2

The bright sunlight pouring in through the window was what woke her up. The yellow warm rays shined right across her face, and while she turned away from the disturbance of the light, she eventually opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry. She blinked a few times, staring at her bare small room which was barely large enough to fit the frame of the wooden bed she laid on, as well as the tiny closet where all her dresses hung, and a tiny nightstand beside her bed. As her eyesight focused, she could pick out the bleak details in her room, from the dark wooden floors and the areas they were beginning to rot, to the dirty white walls with yellow stains streaking down from the ceiling. Then, there was the wretched smell. She was fairly used to it at this point, but for whatever reason, her sense of smell seemed to be heightened and she could strongly smell the odor of marijuana from their neighbors downstairs. It was normally very faint, but it was always still there.

Scrunching up her nose, she slowly sat up, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Gosh, how her head hurt… She loosened her neck and let her head fall down to her chest, causing her starlight hair to slip past her shoulders, creating a mini curtain that hid her face. She put a hand to her empty stomach, slowly reopening her eyes, and that's when she noticed she was still in yesterday's dress. She hadn't changed into her nightgown. Nor had she changed clothes at all during the night…

Mirajane lifted her head and gazed around the small room with her deep sapphire eyes, almost as if she expected to find someone standing in the corner somewhere watching her. Just for extra precaution, she looked underneath her bed, too. But doing that was a mistake, for it made her head start spinning. She closed her eyes tight again, slowly sitting upright. She rubbed her eyes, trying her best to recall what happened last night. She hadn't performed at all, she knew that much…

She didn't even remember coming to her bedroom. How did she get here? She opened her eyes again, looking around for her purse, only to find it on top of the chestnut nightstand. Picking the small black bag up, she opened it, then reached her hand inside, slowly pulling out a small folded piece of paper. When she opened it up, she found neat cursive handwriting in black ink, with the words of:

Meet at Bloody Rosy when the devil comes out.
Have your answer ready.
We will be waiting.

Mirajane stared.

Last night…flashes of two men donned in striped suits and hats that concealed their faces flashed into her mind. She remembered struggling, and then giving up…and then being taken through the Roxanne La Sanguine, through a hidden doorway and led up an unknown pathway…and then passing out…and then…him. She was introduced to him.

"Ah…so you've finally awoken," he had first said to her.

Her head was dizzy, and her limbs felt weird, but the sharp scent of bittersweet wine in the air was what brought her to reality. It was such a contrast compared to what she regularly smelled when she was on stage. It smelled rich and intoxicating—more in an alluring way, rather than the usual vulgar draft that forever roamed the dimly lit stage room full of cigarette smoke that blazed out of those greedy dragons' tainted breaths.

It took a lot of effort, but after a few soft groans from the struggle to pull herself out of the darkness, Mirajane was able to open her eyes. The blind fold was off of her…but her wrists and ankles. They were tied. Her hands were behind her back, connected to the cushioned chair she sat in. Despite already know how useless it would be for her to try escaping, she tugged against the ropes until her wrists began to burn a little.

"Now, now, no need to get restless—we can't have you hurting yourself and ruining your perfectly smooth skin…" came his voice again. It was aged, deep, and reverberated throughout the room. It was a great sound one would imagine a king to have…except there was something else laced in his voice that brought a certain uneasiness in the pit of Mirajane's stomach.

Mirajane gritted her teeth and looked up, now properly taking in her surroundings. The room was dark, with the only light source coming from the moonlight that poured in through the large open windows to her right. What time was it? Past midnight, that much she knew. Behind her was the only exit—it was guarded by two shadowed figures in hats that stood unmoving on either side of the door's frame like statues. To her left was a Victorian black desk and a large matching wardrobe beside it. Above her hung a grand, black crystal chandelier, and across the room, she could see a black king canopy bed with velvet red covers. And then, in front of her: A large folding screen. It was black with an elaborate dark painting that spanned across the four panels in rich colors of gold, red, blue, green, and a hazy brown. The artwork was truly beautiful…but terrifying at the same time. The scene seemed to have disfigured forms of people being tortured and there were demon-looking creatures laughing off to the side. Was it Hell?

As if reading her mind, the voice came again, and this time, Mirajane was able to immediately pinpoint where it came from, which was from behind the folding screen.

"It's Tartarus, that image you seen on the screen," he said. "A prison of never-ending torture for the wicked. Quite fitting for most of the men here, right? Those…what do some of you courtesans like to call them? Monsters? Ah, yes. That's it. Monsters," he mused.

Mirajane remained silent. It wasn't funny.

"Ah, wait, but that's a very sensitive topic for you, isn't it?" he said in such a familiar way that made Mirajane want to shout "You don't know anything about me!"—but she held her tongue. "Now, you'll have to forgive me. I'm afraid I'm getting far off topic from why I really brought you here," he said, holding a scarce amount of remorse in his voice, "Mirajane Strauss."

Something tweaked within her at the sound of her full name, but she kept quiet, keeping her dark sapphire eyes locked on the unidentified man hiding behind the folding screen.

"Now, first things first—I must apologize about one of my men from earlier. The one who may have spoken too many words with loud actions to follow?—don't worry. I made sure to have him taken care of. He was brand new, so you'll have to forgive me for that. I had no idea how immaturely and irresponsibly he would handle things," he said. Even though he was apologizing, his voice held a hint of mockery in it that made Mirajane fortify her guard up even more. "But like I said, I am so sorry, and I made sure to have him taken care of, so you won't ever have to deal with that ever again…"

That's when Mirajane finally spoke up: "What do you mean, 'to have him taken care of?'"

If malevolent smiling had a noise, Mirajane was sure she heard it then in the dead silence. It was strange how quiet it was up here. She couldn't hear any of the loud, bustling music from down below, where she assumed was the stage room. At least, it looked like they were above on some upper level in a building of some sort; she didn't remember ever being led outside of the Roxanne La Sanguine, though.

"This is the Underworld, Mirajane, I'm sure you know very well how us folk like to handle things down in this dark abyss," he said darkly.

Mirajane didn't bother to find words to respond back. She did already know what he meant. She just wanted to make sure. After all…with scum like him in the world, it would make it harder for her to protect her little sister and brother. For that sole reason, along with considering the area they lived in, she maybe was just a little bit glad her sister was bedbound. Possibly.

"Anyhow," he continued, snapping her out of her thoughts, "enough about the dead. It's taboo to speak too long about them. There's a myth somewhere about their ghost coming back to haunt you if you do…"

A thick silence came creeping to the room after his words vanished, filling it up—

Loud laughter abruptly boomed throughout the room, chasing the silence right out the window. Mirajane contorted her face, glancing back at the two motionless figures still standing by the door. When she slowly fixed her uncertain gaze back on the man behind the folding screen, his throaty laughter was dying down.

"I'm sorry, that was an awful joke," he said, his voice full of humor. "We all know that the dead never come back. Once they're dead…" his voice had instantly dropped to a dangerous tone that caught even Mirajane off-guard, "they're dead." Something about the atmosphere in the room was changing drastically. It made Mirajane squirm uncomfortably in her seat. She wanted to leave. To run away from here and get as far as humanly possible away from this man. Her heart rate was picking up speed with an abnormal urgency.

"Now. Let's get down to business," he said. Everything about the way he had originally been carrying this conversation had suddenly changed. Or maybe…she just never noticed this foulness that lingered within his voice. That was it. This was what that "something else" was laced in his voice. He somehow managed to mask his malignant presence that he even had her fooled that he was just another, regular profane man. She didn't realize he carried that many heavy sins right off the bat. She didn't realize how dangerous of a person he actually was—that he was actually far worse than just a mere monster. Who was he?

"You're probably beginning to figure some things out now, aren't you?" he said with a snicker. That made Mirajane become irritated—she hated how he seemed to be able to read her very well without even looking at her. "Well, anyhow, I have a job I would like to offer you," he continued, "and it's one that I believe only you can do."

"A job?" Mirajane ricocheted; her voice was firm.

"Yes, and it's quite simple, really," he spoke poised, so coolly, one might actually believe him without any doubts. "I want you…"—his singsong voice became low, and Mirajane subconsciously leaned forward, pulling on her tied hands—"…to…"—his voice dropped even lower, giving off a tone that didn't even sound like his anymore; her stomach began to churn new nerves into the old mixture that had been simmering inside her for some time now; with the suspense, she was beginning to feel a certain kind of fear, like the kind where you expect something to jump out at you, but you aren't sure when—

"…kill Laxus Dreyar."

Mirajane blinked. Her face was blank of emotions. "You mean to say…you want me to…murder..."—she spoke the word carefully, giving it space in case he were to correct her—"…that young, famous billionaire?" To say the least, she was skeptical.

"Ah," he began to cackle maniacally, but in that same quiet voice, "correct! So you do know of him... Simply put: you are first to make him fall in love with you, and then once you have earned his trust, you are to brutally kill him. "

Yes, Mirajane did know of him. Ever since she saw his picture from some old newspapers thrown out in the alleyway. "Laxus Dreyar, the youngest and most successful billionaire in Magnolia at the age of 19." Those were the exact words she had read four years ago. Now, she herself was that same age, and what did she have? Poverty. And it didn't seem to be changing anytime soon. As far as she knew, from the latest article she's seen about him, Laxus was still the youngest billionaire around; nothing much had changed, other than his success rate. He had his own mansion that he lived in by himself. He wasn't married. He had no girlfriend. In fact, it almost seemed like he had no interest in people in general. Period. Unless it was business, to capture his attention, one might just have to rip his dark eyes out and force them to look at you…but even then, that might not be enough.

And for someone like her…

"Are you playing with me?" Mirajane asked seriously. She may have been many things, and abandoned many things by doing the sort of work she did, but she was no fool. And she wasn't about ready to make one of herself. Laxus, for her, was an untouchable being.

He would never give her the time of day, nor so much as to glance her way.

How could she possibly make someone like him ever fall in love with her?

"Playing? No, no—I am quite serious about this," he said.

"Well, then…I think you're just going to have to find a different girl. I can't do this job," she bluntly said, and she tried to stand up, only to remember...she dropped her eyes down. Her ankles and wrists were tied. Just…lovely.

"No," he said, all playfulness leaving his voice. "I know you can do this. In fact, you're probably the only girl here that can pull this job off."

"No…" Mirajane retorted. "I can't."

It went silent for a few solid seconds…and then came his voice: "Set her free."

Mirajane could only blink. That easily? Really? Before she knew it, her wrists were being released from the rope tied to the back of the chair. Once she was able to bring her hands in front of her, she turned to look behind her, watching as a dark figure walked back to their post at the left side of the door. It wasn't long before she started to untie her ankles from the thick rope around them. As soon as she could stand up, her legs wobbling a little, she faced the folding screen, debating whether or not she should try to steal a look at what hid behind it, but thinking better of it, she turned on her heels and began to slowly walk towards the door. She wasn't even sure if the men by the door would actually let her through, but she was going to try. After all, it was his words…

"What part of this job can you not do?"

He was talking again…

Mirajane looked behind her, her steps now becoming hesitant, but she didn't stop walking towards her freedom.

"I just don't understand…"

But it didn't seem like he was really talking to her. He was more talking to himself.

"You have the looks, the body, the voice..." he drawled on. "The will..."

That's when she stopped in her tracks. Then she turned around.

Mirajane stared at the folding screen, her dark eyes focusing on the tortured soul closest to the middle on the third panel to the right: a man immersed in water up to his neck, with a ripe golden fruit hanging from a tree, dangling mere inches away from his open mouth; but it seemed that he would never be able to reach that desirable fruit, and that was his eternal punishment. That was where she suspected him to be, behind this particular figure. "What do you mean I have the will?" she asked, staring straight through the folding screen.

"Oh…because I've seen you, Mirajane," he said, making her clench her hands. "I watched you that fateful day when that man tried to forcefully take you in that alleyway out back…and what did you do?" Mirajane's heart began to pound louder in her ears as the memories she thought were only hers, and hers alone, started to tear their way back to the surface. "What did you do?" he whispered loudly, and a gasp escaped her lips. She had to look around to make sure she was still standing isolated by herself, for his whispered words sounded almost as if he had come from behind her and spoken them right into her ear.

"You grabbed the broken glass lying beside you on the ground, and…" He ended with a throat-slitting sound.

Red. That was the only color she could see for the next few days after it happened. When she came home, her siblings were thrown into a world of concern and panic at the sight of all the blood, but she had been completely calm. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking for the rest of the day, but they stopped the next morning. But that kind of incident wasn't something someone can recover from after just one night's worth of rest. Just like any other sane person, she went through a few changes. She became overly conscious of the men who surrounded her, she started having nightmares about it, and her loathing hatred for the touch of a man on her skin was planted deep within her. The only man who could get away with touching her was her little brother, but even then, it took her some time before she actually was fully comfortable about it. And that affected him. He was always cautious around her, walking on eggshells, despite the fact that she was completely okay with it now. As long as it was only him.

"You know, that man you killed, he was the younger brother to a ringleader of a pretty powerful gang," he went on. "Had I not intercepted, you wouldn't be here today to have this proposal offered to you. And it's a pretty splendid proposal, if you ask me. I'm willing to give you more than enough to secure a better life you so dearly strive for for your precious little brother and sister…who is terribly sick right now, is she not?"

It felt like a stab to her heart when he said that.

"With what I am willing to offer you, you could get Lisanna the doctor she needs to see. And then you can have enough money to get Elfman better clothes that fit him better. Even though you technically are indebted to me for saving your life, and probably your siblings' lives as well, I won't ask you to pay me back. You can think of it as a given favor," he stated.

Mirajane could only gape at this point. How did he know their names? How much did he know? "Who are you?" she asked quietly, her voice strained. She could hear that smile creeping up on his face again.

"Why don't you take a seat and we'll talk more about this over a glass of wine? I have a bottle of St. Mary's here, and it's quite divine. You can only buy it from Dieux Saints," he said. "While I've tried many of their other wines, this one is always the one I end up buying. It's the best, in my personal opinion—a very rich red color, like blood."

Dieux Saints. That was an incredibly high-end, expensive French restaurant somewhere on the East end of Magnolia; that's where all the rich resided. The red-light district was on the South end of Magnolia. One basically had to be a billionaire in order to be welcome at Dieux Saints. After all, only the rich could dress nice enough and afford anything on the menu.

Mirajane contemplated her options for a few seconds. Distress was shadowing over her lovely features, and her heart was trying to desperately pull her towards the door. This may just become her greatest sin, but—"I don't care about the wine," was all she could say before she silently took her seat back in the black chair she had woken up in.

"Good girl." His smile had gotten bigger. "Now then…" and he continued to discuss his job offer in further detail about what he wanted her to do.

They drugged her again when their discussion was over and he left her with the decision to choose whether or not she accepted the job or not. And now…here she was. Sitting on her bed.

Mirajane gripped the piece of paper in her hand. That man… The shorter man who had come to take her had referred to him as "boss." That meant he was the head person in charge of Roxanne La Sanguine, right? Which then meant he basically owned her, and every other girl that worked there. Even though he said it was her choice on whether or not she accepted the job…was that really the case? What if she seriously refused?

There was suddenly the sound of something cluttering to the ground outside her bedroom door. Elfman. Mirajane pursed her lips. Could she really afford to not accept this offer? He had offered her an incredible amount of money…and it wasn't something she would be given at the end of the job. He said he would be paying her in fragments, and that's all she really needed in order to afford a doctor to come visit Lisanna.

There was a light knock on her door. Mirajane's eyes looked up at the door just as it began to open, and she crumpled the small note in her hand, slipping it in the bodice of her dress before she put her purse back on the nightstand. The head that poked in sight was her little brother's. He had such an innocent look, with his white hair neatly brushed down over his forehead; he had talked about wanting to change it, though. He wanted to look more like a man.

"Ah—Big Sister! You're up!" Elfman exclaimed in relief. "How are you feeling?"

Mirajane outstretched her arms, giving him her warmest smile, and he came over, enveloping her in his warm arms. She always made sure to hug him whenever she had the chance. When Elfman pulled away, he sat on his knees on the ground in front of her. He was only one year younger than her, and because of their difference in gender, he had a much larger figure than her. He was tall, and had a fairly decent muscular build. Did people think they looked related?

"Well, you seem to be doing well," Elfman commented. "That's good."

"Did you have to carry me to bed last night?" Mirajane asked softly.

Elfman nodded his head. "Yeah, when those strange men in striped suits brought you, you were completely passed out. They said it was from over-exhaustion…but I don't know…" he said suspiciously, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked up at her with concerned eyes, to which she simply shrugged off.

Now that she had confirmed her guesses, Mirajane had no reason to dwell on how she woke up in bed. The further she got away from this topic, the better. Elfman didn't need to know any more than he already knew. "Hmm…then I guess that's what happened. Sorry for the trouble," she said, giving him an apologetic smile.

"No! Not at all. If it's for you…then it's fine," he said, looking down, fiddling with his hands. "As long as you're okay, then that's all I care about. After all, you've been working so hard… You're the one who's been taking care of us this whole time… I only wish I could help more…" He then looked up at her with a new determination. "I promise you I'll find a job so that you won't have to work so hard."

Mirajane could only shake her head lightly; it was all she could do to not let herself fall apart right before his eyes. "It's okay, Elfman. As long as you're taking care of Lisanna while I'm gone, that's all that matters," she said. She paused. "How is she doing?"

Elfman's face fell. Mirajane pursed her lips. She hated whenever she had to see him like this. She got up off her bed, placing a hand on the side of his face while slipping one into his fidgeting hands. His shoulders slumped and his hands relaxed. She then offered him a delicate smile. "Come on," she said, pulling him up to his feet. "Let's go check on her together."

Lisanna's room was to the left of Mirajane's. The room was slightly bigger, holding the same setup and furniture as Mirajane's room, but it smelled a lot more like the outside air. So much better than the toxic draft that managed to find its way to Mirajane's room.

Lisanna was lying in bed, fast asleep. Her skin seemed slightly gray, her bangs were matted to her forehead, and she looked like she was in discomfort. But compared to yesterday, this was a great contrast. At least she was finally sleeping. She had been crying yesterday. She was in absolute misery, but all she kept on saying was how she didn't want to die and that she was scared.

Mirajane leaned over her little sister, brushing her bangs out of her face and moving her short hair off to the side. She then pressed her forehead to Lisanna's and closed her eyes. It was hot. Burning. She then backed away and stood beside Elfman. For a quiet moment, they remained as they were and watched Lisanna take in quiet breaths. Then Mirajane placed a hand on Elfman's arm and looked up at him. Elfman nodded his head and they both exited the room.

.

Later in the day, Mirajane found herself sitting on the old, torn, stained turquoise couch that sat in the middle of the main room. Behind her was where the molding kitchen was, to her left was the loose front door, to her right were the two bedrooms and rusting bathroom, and that summed up their small condominium. She had her chin resting in the palm of her hand; she was leaning forward in thought with her elbows resting on her knees. When she turned her head, she found the thin blanket Elfman used to sleep with in a bundled mess beside her. Since there were only two rooms and two beds, Elfman slept on the couch. It was a really stiff couch.

They were living such a despondent life.

Mirajane reached her hand into her bodice and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper. Elfman was out running errands, so for now, she had her own privacy. She smoothed out the folds in the paper, reading over the now smudged writing. She could smell the ink from it. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Then she exhaled.

She had made her choice.

.

Once the cool night came, Mirajane draped herself in her black hooded cape and left their home alone in silence. She didn't have work tonight, so she had to sneak out when Elfman fell asleep. As she walked through the streets, she pulled her hood further over her head, hiding her face as much as possible. She wasn't afraid, but she didn't feel comfortable either.

This place they wanted her to meet them at…it wasn't one people often ventured to. Bloody Rosy was a crude nickname given to a broken clock tower in the middle of an abandoned town, Rosington, that once used to be prosperous, but now belonged to the red-light district. All the buildings that surrounded it had long been abandoned, and nothing good ever happened in this part of the red-light district. But nothing bad ever really happened either, for people in general liked to stay away from this area, for it was believed to be haunted.

Lovely Roseus Mort. That was the true name of this clock tower. It had been placed here in dedication to the death of Rose Williams; she was the wife to Harley Williams, one of the founders of this abandoned area. He had brought prosperity here, but then one day, his wife disappeared. She was later found in the middle of the street the next few days after her disappearance, all bloody and dead. Someone had murdered her. It broke her poor husband's heart, and following her death, everything else seemed to follow that same path. But since he wanted her to somehow be remembered forever, her husband had this clock tower built where her body was found. It was her memorial and all he had left to give her.

After the dedication of the completed clock tower which took one full year to build, Harley Williams was eventually found two weeks later, hanging from the railing to the top floor of his mansion. The authorities never disclosed whether or not it was homicide or suicide.

Lovely Roseus Mort stopped working soon after. And no matter how many times they fixed it, the time would always stop at exactly 1:43 A.M. It was said that was the time Harley Williams died. People began to claim strange things happening at that hour. Out of fear, everyone in Rosington eventually cleared out. The unknown always scared everyone the most, and it continued to.

Mirajane stopped walking when she stood at the base of the old clock tower. It was maybe fifteen years old, standing at twenty inches. It had been at least eleven years since she last visited this place. That was when their parents were still alive; they used to live in this area at one point. But then they moved, following the crowd. And soon, the Reaper decided to follow after them.

Mirajane looked up at the face of the clock, whose glass face was cracked. As expected, it read 1:43. She wasn't quite sure how much she believed in evil ghosts yet, but she did believe in evil people, and she had no doubt that what killed Harley Williams was the same being that murdered his dear wife. After all, she had noticed things in the background other people didn't, but she was too young to understand it at the time. All she knew was that Harley Williams was not a man of cruel intentions.

Her dark sapphire eyes trailed down the clean-cut carvings of detailed roses and thorns along the body of the clock tower, until they reached the base where the following words could be found, carved and painted in gold:

Lovely Roseus Mort

For time and all eternity, my love…

Rose Williams
May 23, 1916

When Mirajane looked up, she found that hidden in the shadow of the clock tower was one of the hatted men in striped suits. She hadn't noticed him there earlier, but she had a feeling he had been waiting for some time now. She pursed her lips; she didn't feel good on the inside. He planned this out, didn't he? That man…He chose this place specifically all for the irony of it because now, here she was, about ready to agree to do something far more than outrageous: she was going to murder someone, who no doubt had at least one person who loved them dearly.

But she had her younger brother and little sister.

She loved them so, so, so much…and one of them had their life on the line.

If it was for them, then she was willing to do anything.

Thanks so much for reading! :)