stay the same size forever. It felt like just yesterday, the Empress was regaining the strength in her legs, stumbling in the gardens, and tripping into some servant's arms like a newborn chick. But recently, she'd been hearing from the servants that Nunnally could go farther than they could, her stamina outweighing theirs many times over. And she'd grown a bit as well; the last time Cornelia saw her, her head could hardly make its way to the middle of the desk. Now she could slouch with ease, not even bothering to worry about her posture.

A white wool blanket tugged at her arms as the elder sister leaned over. Nunnally had been working all night to get this mess straightened out, and though she helped her with some of it, Cornelia never would've guessed there was still this much to do. She stood, then walked around to the other side. Carefully, she draped the blanket over Nunnally's still tiny shoulders, took some of the papers, and walked out.

There was no doubt that Cornelia was proud of Nunnally, and the very fact that Zero was helping her was relieving, to say the least. Though the world was incredibly big, and incredibly cruel, somehow, Nunnally managed to turn it around and bend it to her will. Lelouch's death played an enormous part as well, making stability all the easier to achieve.

Cornelia remembered being there, in the front row, for Nunnally's coronation. She remembered how proud she was, seeing her little sister there on the throne, with those piercing eyes of hers, eyes brimming with perseverance and empathy. She remembered the dazzling speech she gave, and how she managed to sway the room with her innocence. She smiled that day. It seemed that, finally, everything was going their way.

Then, without warning, it all slipped from her fingers.

To this day, Cornelia was still trying to recall what she did during that time period. She remembered how happy and shocked she was, that the SAZ massacre and Narita victims seemingly returned from the dead. She could recall the confusion the media poured out to the world; at first, it seemed like this was just another curse from Lelouch, that the dead have returned to drag down the living. Guilford himself was ready to prepare for the post-apocalyptic world, drawing and redrawing plans for the nearest safe havens and such. She wasn't influenced by the craze, however, and instead, devoted herself to searching through the papers, trying to find Euphie's name among the recovered.

The realization heartbreaking, to say the least.

After that incident, she couldn't remember anything else. When she came to, she was lying outside the Imperial Palace, in the arms of a Black Knight. She saw their home burning, and could practically see the utter contempt the masses spouted toward whoever was responsible for such a heinous crime. She remembered the reporters bombarding Nunnally with questions, about what was happening, why this was going on, if some of Lelouch's factions have returned. She never responded to any of them.

Neither Cornelia nor Schniezel were spared from the wolves. The news came so fast after all, that her unborn child had died, that Guilford was in a coma and that she herself had brushed against Death. A terrorist organization, Alfheimr, had suddenly vanished, as fast as they had appeared, with whisperings of a rebellious monarchy taking hold, all of which had nothing to do with Britannia, or the Chinese Federation, or the UFN, or any other nation Cornelia could ever hope to think of.

She sighed, holding the stack against her chest. She couldn't be that same military commander everyone revered; there was no place in this world for that. She couldn't be the elder sister that helped with political and economic affairs; Nunnally had beaten her to it. She'd grown up so much it made Cornelia feel obsolete. She couldn't even be a mother, the opportunity robbed cruelly by some horrible accident she couldn't even remember.

Once or twice, she would catch Guinevere and Carline around, doing their jobs dutifully, and she would stare at them for a bit, trying to determine whether or not they'd really given up on the throne. Sometimes, she would go to the galleries and walk along the portraits of the many Emperors and Empresses lined along the walls (though she had nothing but malice for them). She would even talk with the officials abroad, making sure things were going as planned.

But in the end, what little she does for Nunnally…amounts to nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Kallen sat at the university cafe, typing furiously on her laptop. The deadline was tonight, and if she didn't get the term paper turned in, she might as well have given up her perfect GPA. What's more, there was a test tomorrow, so she didn't have time to indulge in her own interests at the moment. She's thanked Zero mentally for he didn't call her out, and since Oghi and Kaguya were taking care of things, she's had the opportunity to catch up on her schoolwork.

Yet, somehow, she's managed to make time for what it looked like a crippled boy at her house.

It'd already been a week since he first came here, and frankly, Kallen still had no idea what to do with him. She's let him use her bed, while she brought a few of the covers and slept on the floor, curling up in the excess warm. In truth, she didn't really mind; in fact it was a good environment to think, what without the soft surface underneath to distract her. Of course, from his expression, it seemed he would always put up a fight, and try climbing out of the bed to get to the floor. However, Kallen would have none of it; she warned him once that she would "chain him down" if she ever found him on the floor. Ever since then, he's complied with her wishes.

Kallen would've thought that hygiene would be a bit of an issue. But for one reason or another, the boy didn't need it. Even while he sat there, eating in her room, she could make out his pure, white teeth, ones that remained untouched by yellow and cavities, and she could smell his clean scent, a result from probably being in that cage for far too long. Though it has occurred to her time after time that she should, at the least, wash his face, in Kallen's opinion, he didn't need it. He was perfect the way he was.

Alongside the fact she didn't feel like violating his body.

It amazed Kallen how well she'd been able to hide him. Her mother would return from work regularly, and she would talk with her teenage daughter about the day. Once however, she did ask Kallen about the snacks missing from the cupboards, but other than that she never got suspicious. All she ever did was laugh and teased, "If you eat too much, you're gonna get fat sweetie."

A painful reminder of a certain green-haired woman.

Every single day, she would sit beside him, asking yes or no questions, trying to see if he recalled anything. And he did, to a certain extent. He couldn't remember his being in a cage, nor could he remember his assailant or the refrain vials lying near him. He didn't know his name, or his age, but he did know he was with someone. From pictures and gestures, she knew he remembered living in some place faraway, grand, important place. He responded well to classical music, and as far as she could tell, he liked reading, especially the fairytales and children's books. He would smile at the end, then turn the page to see what else was there, only to be disappointed by the lack of words on the back.

She's had to check out a lot of books from the library just to satisfy his magical curiosity.

She finished editing and sighed, relieved that the ordeal was over. The internet browser popped up on her screen, loading the final goal after weeks of preparation. She leaned back and swirled in her chair, oblivious to the boy from far away. She drummed her fingernails on the table's surface and yawned. Once in a while, a disturbing, embarrassing thought would occur to her.

She's had plenty of time for the stranger, because Zero never called her in. Nor did Nunnally.

The fiery pit found in the Chinese Federation generated international concern. Of course, everyone praised Nunnally, as well as Zero, for putting down Alfheimr. No one knew what they did, but it seemed to work, so they all continued on with their daily business, as if nothing wrong had happened over the last year. The illusion was so powerful that when rumors of Alfheimr's return began circling the audience, the media jumped in, making the depiction a lot more troublesome than it had to be.

Word had gotten out that the Empress of Britannia, as well as the Prime Minister of Japan and the CEOs of the UFN, had been taken hostage by this still unknown force. Though Nunnally was soothing those chaotic cries over, people wanted to know what Zero was going to do. There was no doubt they all revered Zero for his efforts, and some have even called him Nunnally's new consort; however, no one liked being in the dark, Kallen included. Just how long were the masses going to let Zero keep his secrets? How long will he be able to wear that mask, before he had to reveal his identity to the whole world?

How long?

Kallen, who was once beside Zero, now stood alongside the normals, trying to get information out of places that had none. Though the nations were coming together, Zero wasn't letting anyone interfere; not even the Black Knights had any say in his decisions. What was happening here? Was he trying to sort out what he was going to do? Have the perpetrators already been captured, and were now being tried secretly? What were his plans to quell the people's cries for blood and war? What of that other place, the place where Zero instigated the one-sided massacre? What happened to it? What'd everyone think of that?

There were so many questions swirling in Kallen's mind, she had to put her head down and close her eyes. Perhaps a simple nap would help her get over the fact that she was, at the moment, useless. Just a few minutes…

"KALLEN!"

She jolted upwards, and angrily turned to that familiar annoying voice. Not now. Especially not now. "What'd you want Gino?" she hissed.

He looked taken back, pressing against his heart with one hand while clutching the table with another. He wore the same white shirt again, with a dark blue vest around it. A green scarf draped from his neck, along with sunglasses pressed on top his regal blond hair. He had a coffee in one hand, with Pizza Hut flourished on the front. The faded blue shorts were a bit dirty, and his straw sandals gave her the impression that he was going to the beach somewhere.

Then she saw the towel on his arm, with the letters, TU written magnificently on the edge.

Her eyes widened as she looked up at his stupid looking blue eyes. "No way," she whispered. "You're gonna go here?"

"Already am!" he chirped happily, grabbing the seat across from her. "I enrolled at the last minute, but they said they'll let me stay, as long as I've gotten my major sorted out."

"I…I see." Kallen managed, closing her laptop. "And what is that?"

"Math."

Again, she was dumbfounded. "You're good at math?"

"Kallen, I'm not that stupid," he snickered. "Besides, as long as I keep my grades up, I get half my tuition paid."

This was…an unexpected surprise. Immediately, the tension in her muscles began to dissipate, and her eyes gradually softened. The camaraderie he displayed on the battlefield was admirable; if it wasn't for him, she wouldn't have been able to take down Suzaku. Even now, with the war over, he still hovered close by her in that irritating way of his. He was annoying at times, but he was a friend she could count on. Perhaps he would know what to do with the mysterious boy in living in her room.

When she opened her mouth, her voice stopped.

Her throat constricted, and suddenly, that warm, amiable friend she imagined disappeared from her mind. Gino waited patiently for her question though, and took a sip of his coffee. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked playfully.

"How are your classes going?" she finally said lamely.

"Oh. They're fine. Anything else?"

"Professors giving you a hard time?"

"N-no, they haven't." Gino leaned forward, that joking grin disappearing within moments. "Kallen, you look kind of sick. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, of course it is. Why?"

"Well, for one thing, you're shaking."

Kallen blinked, and automatically, the cold shivers became more and more real. She hadn't realized it. Was she really that nervous? "Sorry," she whispered. "I'm getting over something."

"O-oh." That devious smile returned. He leaned over and poked her forehead. She turned to him, with curious eyes. "W-what?"

"You're lying."

"Huh?"

"You just are. You've always got that certain tone when you lie. So what is it? Anything I can help you with?"

That malevolence returned, and she couldn't help but look away, not wanting to see underneath that friendly grin he's always had. She couldn't ask him about the boy, nor could she ask him about what he thought of Lelouch. She didn't know how well Gino knew the old Zero, and by now, all he knew was to call him the Demon Emperor.

So Kallen went with her instincts. "It's nothing."

He was here again, in that same, enchanted dream.

It wasn't a bad dream, and he's had it ever since that creature came to him; even now, when his eyes were closed, his mind escaping from reality's cruel depths, he's always seen this place. He was always in a ballroom made of glass, where he could see through the white and black tiled floors, finding himself standing above the evening clouds and stars, gazing down at the colorful constellations. There were arches around him, all filled with the same cherubs and seraphim, their blank eyes neither capable or willing of matching their warm, stoney smiles. There were balconies surrounding the columns, with doorways where the darkness seemed to stretch on forever. There were red curtains shielding the stained glass along the arches, giving off a mysterious temptation that no one dared trample over. If he squinted his eyes, he could make out those same, familiar bars off in the distance, and the depression would come racing back; he was still in that cage.

Toward the left of the ballroom, there was a large grand piano, one that shimmered in the glamorous loneliness, knowing it was waiting pathetically for its master to arrive. There was a brown violin sitting next to it, along with a cello lying broken in some far off corner. Behind him, there was a huge, golden harp, the chords on the delicate instrument just as impatient as the piano.

He would sit there, on a wooden stool, with a simple, black tuxedo adorning his body. He would be wearing some kind of flower, tucked away in his left breast pocket. He didn't bother noticing it, since it would change every so often. The white gloves embraced his hand, the fabric as soft as silk, and there'd be white ruffles in his hair, planted above his right ear. From the window's reflection, he could see a young man sitting there, in the same place he was, with a thin, vertical, purple diamond drawn down his eye. It took him a few minutes to recognize that he was the one in the window, his reflection merely staring back at him with the very same confusion.

Then, the concert would begin.

Always, there'd be someone outside the bars, rapping along the metal to the rhythm of some unknown tune. He would close his eyes then, and imagine all the songs that came racing forth, from lullabies to sonatas, from rondos to canticles, from simple nursery rhymes to even the oldest of hymns. His brain would somehow form the lyrics to these melodies, and soon, it felt like he wasn't in that old, musty cage anymore; he was somewhere else, performing for someone, doing something he knew they'd be proud of. But what? What was it?

His lame legs refused to move, no matter how hard he tried. So he simply sat there, listening to the taps, happy, sad, frustrated, whatever the emotions called for. And when the musician got tired of waiting, she would enter into the fold.

She came through the windows, the celestial lights bounding off her body in its fearsome, yet shy, nature. Light green hair spilled all over her back, as she came dancing in. Her dress moved to the same wavelength the stars outside did, the ruffles along the hem coming together in some ruined memory, back when the blessing had first slipped from her cool, elegant fingers. The sleeves came all the way down to her legs, though her shoulders were bare. There was a purple ribbon strapped onto her creamy throat, with a small, withered iris in the center of it. Her bangs looked incredibly soft, and by the time she made her way inside, it felt like forever had passed. Her golden eyes were similar to his, and immediately, he felt at home, peaceful and protected.

She would come close and lean over, singing softly into his ear those strangely familiar lyrics. It felt like his mind was reminiscing the movements someone else was making, the joys someone else saw, and were now giving unto him with the utmost care. He would then shake his head, and mouth I don't know.

She still had that same, gentle smile across her face. She would then stretch out her hand and beckon him to take it. Even when he didn't, she would still claim the tips of his fingers anyways, and press them to her lips, her cool breath tickling his skin. Normally, he wouldn't have accepted her invitation; he would patiently wait until her fingers slipped away, and listen to the repertoire she prepared that night.

However, this time was different. He was staying with another person for the very first time. It was also the first time he's remembered being so humiliated, to the point where, whenever she would walk in the room, he would stare after her, wondering just what he could possibly do to her. If she'd been feigning hospitality, or if she planned on moving away, or even if she decided to show him off to the people in those pictures, he couldn't do anything. Though Kallen seemed like a nice girl, and though she seemed incredibly open, he couldn't even bring himself to trust her, what with this painful handicap. If she decided to attack him late one night, he wouldn't know how to fight back.

He bit his lip, and, much to the woman's shock, took her hand.

He recalled the feel of air beneath his feet, of something thin shouldered between his knees. He could feel the warm sensation between his toes, and though his body cried out agonizingly, demanding he sit back down, he knew he couldn't. He felt himself shaking, but fortunately, the woman grabbed him by the waist, and steadied him, shouldering most of his weight with that one arm.

It'd only been a few moments, yet he was already out of breath. Yet he continued, searching through that void, trying to reclaim the feeling of movement, the feeling of what he had when he was walking, running, dancing. He gripped onto her fragile hands tightly now, trying to keep himself aloft while she was near him. Then, slowly, while she was singing, she started letting go.

The pain was searing. It blinded him hatefully, causing him to completely forget that freedom. He suddenly felt what little control he had over his legs vanish, and immediately, he began to fall. The woman fled to him, and caught him with both arms this time, holding him tightly against her chest. He blinked, his eyes ever so slowly scrutinizing the limbs beside him. What happened? He was making progress, wasn't he?

He was making progress…

He leaned against the woman heavily, determination set in his eyes. She helped him stand, and once again, that pain inflicted him. No. He wasn't going to end like this. There was no way it could possibly end like this, since so much was at stake right now.

He took a deep breath, and grabbed her arms, pulling the woman closer to him. She smirked a bit, before tugging him a bit, pulling him forth. He resisted making any expression, seeing as how anything at all would've caused her to stop. He kept on doing this, closing his eyes, trying to block out the pain, as he kept digging through the shadows of amnesia. He wasn't helpless like this. He was more. So much more.

He allowed himself to rest against her body for a little, as the two silhouettes continued their clumsy dance.