Chapter 36

Bastian was not the type to remember his dreams, but the one that he was having was one so vivid he wasn't sure if he could forget it.

He wasn't entirely sure how he was having a lucid dream. The vivid images that flashed before his eyes were few and far between, blurred lines that were impossible to connect. He remembered, vaguely, of lying on a cold steel table, his hands bound above his head while his feet were strapped down. The room he was in was dimly lit where no natural light could reach him. He made out a candle stand that illuminated the table area, five silhouettes nearby likes the figures from his nightmares.

"-interested in him?" asked a young man once he deigned to focus on the words. "I understand that, with that birthmark, he would be a worthy study. But to go to these lengths!"

Another man laughed lightly, high-pitched and not quite sane.

"Even after all you've learned what he has done, you still wish to protect him."

"Of course he does!" yelled a coarser voice. "Sebastian Emrys, whether he was himself or Victor Valentine, was a model student. Despite what you say, he is still a student of Weston College."

"Now, now. No need to shout. It's astounding how you would easily defend the boy when you already kidnapped him and brought him to me. I find it rather funny you have the gall to say such things when poor Derrick Arden held no such sympathy."

"That's…" a timid voice said, then stopped. "Unlike Arden, Emrys was someone we were all acquainted with. The rumors about his birth never stopped him from being sincerely kind and true. He may have committed several heinous crimes, but he is the same as us."

"He had no choice," said a dower young man, withdrawn.

The high-pitched voice chuckled. Footsteps approached and the light vanished behind a silhouette. A finger gently touched his temple and trailed down to his neck. A long fingernail skimmed his Adam's apple.

"No choice, you say? I've learned in this world there are choices to be made. You four could have chosen to let Arden escape with his life? Little Sebastian could have turned himself in to the police. A woman in a loveless marriage could have accepted her fate, and a boy could have chosen to live life with his true name. You know what's funny? All of youchose wrong."

No one replied. The room became stifling, a den of hushed truths and blatant lies. None of them could accept the truth laid out to them.

Bastian could no longer hold onto the dream and slipped back into listless darkness.

The next time he experienced a new dream he was almost certain he couldn't have been in one. He was still in the room bound to the steel table. The same hand, freezing on his skin, patted his cheek.

"Wakey-wakey, little Dupree," the high-pitched voice crooned. "There's fun to be hand but so little time. We must hurry before the party starts."

"What…party?" Bastian's mouth felt like cotton. It was difficult to work his tongue around words.

"Shh…Don't worry. You'll be there. For now follow along and low me to do a few tests. You won't feel a thing." Something was pressed his face. It felt much like a cloth mask and stank of a sharp scent. His head went fuzzy and it was difficult to concentrate. It also made him euphoric as if he were floating on a cloud. "It seems the chloroform is working. It's time to start."

Bastian was unsure what he was trying to do. A thick metal tip sliced itself in his arm, dragging down the skin much like he would when drawing icing on a cake. Yet, he was unable to feel any pain as he would expect even when blood bloomed through the wound.

The image of blooming blood took shape in his mind's eyes, bringing forth a memory he had done his best to suppress.

The library in the school's main building was Sebastian's safe haven. It was a place of knowledge where centuries ago, scholars had written down their wisdom on paper. Once they died, generations spent lifetimes living with that knowledge, following their teachings as it was reproduced over and over for young minds to consume. Sebastian was one of them, but that was not the only reason the library was his haven.

He sat huddled against a bookcase, a book of Lord George Byron's poems propped against his knees and a lit lantern resting by his feet. He had received the book from Rebecca, who had sent it separate from the care packages his mother and sisters often made for him. The poetry collection had to be left behind at home after his father forbid him from bringing it to school, under the impression that all poetry about love and nature were hogwash. Rebecca knew his love for Lord Byron's poems and had sent it to him, hoping it would ease the harsh reality he lived in.

How harsh it was indeed! He did not think he could bare another day in this damnable school. Not when the likes of Nathaniel Dunne existed. It was because of him he had to hide in the library past curfew to enjoy the writings.

He sighed, wishing like every other night he was back home, safe in his bed and in the silence. Where he would never need to worry about boys taking his things or being forced to run impossible errands. Where all he needed to do was make Lucinda happy instead of pleasing young men so shallow they could have been the dry wading pools by the beach. No, he had to be here at a school to follow his father's footsteps and be manipulated to think exactly like him.

To put it bluntly he despised this school.

If he had the choice, he could have continued to be taught by governesses. At least they did not punish him with chores when he spouted his opinions.

So, Sebastian spent the next two hours past curfew reading poems. He read the exploits of the infamous Don Juan and the prophetic poem of a devastating tragedy all while being amused by Bryon's wit. He especially loved his longing for the perfect love, which he hoped to experience once he married Lucinda. His mother told him that love would come once they did. He hoped that was true.

Unfortunately, he had to stop once the clock struck midnight was normally the time the dorm Prefects would start their last rounds and check the students' bed to see if they were still there. His dorm's Prefect, Charles Grey, did not do these rounds himself and would send his Fag to do it. His Fag was always late in his checks, but Sebastian would rather be safe than sorry.

He stood, tucking his book beneath his arm and blew out his lantern's light. Then, as quiet as a mouse, he snuck out of the library and made his way back to his dorm. Sebastian took great care to hide in the shadows like a thief. He giggled to himself. What a life that would be! He could be a thief like Robin Hood who stole from the rich to give to the poor. It would be a more thrilling life than being a jewel exporter.

Sebastian made believe he was a young Robin Hood trespassing upon castle grounds to steal into the building as he made his way towards the school gates. He managed to reach the line of bushes before the gates. Then, he knocked into a hard body. Whoever they were, they were larger than him, forcing him to fall flat on his back. Panic spiked through him. Was it a Prefect? Or a teacher?

"Look at who's out of bed!" sneered a voice that made him flinch. "What a surprise, Emrys."

No, it was someone much worse.

"Dunne," he gasped, shrinking back.

Nathaniel Dunne towered over Sebastian, his large frame and height making him a giant to him. His silhouette was dark as the waning moon shadowed him. To Sebastian he was a Boogeyman come to life.

"Good evening, Emrys," Dunne said, sickly sweet. "Out for a midnight stroll now, are we? Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"No…" He struggled back to his feet. He didn't want to be near him for a second. Bending to retrieve his book, he tried to get away as best he could. Suddenly, his arm was grabbed and he was shoved against a tree trunk. "D-Dunne!"

"Where do you think you're going? I'm not done talking to you yet." Dunne, a young man three years his senior, used one hand effortlessly pin him to the tree. It felt like a hunk of lead was pressing against his chest. "Here I thought you were taught better by your sisters. A fairy like you ought to know to say goodbye or make polite conversation."

"I-I'm not a fairy!"

"What are you doing out of bed?" he questioned, completely disregarding him. "A perfect fox like you should know better? What's your excuse, eh?"

"I was out for a stroll. What are you doing out here?"

"If you want to know, I was out with my mates for some tea. Just like one of the Principal's Midnight Tea Parties."

That couldn't have been true, he thought. It wasn't tea they had. It was faint, but Sebastian smelt wine on Dunne's breath. Ice slid down his back. Dunne and alcohol were never a well-received combination.

The older student leaned against him, all the breath in his lungs that much harder to inhale.

"You weren't out for a stroll," he growled.

"Yes, I was!"

"Yeah? Then what's this thing you dropped?" He released Sebastian to bend down. All Sebastian could do was inhale the air he sorely needed and skitter away. He didn't what the other boy was doing until he straightened, waving a familiar book around. "Ya going to serenade someone? Get them to fall for your charms like every other poor sod at this school?"

"Give that back!" Sebastian launched himself at Dunne to try and snatch his poem book back. It was to no avail as the older boy held it above his head, shoving him down again in the process. "Dunne, please! My sister gave me that book!"

"What book?" To his horror, Dunne pulled out a pen knife from his pocket. With an almost surgical apathy he sliced the book down its leather spine. Pages fluttered down as he tossed the broken book down into the bushes. "I don't have a book. You must be imagining things. I always knew you were touched in the head."

"Why…Why would you do that?" How could Dunne destroy his book before his eyes? He acted like a child-a very stupid child that broke toys he did not own. Tears filled his eyes as confusion and indignation swirled into a tornado within him. "Why do you always do these things to me? What have I ever done to you?"

Since Sebastian had first entered the school one year ago, Nathaniel Dunne hounded his every step. He had done nothing to antagonize him or anyone for that matter. Among the student body, he was hardly one to cause trouble. Yet, Dunne would needlessly go out of his way to insult, taunt, or tease him. It had started small such as insults about his character or teasing his almost girlish manner of speaking. Then, after the banquet where family could visit to attend the cricket tournament, the insults and teasing escalated.

Once the new year began, he found that his belongings would disappear only to end up in the lake or his homework would be ripped to shreds. Not only that, Dunne would corner him if he happened to be out before curfew ended to hit him. It got to the point Sebastian was afraid to be by himself and he had to hide his belongings elsewhere. he knew that one of Dunne's friends, a fellow Scarlet Fox, was behind the theft.

Sebastian never told anyone what was happening. He was frightened of the attention it would put on him.

So why…Why was Dunne like this? Why did he bully him like this?

His questions brought an astounding effect over Dunne. His face, so poorly visible in the light, twisted into an ugly sneer.

"Why, you ask?" he growled. "Why am I being like this when, ya wonder? Because you're a demon!" He jabbed his knife to where Sebastian's chest was. "I know about that awful thing you've got on your chest. Samson saw it and told us all about it. All the rumors about you were true. You know, from the moment I saw you I just didn't like you. You were a naive brat that spoke and acted like a girl. But, when Samson told us about seeing your birthmark and seeing you with your sisters and fiancé I knew I hated the fact you existed!"

His rant riled him up further, driven by the poison coursing its way through his veins. Dunne lunged to snatch him in his grip once more. It was enough to pinch his skin as he lifted him off his feet. Once more, he pinned Sebastian to the tree. Gasping, he squirmed to get his feet flat on solid ground. But a knife sank into the tree next to his head. All movement froze. Hateful eyes gazed straight at him telling him that he was lower than dirt.

"You're a goddamn demon and yet you're surrounded by people who love you! Your family, your fiancé, and this whole godforsaken school! They all love you while my parents and brothers think I'm a hassle! All because I'm a third-born son! All because I won't inherit anything!" He smacked Sebastian so hard into the tree stars burst behind his eyelids. "What did you do? Use black magic to charm everyone? Sacrifice some animals to wish for their love? Answer me!"

"I-I didn't do anything!"

"Don't lie to me!"

Dunne reached for the knife with his free hand. Sebastian knew what he was about to do. He had been in this kind of situation far too many times. Without any thought Sebastian raised his foot to kick his attacker in the thigh close to his groin. Dunne shouted, his knees giving out and releasing Sebastian. He fell back to the ground flat on his feet. After a moment's thought, he decided to rip the pen knife from the tree. He would rather not have Dunne come after him with it.

Getting the knife cost him precious seconds.

Just as Sebastian wriggled the knife out of the bark he heard Dunne shuffle behind him.

"You stupid-" A hand wrapped around his ankle, fingers tight to grasp the very bone to bend it. Yanking it backward, Sebastian lost his balance. He went down with the knife still firmly in his hand, the edge nicking the space between his forefinger and thumb. He hissed as he tried to get up. However, Dunne was quick to get on top of him. "You're gonna pay for that, Emrys!"

"Get off me!" Sebastian protested. He would have continued had a fist not smashed across his face. Pain bloomed on his cheekbone, throbbing hot and heavy. Another first could have left a second mark on his face, but Sebastian learned fast. He shifted his head. The fist missed its mark. Dunne pulled it back again. Sebastian would have none of that.

Without warning he lifted the pen knife to stab his arm.

Dunne screamed, reeling away from him. Sebastian let his instincts think for him. His heart was racing and made it impossible for him to think straight. His instincts had never failed him before. He let his body grasp the knife again, ripping it out as Dunne's blood rained down. Wobbling to his feet, he followed after Dunne and, without mercy, he sank the knife straight into his eye.

It was a lot like when Sebastian skinned animals that his father had hunted. Skinning was a servant's job, yet his father thought it was an important life lesson. It was a chore Sebastian had detested with all his heart. The meat was warm and squishy as if on some level he despised the fact the animal was once alive. He hated how his father could so callously kill an innocent creature. It was the reason why he had hated hunting. The knife sinking into Dunne's head was very much the same and Sebastian felt the same sickness he had before roll inside his stomach.

Coming to his senses, Sebastian stood over Nathaniel Dunne's corpse.

Sebastian stared, his insides twisting themselves in knots. Dunne had fallen on his back, his head tilted one way while his body was twisted the other way. He was a puppet whose strings had been mercilessly ripped from him. The knife stuck out his left eye socket like an unnatural growth, the black hilt prominent amongst the rivers of blood slowly spouting out the wound. The blood wept down his cheek to gather in a pool beneath his head and soaked his black hair. It reminded him of a flower in bloom, he thought, detached. A flower that only bloomed once death arrived.

Death…

Dunne…was dead.

What did I do? Sebastian asked himself. He had killed Nathaniel Dunne in cold blood. The thought sunk in. He had murdered Dunne without giving him a second chance. It hadn't occured to him that he could disable the boy and left it at that. No, instead he had gone on to stab him in the eye. He had gone for the kill. What have I done!

He pressed his hand to his mouth holding back the bile threatening to rise. He would have closed his eyes, but the image was forever burned in his mind. His brain yelled at him to move, to get up and flee far away. There was a dead body-one he had made himself. He needed to run before he was discovered.

The bushes rustled behind where the corpse his gaze high, his skin went cold upon spotting an unwelcome visage.

"Emrys, what are you doing?" asked Charles Grey. He was ruffled and blurry-eyed. It must have been the day that he had to actually do the job he was given. Occasionally, he had to do the routine checks himself or else the dormitory leader would scold him. Grey always did it early to get it out of the way. He narrowed his eyes. "You made me do too much work for one night. Why aren't you back at…." He trailed off, spotting the corpse. He didn't realize what it was at first given his perplexed expression.

Grey had to lean down to properly see what it was. Sebastian held his breath until he saw his senior's eyes widen a fraction. Then, slowly, he turned them on him.

"I never thought you had it in you," he said in a light tone. If anything, he sounded impressed.

"I-I didn't mean to do this!" Sebastian couldn't hold back the dam. The tears flowed down his cheeks and he couldn't breathe, hysteria choking his throat and squeezing his lungs. "Dunne-He attacked me! He had the knife and he was going to hurt me! I didn't know what to do! I didn't mean to kill him!"

"I think you did." Grey stepped towards the corpse. He crouched beside it, touching the knife hilt with a fingernail. "Any other person would use a knife to incapacitate their attacker or be too scared to use it. You went straight for the face with an intent to kill. You've clearly had experience in killing people in cold blood." He shifted to grin at him. "I'm seeing a whole new side to you, Emrys. I always passed you off as a fairy boy with no backbone."

"I don't care what you think! Dunne is dead. What-What am I going to do? My family won't-Scotland Yard will-"

He curled into himself, fisting his hair with both hands. What was he to do? Grey had found he was the one to murder Dunne. As Prefect, he was obligated to tell the Principal what had transpired. Scotland Yard was going to arrest him and, because of his birthmark, he would have no chance paying off the police as his father had done before. He was going to rot in jail. His family's reputation would be left in tatters, breaking all of his mother and sisters' hearts.

Everything would be ruined.

"Is that what you're worried about?" asked Grey, none too worried. He stood, quietly contemplating something. He shifted his attention between the cooling body and the sniffling Sebastian, he spoke, "Alright, Emrys. I won't tell the Principal about this. In fact I'll help you hide Dunne's body."

"You'll...what?"

"Sure, why not?"

"But why? You have no reason to do this."

"Yes, but I now know that there is more to you than meets the eye. This event has completely changed my perspective of you. Added on with that birthmark you've got and you've become a far more interesting person."

Sebastian was skeptical. He wasn't sure whether Grey was being honest or not. He rarely interacted with Grey on a daily basis. All he knew about him was that he was fickle, flighty, and prone to threatening his dorm to appear perfect to the rest of the school. The only friend he had was Charles Phipps from Green Lion. Knowing all this, he wasn't sure what to think of the offer.

"Will you truly not speak of this?" he asked, hesitant. "You are not going to ask something of me in exchange?"

"Now that you mention it I have something in mind," he said in an afterthought. "I want to fight you someday. Not now, but someday."

"You wish to duel?"

He nodded.

"You have held yourself back in our fencing class. The way you fight is different from what you had shown us. I want to fight you like that when you're in top form." Sebastian found it an odd request. Why would he want to fight in his 'top form?' What did that mean? He decided it was best to think about it later. He had more pressing matters to attend to. So he agreed.

"Then we have a deal," said Grey cordially. He wrinkled his nose. "We will discuss this in later. For now we must hide Dunne's body before he is missed. Help me, Emrys."

Swallowing, Sebastian got up to help Grey pick up the body. He did his best to disregard this body they were going to hide had once been his schoolmate. He did not want to think about his own instincts to kill and murder were more honed than he had intended, a message that someone had once told him engraved in his very being. He would never forget there were those that wished to kill him.

Dunne was neither the first or last person he had killed in self defense.

Bastian blinked repeatedly to pull away from the memory. His head felt a bit funny, his arm throbbing hot and heavy. Above him gleamed chartreuse eyes that looked much like stars in the night sky, looking down on him in fascination.

"So little Ms. Dupree is not the only one to have suffered from that mark," said the high-pitched voice, colored in sympathy. "Maria Salvatore's incarnations all have had nothing but a lifetime of pain and suffering. Such a shame you'll live through this cycle for years to come. Hm…."

The eyes pulled away. Things clattered on a surface away from his vision line. A pen scratched against paper.

"It seems that in the two instances you and your reincarnation were nicked by the Deathscythe you had memories of intense emotional trauma. Ms. Dupree had a memory she was betrayed by her mother's suitor. You had a memory you had murdered a schoolmate you did not expect to attempt to kill you. These may be a coincidence. Then again, maybe not. I'll need to do further tests and adjust my hypothesis accordingly."

The eyes returned, and they were narrowed in a smile.

"Do not worry, little Count. I will be certain you will not die. In fact I will try to make this as painless as possible."

The mask returned over his face. The stench came back much stronger this time. It clouded his thoughts and soon he couldn't think at all, falling back into his dreams.

xxx

Sitting in a jail cell was the last place she wanted to spend her last day alive. Given what she had done, she supposed there could be worse places.

The jail cell she sat in was dank and gloomy, all the negative energy seeped into the walls as its prisoners screamed and wailed at the injustice of the world committed on them. She did her best to ignore them in the few days she had been there, choosing to focus on getting comfortable sleeping on rotten hay and eat worm-infested bred. For her this should have been hell.

Yet, her broken heart numbed the reality she lived in.

She put a hand to her eyes as her urge to fall into hysterical tears overcame her. No tears fell, however, having run themselves dry before her imprisonment; long before she sank her husband's short sword into her lover for the night; long before she hatched such a crazy scheme. She could not bring herself to waste any more tears as her resolve hardened and her heart had turned cold. Perhaps it had always been cold? It did not belong to her, after all. Her own human heart had stopped the day her parents had been ruthlessly murdered to be replaced with one which felt no love.

Or did it? She was unsure if the love she had for Corvo was true. She was so desperate for it she imagined it when a man had openly showed affection for her.

Whether she did love him or not, it was too late. She refused to to think of him any longer. All she could think of was how she wasted so much of this borrowed life on useless frivolities. She had spent countless hours bemoaning her wretched marriage, keeping up appearances, and avoid antagonizing priests with her very existence. With her last few at hand all she could do was reflect on her life choices and regret most of all she would not see Giotto to become a fine young man.

It was her son that brought her the tears she wished would not come. Giotto was a boy hardly a decade old. He did not deserve to live in her shadow nor how her actions could affect his future. She was everything to him and he, her's. He despised his father for what he had done to her. Without her, he would continue to live with that horrible man. How she wished she could have stayed, but she had no choice. Between this and the alternative, she would face death with dignity. She wanted to show her boy she did not lay down as death crept closer.

It was to these tears that the guards saw when they had deigned to retrieve her. She saw them approach her cell, their swords clinking at their sides in impending beats. One guard unlocked her cell, sneering at the sniveling mess she had become.

"You feelin' regret?" he asked, replacing the key ring on his waist. He grabbed the iron manacles next to them. "You should've thought 'bout that when you killed that noble's son. Maybe then a beautiful woman like you wouldn't be in a dark prison cell."

She chose not to answer, wiping away her tears as she stood.

"I take it that it is time?"

The other guard was solemn, nodding as his partner placed the manacles around her wrists.

"You will receive your final rights before we bring you to the site."

She nodded, shuffling out the cell without being prompted. There was no fight left in her any longer. Once again, she was the meek banker's wife-a beautiful wall flower that was never to be heard and only seen. It did not matter if she had traded her exquisite gowns for a ripped mud-stained costume that had belonged to her mother. Nothing mattered anymore. She wordlessly allowed the guards to escort her on her final walk of shame.

The guards led her through the prison, passing various cells where the prisoners wasted and waited for their fates. Some were like her as they wallowed in regret or burst into self-righteous fury while others would spend their entire lifetimes within those walls. They were never meant to taste freedom on their bloated, parched tongues again. Never would they experience the richness their world had to offer and were confined to the same four walls. Whatever freedom they wished for would only be granted in death.

They climbed several stairs, passing other guards and prisoners, and through several doors. Soon enough, they had reached the prison chapel that she had seen once for Sunday mass. She had sat through the procession among the other prisoners as the priest preached about their souls and God's damnation. Knowing what she knew, she had no doubts her soul was personally forsaken by Him. The chapel was not empty. At the altar stood the priest along with three other prisoners, two men and one woman. The woman was dressed in a loose gown that showed off her shoulders and bosom while the men were barefoot, their tattered clothes in such a deplorable state they could could have been rags. So she was to be executed alongside a whore and thieves.

How fitting.

She approached the priest and fellow inmates where she was forced to hear the Catholic drone on about God and how confessing would save their eternal souls. One by one, he administered the last rites, asking for their confession before the Lord. The woman recited her's breaking into tears halfway; one of the men whispered his, voice so silent he could not have been speaking at all; the other spat his out in indignant fury. She said her's with a calm demeanor as she cursed herself in her head for spouting such words. Even if she confessed for the ultimate sin, nothing could save her soul. In the long run it did not belong to either God or herself.

After confessions, the priest led them through the Apostle's Creed and an Our Father before he performed their last Communion. The bread was the only one she thought decent in prison and the wine the most bitter on her tongue.

It took only one more blessing and prayers. Then, it was time.

The four of them were led out the prison, climbing down stairs until one led them out to the prison's side where a cart awaited. She climbed in beside the woman, who was unable to hold back her shuddering sobs. The cart carried them through the less busy roads. It was such a shame, she thought, glancing out the barred windows, that her last ride alive could not be as beautiful as the one she took with her parents. It would have set the scene better if she had been able to see the countryside. All she had to burn into her mind were the streets she loathed for all these years.

Soon, the carriage came to a stop. The guards opened the door to haul them all chained together out into the open.

They had been taken to the public square on the western part of the city. A large mob had gathered before a stage where a gibbet awaited them. They had grown excited at their arrival, more than a few jeering at their entertainment for the day. She walked between the men with her gaze solely on the gibbet and her head held high. As she shuffled along, whispers made their way to her ears.

"Is that her?"

"Si, that's the one."

"The rumors were true."

"It really is there."

She swallowed back her fear that part of her sin was visible where her bodice was half-torn. What did it matter now? She was going to die before the hour was over.

They reached the stage, climbing up the stairs where a herald and a local judge were present. The four of them lined up and faced the ob, their hands bound behind them. The guards backed off to allow the executioner to place a noose around each of their necks as tightly as they could go. When they put the noose around her she held her breath, palms sweaty under the noon sun.

When they were ready the judge began to make his speech. She had attended enough of these hangings to know he was proclaiming their crimes to the city and that God was bringing them justice. The second he spoke she was unable to hear him. Everything, from the mob's mutterings to the judge's droning and her fellow inmates' crying, had turned soundless. All she could hear was her blood pounding thick and heavy. She stared out into the mob unblinking and unseeing.

How many of these people took their lives for granted? They stood there, mere spectators to the tragedy her life had accumulated to, and thought they were lucky to not have broken the law. They all were going to die from sickness or killed in a fight without a choice. They were safe in the knowledge that their souls would go to heaven in absolute faith in the Lord. They took it all for granted like she had.

Unlike them, she had made her choice when she fought back against Death seventeen years ago. She made her choice now.

Even so, she was unable to hold back her hysteria that rose as each second passed. It got difficult to breathe, her knees weak and close to collapsing. The noose was the only thing preventing her. Wildly glancing out into the crowd, she tried to focus on something, anything, to distract her. It did not take her long to find it.

Close to the stage, she spotted him. It was easy to do so when he was a head taller than the people around him, paler than the sun-kissed skin her people were known for, and handsomer than any stone angel in the cathedrals. Seeing him had silenced her internal panic and reminded her why she was here. Her heart calmed as her resolve solidified. Yes, that was right. It was because of him she stood there before everyone and God himself. She was there to prove she was not as helpless in her fate as he believed.

She was there because he had toyed with her feelings all for the sake of a good meal. He had brought every fantasy and desire to be loved to fruition, then soiled it at its peak. He had done it for his own pleasure. She was not going to let him get away with this.

There was little that she could do against a creature like him, so if this was her last option, she would have him live through the hell he left her in.

"You were nothing but a meal I wanted to play with. A game I decided to join to pass time."

If it is a game you wish to play, she thought, smiling wide as the judge finished his speech, then it is time I change the rules. Try and find me, Corvo. I will not be so easy to catch.

For toying with her life, he would spend an eternity of chasing a prey he could never catch.

The executioner pulled the lever and the platform dropped beneath them.

Let the game begin.

xxx

Awakening once again-or perhaps he had been awake this entire time-had Bastian feeling incredibly nauseous. He knew his eyelids covered his world in darkness, yet his stomach was in knots rebelling against him. He is head was pounding, his body ached in several limbs, and his throat was a roughened by a grinding stone.

What in heaven's name happened to him? Bastian could hardly recall feeling this awful in recent memory. He felt much like that day he had been held captive by the Italian mafia. They had beaten him until his bones rattled, his skin splitting seamlessly as his blood streaked across his face and bloomed beneath the pale layer and made him silently wish Death granted him a reprieve from the onslaught. This was similar but twice as awful.

Groaning, Bastian tried to lift a hand to massage his throbbing left bicep but couldn't. With a jolt he was hit by the realization that his hands had been tied tight behind his back and his ankles as well. He opened his eyes and his vision tilted and blurred. Closing his eyes was his only option to fight back the rising nausea. He took heavy breaths to regulate his pulse as it throbbed thick and heavy-far too fast than normal. Again, he wondered what was wrong with him and how he came to be in this state.

The last thing he remembered was drinking a few glasses of champagne at the school banquet. Beyond a few memories of acting giddy, fueled by his tipsiness, he did not understand how he could have ended up here. Had he been kidnapped? That would be the obvious answer. However, why have they not killed him?

It did not matter. If he was awake, he could attempt an escape. Learning from Viola, he refused to back down and lie in defeat. Even as weak as he felt, if he had some semblance of strength left in him he would fight with all he had.

He struggled against his bonds, shifting and rubbing the ropes to try and slip them off. They were too tight, so he tried to maneuver his arms down his back to slip his hands to his front. He wasn't flexible enough. No matter what he tried, wriggling and squirming, he was unable to do anything. He was too weak.

Voices a few feet away temporarily calmed his struggle. Huffing helplessly, he made out several familiar voices he would recognize in his dreams. They were rather frantic, shouting and screaming, as Ciel's voice commanded for Sebastian to appear. There was a flurry of rustling cloth and rattling china before things calmed.

"Why are Mr. Michealis and Valentine here?" someone asked. Was that Redmond's new Fag?

"Mr. Michealis-No," said Ciel, authoritative compared to the complying he used for weeks, "Sebastian and Viola are my servants."

"Mr. Michealis is a butler?"

"Valentine's a woman?"

"Hi, yeah," said Viola sheepishly. "I'm a woman. Nice to meet you all. Sorry for lying to you all, but I'm on the young master's orders to be here. Same as my brother, or cousin I guess you could say."

"That is correct. And the reason we had entered this school was to find Derrick and the rest of the missing students. However, none of us, even Sebastian, were able to get a hold of his whereabouts because Derrick was already dead."

There were several exclamations including Bastian's. How could that be? The one they had been searching for was already dead?

"Well, let's have you explain what is going on here, Principal." People protested to such disrespect but Midford silenced them.

"Ciel-No. Earl Phantomhive should not be opposed."

"Trust me. Getting in his way won't end well," Viola said.

"I have seen people that have become like Derrick before," Ciel continued. "Spit it out! What did you do to Derrick?"

There was a weak response that Bastian was unable to hear. He tried to pay attention to the conversation-they were discussing the reason for Derrick's death-but he found he was having difficulty. His illness and physical frailty was affecting him to the point he was tempted to fall into oblivion. An instinctual voice deep within told him not to. He obeyed to the best of his ability, yet the call was too tempting.

Bastian fell into a light doze, consciously making an effort to remain awake. As time went on, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. He was on the cusp of it when a shout jolted him awake.

"Undertaker!" Ciel and Viola shouted.

There was a high-pitched giggle. In Bastian's memory he had a nagging feeling he had heard it recently.

"Hello, Earl, Ms. Dupree," greeted Undertaker. "You're as tiny as ever, little Earl. How is your back, Ms. Dupree?"

"You gave me a fucking scar, you jackass, and fucked up my back! I'm never going to be able to bend down to touch my toes without flinching ever again!"

"Ah, my apologies. I may have overdone it a bit."

"You think!"

"But all that aside, I'm pleased to see you two are doing well. Did you enjoy your first experience with group life?"

"I was wondering where you disappeared to after closing up shop," said Sebastian, amused. "To think you started working at a school, of all places."

"Only temporarily."

"My, my, it seems our little investigation had gotten out of hand." He paused. "You four assassinated Lord Derrick and then requested his resuscitation from the Aurora Society. What was so important to protect that you would resort to such means?"

A pregnant pause settled. He was uncertain if they were gathering their response or if they did not know what to say.

"He…" Bluer stuttered, sighing to try again. "Derrick Arden was not supposed to be at this school."

He went on to explain that he and the rest of the seniors had become Prefects to uphold the school's rules and traditions. They strived to become the perfect Prefects, working to make the school the ideal image they normally boasted.

After one complaint, they slowly had their ideals shattered by one Derrick Arden. As he listened, Bastian couldn't help but pity them. They had lived believing that there was no evil or corruption in an innocent place such as a public school. Bastian knew better. He had learned this truth many years ago. He was sorry they had to learn it like this.

The tale where they mercilessly murdered Arden and his friends soon ended. Silence fell, blanketing each person in stunned horror.

"Wow," Viola breathed, always the first to break the silence. "You guys are just-Did you outright kill five people for the sake of tradition?" She huffed out a breathless laugh. "For once I honestly don't know what to say. You're all mad."

Undertaker cackled. It was unexpected as his laughs filled the tense atmosphere.

"That's amazing! You should not criticize them when your precious Bastian is not as innocent as you believed. Did you know, while attending this school, he had murdered a fellow student in cold blood? He had even covered up the murder as someone helped him hide the body. Poor Nathaniel Dunne, never to be heard from again."

"He did what?" Midford gasped.

"How do you know?' Ciel asked, a hitch in his throat from the reveal.

"Why, he told me, of course! Or rather his memories did."

Rustling leaves were closer to Bastian coming all around him. Fingers grabbed him around his bicep, gentle in their touch, to drag him out. He whimpered as agony shot up his arm. He was lifted to his feet and was tossed aside like a rag doll landing on his injured arm. This time he cried out unable to hold it back any longer.

"Oh my God! Bastian!" Viola screamed. Someone hurriedly dropped to his side. Heated hands grasped his bare skin. They burned as he was pulled into arms. Opening his eyes, he made out her blurry eyes and frazzled hair, her horror written in every inch of her face. "What-Undertaker, what did you do?"

"Is that Sebastian Emrys?" Cheslocke gasped. "What happened to him? Is he even alive?"

"He's not dead," Undertaker clarified. "As for what happened to him, I may have been overzealous in my tests with him. After all, it's not everyday the Bound is dropped into my lap. The Prefects were kind enough to gift him to him for all of my hard work."

"Was this 'gift' presented last night?" Ciel theorized. "That would explain why he had gone missing today. You were busy running tests on him. For what purpose would you do that?"

"I want to know why you four would kidnap Bastian?" Viola accused, outrage cutting through her fraying calm.

"We originally took him as a way to convince you to leave the school," Violet admitted, reserved. "Jason Marshall approached us with news that one of the transfer students, Vincent Valentine, was a woman in disguise. He told us he had tried to discuss the issue with her cousin posing as her brother and have him dissuade her actions. When that failed he turned to us."

"Indeed," said Redmond, sober from his usual cheer. "We had decided to discuss this matter with Valentine last night after the banquet. However, we saw he was inebriated and was escorted out by a young lady-Ms. Viola-. We overheard their conversation and we were astonished to learn his true identity. Once he was alone, we knocked him out and brought him to Undertaker in hopes to interrogate him. He confirmed for us that he was our missing classmate."

"Marshall ratted me out? He wanted me out of the school that badly?"

"Your very presence is against the school's tradition," Bluer said. "Our school is famed for producing great numbers of elite students that will take on pivotal roles within the country. We can't let our generation desecrate the traditions that have held in honor for hundreds of years since the school's founding. The history of Weston is the history of England."

Ciel sighed.

"I was asked to investigate this incident by a certain high-ranking individual. They won't sit by and do nothing after learning the truth of this matter. However, I'll ask them to consider the circumstances. Well then, that just leaves you."

"Bastian?" Viola asked as Ciel began to interrogate Undertaker. He blinked at a sluggish pace up at her. "Can you speak? You're still conscious, right?"

He tried to answer but his swollen tongue made it difficult.

"I'll take that as a no." She shifted him around to his side slowly to undo the binding on his wrists and feet. "Don't worry. You'll be fine. I promise."

Bastian was unsure how she could make a promise at a time like this. For some reason, held in her arms, he was inclined to believe her. She had always come through on her promises. It was one of the reasons why he loved her so much. Her warmth spread across him, warming him the best it could. Relief touched him and his eyes, heavy in exhaustion, fell closed. He heard her say something but he was unable to hear her, dropping into sleep.

XXX

So it's been awhile since I've updated, hasn't it? Sorry, everyone. Life got in the way as I had other obligations that I need to concentrate on and this chapter was accidentally pushed aside. I've been sitting on it for awhile and I apologize for leaving this for so long.

It's finally the end of the Weston College arc and I couldn't be happier for it. There was a severe lack of Ciel in this arc in here and I'm going to like getting back to having him in the scenes in the next arc. A lot of stuff will be happening, so I hope you're all prepared for what's to come!

Please review!