Hello ! Thank you, everyone that still hold on to that weird, not-so-little story. I very much appreciate it, especially the reviews (for some who think and have the time to write them)! It's one hell of a ride, yet it will soon end. One (or two, it depends if I'm inspired) chapter is left, with an epilogue that is almost finished. You'll have to bear with me a little longer.

This chapter is… quite frightening, with images that may shock (beware, there's the return of one terrible house and its history). But hopefully, it ends in a more hopeful note.

I hope you will enjoy!

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Chapter 44

Then, suddenly, it seemed as if she was not in the same place, and, as Scarlett tried to look at her surroundings, her gaze was attracted to the running figure of a black little girl that cried and almost grazed her on the way. With widened eyes, Scarlett tried to call for her, yet stopped as she met frightened brown eyes. She was in some kind of attic, she saw that, and the place was dark, dusty, and cold, opening with a small wooden door and ending in a large picture window. The girl kept running towards it. Scarlett tried to prevent her, but it was too late. The glass shattered, and the girl fell into the unknown.

As she opened her eyes again, her sight, blurring at the first moments, became clearer, and she remembered swiftly what had happened.

She had been about to go home. And then, Richard had stopped her carriage and, with the aid of an accomplice, took her away.

Where she was exactly, she did not quite know. But she did not quite care, for it did not seem like the immediate danger right now.

"Sweet lady, it seems you are as dismayed with your sight as I am with mine. Never in my life have I seen such vicious little bitch," She heard Lord Fenton said, and though his face seemed smooth and quiet, hovering over the bed as he was, his voice was restrained and carried an edge that made her shudder. "An engrossed one, moreover. Truly, my dear, did you really think you would get rid of me by throwing me over a bridge?"

With a fright, she jumped out of the bed, and gripped the first thing she could catch. It was the oil lamp, and the glass shattered in her hand. She yelped, hurt by the fragments and the burn, and the object fell on the carpet, rolling towards him. The pain was excruciating. She let out a low whimper. Yet, she was not one to let an opportunity to escape when her opponent was distracted over trying to extinguish the tiny flames that flickered on the thick carpet. She tried to run for the door, yet her belly hindered her, and she fell on her knees. She cried with frustration, tears unwillingly flowing down her cheeks. She felt a hand pulling her hair, this hair that had grown back unnoticed, no longer a part of her body that was more cherished by Rhett than the others. She felt herself fading away, powerless against him.

In a sudden last attempt at courage, she defied him with a glare, however, Richard's eyes were not on her face anymore. On his features, there was a deep astonishment, as if he was surprised over a feeling he had not expected.

"You're bleeding…" He stated.

A terrible doubt came over her, but then she realized he was talking of her hand.

There, she had wanted to deny, to retort something wicked and mocking. Yet, weakness came over her, and she faltered. And soon enough, fainted.

As the dark enveloped her, Scarlett felt on her a curious, wandering gaze, almost inquiring. A cold, speculative gaze, that seemed to come from far away, yet that gripped her flesh painfully, its touch oppressing her with an attack of furious goosebumps. A numbness came to her arm, and it felt as if it wasn't her own anymore. She tried to move it, yet nothing came. She opened her mouth, and an icy breath of air came in, heavy and powerful. She gasped, her heart pumping, her chest heaving painfully. She knew she should wake up, yet no light could guide her out of it. Then, she felt a caress on her cheek, light and soft like a feather. It was familiar, a tenderness without feeling, without a thought. An automatic gesture she had craved before, like a cat craving a pet.

"Mother?" She mumbled with disquiet.

The caress stopped, and she finally could open her eyes. On her wasn't the same cold, inquiring gaze, though. It was a burning one, filled with wrath and betrayal, and in the darkness of the room, she almost thought it was Rhett. A Rhett that resented her and hated her as much as he wanted her, and she was distraught at the thought. She could not see his features clearly. She felt as if it was his shadow she was seeing, a thick, big form without a heart, that she could not talk to. She blinked, her tongue discreetly dampening the corners of her mouth. It disappeared suddenly, and she fell back to sleep.

Consciousness came back with a cry, and she tried to think, and explore. She was trapped in some kind of attic indeed, and even in the dream, her mind had stayed there. She was on a bed, alone, and the light came out of the picture window, which was unbroken.

Her gaze went to the carpet, that still held the darkened traces of the flames, though now she could see the precious Persian motifs on it. The lamp and its fragments were gone, yet instead, on a dark rosewood nightstand was set up a silver tray with light sandwiches. With a sharp, almost animal sense, she realized she was hungry. She was not even aware she was eating until suddenly there was nothing else, and she wondered with fright if it wasn't poisoned. Anxiously, she waited for any sign of it, before letting out a breath of relief.

There, her thoughts became clearer, and she examined the door. It was obviously locked, and she let out a discontented grunt at it, kicking it like a child and whining at the pain of it.

Of course, she had no weapon. No sharp object that could be it. It had been taken away from her.

She considered breaking the glass. Yet, she did not know how deep the fall would be, and she was not about to try. Her hand reached her belly, protective, as she reflected on her situation. She gripped on her brooch, which was still on her dress.

Time passed, yet no one came, and if she had the nagging impression of being watched, she heard nothing but some faint footsteps and saw nothing but the shadows coming from the window. The door stayed closed.

But when she closed her eyes, it opened again, and she heard someone calling her. She went down the stairs, curious, and felt attracted to one room, majestic and grandiose. She felt as if she had already seen it, or at least a pale copy of it. But when? To her, it seemed quite recent, but she couldn't remember just yet.

There was a grand bed with delicately carved colons, and white velvet curtains. The room was light and clear, and from where she stood, Scarlett could see the back of a woman with dark hair, brushing it softly with an ivory comb in front of a golden vanity. The reflection on the mirror, framed in gold and that typical shell-like figure at the head of it, was that of an elegant lady with dark eyes, a straight nose slowly directing the attention to the thin red lips. The woman froze, seemingly taking notice of the intruder, and her silhouette gracefully whirled toward Scarlett, ethereal. This was how a lady should turn, she thought. This was what her mother wanted her to look like. The lips stretched in an inviting smile, and suddenly, she was in front of Scarlett, and the young woman felt surprised by it.

"Bienvenue, dear one. It's been so long since I've welcomed anyone…"

"Dear one?" Scarlett blinked. "Do I know you?"

"You must have some of my blood in you. Or else, I would be to you only a shadow, a présence that would scare you, for there would be no sens to you. But you see me, don't you? I can live in your head…"

Confused and unsure, the young woman took a step back.

"Who are you?"

The lady offered her her hand, and Scarlett looked at her, confused with the beauty that emanated from her.

"My name is Marie Delphine de Macarty. And I've been waiting for someone like you…"

Impressed by the grace of the lady, the quietness of her demeanor that reminded her painfully of her mother, Scarlett was about to take the hand that was offered to her, when she felt suddenly pulled away from her.

When she woke, she was tightly held in an embrace, with the tormented eyes of Richard on her.

She pushed and cried, and swiftly, he slipped from the bed and left, and the last thing she heard was that of the key turning in its lock.

She saw Marie Delphine again the next night, and the lady invited her to sit by her side. There, suddenly, they were not in the room anymore, but in a little garden beautifully symmetrical and tamed.

She talked of Tara, the perfect Tara of her youth, with the magnolia stretching lazily across the window of her bedroom, and the almost magical way sky and earth would blend at dusk, red and alive like a fire.

The lady listened and took interest in it in such a sympathetic way that Scarlett felt as if she understood it, as deeply as if they had been living in the same place, at the same time.

"I understand you… My house… They tried to destroy it too. They wanted to kill me too. Yet, I survived. Just like you."

And in these dark eyes, Scarlett felt as if there were kindred, a bond, almost like she was with someone from her family.

Yet, she was torn away again, and that day, Richard came. He said nothing, just looked at her, and she did not try to make him react.

She did not know what he wanted from her, but no matter what, she was not about to give in in this staring war he had initiated.

Rhett would come, she was saying in her glare. Rhett would come, and together, we'll get rid of you.

She wondered if her husband was able to sleep without her. She remembered his unrest, remembered the pain in his voice as he told her he couldn't without her presence by his side. How she missed him! How she missed the children! How distraught they must be!

She had to find a way out of there. Certainly, there was a way to escape it.

...

Some miles from here, Rhett laid on the sofa with the children, his eyes dry for them, yet tinging with a dull pain that came from behind them. He had spent the entire evening trying to comfort them, yet he couldn't control his own worry, the amputation of her presence at his side.

Scarlett had been missing for three days now, without any advances to the searches, other than Richard's taunting telegram, telling him he had her.

But since then, nothing. Not even a hint. They could be anywhere, and Rhett could do nothing, but harass the officers over and over, and his men, that seemed afraid of him these days.

Many things could happen in three days, yet until then he had had the feeling she was still alive and fighting, and that kept him going, ignoring his own needs, to look for her relentlessly.

But here now he had a sharp feeling on his chest, as if he were slowly losing her, and that made him afraid. Was she sleeping well without him? He thought, distraught. Was she eating? Where could she be? Why suddenly, he felt as if a piece of his soul, that had already been twisted at the announcement of her abduction, was now being torn apart more deeply than ever before?

Darkness was all around him, and he felt himself faltering in his faith.

...

And if his eyes did not close more than a few seconds, Scarlett's, miles from here, shut down slowly, and she felt as if her soul was pulled irresistibly away from her body, called by that presence that felt soothing and familiar.

"Will you help me?" The lady said when Scarlett met her again.

She nodded irresistibly, and Marie-Delphine's eyes lightened up.

"How?"

There again, the hand was offered to her, yet something told her not to take it. It was something terrifying and dark, and she did not dare to analyze it.

"Help me…"

In the background came a cry, and she woke up again. And this day, as she saw Richard again, he leaned on the window, and she was tempted to push him and watch him fall. Yet, the baby kicked, and she felt weak. This would have to wait, she thought, as she leaned back. She needed to get his trust again, for him to lower his guards. Then, maybe, she could get the key…

As if summoned, Richard turned to her, his eyes afire. His hands suddenly at each side of her frame, he kissed her violently, his mouth hard, yet too soft against him. He was too smooth, too... Well, she did not know quite yet how to describe it, but she did not like it. It wasn't Rhett, and It was wrong, and she felt weak at not having been able to prevent it.

After a moment of astonishment, she tried to take advantage of it, yet he soon trapped her wandering hands. Infuriated, she kicked and bit him. He snarled. His large body whirled back and he groaned, yelled.

"Do you know how many times I could have killed Rhett? How many times he's been close enough for me to shoot? I am the one that made sure he was arrested, do you truly think I would not do it again?"

She went still, affected by the obvious threat and implications in his voice, her heart freezing in her ribcage. If he felt the change, he said nothing of it, and he continued, his eyes far away.

"I know that's what I should do," He mumbled. "Yet, what would I be living for, then?"

She was tempted to say that he would be better dead, then, but her mouth was dry, and the tiny pop it made when she tried to open her lips alerted him. He went closer again. His hand touched her belly, and her skin shuddered at his touch.

This isn't right, she thought. He shouldn't touch. Our baby, oh Rhett, how can I protect it?

"It's not fair, that I would suffer, while he thrives again and again," Richard continued, and his eyes were tortured, with a hint of madness that scared Scarlett. "Rhett owes me a child. He owes me a woman. This happy ending, it should be mine. It is only fair I take his. It's only fair, isn't it?"

Repeating it won't make it fair, she wanted to say.

"Yes, it is. And you are the one I love," She said dully.

It was something terrifying, the automatic way she found herself saying these words. As if it wasn't her that was saying it. As if another woman, a stranger said it, and the way she said it seemed to lit up a painful glint in Richard's eyes.

"No, I'm not. But I will be. There'll be only me," Or there'll be nothing.

It wasn't said, but she heard it all the same.

"If you can love him… if you can love a monster… Then you can love me. You can accept all of me, even the parts that had been twisted and left to rot. I so need love, and you seem like one who had so much to give… And this one… It is not corrupted yet. It can love me too," He laughed and that laugh, too joyful, chilled her to the bones. "The irony! A piece of Rhett loving me! The blood of Rhett bowing before me, dependent on me!"

Not if I can help it… She thought. Her gaze went on the window again, and she was tempted to run from it.

"Never," She hissed. "Never…"

Richard's eyes sharpened. "Now, that's a challenge."

Oh, how could she get out of it?

He was there, with her, until dusk, and she was innerved by his speculative gaze, as if he was considering the best way to catch her. And she was alert, determined that he won't. Yet, sleep came to her unexpectedly, and soon enough, she found her friend from the other side again. And this time, with the perfection of the scenary and seeing no way out, she was tempted to accept the offer.

"Here, take my hand. I will show you who I am…"

With a relieved sigh, Scarlett took it. Yet, the relief was short-lived as visions came to her.

She heard the cry of a mother as her child was taken from her before her eyes, and the soft reprimand of the mistress, saying 'I told you I would do so if you failed to obey me.'

Then, there was blood. Blood, blood everywhere, and a soft whimper of pain. The air was stale, filled with dirt and that distinctive sharp smell. She saw the cry in the eyes of one man, his mouth sewed with filth coming through the holes. People lined in the dark, trembling, wailing.

She wanted to throw up. She felt like she understood more clearly now what Pansy had told her about slavery, the stories these people had told, and the lies she had been told all her life about it… There, the last fragments of dreams she did not know she had left shattered completely and she saw it all too clear.

"You are like me," The lady said, her sharp, eagle eyes that suddenly were alight with greediness.

Her body trembling, Scarlett shook her head.

"No, I'm not!"

"You can't deny it!" The lady seethed, and in the sharp darkness, she seemed even grander than she had been. "See… I've played the game like you… They wanted me to be a lady, and I did… I was the best hostess, a model of virtue and charms, and they praised my humanité. I was perfect. What's the life of a few nègres compared to that? They're low and base, and they ruined it all. They never could be what I wanted them to be. So weak. So disgusting…

"Why would anyone do such a thing?"

Marie Delphine's eyes snapped to her, intense and indignant.

"They need to be punished. They're impure, dirty…"

Numbed by the cries, by the pain, and that terrible, terrible smell, Scarlett hiccoughed with horror, the cold thrill running down her spine.

"No!"

"No?" Marie-Delphine shrugged, as if surprised. 'They're just animals. They don't feel anything. It's sad. There were pretty things in the things I showed you, but you only saw the slaves. Or maybe…" And the eyes brightened again at the thought. "You felt it too… That thrill…"

"You're… You're the Lalaurie woman…" Scarlett realized, horrified. That all made sense somehow, and she remembered Pansy's words and previous insults with a sudden accuracy that cut her.

Marie Delphine raised up, her chin proudly held, her eyes narrowing arrogantly as she faced the younger woman with her hands confidently on her hips.

"Lalaurie… Ha! That man did not deserve that I take his name. Do you know that he cheated on me with our slaves? Did you know he never tried to hide? It was not enough for him to cheat on me with prostitutes, but with them, also?

"You're wrong. This is wrong…"

"Who are you to judge me?" The soft, dark eyes turned cold, the voice echoed strangely in the little garden. "I know you. I know what you've done. What you've done to your own people, your own class… You will never be a great lady alone. Not as I was. Not as I can become again… You cannot deny blood. It is you. It is in you. And it is in your children too. I am you."

And there, the dark eyes of the woman became green, and Scarlett realized she was looking at herself in the mirror. She screamed and woke up in Richard's embrace, and cried as he tried to comfort her. Rhett, she wanted Rhett. Only Rhett could comfort her, laugh with her, but he wasn't there! She pushed him away, and turned. But Richard was still here.

The next days, he was surprisingly nice, coming to her with gifts, saying dull, gracious words of love she did not believe in, as if he was courting her, and she was bewildered by such a change. And instead of quieting her, it made her even more suspicious.

But the nights were the worst, plagued with threats and images, and more often than now, she found herself waking up with a scream, fighting with one that couldn't die, and she couldn't grasp. One that told her to let herself go and surrender. And when she woke up, there was Richard, and, after many days, as she shuddered and fight in his embrace, still as wild as ever, he cried.

"Why do you tremble?" His face was surprisingly distraught in the dark, his eyes shining like that of a prisoner, and she found herself glancing back at it, the feeling echoing in her body. She went still, surprised, as he cupped her face with slim hands, and stared at her with begging eyes. "Oh, why can't you just let yourself go? Why can't you just love me, and not him? Am I such a hard man to love? I swear, I wasn't always like this. In fact, I was exactly what every girl wanted. A charming gentleman, generous with his money and his heart, brave and loyal and true. I wanted so much to belong, and for that I gave and gave. I followed the footsteps of the ones I loved because I admired them, and I knew they were right, and I wanted to be right. And for you, I can become him again. I can even get a horse. It doesn't matter that you're not Cassandra. No one will ever be like her. No one will ever be like you. She is death, and you are life, and I crave it. Can't you understand it? I want to live. I want to be happy. I want to forget. I want to be loved by you, because I love you, and I can't help it. Monsters tend to love one another, don't they? You've stabbed me in the heart more than once, and here I'm crawling back for more. Oh, can you promise you will try? Oh, do promise you will!"

"I..," She whispered unwillingly, tempted to say she will, for she was tired of fighting against people who held her down, and asked her to surrender. And then, in his eyes, she saw a weakness like hers, and she felt pity, and a twisted little bit of kindness that made her question what she was living.

After all, he had been nice. He could be nice. Maybe, maybe she could change him…

Who are you? She thought. Who are you really?

The villain in my story, or the victim?

She could not find the answer, and it upset her.

"You will be mine. Not yet, but soon. And I promise to you. I will treat you exactly how you deserve to be treated. This child in your belly will be my child. He will be what binds you to me, the sign of my victory…"

My child… my poor child…

She wanted to crawl in the bed, and look at the pictures in her brooch…

Her eyes widened. The brooch!

She looked at it, and then a surge of defiant strength came back. The idea came to her, yet it felt as if she was sacrificing her last hope.

She was vulnerable, yes. But at the moment, he was vulnerable as well. And she could very much use it.

"I can't," She uttered with difficulty. "As long as I have this, I can't be yours."

He stared, hypnotized, as she raised and handed it the precious object.

"Throw it away," She said. "Throw it as strongly as you can. Out of the house. Then, I promise I'll try…"

Taking it, he stared at the emerald as if it was a sanctified artifact, before nodding. Once. Twice. Then he went to the window and threw it. It pierced the glass and then suddenly, she could hear the carriages outside, and a relieving breath of air.

In her eyes came a triumphant glint, but he did not see. Instead, he went to her and gathered her in his arms, as a lover would, and cradled her like a baby. His eyes flashed with a glee that pierced her like a stab in the stomach.

"You will… Oh, you will! You will, and that'll kill Rhett, and Justice will be served and I… I will be happy again!"

There was something like tenderness as his arms folded over her still form, and she almost cried at it.

She did not fight it. Her last strength of the day had been used. Tomorrow, she'll fight. Tomorrow, Rhett would find the brooch.

Yet, the ghost that haunted her dreams was still there, and even if she tried to say it will not have her, it continued harassing her.

"Traitresse," She heard mumbling around her, threatening little whispers that felt eerie and vicious, like a snake climbing down her leg. "Traitresse, traitresse… You deny your blood, you deny what had always been… It's your héritage…"

Scarlett tried to get rid of it, but it cloaked her, a damp and heavy mantle she could not get rid of without tearing her own skin. It burned, and it hurt, and it swallowed her whole.

"No," She screamed. "I don't want it!"

"You can't refuse it…" She heard. "Let me in. I deserve this life more than you…" There, the voice became softer. "Let me in, and I'll be everything you ever wanted to be. Like your mother wanted you to be. Like your mother is."

There, the ghost took the features of Ellen O'Hara and reached out for her, in her eyes a deep melancholy that had never left when she was alive. A shell of a woman that passed as a living one, and that was suddenly recognized for what it was. At least by her daughter.

There, the air went cold, frozen in place. Scarlett saw it all, and she felt as if the spell was broken.

No, she would not be like that. It was so long since she had given up on that wish, for now she knew it wasn't for her. She did not have to live with that. It had never made her mother happy, and it certainly would not make her.

"So this is what you want from me?" She contemplated, and suddenly it was all too clear. Suddenly, she was able to see things as they were. "Tsk. You're just another ghost. I don't have to listen to you. I don't need you. You need me. You have no power over me."

There, she heard a rageful cry, and she felt the woman's arms folding over her, clinging to her as if she was trying to suffocate her. Yet, she stood her ground.

"That's what you think…" The Lalaurie woman frothed. "But it is in you… It's coming…"

"And I'll face it. I've already faced worst," She squared her shoulders and prepared for the final fight.

This time, she woke up without a scream, with a frightening calm. She settled near the window, glancing at the hole in it, and let herself starve. And not even Richard could force her to eat, this time.

She would be waiting for Rhett, even if that were the last thing she did.

...

In a way, she had been right, for the brooch was soon found by a beggar who tried to sell it to the next jewelry shop. It could have stayed hidden, bought by any stranger. But then, as it was examined by many people, the mechanism was discovered, and it opened on a picture where many recognized one Rhett King Butler and his bride.

And when words came to Rhett about it, following the trail to the Lalaurie Mansion was such an easy thing to do, and it was with renewed hope that he prepared for the last fight.

...

Cruelty is such an easy thing, she thought. When one does not think of it. When one does not look at it. Just as it felt easy to forget of the hunger when there was the thrill of giving pain to one she despised most of all yet somehow cared for her. That, and the lack of sleep prevented her from thinking about it. It was so easy to be the villain, the monster in one's story, far easier than to be the hero. She could have lived being the monster.

Yet, that one here made her not only a monster, but also a victim, and she struggled with both identities. He asked her to feel, when a monster shouldn't. He asked her to love, when a monster couldn't. And Scarlett, who did not quite like complexity when things could be simple, found herself hating him for that.

Even Rhett had never been so twisted.

She realized that her hatred could make her forget everything and everyone that she loved, and that was such a terrifying thing to her. Just how far could she go in this way? How long?

"Scarlett…" She heard Richard pleading. "Sweet Scarlett, monster to my heart… Please, eat something… I've done everything… Tell me how I can reach your heart. Tell me a story where I could…"

How could he? She thought with disgust. Or could he? She tried not to think of it, yet, the question stayed and she wondered. With dull eyes on him, she realized with that self-honesty she had regained that if she hadn't had any hope, maybe, she could have let herself be loved by him. Maybe she could have had a hint of feeling, a little twisted hint of kindness and pity, a flask of dust in an otherwise empty shell of a woman. She almost did.

Yet, hope had not left her. It was in her heart, as long as she knew that Rhett and the children were waiting for her, alive and caring. It was in the memories they shared, the stories they told themselves. She wondered if Ella and Wade still carried out that story she had begun, just like they used it not so long again, to comfort themselves, and her also. She took strength in it, as she reflected on the twists and turns of that story, just as her own life had been.

No, the brooch had never been her only hope. She found herself wondering at it, and the words flowed from her lips, and she gripped at it eagerly like the flicker of hope, this attempt of reconstruction of her reality it had been.

"There was once a girl, lost in a dream. A dream where her father and mother were still there, loving her. Yet, the past kept attacking that dream and it broke her heart. So, she went into a senseless quest, to find something that had been lost long ago, and that wasn't even hers to seek. On the way, she met extraordinary people, good people and bad people. She met ghosts of the pasts, though she did not recognize them at first, and people, true people. She met a man as haunted as hers, perhaps even more, and although she did not see it, he began to heal her heart. And when she realized… When she realized she loved him, the dream broke, and she was left in the mist of that dream. And now that she recognized it was a dream, she remembered all that she had wanted to forget. She had wanted to forget everything that had been wrong in her life and live something beautiful and pure, and she almost did. She had gotten rid of everything that felt too heavy to bear, virtue, kindness, propriety… Yet, it was too late, and when she realized it, she almost lost what she had found on the way."

"That man… it is me, isn't it? Oh, please, tell me it is me…"

She ignored him. She had to keep going.

"She remembered… She and that man… they had lost their little girl, and all had fallen apart. He went away to forget. She ran and ran, let go of herself, lost in a dream, lost in a mist, to try to find her home, yet it was not the same as before… She would not find her mother in there, nor her father. She would not find her sisters… No, everything had changed then. What was her home wasn't there anymore, and she had to build it all over again… She had to find herself. She had to find the children she had almost forgotten, and the man she loved… more than life itself…"

She felt his grip still on her shoulders as she leaned on the window. She supposed it must be painful, but then, she did not quite feel it.

"No. No, you can't say his name, you can't…" Came his raging voice. "I know you…"

She blinked, as if remembering he was there, beside her. These last sounds came at first meaningless, yet broke the dream she was in, and she frowned.

"You know me… You know me…"

She repeated it, confused, yet the words made no sense to her. Her fist clenched, and she felt hot and dumb with the coppery smell of the dust and the old. Her petite frame trembled, her lips tingling from the words she had yet to say. At this change of behavior, Richard's hands suddenly let her and he stared, bewildered.

"And who am I?" She seethed, finally raising her head, her green eyes afire with the anger she had restrained over and over. "I am Katie Scarlett O'Hara Butler, daughter of a lady full of sorrow yet strong, of an Irish immigrant that gained his life through sheer luck. I am a woman of business, hard, cunning and charming. I do not always understand everything from the beginning, but I learn. I am the friend of people who opened my eyes and mind, and I won't close them anymore. I am the wife of an adventurer with a sharp, loving, open mind. We both have made mistakes, yet we're still here, stronger than ever. He'll fight for me, I know he will. I am the mother of Wade, Ella, Bonnie, one unborn child, all that gave me joy, and another is yet to come. Do you think you know that? I will not be limited by the past. And I'll come back home. No matter how long it takes, I swear it, I'll get back to them, even if I have to steal and kill for that!"

"Damn you!"

He stamped his foot, and her glare strengthened. A mean little smile came to her lips.

"You can destroy me if you want. You can at least try. But it won't change that. I won't live in a lie anymore. I won't let go anymore. Ghosts don't scare me, neither shadows like you, shadow of a man you will never be able to better!" Richard's face blanched, then reddened with fury, and there she knew he wanted to kill her. But she was too far gone to stop. In fact, a twisted pleasure sparked in her heart, and she thought that indeed, she must be a monster for feeling so. Yet, at that moment, she did not care, for in her mind, he made her so. "I will face today, and I will face tomorrow, and everything that it brings. And I'll find Rhett again. Either in this life or the other!"

As she was taking her breath again to add another thing, that might have been a little too much, she heard a long, slow clapping ringing in the room. Her head snapped in direction of the noise. The first thing she saw was the spark of these sharp white teeth contrasting with a sinfully sensual mouth, and she wanted to kiss that mouth, to take refuge in the strength of that chest, these arms she knew so well…

"My own darling femme fatale. My pride and joy…. Very dramatic, foolishly brave, and inspired. I'm sure that dear Shakespeare would have approved," Rhett was leaning on the threshold of the opened door in apparent informality, his eyes shining on her with love and pride, and his smile, his damned jeering smile had that twitch that was hers alone, a connivance that made her forget every bad thing she had ever felt and done, for they were nothing to the happiness that filled her knowing he was by her side. He winked at her. "Though I have to disagree about the 'other life' part. We'll talk about it later, for I do find it quite unnecessary."

There, suddenly, he raised, pouncing lightly with a terrible feline grace, the black orbs shining dangerously as he finally met Richard's eyes. The smile turned dark, full of one terrible bloodlust that made her shiver in anticipation. "Oh, but I'm amiss. This is where I'm supposed to kick in, isn't it?"