Descending down a hallway, hidden amongst the rippling shadows, cloaked in darkness – a solitary figure accompanied only by the sound of clicking heels. It was quiet enough to be unheard, but in a manor that was otherwise silent, it was deafeningly loud. The noise was like a booming drum, pounding restlessly into the ears of the person listening for it.

When the door cracked open, she didn't even have to crane her neck back to know who it was. She could guess without looking. "No one saw you coming?" Despite the question, her voice lacked any significant trace of curiosity; she didn't truly want to know. Meaningless conversation, it could be considered – but Remy was just biding time.

The door closed with a muffled thud, and the swishing of the hem of a dress could be heard as the person strode over toward the bed. "Master is sound asleep."

"And Claude?"

"I escaped his notice..."

Remy breathed a resigned sigh as she slowly turned around, tearing her gaze from the wall. She had been staring it down for most of the night, as though somehow the power of her eyes would magically bore a hole into the wall. It would certainly provide an escape – an escape from something she had been dreading since the day had come to a close. "Hannah..."

The silver-haired maid gave an acknowledging bow of the head.

"Is the contract complete?" Her stony gaze rose slowly, until she stared steadfastly at the woman towering over her. "Is it all over now?" The way she worded the question was as though she had doubt, but in reality, Remy had all but resigned herself.

"The contract is complete."

For a while she had been hoping to never hear those words. She swallowed the lump lodged in the back of her throat, struggled to push it all the way down – bitter and corrosive as it seemed to roll back into the pit of her stomach where it surely had risen from in the first place – and then she closed her eye. A deep inhale, then a slow exhale, and she opened her eye again. The candle flickered only a short distance away, highlighting the lines of worry on her face, so deeply etched into her skin that it was unmistakable.

"Is there something you would like to say?" Hannah still spoke respectfully, though lacking her usual noticeable stutter. She smiled awkwardly, a surprisingly warm smile. But although it was surely meant as reassurance, that friendly gesture probably did more harm than Hannah realized.

A smile, as it was supposed to be, seemed to signify hope. Remy had no hope. "Even though it was a lie, you'll still take my soul?" She was despairing beneath the calm facade she had on the surface.

"I'm not sure what you're referring to as a lie, Master, but the stipulations of the contract have been fulfilled."

Once again, there had been no point in asking. Remy already knew. This was the end of the line. Whatever wretched sins she had committed in life had certainly come around full circle to condemn her. She had no choice to accept her fate.

Or so it would seem, but she slowly unfolded her legs from beneath her and scooted off the side of the bed. Her muscles seemed to tingle – as though they had fallen asleep from how long she had been sitting there in that position. Remy stumbled a bit as she made a semi-circle around Hannah, until she was standing in the middle of the room.

"Will it hurt?" she asked.

"I... can't promise it won't." Hannah frowned uneasily and her gaze faltered to the floor as she turned slowly to face Remy. "I'll try to be gentle-"

"Don't," Remy interrupted, "I don't think I could bear warmth right now. Don't be gentle, make it hurt. The pain will remind me that I was alive, remind me of all the things I don't want to be reminded of."

"You torture yourself."

Steeling herself for what was to surely come, Remy reflected a frown in response to Hannah's words. "I always have." Once that had been addressed, she changed the subject. "When you're done, leave my body here. And as my final order as your master, Hannah, speak not a word to anyone of the conditions of our contract. Let the world forget that I ever existed."

Not one to argue regardless of whether she agreed, Hannah gave a reluctant nod. "Y-yes," she hesitantly responded, resuming her usual stutter.

The flame dancing upon the wick of a candle sitting idly nearby, flickered and wavered for a moment. Shadows that were cast upon the wall seemed to ripple in motion, whether real or imagined. Everything in the manor was silent – even in the room. There was quiet and then a hissing whisper... A resounding thud that seemed to go unnoticed, and at last there was silence again.

—

Birds were chirping animatedly outside when he roused in the morning. The heavy sound of Claude's shoes echoing through the room soon drowned them out. Almost as soon as the golden-eyed butler entered, he pulled the curtains open and the amber light flooded inside the grandiosely decorated interior. It also found its way to his eyes, sleeping past his closed eyelids – blinding as it was.

Alois groaned as he curled up beneath his blanket, his arms outstretching to grab at a warm body that wasn't there. Why wasn't she there? He blinked away his own sleepiness and blearily surveyed the empty spot beside him. Perhaps it was his own delusion that the mattress seemed to have a vague outline where she had once occupied. It unnerved him just to look at it, just to think about it, and so he rolled over.

"It's morning, your highness." Claude's smooth voice chimed out from above as he slowly peeled back the blanket from his master. "This morning I have prepared you..." The butler continued to recite the name of some famous tea from a land farther away than Alois cared to think about. Regardless of where it came from, its freshness or its quality, the tea tasted bland as he took a sip of the steaming liquid. For the first time since Claude had become his butler, he also didn't see fit to cause unnecessary trouble when being dressed. Usually he would give Claude a hard time, just to amuse himself and yet this particular morning he felt drained of any desire to do so.

Time seemed to pass by as slowly as the grains pouring down in an hour glass. The entire manor seemed unnecessarily quiet, unnecessarily lonely. Sitting at the breakfast table with the triplets and Claude standing nearby, just watching him – somehow, it made him lose his appetite. While he usually took the opportunity to play with his food, he didn't feel like it. Something was off, and while he knew what that something was, he didn't want to confront it.

So he lifted the silver fork into his hand and stabbed at the yolk of his egg. His eyes, blue as the sky outside, remained fixated on the bleeding yellow color that slowly crawled to all corners of the plate. Like a disease it contaminated the bacon and the bread, staining it with the hideous color that so resembled the sun.

A thought wondered across his mind. Would Remy's blood look the same? If he stabbed her, would it crawl across the ground until it could go no further and stain everything in its path? A deranged smile formed on his lips.

Breakfast finished with Alois's plate just as full as when it had started. None of the servants commented on it, least of all Claude. The black-haired butler seemed far more concerned with the pressing matter of Phantomhive's imminent arrival; Ciel would inevitably accept the challenge that Trancy offered him. Preparing for that time was would occupy the rest of the day.

But before Claude set off to his task of cleaning every inch of the manor, Alois finally spoke. "Remy hasn't come out of her room?" The curiosity had been gnawing at him all night. The first night in which he'd had nightmares about her instead of his brother.

"No, your highness."

Alois did not reveal whether this piece of information disconcerted him or not. He remained smiling blithely as he issued his butler with a new command, "Set a tray of food in front of her door but don't bother her. She'll come out when she gets hungry." Maybe he was just trying to convince himself by saying that.

"Yes, your highness."

The rest of the day was spent "business as usual." Alois toiled in his study, bored out of his mind and itching for something to preoccupy his thoughts, tangled in turmoil and doubt. The more he dawdled around, peering through old tomes of which he could barely discern any of the written text, the more his thoughts seemed to wander. And as they wandered, inevitably, they came back to Remy. He would try to distract himself – pester Claude or bother the triplets – but they were far too used to his antics. Only one person ever suffered through and give him adequate amusement – and this very thought seemed to circle right back around to Remy again.

Frustrated by his own inability to not think of her, and too stubborn and prideful to peer behind that closed door of hers, (that he'd walked by several times, coincidentally, just to see if she would be coming out) he found consolation in only one thing. Though everyone else was busy tending to the matters at hand, for the arrival of his rival, there was one whose task had merely been to "stay out of sight," as she had been commanded.

Hannah.

—

Amongst the smell of hay and horses stood the young, dark-skinned woman who tended to the creatures diligently, her chin always dipped down as though her gaze was glued to the ground. Even upon the sound of his approach, she did not seem to hear him. As Alois paused in the doorway, eyeing her with a look of insatiable cruelty, he waited. Arms crossed, he tapped his foot – malicious smile spread across his lips – and perhaps he was wondering if she would ever turn to face him.

Her shoulders seemed to stiffen as she glanced, reluctantly back. Her eye was shaded by tendrils of silvery-white hair hanging in front of her face. "Master?" she questioned meekly. The way she asked was as though she expected him to hit her. (Not that it was unusual for him to do so.)

But although he had been in an incredibly bad mood, seeing Hannah suddenly made him feel better. (Perhaps because watching someone else suffer relieved him of what ever suffering – real or imagined – he was experiencing.) "Remy was seeking you the other day." The words came out before he could think about them, and once he did, he probably regretted it. He probably questioned, inwardly, why she always seemed to pop up. In his thoughts, in conversation, there was no way he could escape her.

Hannah seemed to notice her master suddenly frowning and she cowered. Her lips were quivering noticeably, as though she had something to say. Whatever she was going to blubber about in response, perhaps reassuring him that she was obeying her orders just as strictly as he had issued them, Alois did not feel inclined to listen. Out of nowhere, he found himself wishing he hadn't made the trek all the way out here to the stables.

Then came the thought, curled around his feelings of frustration like the snake of temptation, that he could relieve all the anger and bitterness he felt on Hannah. A punch, a kick, a slap – whatever method he used didn't matter. She would utter no complaint and her cries would just elicit more of his cruelty. But just as he reeled his fist back, ready to send it flying at her, he found himself frozen in place.

An image crossed his mind – the desperate look Remy had given him after he'd gouged Hannah's eye. As much as the image calmed him, it simultaneously flared his anger, and in a huff he turned on his heel and left. In his wake was a baffled maid, staring after him with her brows furrowed and her jaw trembling. But maybe she felt some manner of relief, even as she wondered if he knew.

The entire way back to the manner was a blur of color swirling and coalescing around him. Everything just seemed to spin as he stomped, fists clenched at his side. Something was pounding his head, like a throbbing ache that refused to subside. The more he tried to avoid thinking about Remy, about the guilt that flared in his chest, and the boiling anger, the more it consumed him.

He was itching for any excuse to bust through those closed doors at her and demand an explanation. Ironic, it seemed, when he offered her no explanation for his own actions. But he justified his, in his mind, and these justifications somehow validated his excuses while invalidating whatever ones she might come up with.

As though to spite himself, he purposely avoided passing by Remy's door on the way back up to his study. And when he plopped down into his chair, unnecessarily hard, he swung his arms outward, shoving every object off the surface of his desk. They clattered against the floor. Even the usual destructive tendencies that garnered him attention from Claude were useless. The butler casually walked in and cleaned up the mess, as though prepared for it. But he spoke not a word and gave no indication of concern.

Of course he wasn't concerned – preposterous to think he would be. But in Alois's frustration, and the overwhelming loneliness that he felt, perhaps he had hoped for some significant recognition. There was none. Only in Remy could his need be satiated, not that he would admit it. He clenched his jaw as he rested his head against the desk, encircled by his arms.

And while he sat there, in the silence that soon accompanied him once Claude left, all he could hear was an ever faint but continuous noise. Curious, he lifted his gaze to the clock which was ticking away the time ceaselessly. It was just past noon, and as he suspected, Remy had yet to leave her room. Since the time for lunch had already concluded (and he had skipped it), this gave him the perfect excuse. Finally.

—

Knock, knock.

"Remy."

There was no answer. Why was she ignoring him? He gritted his teeth. It was already afternoon and she hadn't stepped out of the room for over twenty-four hours. Alois had specifically instructed Claude not to impede her if she tried to leave. Was she just going to hole herself up in there and ignore him? He was the one who had been betrayed – he was the one willing to give up revenge just so...

"I command you to answer me."

Knock, knock.

It wasn't like her to ignore a command. It also wasn't like him to bother knocking. Maybe he did feel a little guilty, despite how he tried to place it all on her shoulders. That thought gave him pause, right as he was about to rap his fist against the door again. Alois hesitated. What if she really was angry?

He swallowed on that thought, then suddenly he smirked. "How disgusting – pouting like a child?" Goading her never worked in the past, but maybe it would elicit some kind of response from her. Alois just wanted her to say something. He couldn't stand her silence.

There, of course, was no response.

Knock, knock!

This time he slammed his fist against the door more forcefully. "It's not like I... purposefully asked Claude to investigate you. I said I didn't care! You were the one who betrayed me – tried to betray me. It's not like I trusted you. I never trusted you!" The anger flared in his chest but quickly ebbed away as he was greeted with no words of argument. She wouldn't even get pissed at him back.

Then he started panicking – what if she had escaped? Had she somehow sneaked out when Claude wasn't paying attention? Horror-struck, he balanced the food tray he'd brought for her in one hand and wrenched the door open with the other. It swung inward creakily and the moment it gave way, he stomped inside. Almost immediately he spotted Remy's crumpled form on the ground, her back facing him.

He first felt relief that she was still there, then amusement that she had somehow managed to fall asleep laying so awkwardly on the floor. Smirking to himself, he knelt down and set the tray on the floor before crawling over beside her. "Remy," he whispered softly in that mischievous voice of his. She had to be awfully tired to sleep through all the racket of him pounding on the door. Maybe he could shock her awake and see one of those delightful expressions. No – maybe he would wake her by kissing her. That always flustered her.

Alois crawled around to where her face was, her neck craned to the side. But the moment he caught sight of her eyes, he paused. Suddenly the expression on his face fell away. "Remy?" There was a tremor in his voice. She was just sleeping, right? Somehow, with her eyes wide open, she was just sleeping... Right?

His trembling hand wandered over to her face and as his fingertips brushed her cheek, he noticed it was deathly cold and pale as a sheet. The crimson color of her hair contrasted with her skin; it made the tendrils hanging against her forehead look like blood. Alois breathed in sharply as he hesitantly trailed his hand down toward her chin. His palm hovered over her slightly parted lips.

Remy wasn't breathing. Why wasn't she breathing?

Suddenly he felt as though he couldn't breathe either. It was caught up at the back of his throat in a lump that he struggled to swallow. Alois's fingers felt strangely numb as he started to stroke her cheek. So frigid, like the snow in winter – cold, but not the cold he remembered when they had been outside together, not like when the night's air had caressed every inch of her face, leaving her cheeks rosy. Now everything about her was so pale, so colorless.

"Re...my...?" his voice came out cracked as he called her name. Alois expected her to answer. She was supposed to answer. Why weren't her lips moving? Didn't she hear him? Why was she suddenly being so disobedient? Remy always did what he told her to, even if it was against her will. Everything felt surreal. He was somehow convinced that it had to be a nightmare. But why couldn't he wake up?

Those eyes of hers – both of them – were staring back at him. They were vacant; glazed over and unfocused, as though they saw nothing. His image was not reflected by her. It looked just like... Just like when Luka was... When he had...

"Your highness," a familiar voice drawled from behind him. Claude was standing at the doorway.

Alois jerked his head in acknowledgment. He couldn't bear to look back at his butler. A sudden wave of emotion had crashed onto him. It was overwhelming to feel so much all at once. His thoughts became jumbled in his head and he didn't dare try to separate them or understand what was happening. He was completely detached from his surroundings, despondent to everything.

"Remy is dead." Claude confirmed it somehow, but he was nowhere near her body. Maybe he didn't need to be. Perhaps he could sense it, or perhaps he could see the truth written plain as day on his master's face. "Would you like me to make necessary funeral arrangements?" Those words were cold and callous as always, uncaring and direct.

Funeral? Alois's lips trembled at the very mention of the word. "N-no," he breathed out in a stuttered gasp. "Get out of my sight!"

The golden-eyed butler seemed unsurprised at how his master lashed out. Instead he adjusted his glasses before bowing politely and promptly leaving, closing the door softly behind him. Alois could hear the loud pounding of Claude's footsteps until they eventually faded off into the distance.

Left alone to the silence, with sunlight pouring in from the window across her body, he found he couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They poured over the edges of his tear ducts and glided slowly down his cheeks. The trail they left behind burned against his skin as they came to a point on his chin and eventually splattered against Remy's face. He hurriedly wiped them away.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as his vision clouded with tears. Using what little strength he had, he managed to roll her over onto her back. Every limb dangled limply, almost helplessly, as her head lulled with the movement. She was like a doll. For once, he didn't appreciate the comparison.

Slowly he leaned his head down and placed it against her chest. There was no heartbeat. He couldn't hear her breathe. There was only silence accompanied by the faint sound of his own sniffling. Several minutes passed by as he cried against her shirt. "I commanded you... To always stay with me... I told you I needed you..." Why hadn't she listened to him? Why did she have to disobey his commands?

After losing Luka all he had was Claude. Remy had been the only other person to tolerate him and his nature. Through everything she had been silently accepting. She'd humored him through his antics without complaint even as they got out of hand. That was enough for him. That was all he needed. It didn't matter what her original intentions were. The important thing was that she wasn't supposed to die; she wasn't allowed to die and leave him. No, if he had wanted her to die he would have done it with his own hands.

He lifted his head and gazed down at her. The spot on her cheek glistened from where his tears had fallen before, her lips were slightly parted and somewhat chapped. Even they seemed to have lost their lively color. He brushed his fingers against them – they were rough and cold. Not like he remembered them. Not at all.

Alois leaned down toward her face, hovering just a few inches away. She wasn't blushing at him like she usually did when he got this close. There was no reaction. He closed the distance until their lips met, and it wasn't like the kisses he remembered before. How her cheeks had heated up, how she averted her eyes, how she admonished him for doing inappropriate things. No more words would come from these lips.

The tears were racing down so quickly that he couldn't stop them anymore. No longer could he will them to stop. The pain was so overwhelming that all he could do was remain in this position, hunched over her body with their lips pressed together.

What was he supposed to do? He didn't want to move. He never wanted to move. But the words she had spoken rang in his mind.

"If you die... I will remember you."

Yes, those words. That was how things were supposed to happen. She had come all this way for her revenge and she was supposed to have it. Alois was going to die and in the midst of it all she was going to avenge her brother and father by killing Claude. It was the perfect plan she had come up with.

Then, before she died, she was supposed to remember him. To live long enough to see him die. It was not supposed to be the other way around.

"It's not possible... Surely it's not possible, but... You don't love me, do you?"

At the very least she should have stayed alive long enough to have heard the answer to the question she had asked him. He had spent so long thinking about it, after all. What nerve did she have, as a servant, to make her master lose sleep over a preposterous thing – a feeling like love – for a subordinate?

Just as another wave of tears was about to come pouring down his cheeks, Alois paused. A sudden thought crossed his mind. There was no blood and perhaps it was in his shock and surprise that he hadn't stopped to think, but... Why was Remy dead? He looked up at her face. She very clearly had both eyes, and he had noticed the one eye healing before when he had looked at it, just as Claude had warned him, but the contract... The stipulations of the contract clearly defined that only if she helped with Ciel-

Wait. Did she lie to him? Alois's jaw clenched. There was no other reason for her to be dead. No other possibility could occur to him except for Hannah – that was the only explanation, at least the only one he would accept.

But he hated Remy for it. Hated her for betraying him, hated her for lying to him, hated her for leaving him. That feeling was like acid that corroded the inside of his heart until there was nothing left in his mind but thoughts of her. Anything concerning revenge against Ciel was swept away by his despair.

Using what little strength he had, he slipped his arms beneath her. Although he struggled to lift what was nothing short of dead weight, he managed to haul her over to the bed, where he precariously dumped her body onto the mattress. She nearly rolled off again, and he had to scrambled to push her back on – onto her back again. Then he straddled her before crawling onto the other side of the bed.

Beneath the dimming sunlight that peered in from the window beside them, he curled up to Remy's body, nuzzled against her lifeless chest and draped his arms around her. If he paused to dwell on her absence, he would feel alone. To just lay with her was barely enough to keep his sanity. Alois reached down for her hand, cold and unresponsive, and he entwined his fingers with hers. And he soon fell asleep, the tears still rolling down his cheeks as he clung to the shell of a person he desperately needed.

Author's Note: Before anyone grabs their torch and/or pitchfork, this is not the end of the story! But I am curious if I nailed the depressing part well enough. Sorry for the late update, I have been swamped with homework and hope you enjoy because it may be another month before I update again. Another apology for grammatical/spelling mistakes, I wanted to get this out.

Thanks for all the reviews last chapter. :) Hapi - Thanks for the feedback! I agree on the critique part; Masquerade doesn't have a particularly exciting, on-the-edge-of-your-seat, must-turn-the-page kind of feeling to it. Hopefully I can improve on that in future stories, though. I am glad you have enjoyed the story thus far and hope to hear more of your thoughts as it progresses and comes to a close. ^^