Listen to the wind blow

Down comes the night

Break the silence

Damn the dark

Damn the light

And if you don't love me now

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

you would never breath the chain

-The chain from 'Gears of war 5' (I love you Amy Lee!)

Tweak

The wind howled through the trees, snow flurries hiding more than one snow maiden in their midst. They were unmistakable if you happen to catch sight of one. Ice ordained their plated hair and eyelashes, their skin as white as the snow they were born from. Their eyes were almost always grey as a winter storm or as blue and as frozen as mid winter sun. They wore the purest of white, the frost work decorating their dresses almost as delicate as the icicles that clung to the hem of their sleeves. Snow maidens were rare creatures. Humans had been steadily eroding the world, polluting it at every chance. When he was young, even the deep woods-and the fabled monsters they held-were already a thing of legend and distant memory. With so many humans falling by the wayside, more and more of the wild fey were growing bold. Bold in the absence of humanity, bold in the slow renewal of mother earth.

"You son of bitch," her voice disrupted the silence of the alcove he was lurking in. Tweak turned to see a flushed Sarah. Cheeks red with anger, eyes snapping. This was something new. Sarah was changing with her time among these humans. Before she had almost always worn a blank, guarded expression. Now she was expressive, her face ever changing the way a human's aught.

"Sarah." He rose to his feet. For the most part he stayed tucked in between two outbuildings. The scent of metal was so thick in the human bee hive underground. Even a halfling like himself was disquieted by it. No pure blood would have been able to step foot in this building. She glared at him.

" ' I want to protect you'," she sneered at him. " 'For your brother.'"

"Yes," He paused, "That was my agreement with your brother."

"Agreement?" she nearly screamed, stamping a foot. "You treacherous ingrate, what did you tell her?"

"There are many females I speak with, you will have to be more specific," Tweak replied, still studying her. She had made a point of avoiding him since their last conversation. He looked at her with new eyes. She had grown physically. Filled out. She looked less and less like the flat chested waif who had spent centuries running around a fey court barefoot. She looked less-and somehow more-like her brother.

Stepping forward she slapped him.

"Damn you," she whispered, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Blinking, she kept them at bay. She was quick and efficient with her next words. "You told them I would work for you? You told them I was adept at court life. You told them I had a debt?"

"Was I untruthful?" He asked looking out the side of his eye, his head still turned to the side. "Do you not owe me a debt for your protection?" Wordlessly, she shook her head. When she spoke next, her words were slow and measured.

"I don't want anything to do with you. Not with you or any fey court." She stepped back, her eyes never leaving the green haired fey. "Aaron always warned me. 'Fey are too heart stupid Sarah, so you can't be.'" She sniffed, blinking back more tears. "You were never concerned about protecting me. You wanted to protect yourself, you selfish asshole." She took another step back as he studied her. Who was this woman before him? She was so vastly different and emotional compared with the child he had known only a year ago. Was this the influence of other humans? Is this truly what Aaron sought for her when he'd struck a bargain that night nearly 12 seasonal cycles past?

"The gentry are coming," he replied, tilting his head to the side, he closed his eyes. "Their footsteps echo in the empty tainted woods as they march closer. Your feelings on the matter of being their chosen human tithe for the equinox and intermediary for the humans is inconsequential. Fey courts follow their kings and queens. Lord and Ladies who bow to none save for the High King Obrion-Oberon's chosen heir-and his Lady, High Queen Freja. You know this."

"To say their names is to curse your own," Sarah hissed at him, eyes narrowing. "I will not be an equinox tithe."

"You are to be Spring, be grateful you were spared the fate of winter." The words fell from his lips like stones, cruel in their honesty. It was no honor to be a tithe to any fey court, let alone to the high king and queen, the embodiment of capricious fey tendencies. She was not so sheltered as to misunderstand that. He had watched his mother, a chosen tithe for winter, flayed alive for the amusement of the gentry. He was but a bastard by blow of a bored king. The product of a night of indiscretion between his father and his very human mother. When his father's wife had discovered his existence, the days he knew the face of his mother were numbered. He had been five summers of age when she had been taken from him.

"We play the roles we are given." The words, harsh in their truth, continued to spill from his lips. The weight of them were crushing. Her shoulders sank further and further with every one of his proclamations. "I can no more protect you from them than your brother could. Your brother struck many unsavory deals to keep your body and mind pure." He glared at her. Oh yes, he'd watched the things Aaron had agreed to. The debasement of amusement the fey punished him with for daring to have a caring heart. Aaron who had always turned to Marcus for comfort afterwards. Aaron who started to flinch any time a fey approached him. Sarah was the reason Aaron was dead. Sarah was the reason the winter winds whistled through the hole where his heart should have been. Sarah was the reason Aaron, drunk and desperate, had come to him that fateful night. An agreement had been made and he could still taste Aaron's sweat on his lips.

"They have bid us to dance, and we do so," Tweak reminded her. He was not feeling charitable. His next words sought the weakness of her heart flesh. "Your parents danced. Aaron danced. Be grateful, you will be spared the entirety of the dance requested of you. Of all those in your weak and short human line, you will be spared. You will dance for but a single day and night at the whims of a king, and you will be spared what your human family wasn't." The words hit their mark. Eyes brimmed with tears, she stared at him. Jaw clenched, she took a breath and straightened her back. Watching, he waited. Was this the human virtue of resolve they so loved to extol about in their films? He was not expecting her to carve what was left of his own heart flesh.

"It's a shame he loved you," she said, her voice tight with anger. "And it's an insult to my weak human line that he asked me to love you in his absence." She had no way of knowing how sharp her words were, how deeply they cut the pulp of his heart strings. Or perhaps she knew only too well the keen edge of her words. He studied her pale face, her snapping eyes and that hair that so reminded him of her brother. There was something broken there. Something jagged as the shattered ice shards in his heart. Without further comment she turned and walked away, never offering a backwards glance.

Lauren

I groan. I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Taking a deep breath I blink. Where the hell am I? Sitting up I push a blanket off, my hand blindly reaching out in the darkness. I find a lamp and fumble for its switch. The light makes my eyes riot, even as it flickers, trying to decide if it wants to be on or not. Squinting I take in the room. Not my hospital ward room. I think back.

Oh right. Vergil's room. We made an agreement. Or something. How long was I out of it? Blinking, I sit there for a minute. The room is weirdly quiet. And dark. My hospital room had the search light constantly sweeping by, nurses making checks and gossiping, counting supplies. I guess i couldn't stay there forever.

I take a deep breath and stretch, yawning. Everything is sore. That's not good. I'm down muscle mass. I haven't eaten in awhile and the whole tiny world of delta 2 hates me. Except for Vergil. Who everyone else ought to hate. But they don't cuz he'd kill'em. Great.

With a sigh, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and rise to my feet, stiff and sore. More than one joint cracks, complaining. The floor is ice to my bare feet. Shuffling over to the bathroom, I pause. There's a pile of stuff on the table. My stuff. The dying flowers Sarah got me, the stupid romance book I'm reading, the spare set of clothing. On top of it is a small piece of paper. I pick it up.

Yours.

The writing is way more neat than my own. No loopty loops or cutesy shit, just straight black lines written carefully. Those Black lines drown in the sea of that small white square. I blink and look back at the pile. Vergil. He went and got my things. He really does put a price on everything. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen him write anything. I crush the note in my hand and let it drop to the floor before reaching for my clothing. I take the leggings and sweater off the table and head to the bathroom.

By the time I'm done showering there's someone pounding on the door. Hair still wound up in a towel turban, I crack the door open an inch.

"Lauren." A shower of long blonde hair and flawless skin greets me. Not even the end of civilization has kept her from stunning perfection. Her perfection makes my eyes hurt.

"Trish." What the hell. What does she want?

"You going to open the door?" she demands, tilting her head to the side. I do as she asks, opening the thing fully for her. Breezily, she crosses the threshold and makes her way to the only chair in the room. Her boots are soundless as she crosses the room. It's weird to see her so dressed down. Wearing grey sweats with her hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. Trish used to pride herself on her hair. Now its like-I dunno- the end of the world happened. She still looks amazing however. Slowly I close the door behind her, the hairs on my arms rising as she brushes past. I take a breath, rubbing my arm as I turn to face her. Trish is irritated about something if I can feel the static from her aura. Not a casual visit then.

"Quaint," she comments as she sits down, eyeing up the spartan like bareness. Easily she leans back, drawing up one of her long legs and folding it over the other. Reaching for the towel, I unwind it and begin to towel off my hair. Carefully I sit on the bed, crossing my legs. Trish's blue eyes fall on me and she studies me. There's a critical look to her that's making me uneasy.

"Can I help you?" I ask after a moment of silence.

"No, but I'm going to help you," She says with a small smirk. Riiiiiight. No one just 'helps' me. Come to think of it, haven't seen Sarah in a while. What's Hunnigan's game this time?

"Willingly?" I demand, unimpressed. Trish raises an eyebrow. "How much is Hunnigan bribing you?" I demand flatly. I don't have time for this cat and mouse shit. At that Trish chuckles.

"The head bitch isn't bribing me," Trish says easily, an amused grin on her full mouth as her fingertips toy with the arm rest. I give her a look which she ignores. "Lately, Dante has been distracted," she continues. "He has been distant. His mind is somewhere else." Ooooookay. Not what I thought this was going to be.

"I'm really not the person to go to for relationship advice," I say slowly.

"Then it's good I'm not here for that, isn't it?" Trish demands, her pretty face sharp. Dropping her foot to the ground, Trish leaned forward, putting her elbows on her knees. She studied my face. "Lauren what do you think it is Dante does? When we're not," she swept her hand out to indicate the whole room, "here."

"He's a devil hunter," I shrug. I look about to take in the room. Blank plane linoleum, hard metal furniture and a side chair that looks like it was ripped straight out of the 1970's. Bright yellow and orange on dull wood. What the hell do Trish and Dante do when they're not at Delta Two? Where the hell is this conversation going? I mean, I lived with Trish and Dante for a few months nearly 10 years ago. Like 90% of what Dante did was related to demons.

"Yes," Trish says patiently, "And?"

"And he hates Vergil?" I ask.

"No, He doesn't," She says flatly, looking disappointed in me. "Good guess though. Vergil's a dick." At that I tilt my head to the side. Either I'm dumb, or this isn't making any sense. Trish might also be purposely keeping me off balance in order to pump me for information.

"Trish," I start, a warning in my voice.

"He's a detective," she says, annoyance giving her voice an edge as she sighs. "Devil May Cry detective agency? It's on the sign." Her face goes impassive as she studies me. Seconds slip into minutes of silence. "You don't get it do you?" Really? What is there to get? I roll my eyes as I continue to towel off my hair.

"Trish, I just woke up and showered. I don't know what time it is, let alone what day it is." That's the most progress I've gotten done since the day of my hair cut. Normally the waking up part is the miracle as it means I was able to sleep in the first place.

"Mmmm," Trish sighs, cracking her neck as she leans back in the chair. She takes a breath, studying me. When she talks next, it's a different Trish. The sharp angles and impatience is gone and before me is a new Trish. This Trish is patient and calm. The same Trish who went out of her way to teach me about demon soul arms and how to tap into their aura. How to be lethal with a kiss and a wink. This is the Trish you want on your side, not the lethal, feral thing from before. The shift is subtle but the harsh sharpness of her eyes and the edges of her mouth has given away to something more calming.

"Vergil wasn't exactly nice to you 10 years ago. We saw it. Anyone who was there, saw it," She says softly, her face goes soft with a subtle curve of her eyebrows and a downward frown of her mouth. "We knew what Vergil was like. We knew and," Trish pauses, her eyes going distant. She shakes her head, eyes on the ground before they reluctantly find me. "It never sat right with either of us."

"A little late for this, dontcha think?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I shiver as cold water from my hair slips down my neck. Carefully I wipe away the droplets. I shrug. "It's not like you guys could've done anything." No, the more Loki rambles, the more I understand that. Interdimensional secrets of life and death that the angel of death casually slips into the conversation. The knowledge of that is a bitter pill that's still stuck in the back of my throat.

"Hard to help when you're surrounded by that many demons and angels," Trish retorts. I mean, she's not wrong. There were angels-ugly corrupted ones-that night. There were demons too. By the end of it all, there was nothing left but ashes, blood, and fire. Not even Vali had survived. That bitch who murdered my sister. I'd fucking throw her flaming carcass into the sea a second time. She'd probably skewer me a second time for the effort too.

"It's not worth talking about," I say, getting up off the bed, towel in hand. I can't revisit this now. My heart is heavy and while I got over it, I didn't. Not really. "What's done is done." Turning away from Trish, I head to the bathroom, damp towel in hand. Her next words root me in place on the cold linoleum.

"Except Dante doesn't think it is." I turn to her, silent. I can hear my heartbeat roaring in my ears. Trish licks her lips, clearly uncomfortable. She shifts her weight while seated in Vergil's ancient chair.

"Last time, it was a battle for power," Trish says. "Vali wanted it. You were sacrificed for it."

"Yeah Trish, I was there," I say softly, still waiting.

"Well now there's a bioweapon-"

"God," I correct her.

"Bioweapon," She repeats, her expression making it clear just what she thinks of Raziel's definition of a genetically engineered God. "It was everything Vali could have wanted. It's everything that the old corrupted angel wanted. God what was his name," she shakes her head, drawing her hand through her hair.

"Yanos," I say. "Yanos was the leader of New Light. Just like ASH is the leader of his fucked up little cult of zombies." That draws Trish's attention. Her eyes are sharp. Intelligent. But then again, she is the wife of a detective. For a minute, I think I've tipped my hand. Given away more than I should have. Then I figure, does it matter? Really? Will this conversation matter in the long run? Again I shrug.

"Met Yanos a few times. Dead eyes. He was a creepy old man," I add. 'Meet' might be a bit of a glib term. I didn't do church then, I viciously refuse to now. He was always stalking the hallways of new light or sitting in his palpable room like a little tyrant, that red haired, violet eyed woman next to him. Weird. I had forgotten about her. She always seemed so sad and frail. Non descriptive considering who she sat next to...who was she?

My mother, Raziel says softly. He's lurking in the doorway of the bathroom and for once he's something other than an idle asshole. He's bitter, his voice cold. She sought refuge among the angels. They did not extend kindness towards her. She gave what little she had to give. She spent the last of her life returning me to my human form. I miss her.

"Why are you bringing this up?" I ask. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Raziel shake his head, looking away as he blinks back a tear. He turns, leaning on the door frame. His chest oozes blood as he crosses his arms.

"Vergil was there. You were there. A lot of power was unleashed that night," Trish's voice is level and quiet. "Now we have a bioweapon, created by an angel. A bioweapon that wanted your blood. A bioweapon that took what it wanted." I feel myself go cold, as my back straightens. I'd rather have Trish at my throat than have her throw out her heavy words. She studies me.

"It wasn't fair," she says. "And I'm sorry, Lauren, I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you, but it's not done. Whatever is going on between you, Vergil and that thing, It's not done." I almost laugh with relief and nerves. Who is this woman, trying to be nice to me? Actually, I am laughing. This is the first of any kind of apology I've gotten for the misfortunes of my life. It rings untrue for some reason. Life doesn't give apologies. People in your life can be sorry for what they did or didn't do, but life itself is cruel and indifferent. Another one of those Loki ramblings that stuck. One of the few that made sense to me.

"I know Trish," I say. She nods, her face grim as I chuckle.

"Yeah." Her voice is soft but the admission stops the laughter. She is still as stone, her skin and hair with their ethereal glow under the fluorescent light with such perfection. So much perfection. Long legs. Blue eyes. Flawless skin. Pretty hair. Great body. I remember Vergil once called Trish a construct in passing. I don't know what that is, but I know Trish is a demon. And not in the way Vergil is a demon, because he's just a bastard and being a devil is a convenient excuse for him. No Trish is an actual honest to god demon. A 'construct' demon-whatever the hell that means-but a demon in the guise of a human all the same.

I tilt my head to the side, my laughter gone. That last bit was supposed to be a verbal blow, but it wasn't. Not in the way it was supposed to be in any case. Trish is testing me, gauging my reaction, making her own strategic moves based on what she sees in me. Once more I'm reminded that she's a detective in her own right. That part about the past was just the appetizer. There' s more this woman wants to tell me. She studies me, waiting.

"Why are you really here?" I ask slowly. I haven't moved from my place between Trish and the bathroom. The damp towel is still in my hand and my feet are starting to get cold through the crusty socks I wear.

"We don't know what he's planning," Trish says. "Vergil," she clarifies. "We don't think it's connected to ASH, but Dante's been keeping an eye on him. He doesn't like," here Trish stumbles trying to get her words out, "he's never liked it when innocent people get sacrificed to demonic ends."

At that I suck in a breath. Huh. Interesting. So she doesn't know. I wasn't sacrificed to a demon. I was sacrificed to an angel. Albeit a corrupted one. Vali-or Valiel-was the angel of chaos. The triplet in the Loki, Raziel, Vali triad of heavenly superpowers. She was thrown into hell and came out its ruler. All this I owe courtesy of Loki and her pandora-like ramblings. Surprise! Throw the confetti. Ring a sound maker. Vergil didn't give me to a demon. Nope, he handed me over to something way worse: a corrupted angel and by extension, an even more depraved God. A corrupted angel, I might add, who was in an ideological war with others of her own kind. Others that were just as corrupted as herself. Each and every one of those bastards were playing their hands to get a shard of gods power. My family and I? We got caught in the crossfire. Kinda.

"I don't think you have to worry about Vergil," I say, looking away as I toss the towel on the table with my stuff.

"Why? Because Vergil already fucked you?" Trish demands bluntly. I take a breath. What direct and ambiguous wording. I never whispered a hint of that night, not that it stopped Vergil from fucking over my life. I shudder. That wasn't nearly so bad in retrospect. Hindsight is a bitch.

"Ah language," I say, raising an eyebrow, giving her my attention. Usually I'm the one swearing. "Also, no. Vergil puts a price on everything. Imagine the price he puts on his life." At that Trish's head bobs in disbelief. It's my turn to clarify. "He won't do anything, because he owes me. Ask Dante if you want more details." Or at least, Vergil won't do anything for now. If anything, whatever few principles Vergil does keep to, he does so with a serious gusto.

"That's a gamble," Trish retorts, as if reading my mind.

"We play the cards we are dealt," I say. I feel Raziel silently chuckling behind me.

About time you started embracing this fact. I ignore him. I gesture to the room.

"Right now, with all of Delta Two willing to gut me, this is probably the safest place to be. I think." Trish nods, sighing.

"All the same, get used to my company," Trish says. "Or Lucia or Rayne in my place. Dante has asked us to check in on you from time to time." She gives me an overly sugary sweet smile, with a cheerful false twinkle in her eye. "I was "nominated" to tell you." She does the double rabbit ear with both hands, a very unimpressed look on her face as she explains.

"Yeah, y'all are gonna have to get in fucking line," I mutter, running my hand through my wet hair. Trish raises an eyebrow, her expression one of a person who no longer has too much patience to spare. .

"Ah language." She throws the comment back at me. I sigh. Right, she's gonna want an explanation.

"Hunnigan has Sarah keeping an eye on me." Trish's face is blank. "Hunnigan tried to drug me for information earlier." At that a thoughtful expression mars her face. Nothing a little slip of gossip like this can hurt. I'm still not sure why Trish is here. Or even if I can trust her. I don't blame her or Dante for 10 years ago, but man, I'm not exactly thrilled to be running with the same crowd that got me sacrificed either.

"I would like to say I'm shocked, however-"

"Big fuckin' surprise," I finish for Trish. A knock sounds on the door. We both glance at it. I sigh.

"It's the afternoon, isn't it?" Trish raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

"You weren't kidding." She glances between me and the door. " You gonna get that?"

"Do I have to?" I ask back. The person knocks again, more urgent.

"Probably," Trish replies. What is it with people today? Absolutely no one wanted to cross my path a week ago. Now I'm getting conversations with people I haven't talked with in forever. With a sigh, I cross the room and crack the door. Surprised, I throw it open wide.

"Sarah?" I demand. Her face is streaked with tears and its obvious something is very, very wrong.

"We need to talk," she says.