"How am I to live when everything I love keeps slipping from my hands?"

Everything was green. The ground, the trees, the leaves, the sky… No… The sky was blue. Yes, a brilliant blue. Crystalline cerulean with cotton clouds. I looked down, and I saw white.

A young woman sat in the grass, and my breath caught in my throat upon viewing her. She was beautiful—a goddess, she had to be. All dark, almond eyes and cold, china skin. A gentle blush warmed her complexion, and a dark waterfall of hair so black it seemed blue formed a halo around her face. Covering her frame was a plain white dress, and a beautiful blue stone set in silver decorated the hollow of her throat.

I wanted to reach out—to take her hand. But I knew I couldn't, so I turned my attention to our surroundings. A braided, bumpy tree leaned toward me, as if it had a secret to whisper. On the edges of the meadow were more trees, though they were ancient. Angry. Unlike the lithe and limber sapling that sat at my side. Pale purple flowers dotted the expansive field around us, and for a moment everything felt right. I was happy. Content.

An earsplitting scream pierced the air and then I was lying on the ground of a smoking city, staring up at the sky.

Red. Red. Red.

Everything was bleeding. The sky, my clothes, my arms.

She was over me, her once white dress now a scorched ebony. Her arms glistened with perspiration and with something else—blood. Her hair hung singed and frizzy, smelling sulfuric and burnt. Her warm eyes glared at me. Savage—cold.

Black and Red. I was burning. I was on fire. I was going to die.

"How could you?" She screamed, but her mouth didn't move. I stared straight up, frozen. "How could you leave? You left me to burn! You left me to die!"

There wasn't enough water left inside of me to cry.

And then she was gone and I was on my feet, my vision swimming with red, with the rubble. A figure nearby lay prone against an uprooted slab of rock. Footsteps behind me. Run. You have to run.

Run.

Another rumble shook the earth and I was sprinting as fast as I could, my bare feet sizzling in pain when they made contact with the searing ground.

I risked a glance back, and I saw someone, barbaric and wicked. Wild. It was my body, yet I wasn't in it.

Suddenly I felt the weight of a weapon in my real hand, not the one I watched, but the one I controlled. I brought my fist forward, plunging the hilt of a knife into myself—into the doppelganger's sternum.

Except she wasn't a doppelganger anymore. It was Ultear—the dress once again white and quickly flooding with the stain of her blood.

I screamed her name but she was gone. She was gone and she was never coming back.

7:27.

I jerked up from the mattress with a gasp. Stagnant sweat settled in a thin film over my body, and clumps of humid hair clung to my forehead. I sighed and leaned back on my arms, balancing the weight of my problems on the balls of my hands.

The dream. The one I'd had every time I'd dozed off for the past couple of nights. It was always the same, painted in swirling shades of beryl, black, and blood. Always the same end. Always her dying.

My chest still rose and fell rapidly as I raked my eyes around the room. Then, something struck me. And perhaps I'd disregarded it earlier, but I felt it now:

Hunger.

Unavoidable, untamable appetite.

It started out as an itch, subtle and irritating, like several flies buzzing around at once. I'd stretch and grumble and groan and try my very hardest to ignore it. The itch would turn into a desperate need to be scratched, but my fingers couldn't reach it. My hand couldn't stretch that far.

Next came the pain. Discomfort melting and morphing into something worse. Sometimes it burned; other times I'd feel a sort of soreness in my stomach. But mostly, it was an ache. A hollow, echoing ache. The way wood probably feels after you knock a fist against it. Not a sharp, shooting sensation, but a dull one. The blunt, nagging pulse that loitered in the back of your mind after a migraine. The dazed ringing between your ears after hitting your head against something particularly hard. Except it was in my stomach—deep down in my core.

I never let it get farther, but I'd seen the signs. Empty eyes. Cracked skin. Swollen bellies. Death, waxing and waning, ready to take an individual after as much as a faltering breath.

I realized I hadn't eaten in over 24 hours.

My clothes were on my body and I was out the door in seconds, what little change I had striking a chorus in my pocket as I exited the building. My feet carried me somewhere I did not know but wanted to discover anyway. Away from the rubble, away from the most destroyed parts of the city, and to the edge, out past the gate towards a region filled with peacefulness and life.

I arrived somewhere that was not quite Crocus but not quite anything else either. It was nothing in particular, and lay far enough from the city to retain its beauty—far enough from all the hustle and bustle to be ignored by most tourists, thank the gods. There were no mountains, only rolling hills. Rivers and streams wove their way through the countryside and interspersed throughout the land, scoring gashes through the terrain. Sparsely spread beech and olive trees stood statuesque and proud in flowing fields of grass.

I admired the landscape as I passed through. Sparrows sang over my head, flitting back and forth across the verdant countryside. A haphazard, clattering song stuttered out from the branches nearby, the brush by the road.

The walk was a short one—a bit warm, but refreshing nonetheless. It felt good to stretch my legs. As I approached, the hum of civilization grew steadily louder, climaxing into a roar as I passed a crowd of people on the street. It was easy to make out the rumble of a nearby carriage-the desperate shouting from the mouths of greedy vendors.

Clouds hung suspended by tendrils and threads in the sky above, pleated and bumpy and feathered like wings. Though it was still very early, the world had already woken up, and it was moving about in that hazy, lazy way that it generally liked to do. The sweet thrum of civilization swirled around me. Life stirred, stretching its sleepy arms and starting the day anew.

People milled about the streets. Shopkeepers were setting up their stalls for the market; parents were rushing their young to school. "Hurry along now, one doesn't want to be late." The warm smell of something baking slinked through the air and I smiled to myself. My eyes traveled down the rolling cobble streets and snagged on something in front of me.

A small boy stood mere yards away, red nose and watery eyes. He sobbed something out, and a woman—presumably his mother—kneeled down, taking his warbling chin in her hands. Whatever she said made the boy cry all the more, and I turned away in unease. As beautiful as they were, children were rather horrifying. Tiny, drunk humans. Tiny, drunk humans that could be ruined with just a word.

Someone brushed past me, and I turned to catch sight of something in their hands—a plate of something warm that smelled strongly of spice. I realized it wasn't just the food, but the entire marketplace.

The scent was intoxicating. Peppery, sweet oregano and its cousin, the ever aromatic basil. Sharp and sour goat cheese. All manner of fruits, apples and melons and figs singing sweetly from stalls and boxes at the market. Food and wine, from the small taverns. Fresh bread, yeasty and warm. Cinnamon.

It smelt of the earth and it smelt of people. It smelt like a community-generations upon generations of townsfolk working to build something together.

I found myself admiring the scenery, wondering things about its people and its history. What were they passionate about? Were they idealistic or tough-minded? What did they value most? They were an enigma waiting to be cracked. A mystery waiting to be solved.

After reaching my fill of wandering, I came to a halt in front of a brightly colored booth, already up in the early morning. Brilliant scarlet and cerulean banners decorated its façade. A buoyant man, with dark hair and tanned skin approached me. His teeth flashed a yellow, crooked smile.

"How are you?" This first thing I noticed was his volume. Robust and exceptionally loud. It's too early…

I nodded. A hesitant shake of my head. "I—"

"We have fresh goat!" He blurted, and I blinked. His speech was clipped and accented, thick and heavy as syrup at the beginning and sparse and thin as a breeze at the ends, as if he were in a hurry. He probably was.

"No, I just—"

"I sell by the pound," He conceded, his voice lowering, albeit barely, as he revealed what I assumed was a secret. "Very good deal, I promise. Hard to find prices as mine. My cousin—"

Unaccustomed to being interrupted, I found myself raising my voice at the man. "I do not want any goat. I want food. What do you have cooked to eat?"

He considered my words a moment before saying, "Cooked, you say?"

"Yes. Cooked. Already prepared."

"I sell fresh made zutuska," He said. "My wife's."

I didn't know what zutuska was, but I figured it had to be better than raw goat so I nodded, "Sure, I'll have that."

In a flash, he extended a moist palm, stubby fingers waving. "Two hundred jewel." And on second thought he tossed in a formal, "Madame," while he tipped his greasy head. What a gentleman.

I reached in my pocket and counted out the change. Even after I'd handed over my share, his hand remained out and open, greedily waiting for gods know what. I reminded him that I only owed two hundred, and, feigning embarrassment, he went to fetch my meal. I could only hope that he wouldn't spit in my food.

Regardless, he returned moments later, a cylinder of steaming food wrapped in a stained cloth. I took the offering from his hands, all the kindness I could muster displayed by an inclination of my head. He called out a goodbye as I left, reminding me to return to his stall and to beware of the other 'untrustworthy' merchants.

The 'zutuska' looked and smelt divine. Hearty vegetables cooked and mixed with a blend of herbs, oil, and spices. The whole dish was wrapped in a tough, unleavened bread, and when I tore into the pocket, caramel juices spilled down my chin.

I'd finished savoring the first taste and was just about to take a second bite when it happened.

Something small and firm came barreling into me, its shoulder making contact with my chest and causing me to release a loud grunt in the process.

Only after someone started blurting out apologizes did I realize that I'd also lost my meal. There, lying forlorn and wounded on the cobbles, was my zutuska. Spicy trickles of sauce bled onto the ground around it.

I swore, and my eyes flew up to the woman.

She was short, strong, and sonsy. All friendly, emerald eyes and gleaming, golden skin. Long, thick waves of blush-colored hair crowned her head, twisting down into a ponytail that framed her heart-shaped face. She had a sandy complexion, smooth and tawny, with thick, bushy brows that stretched proud across her head. My eyes fell to her clothes. Red and recently pressed, with a cloak. Also covered in a greasy layer of my former lunch.

She was also easy to recognize, and she cried out when she registered who I was.

"Lex!"

I sighed, pressed a hand to my temple, and looked at her again. "Good morning, Meredy."

"I'm surprised you're up this early!"

I shrugged, not knowing what to say, "I was hungry."

"Right, about that…" She trailed off, raising an awkward hand to the back of her head and laughing—actually laughing at me. "I'll make it up to you, I promise." She beamed at me, and I almost grimaced. "I know all the best spots in this part of Crocus. There's this one great restaurant—sort of hidden behind a couple other buildings—but let me tell you, best grub in all Fiore. When I first—"

"I don't care," I said, and only after viewing the sheer look of dejection that plastered itself across her face did I realize I'd said something wrong. Trying to appease her, I added, "But I'm sure the food's great."

She shook her head at me, surely knowing me well enough after the years we'd spent together, and we fell in step as we walked down the cobbles. I let her guide me through the bustling streets, playing the native and I the tourist, and we had only advanced about a block when she blurted out her question.

"Have you seen Ultear?"

I almost grimaced, remembering the dream, but I shook it off. "Funny you should ask," I said. "I've actually been looking for you to tell you about it."

"What happened?"

I explained to Meredy the events of July 7th, of Ultear's sacrifice and our resulting victory. She laughed, she cringed, she cried, and, in proper Meredy fashion, she needled me for more information regarding our sister's whereabouts. I revealed that Ultear was staying at a nearby inn, one on this side of Crocus but within the City's gates.

"Will you—" she began, but she was cut off by a shout.

An older woman waved to my companion. "Meredy!" She called. "So good to see you, my dear."

We reached the woman and Meredy just as soon forgot whatever she was about to say. They embraced, and I kicked at the dirt around my feet; the cobbled road had long since vanished.

The elder woman motioned to a building behind her, and Meredy asked me if I wanted to go inside to eat. I told her that we probably shouldn't, but the older woman disappeared inside, anyway, and before Meredy could get more than a few words out, the woman reappeared with a meal in her hands, steaming vegetables piled high in kiln-fired bowls. Meredy thanked her, and I did the same.

"Her name's Morrigan," she revealed. "Ever since we came here she's taken care of us."

I nodded, deciding not to push her further, and took to shoveling spoonfuls of faintly sweet broth into my mouth. The ancient woman spoke with us and joked with us, but I could not help but feel a sense of inevitability about the whole meaningless conversation we held. This Morrigan could have been Ul, could easily be Ul. Would be Ul.

I took Meredy to her. Admittedly, it was a poor decision on my part. Meredy panicked the moment she saw Ul, already drawing into herself, already imploding like a black hole. But I took her anyway. My sister deserved to see Ultear—the closest thing she had to a mother—before she died.

Because she was going to die. That much was clear, if it hadn't been from the start.

Ultear looked much like the wallpaper that patterned her room, bleached, fading, and peeling back in wrinkled layers from the walls. Her hair hung lank and grey, flat against her face like a damp sheet drawn over her once luscious locks. Her figure, once glorious, had melted into something unrecognizable—soft in many places it had never been before. A pair of breasts hung from her chest like cloth bags weighed down with too much gold, stretching down to the earth below.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose as my two siblings reunited, one tearful, and the other with an unshakeable resolve.

"Don't cry Meredy," Ultear urged, clasping her companion's hands in her own, "I'm still here. It's the same old me. I'm fine."

Meredy sniffled and nodded, and the two struck up a conversation. How's Jellal? Is everyone safe? Yes, everyone's fine, Jellal's fine. What about the civilians? They're fine, Ul, fine. What about you? Where do we go from here?

They carried on like this for a while, and I sank into a chair as I watched their exchange. Questions and answers questions and answers. I held my tongue, knowing well that if I opened my mouth, the words that spilled out would break my heart and earn no vindication.

"Alexandria?"

I met Ultear's eyes, round with concern and shimmering with something like fondness. I said nothing, but she spoke again.

"What's wrong?"

I felt my throat tighten. What are we supposed to do when you're gone?

"Nothing, Ul, I'm fine." I'm not fine. I don't want to lose you, I don't want to let you go, not now, not so soon after you came back to me.

Meredy ignored us, "Did you two hear?"

"Hear what?"

"The king is holding big gala in two days' time!" She blurted. "For the mages, of course, to thank them for all their hard work, but I was thinking that maybe, if I went with someone…"

By someone, it was clear she meant me.

I waved away her proposition with a flick of my hand. "No, Meredy, why would I go to some stupid ball? It's not like I'd have a good time."

"Oh come on, Xandria, it'd be just like old times!"

Ultear chuckled, "It's not like you don't know how to dance. Even you managed to learn, in spite of the number of squashed toes Azuma and I suffered for your sake."

"Who knows, you might even meet some charming royal from a neighboring land! Or I might... Do you remember that time Hades sent us to Pergrande and that handsome prince would just not leave you alone? Too bad we had to leave…"

My lips pursed. They weren't wrong. I did know how to dance; Hades made sure we all—especially the girls—knew how to bear ourselves like royalty. Ultear and I were taught to dance, to properly eat at a banquet, to speak, to conduct ourselves with grace. We were trained like soldiers, using our skills to manipulate, to bait, to tease. We would push and pull, laugh and play coy, until it came time to go in for the metaphorical kill, squeezing state secrets out of men like rags.

I did not want to go to the ball. I did not want it to be just like old times. I did not want to decorate some older man's arm and laugh while I drugged his drink. That was what dancing drew to my mind—pictures of lies and games and smiles made of bared teeth.

"What about Ultear," I finally said, and they knew at once what I meant. What if she died? What if she slipped away while we wasted our time merrymaking?

"I'll be fine, Alexandria," my sister said, sighing, but I couldn't ignore the fact that she avoided my gaze. Something about her suddenly seemed tired and ancient. It was as if the very seams that held Ul together were fraying apart before my eyes.

I shook my head, "That's not enough."

"It has to be," Ultear announced, jaw tightening. "I promise you'll see me again, after the ball, after everything. Stop being so ridiculous and take your sister. Have a good time. Say hello to Laxus for me."

I stiffened at the mention of my fellow guildmate but ignored his name and the curious look Meredy gave me. Instead, I focused on the aging—aged—woman in front of me.

"This time," I said, "you'd better keep your promise."

A/N: Took me longer than I anticipated to update, but the last chapter I posted didn't get hardly any response, so I just didn't have the drive to keep adding to this story. So, please follow, favorite, review, let me know what you think of the story! Your comments make this all so worth it! Love you all