Euphemia steadied herself along the fray, the heat of the flames slowly disintegrating from within her body. Her eyes readjusted themselves, as her mind came away from the turbulence she was so very accustomed to. Rosette hair descended down her body, the light bouncing off the curls as she straightened, all the while picking up eroded, neglected dust which decorated her heels. A sharp pang stabbed her lung, and she huffed painfully, though a few moments later, she managed to brush the burden aside. She looked up warily, the Chinese Federation evaporating from her vision.

Carefully, she peered around the area, curiosity fading from her mind. A dark tenacity clouded her eyes, her pupils tracing the entwined abandonment of the violent predicament she introduced. She gripped her skirts tightly, and bit her lip, as she hesitantly began walking toward the ruins. Her footsteps echoed through the silence, beads of anxious sweat decorating her forehead. Guilty remorse was evident in her expression, a tiny drop of blood seeping through her mouth as a result of her own, neglectful shame.

All around her, windows were broken away, the bullet shells responsible for the travesty scattered over the grounds. Ash blew from nearby refuges, with shimmering remnants of rich jewels tossed frustratedly to the ground. Black caressed brown, the thorns carving their way through the neglected, iron rods. Scorch marks embraced their ugly features around the once cared for shelters, the enraged fireplaces taking form of hellfire, which little more than an added cause to the destruction around her. The soft, horrified sun hid from behind the heavy, foreboding clouds, endeavoring to mask Euphemia's finding out of the hideous deeds, while pleading for its own cause. Tiny, stray golden rays shinned upon the dead end, and however reluctant the overseer was, in the end, the fairy could still make out the decaying corpses lying far off to the side.

Primitive, fearful expressions kept staring out emptily across the grey, their mouths reforming the horror they've endured before being spirited away by the now beloved Death. Yellow flesh clung desperately to what little bone their hosts had, a testament to the ravaging the starved animals or elves or pixies or whatever other creature resided in the forests endured. Teeth were stolen, hair strands were ripped forcefully from their victim's skulls, if only to appease those lovely traditions forgotten so very long ago. Fairy circles were made from the rotting bodies, and however decadent their movements were, the creatures still attempted to muster up the characteristic illusion that holy, sanctified reign was doused with. She could even see them standing there, laughing miserably at the graveyard of morals, the crimson seas flooding the dreams they once called home.

Euphemia walked through the town, her own eyes draped from one edifice to the next. Her muscles tensed, the happy memories she spent along the beautiful moments now laying to waste, burned by the arrogance she thought she could tame. A funeral procession of shadows kept past her vision, made up of tiny insects who waited patiently for their charges to arise, of small pets sniffing around for their master's scents, just wondering how long this delusional game was going to last. Half-burned toys came through for the sake of their children, and through their withering bodies, the fabric undoing itself with every little second passing by them, they kept on hoping, their half-smiles filled with jubilance that somehow, someway, their tiny playmates would come back and finish the game they were so bent on playing.

It was all gone, was what she finally realized.

Euphemia caught sight of a far-off manor lying in the distance, which, too, was broken along the painful chain of humiliation, and immediately, she started toward it, the supportive lord who had previously resided there no doubt slaughtered by the king. Once glorious arches were reduced to rubble, the stained glass windows torn away by the very intruders who attempted to cast aside their nightmares. As she came closer, she saw ambitious spears standing haughtily near the iron entrance, with seductive, dead vines clinging to every fiber of their being. Swords came away from the soldiers' dusts, narrowly avoiding an uneventful cremation to which even the weapons wouldn't have minded reflecting. Shields proudly holding a signia Euphemia couldn't even begin to understand stared back at her disturbed gaze, imitating her own daunting nightmare, before replacing it with their more terrified ones. She was about to come to them, when she stopped herself, moments of her own, foolish knights washing over her brain. She took a deep breath, and turned away, knowing full well what pitiful sacrifices were made here.

As Euphemia walked through the corridors, she searched her mind for anything familiar about this place, anything at all that she could've missed. Aside from the forests Suzaku so chaotically destroyed, she couldn't recall anything more of this place. Perhaps Lelouch came here once, or C.C. Maybe they'd know where she was, what the lord here used to do. Was he a merchant? A farmer? Did he helped Queen Mab manufacture some of the Knightmares here, trying to support Euphemia from the shadows? Was he with Titania? Was he allied with Arthur or Vivien?

And what of the manor here? Who knows what stories could be told from these halls, what truths Euphemia managed to hide from herself. Yes, in some ways the home did look like her castle from the Unseelie Courts, yet all the same, the imitation was simply too happy to be hers, the lining of the sun already getting caught from the fragile, magnificent decorations on the ceiling. The light alone was enough to distort whatever darkened deceit came forth from the corners.

She gazed at the dirt covered floors, the black stains of blood and iron upon the wall. Rain that came and went left behind molds she was careful to avoid. Like in the town, bodies were scattered everywhere, with the worthless armor keeping the knights away from her line of sight. Of course, Euphemia was afraid to look at those men, however noble they believed the cause to be. Whether fairy or human, in the end they were all there now, sharing the fate of their dead comrades, following them to a losing battle against tombstones and coffins and crying loved ones. Their honor alone, it seems, wasn't enough to save them. Euphemia could practically see them now frantically running to the entrance, trying to escape into their Knightmares to fight the Lancelot. They were screaming, telling each other to fight off the insane man, while preserving what was left of their already shattered glory.

She could see why Arthur chose them.

How he managed to acquire them though, was a more complex matter. Were they servants, like C.C, servants he managed to kidnap? Were they humanoid experiments he created, if only to provide some whimsical, dramatic entertainment for him to sit down and watch? What were they, in her mind? What were they to Arthur?

Room by room, she examined the contents, scrutinizing whatever was left of the panic. Streams of fabric came bursting throughout the seams, torn silk, shredded gold leaf spread from across the bedchambers. Wooden trash desolated the once ostentatious environments, the sweet dreams accompanying it now remaining asunder through the hateful midst. Portraits were torn apart one by one, from family to friends, adult to children, whoever standing protectively in front of the obstacle dead within that moment. There was nothing at all that could be destroyed, nothing that could even get Euphemia to comprehend the perverted mindsets involved with the mutilating scenes. Descriptions alone weren't enough to describe what went on in the fairy's head, nor were her emotions yet poetically morbid to undo the ravelings of the madness bestowed before her, the battlefield calling out her name so eagerly, so vibrantly, though her blood never sang the same songs it carried, so very preciously.

She came across one particular room however, a ballroom where a giant, golden cage resided, nestled uncomfortably between the curtains and the walls. Just like the rest of the castle, the bars were rusted, the emptiness due to the open door swinging painfully from the screws. The orange light emphasized the isolated nature for which the prison kept its victims, and if she walked a bit closer, Euphemia could see the tiny stains of blood for which the victim kept screaming out. She cocked her head, as she crept a little closer, one delicate hand reaching out to the bars.

Drug needles were scattered all over the floors.

Her eyes widened at the revelation, a slight frown caressing her lips as she backed away from the cage. She recognized those vials. She remembered how viciously Ella attacked the drug, mercilessly shutting down whatever operations manifested itself from the former territory, doing whatever she could to dismantle the market altogether. The Black Knights even helped the efforts.

Refrain, a highly addictive drug that could send a person back into their happiest memories, with the slightest injections; delirious, helpless, the person would later on suffer horrible side-effects that rendered them incapacitated for an unknown amount of time, the whole body shutting down at the seams of the calm. The mind would disregard whatever harsh reality was going around them, only to retreat back a time when the ugly sins never occurred, where not even the conscience could dwell, if only to take away the strange concept called pain.

Euphemia clenched her fists, then slammed the knuckles into the bars.

Arthur needed those humans to bring them Refrain vials, if only to quell the agonizing howls of violation. Someone was in here, trying to break down the barrier from the inside, trying to escape, only to fall victim to something as torturous as this. That was perhaps why Arthur needed the drug, to quell the person's rebellious pride, to acquire yet another submissive, obedient slave.

Lelouch.

But...but there could've been someone else here. Whether it be C.C, or Mab, or perhaps one of her citizens, or her soldiers, all of whom had to devote their time to this forceful, hopeless torture chamber. All of whom had to come from under the cover of shadows, quivering in fear, quiet embedded within the back of their throats as they pleaded that they be spared from anymore pain. The secure became lost, the strong weak, the scholarly degenerating with every second spent here, under Arthur's control. Torn limbs, blood splattered over the floors, the nightmarish howling erupting from every which way.

And what would she do then, if Arthur came there, to that mundane, trivial world? What would he do with Suzaku? Nunnally? Cornelia? Guilford? Anyone at all she dared smile at?

What would happen?

Euphemia narrowed her eyes, before coming away from the room altogether. That little crack was starting to get wider and wider, and with a little more prodding, she might be able to force a way in. Though the magic wouldn't be as nearly as large as it used to be, at the very least it was large enough so that Arthur could sense the threat. He would send out his own army, where Britannian forces and the Black Knights would ambush him, and even if he hadn't, the armies could squeeze through, with Suzaku holding the barrier. The new Knightmares should be in, and with a skilled pilot like Kozuki and Todoh, dealing with the enemy shouldn't be a problem. Meanwhile, Euphemia will go in and take out the leading commanders. She'll paralyze the structure from the inside, then make her way to Arthur.

She couldn't wait for Lelouch or C.C to make their way back to her. She couldn't afford to keep pretending to be Zero, nor could she go on as one of Ella's foot soldiers, just waiting for another attack to happen. There was no other ally she could depend on, no other friend she wanted to drag into this pitiful war.

There was no time left.


Arthur breathed a deep, relieved breath, as he stared out at the corrupted kingdom underneath him. Cold, callous eyes kept up with the realms' mournful gleams, an empty smile grazing his face, as he took in the tainted sights nearby. Heathen mountains splayed their sharp magnificence, drowning away whatever was left of the once innocent scenery. Forests protruding black and grey filled the leaves with invisible sorrow, replicating the executions that took place not too long ago. Crumbling buildings distorted a beloved naiveté, one Arthur was welcome to dismantle. Silence pierced through the once chaotic air, the dreadful screams he would always wake up to at night now vanished without a trace. That shimmering, silver bell that stood from the towers was taken down, tossed down in the trash heaps along with the gargoyles it once served, its unnecessary rings a brief, judgmental echoing from the back of his head. From the corner of his eyes, he could see a small, stray shadow scampering about, doing whatever it could to remain hidden, all the while scavenging food from the dying land.

And he couldn't help but smile.

Arthur sighed, covering his eyes with one hand. White armor flourished from his body, the same armor that protected him from the battlefield, from violence, from any foolish decision his morality guided him towards. The desolation never presumed to touch him, yet all the same, he was on guard. His mind carefully watched the dead heart for any signs of beating, anything at all pertaining to a life he once forsook.

"Your Majesty."

He never turned around, never caught glimpses of the emerald, gossamer curtains that descended from the balconies. The stubborn, ostentatious tiles took care for their demonic designs, that of cherubs which repeatedly sounded their golden trumpets. But he smirked silently, knowing full well what the servant came here to tell him. "What is it?"

"It's the traitor, sir," the servant answered politely, his own, sinful nature unveiling before the king. "The Court requests the execution time."

"Midnight."

The servant blinked. "They request it be now."

"It will be at midnight," Arthur repeated, walking toward the balcony and placing his hand against the railings, his eyes examining every hiding place the vermin were still sleeping in. Ah, he remembered those corners. He used to hide rocks there. Oh, and flowers too; the meadows were always so very beautiful in the summer.

Forests in the autumn.

Cliffs at wintertide.

"Your Highness, if I may-"

"You may not," the fairy stated callously. "Tell them that unless they want to take Sirius's place, I suggest they not speak of the matter again."

A tentative pause came before the man, his shaking growing more and more profuse throughout the air. Arthur could practically taste the servant's fear, that delicious fear which costed so many lives in this dying earth, a stumbling block to the courage the idiots kept preaching about. He relished in it. He savored it. If only to see that face again, Arthur would've done whatever it took to see those fearful eyes again, the same eyes that reflected his own weakness so long ago.

A weakness Arthur would rather die for, more than anything else.

Finally, the servant bowed. "Y-yes, sir." He spun away hastily, and started making his way out of the empty bedchamber, when Arthur stopped him once more, that deviant grin fading from his lips. "And what of the fool? Is she still at the manor?"

"Yes, your Highness," the servant answered. "She hasn't come out, ever since Lady Lisette's execution."

"I want her present for this one as well."

"But sir-!"

"What?"

The man bit back his tongue, hesitation easily rolling through his brain. However, his feelings were incredibly strong, to the point at which, by the end of the moment, he forgot his place. "Sir," he began, "out of all our generals, Lady Morgan is the most skilled and efficient. She carried out most of the purges, and has put to death so many threats, both near and far…your Majesty."

"What of it?" Arthur questioned slothfully.

The servant flinched at the king's aggressiveness, endeavoring to find the words to appease the unstable monarch, while protecting the witch's own sensibilities. "But she isn't like the others," he said finally, his head bowed low. "She isn't as emotionally mature. I-if you expose her to…to this, I'm afraid her-"

"Her what?" he interrupted, twisting sickeningly toward the servant, who was now cowering in fear. That's right; a lot of the servants have tended to the lords of the realms, if only for a brief moment. He knew what he was talking of, what he was dealing with. Yet he kept on with his terrifying wrath, impatient in his words. "Her prowess will fade? It's her art I'm interested in, her art, and nothing more. If she cannot compose the paintings I desire, I'd rather her dead."

"S-sir…"

"That will be all," Arthur hissed through gritted teeth. "Say one more word, and you will be joining your master in the execution. Do I make myself clear?"

An unwilling pause broke between the two silhouettes, both vulnerable to the destruction laid behind, both helpless to the uncertainties lying before the final judgement.

Finally, the man nods, trying to halt his trembling while making his resigning, embarrassing defeat towards the monarch known, his allegiance a testament to the unfaithful heart he possessed. He started to open his mouth, only to shut it when he saw Arthur's dangerous smile. He bowed once again, before spinning his heel and making his way out of the desolate atmosphere, not even daring to weep for the comrades he betrayed.

Arthur closes his eyes, unable to turn around and stare at the quiet, subtle misery for which the crowds exhibit. I

t's true; he could see them, even from here. They were all waiting for the same thing, everyone trying to, at the very least, show their support for his reign, be it fully or half-heartedly. Yes, there they were, leaning closely in the stadiums, trying to see what the criminal looked like, the hero who dared try and usurp the king's glory. Bright, orange lights glossed over their somewhat disturbing, pleasant faces, the boredom entrenched in their delicate, shallow souls. Their shadows flickered from within the twilight, the moon high above their heads, as they went on with their night, impatiently waiting for the punishment to commence. The stakes were already set up, the brimming, crimson torches ready to insight the despair they were so desperately longing to inflict.

He opened his eyes, and stared up at the constellations above. By now, Morgan should be breaking down. That knight was like a child to her, and within the depths of that ruthless tactic, he couldn't help but wonder what she would become. No, she didn't have the same resolve as Guinevere, but neither was she as tame as Lancelot. Would she be another judge?

He sighed. They were all there, just waiting for him to come back, waiting for him to go to those childlike dreams they all thought of together. There they were, waving at him, happy smiles decorating their lips, the beautiful memories spanning just beyond his reach.

Even the relief of turning away had eluded him.


Author's Note:

Hello, I'm the Seelie Court Jester.

-For those of you who have read Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Luzhin, the fairy official from the beginning of the story, was also a character from the book. Personally, I saw the man as a flat character, and so, I imitated that Luzhin into my Luzhin in both Tales of the Seelie Courts and Ashes to Ashes. Their haughtiness was what led to their downfalls in the end, CP by losing the woman he treated as a trophy, and AA by...dying, in front of his own hostages. In Tales of the Seelie Courts, I also mentioned a few other characters, such as Sonia and Raskolnikov, if any of you are interested.

-Crime and Punishment was a psychological novel from Russia that delved deep in themes such as sin, morality, and judgement. I highly recommend this book, either for leisure reading, or perhaps, preparing for your AP English Literature exam (hint hint.)