Through some miracle, Claude and I safely returned to the Manor. I couldn't recall too much of the journey at any rate. We had departed for home rather late, and sleep claimed me on more than one instance. I fell asleep in Claude's arms, the jostling of the carriage caused less agony with his arms around me than it would have otherwise.

When we arrived at the Manor, the sun was spilling in a brilliant pink glow over the horizon. Claude's injuries seemed to be causing him less pain as his movements had returned somewhat to normal. He exited the carriage first, holding his arms out to assist me down. My stomach was still burning; I was incredibly dismayed to find that the bleeding hadn't stopped much. All of my life seemed to be slowly seeping out such a shallow wound.

As I staggered towards the Manor, with Claude's assistance, of course, I could make out the shape of my father sitting on the steps. As he saw me approach, he jumped to his feet and ran forward. As he ran, a shout of joy escaped his lips. He gently scooped me up into his arms and showered my face with kisses.

"Oh, my darling," he cried. "I was so worried about you! Townnesend had gone to look for you and came back only moments ago, saying something about a carriage wreck. She left to get a doctor and I waited here. I had thought the worst!" When my feet touched the ground, I realized that I was crying with him, mostly filled with relief that Burgess and Townnesend had left my father untouched. That meant that he was safe for now. Somehow, I was going to have to explain the situation to my father before Townnesend returned. I wasn't sure how long she would be, and even less sure how to explain things to my father.

"I'm alright, father," I whispered. "I'm alright." I took his arm and walked with him up the Manor steps. Before we entered, I turned to Claude.

"Find Ariadne and Caine," I mouthed. He nodded in acknowledgement and quickly disappeared from sight. I knew Claude could quickly retrieve my allies, and having three other people present to back up the story I was about to feed to my father would be most helpful.

My father led me into the parlor, where a small fire was burning. I sat on a chair close to the fire and my father tossed another log into the gently burning fireplace.

"I'm not cross with you, Dahlia," my father began as he sat opposite from me. "I just wish to know why you kept your departure a secret from me. I had no idea where you were all day. And you return to me now, bleeding and shaking."

"I wanted to be alone," I muttered. "I should have told you where I was going, but I wasn't quite sure how you'd take the information."

"Where did you go?" my father asked me softly. I sighed.

"I went to the graveyard to visit a friend from Northwood. She died before the fire."

"Why would you think I would disprove of such a visit?" my father asked, his kind eyes shining in the growing light of the fire. "Because she was from Northwood? Who am I to judge who you met at Northwood? I'm no doctor. If she was a friend of yours that is good enough for me."

"Thank you, father," I said, incredibly relieved. "I shan't try to hide my travels from you anymore, you have my word. It was wrong of me."

"I'm just glad you're back here safely." My father stood and approached, kneeling in front of me. He gently brushed my tangled mass of hair away from my forehead, his fingers briefly lingering on my scar. He was silent for several moments, simply studying my visage. He smiled faintly. "How is your stomach wound?" he asked at length. He ran his fingers across the gash in my dress, checking to see if the blood was still wet. When he realized it was still bleeding, his face contorted into worry. I placed my hand across my stomach to add slight pressure, hoping it would staunch the bleeding. I did my best to appear unworried.

"It isn't horrible," I said, smiling. I knew that handling the situation calmly would make things easier for my father. "It only hurts a little. If Claude hadn't dressed it, I'm sure it would be much worse. I am grateful he was there."

"As am I," my father smiled, kissing my head and returning to the chair opposite me. "Was yours the only carriage involved in the accident?" I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond. I had wanted to wait until Claude and the others returned before I began my story, but I couldn't lie to my father.

"Townnesend told you there was a carriage wreck?" I asked slowly. My father nodded. I bit my lip a little harder and shook my head. "She lied to you, father. There was no carriage wreck." My father's eyes narrowed and he was silent for a moment.

"What happened, Dahlia? What really happened? What is Townnesend covering up for you?" My father seemed to have left behind his gentle, paternal manner and put on a more commanding and disciplinary one. I hadn't seen him act like this in a long while.

"Father," I said, trying not to sound like a whiny, pleading adolescent, "Townnesend was not covering up for me. She was covering up for herself. I was not in a carriage crash. I was perfectly fine before she showed up."

"You expect me to believe that Townnesend was the one who did this to you? Dahlia-" my father was still attempting to be disciplinary, but I could see him breaking. I realized this was not because of my innocent pleading expression, either. I was certain he thought I was suffering from another psychotic break. "I know things have been hard for you since you returned to the Manor. But, darling, Townnesend has always loved you. She's adored you and she would never do anything to hurt you."

"Yes," I agreed. "That's the way she acts while you're around. She adores you, not me. If she has to pretend to love me in order to stay with you, then she'll do it. Why would I lie?" My father's face was torn with so many different emotions. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Finally he resorted to staring into the fire. We sat in silence for several moments. My heart was pounding. I didn't want to push things, but I didn't want this to be the end of our conversation. I knew my father wanted to believe me. I just had no evidence on my side. It was all against me.

"There was no carriage crash?" my father asked again at length.

"No," came Claude's voice from the doorway. Ariadne and Caine were standing behind him, looking very somber. "You can take my word for it, sir, if you do not believe Dahlia."

"Then this is about Townnesend?" my father asked, speaking slowly. His eyes flitted from Claude to Ariadne to Caine and finally to me. All of us nodded. My father's face, previously torn in between so many different emotions, at last adopted a stoic one. "Tell me everything," he said, flatly.

"Excuse me, sir," Caine said, stepping forward. "My name is Bartholomew Caine. I worked with the police on investigating the death of Victoria Grimm several years ago."

"Yes," my father nodded. "Yes, I remember you. You were the one who was convinced it was a murder, though you had little to no evidence to prove that it was. Most people wrote you off as a conspiracy theorist, myself included." My father's blunt honesty seemed to break down some of Caine's courage, but the young man continued, nonetheless.

"Well, I stand before you today with, what I feel, is the most influential piece of evidence proving that your wife was murdered." Caine knelt on the carpet between my father and I, and opened a large folder he had clasped in his hands. "In the notes I had taken from the investigation it was discovered that your governess, Ms. Townnesend had frequent arguments with the Countess."

"Yes," my father agreed. "They are- were old friends. Friends tend to argue. Victoria always gave Cecile the freedom to speak her mind, unlike most of the household servants. This is not evidence," my father stated. However, his tone suggested that he did not completely wish to write off all that Caine was saying. At the mention of my mother's murder, he seemed to revert back to melancholy.

"I have done my research, I assure you," Caine smoothly rebutted, "Shortly after the death of your wife, through my work, I was fortunate enough to run into your old friend, James Phantomhive. Though the case was closed, it was still a popular topic and our conversation naturally flowed in the direction of Victoria's death. In talking with James, I discovered that his governess' daughter, Cecile Townnesend, was always quite taken with you. Were you aware of this?"

"At the time no," my father said, slowly. "But once Victoria died…" My father's face fell. Caine continued:

"Cecile Townnesend loved you. And she still does, undoubtedly. However, what ties all this evidence together, is a recent bit of information that I've gathered. Have you even wondered why it was so easy for Cecile to get into contact with a doctor that had room to take on another patient? With insanity being such a worry, most places in the city were full. But she didn't have to look long, did she?" My father shook his head. "I found these patient lists from various mental health facilities all across England. Several of which have patients with the surname of Townnesend or Carrington, which is Cecile's mother's maiden name. Cecile Townnesend has a history of familial mental illness. What we know of the plague is that it is primarily genetic."

"So Cecile is ill?" my father asked.

"Most likely, yes," Caine agreed. "If you pair that with her odd obsession and fascination with you, you've got a very likely candidate for murder."

"Not to mention the fact," Claude cut in, "that you have the testimony of a witness who was there and saw the whole thing." I could feel all eyes in the room gazing at me. Normally I would have felt uncomfortable, but mostly I was just proud. Proud that Caine had found all the necessary evidence to support my story. There was little likelihood that Townnesend was going to walk away this time. "Children are so innocent. They hardly have the imaginations to make up something as gruesome as murder, don't you agree?" Claude asked my father.

"Yes," my father said quietly. "Dahila had an imagination, it is true, but it was never dark. It would be… impossible for her to make up such a story." My father glanced over at me, his violet eyes glistening. His acknowledgement of the truth behind my story brought me great relief. I felt as though a weight was lifted off of my shoulders and I could finally breathe.

"As I am a doctor," Claude continued, "I find that Mr. Caine's findings are quite logical. From what I have observed of Cecile Townnesend, she is very erratic and unpredictable. The murder of Victoria Grimm does not seem too far from her reach."

My father stood and clapped his hand on Claude's shoulder. I couldn't quite read his expression. My father turned to me and kissed me gently on the forehead.

"My Dahlia," he said, smiling sadly. "I'm so sorry for all that I have put you through, willingly and not. I should have believed you, but I let too many outside emotions get in my way. Can you forgive a blind old fool?"

"Father," I said, throwing my arms around his neck. "I love you. I always will."

"I'm sure somewhere in my heart I knew you were right all along," he whispered as he walked out of the room. I heard the large front door of the Manor open and then close gently.

"How do you feel?" Ariadne asked, stepping toward me. She helped me to stand.

"I'm alright," I said, smiling. "I feel much better now that you and Caine are here. I think we've done it. We've finally done it. Now that my father is on our side, we've just won over the only prize Townnesend wanted."

"Well," Caine said brightly, trying to cheer the damp mood in the room, "I shall be very pleased to be rid of the woman once and for all." I laughed in agreement. For the first time since I was a young girl, the laugh that spilled out of my throat was my own. It wasn't the tinkling, girlish one that I pretended to possess. It was odd sounding, as though my body had long forgotten how to truly laugh. Though, as odd as it sounded, I knew that it was mine. That for once in my life I was beginning to feel happy again.

My laughter was interrupted by a loud cry from outside. Immediately all the joy that I had felt was cut off and I was plunged back into a state of fear and despair. I exchanged worried glances with the others in the room before I hurried toward the Manor's front door.

"I think things are far from over," Ariadne whispered as I pulled the large doors open.

Townnesend was standing in front of my father, tears spilling down her face. She was gently clasping at his vest. Through her tears, she was saying something to him. Pleading with him, it seemed like, but my father remained stone still and gave her a cold look. I glanced around quickly, looking for Burgess, but he was nowhere in sight. I made a mental note to myself to be on my guard. I stepped closer to my father, Townnesend's pleas becoming more audible.

"-Would never lie to you, Hector. Never! I love you," she said. Though she was crying, she was speaking tenderly. Her eyes were soft and her face held an expression of true love that I never thought the witch would be capable of feeling.

"But you don't," my father said. He spoke to Townnesend gently as well, though his tone was more of one he would use with a small child. "Cecile, if you had loved me-" his voice broke. "If you had truly loved me, you wouldn't have tormented me so."

"Torment you? What have I done to torment you? Hector, I have loved you. I have cared for you in your moments of greatest despair. I have cared for your child as though she were my own. I have taken you both into my heart for safekeeping and would never let any harm come to you!"

"Yet you have ripped out of my hands what was most precious to me. And you have treated my daughter likewise," my father said. Townnesend's face immediately hardened. Her tears ceased. Instead of a soft, pleading glow, there was a fierce, deathly fury. She turned towards me, stepping away from my father.

"Good move," she said, smiling darkly. "I suppose there is no purpose for the kid gloves anymore, is there?" She wheeled around, calling for Burgess. I ran toward my father, and held him tightly. He had no idea what was to come next. And though I knew more about whose company we were keeping, neither did I.

It seemed as though Burgess appeared out of thin air, Leviathan in hand. His face was lit up into a smile. Upon his appearance, Claude's face darkened, and Ariadne clutched onto Caine.

"It's not time for games, anymore, Burgess," Townnesend said flatly. Burgess nodded. He moved toward Claude raising Leviathan. Before my mind could really process anything going on around me, I tore myself from my father's arms, running to protect Claude. I wasn't really sure what I hoped to do; I only knew that my feet were carrying me in that direction. My movements were halted as Burgess, sensing my ever nearing presence, turned on me. I backed up as quickly as I could think to, but Leviathan was longer than I had estimated. I found myself fortunate, however grim the situation, that I was given a new wound several inches above the old one. If Burgess had reopened my stomach wound, I would be incapacitated. Still, from the force of the blow, I was sent staggering backwards, my head feeling incredibly light. I realized I couldn't afford to lose much more blood. Yet, I felt Ariadne's strong arms catch me before I fell, her voice crooning gently to me. I was aware that Burgess was overpowered by Claude, Leviathan knocked out of his hands. As the sword was sent sailing through the air, I felt hope bubble up inside me. Perhaps it would land far away and things would be settled without it. Luck, however, is not a constant ally. Leviathan landed at Townnesend's feet. She picked it up, grinning hugely. I willed my body to move. To stop the woman before she hurt any of my loved ones, but it was of no use. There was so much pain in my chest and stomach, I could do nothing but scream. My father was rushing toward her, his thoughts so like mine.

"Cecile!" my father yelled angrily. Townnesend turned on him, almost inviting him to stop her. My father, inches away from the woman, stopped. She smiled broadly at him. He reached up to take the sword from her, but she moved it out of his grasp. I wished my father wasn't such a gentleman or such a diplomat. Perhaps he was afraid of his rage consuming him; I knew he didn't want to hurt her. But I wished he would move. I wished he would overpower her before she got the upper hand, as I knew she would.

"Hector," she spoke softly. "You were wrong about me. I have always loved you. I will always love you. I was only trying to make you see that. My love for you was stronger than Victoria's ever could have been."

"Do not speak ill of my wife, woman," my father said, his voice a dangerous quiet. He moved towards Townnesend once more, but she was always a step ahead of him.

"I wish I had come to this conclusion long ago," she said, her voice full of melancholy. " Then perhaps all collateral damage could have been avoided," she looked in my direction. "Call me selfish, but if I cannot have you, then no one can. Not Victoria. Not your daughter. Not her children. No one." As she spoke, she took several steps back, lifting her sword. My father had no time to react. Townnesend was upon him, Leviathan flashing. I shut my eyes before I had to witness the inevitable. I knew I was screaming, that I was too weak to rush to my father's aid. I felt like I was reverting back to the little seven-year-old girl who watched from the top of the stairs as her mother was murdered. I was incredibly useless. Ariadne's grip on me tightened and she softly sang some song to me, though it had no effect. All in a moment, Ariadne's singing stopped. Her comforting grip disappeared. I opened my eyes.

Caine was standing, or doing his best to, between my father and Townnesend. Leviathan had found its place embedded in his heart. There was pain etched into every inch of his face, but he faced Townnesend defiantly and pulled Leviathan out of his chest. He handed the sword to my father just before collapsing. Ariadne caught him, and led him off a way, doing her best to tend to the dying man.

Townnesend was standing wide-eyed facing my father, calling for Burgess. Neither Burgess or Claude were in sight. She was on her own.

"I should kill you," my father said. "I have every right to, not to mention every desire to. But that would be too easy. That would be too quick an ending for all the pain you've caused. You've destroyed everything in the Grimm household that you've touched, and I'll destroy you for it. But not with death. There's a facility in London for people like you. You're certainly familiar with them; you had my daughter imprisoned in one." Before Townnesend could open her mouth to argue, Leviathan's hilt met with the back of her skull and she collapsed. My father dropped Leviathan and it fell to the ground with a dull thud. He walked toward me, tired and worn looking, wrapping his arms gently around me. I could never recall a moment when my father cried. Even when my mother died, he did not cry. I'm sure that in the countless hours he spent alone after her death, he cried very much for her. Yet as my father and I sat on the ground holding each other, he wept. It was a quiet weeping. Weeping in relief and past grief, more than actual sorrow. He held to me tightly, burying his face in my neck. We sat this way for several moments before my father heaved a huge sigh.

"I believe it's finally over, Dahlia."

A\N:So I kinda fell off the face of the planet... sorry. BUT, I did graduate! Hooray! I'm still SO glad that in my absence this story still recieved so much attention! You guys really, really rock! I PROMISE this story will be finished this summer, and I won't leave it sitting for months on end. Promise. For reals. :)