This chapter DID. NOT. WANT. TO. BE. WRITTEN!

I swear. I had to wring this thingfrom my cold fingers. Rewrite after rewrite till I managed to drag this out of my brain. College has not been helping either.

But I hope you enjoy!

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"P-please take care of you!"

Gray eyes sparkled nervously under the bright lights of the classroom. Her back was stiff as she bowed in greeting, her Japanese choppy and heavily accented when she spoke. She was taller than her peers, long legs and dark skin making her stand out from the shorter frame and pale of those around her.

Soft snickers and giggles filled the air at the botched introduction as the girls laughed at their new classmate. The boys whispered amongst themselves about the "foreigner" that stood nervously at the front of the class. Their sensei watched disapprovingly and rapped his ruler on the table to call for order. "That's enough class." He called out whilst gently nudging his new student forward. "Be kind to Arthur-san and treat her well."

The girl, Arthur Amelia, gripped the edge of her school skirt and walked towards an empty desk at the back of the class. She avoided eye contact and quietly slid into her seat. Sensei started the lesson of the day once she was seated and went about as he would every day of class. Slim fingers held a bright pink pen as Amelia tried desperately to keep up with the lesson. The rapid fire Japanese was lost to her ears as her beginner level skills failed to keep up. A set of notes entered her peripherals and she looked over to the hand that offered them. Black eyes met her own as a gentle smile was shared between the two. "I'm Hinami-chan." The other girl whispered. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Aaaaand…. CUT!"

The snap of boards marked the end of the scene. Children stand and run to one another as they joyfully discuss their favorite parts. Sara watches as she stands alone in a room full of cameras and kids. The other children easily communicate with one another, finding it easier to hang with their "own kind". She took strongly after her mother, those shared foreign features easily identifying her as an outsider. Even as the youngest actor there, she still stood tall above her peers, her mother's genes beating out her father's yet again. Honestly, her father had only won in the naming and shape of her eyes, though her hair was much more tamable.

With a sigh, the young actress made her way over to the snack table and grabbed herself several red bean buns and a stick of dango. The western sweets were left ignored despite them being specifically made for her. She already had the cards stacked against her, no need to alienate herself further by eating "strange" foods. If someone else tried them first, then she'd grab her own. Her lack of friends allowed her to get to her snacks with no issues and return to her own station. Her chair had her name printed in both Japanese and English characters. She sighed.

"I really wish they'd treat me like everyone else." She thought to herself.

The set of "Bury These Words Under the Old Sakura Tree" was supposed to be about bonds and how they grow between even the most different of people. The main character is the exotic foreigner who joined the school after being adopted by a rich family. A total outsider struggling to make a place where she doesn't belong. That's exactly how she felt in real life. It didn't matter that she was born here or that her name was very clearly Japanese. It didn't matter how natural the words flowed on her tongue with an accent born only to a native. What mattered was that she did not look Japanese. She was too dark, hair too thick. She looked foreign and so she was treated as such. And what did people do with something new and unknown to them? They either idolize or discriminate. Even now, as she ate quietly and neatly, she could hear the whispers.

"Do you see that gaijin?"

"How did she get the lead? She's not even that pretty."

"I heard her father got her the role. He wanted to please his gaijin wife."

"Obaasan says that her father just likes them foreign."

"Wasn't his first wife also a gaijin…?"

Gaijin.

How many times has she heard that word? How many times have people tried to speak to her in English because they thought she didn't know Japanese? How many times have people talked about her because they thought she wouldnt understand? How many times has someone tried to grab her because they thought she was a lost little thing? How many times had people tried to treat her as less because of how she simply looked?

Sara couldn't understand why they simply couldn't treat her as just another child instead of an oddity. The bean paste tastes sour on her tongue as she fights back the ever burgeoning voices of doubt and pain that lurk in her thoughts. Swallowing past the taste, Sara forces down another bite and focuses on finishing her break so she can film the next scene.

Her peace is not meant to last however.

"Hey, Gaijin." A girl calls out. Gray eyes look up once again to meet black. Homura Hikari, known during sets as the beloved "Hinami-chan". Her character is the class idol and first person to hold out a hand to Amelia. She and Hinami may play friends for the camera but it is just that. An act. "Are you sure you don't want your fancy American food? Isn't our food a little too healthy for you?"

Their cast mates giggle and titter to one another at the jabs. None of them cared for their gaijin lead, put off by how different she was and their parents' own commentary. They leered at Sara expectactantly, waiting for her to react with sorrow and embarrassment. Sara only sighed and took another bite of her bun with an unimpressed stare. Those gray eyes gleamed like gunmetal as a light that was being adjusted passed over them. There was a slight wince but her face remained otherwise impassive

It was unnatural to these children to see eyes so sharply pointed at them.

Hikari faltered but held onto her dislike and continued. "Do you ever comb your hair, gaijin?" She tried again, flipping her own straight hair over her shoulder. "Or does the brush break trying to pass through that rat's nest."

The comment stung and Sara self-consciously touched her own hair, the long curls practically beaten into submission by the hair team. Her hairdresser had wanted to relax her hair and make it "more manageable" but her mother had refused. Said her natural hair was beautiful and that was a decision to be made when she was older. Even at home, where her maids had years of practice in managing it, her mother was still the only one who could truly wrangle the unruly nest she called bedhead. Her father thought it was charming. She thought it was disgusting.

Everything about her felt disgusting.

"Everyone knows the only reason you got the role was because your dad bought it." Another actress called out.

Hikari watched her silent co-star with a sense of triumph. The lead role should have been her's. Her father was a producer and mother a famous actress. She was born for the spotlight. There was no way this stupid little gaiijin could have possibly "earned" her spot. Her dad must have paid someone off. So it was only right that she ran the little intruder out of the show.

Suddenly, there were whispers and a small squeal as a hand landed on Hikari's shoulder. "Oh kami!" A friend squeaked while pointing across the set. Her own cheeks gained a dark blush as icy blue looked upon her.

Across the way under a stray spotlight were two approaching figures. The first was a boy, if you could even call him that. His face was obviously young but he stood tall above the passing workers, his raven hair shining under the spotlight. Striking blue eyes were framed by thick lashes that pierced those within their gaze. The crisp white of his uniform stood as a stark background for the black crest on his breast. A dark red band was wrapped around his upper left arm like a ribbon of blood. The distance made it impossible to identify which school he was from but it was most likely a costume from another set. Oh! Was he part of that vampire highschool life action remake the studio was working on? Her grandmother was raving about it and the unfairness that there was never a third season to the original anime.

The blonde woman trailing behind him had those same blue eyes, though hers seemed colder. She was obviously a foreigner, with her high cheekbones and tall frame. Pointed black heels gave her the height needed to match the boy's as she followed in her black pencil skirt and flowy white top. She must be his manager, the way she carried herself screamed business. She was speaking to the boy but he paid her no mind as he continued his approach.

Hikari subtly fixed her hair and skirt, wild fantasies of the boy being enraptured by her beauty and confessions dancing in her mind. She's never seen him before but his eyes were only on her, locked onto her every move as she adopted an innocent posture. Did he see her from coming on set and come looking for her? Was he a secret admirer and had finally plucked up the courage to say hi?

Pale cheeks flushed as the distance closed. This was just like her older sister's shoujos!

Behind her, Sara clenched the bean bun, crumbs and paste smeared through her fingers as she bit her cheek.

The distance between the two parties finally closed and the dark haired boy stood Hikari. The blonde stared with an unreadable expression but said nothing as she glanced at her watch. Hikari could feel her heart pounding as those pretty blue eyes (oh how she envied those who could wear such beautiful contacts for their roles) locked on her own cinnamon orbs. Oh kami! Was this how it felt to be the female le-

"Move."

Hikari blanched at the cold tone. "Eh?" She responded dumbly, not at all expecting such an attitude. The others stilled around her, caught completely off guard like their leader.

Rin was having a terrible day. No, a terrible week. First, his sister had started filming for some tv series. He was happy for her, don't get him wrong. But that meant long hours on set for her and less time spent with him. He'd seen her a total of maybe an hour the entire week. His mornings and afternoons were unnaturally quiet without her following him around. It was his senior year and the ever growing list of responsibilities just never seemed to stop. Normally Rin would practically beg the universe for his sister to leave him alone to his work but now he missed the comforting distractions. He felt almost… lonely.

Which is where the second problem came in: his mother.

He doesn't know when or how exactly, but something had changed. He used to hang on her every word, so desperate for her love and attention. Her word was law, her opinion fact. She would be right there to pick him up in the limo he paid for with the driver he kept on retainer. They would drive back to that lovely little two bedroom his father bought her, the heated floors he got her one Christmas, a welcomed reprieve in winter. The hot tub that had been installed soon after was a bonus. They would drop off his bags, enjoy a quick meal and then head out to shop. His mother would model dozens of outfits and ask his opinion before buying them all, claiming that he made it hard to choose when he told her they all looked good. With a new outfit on, they'd go to all her favorite places. It was so easy to go along with her words until it wasn't.

Maybe it was watching how Andromeda interacted with Sara, their gray eyes always on one another and filled with joy. The way his stepmother usually had to be tricked into buying something for herself and not the family. Or maybe it was how different a hug from her felt compared to one from his mother.

But things did change.

Those pretty words sounded more and more toxic each time he heard them, his mother's touch hollow and cold. Those short visits filled with her amusement began to leave a sour taste in his mouth. He realized how he always handed her his card without a second thought when he visited and how reluctant she was to give it back when time came to leave.

He was slowly realizing his mother did love him, but in her own way.

He was honestly surprised to see her today. She hadn't set foot in Japan since the divorce. But the flashing cameras as she stepped out of the limo that came to pick him up from school only highlighted her presence. A limo and cameras. Not the nondescript car and peace that usually met him at the end of the day. She told them she was coming and made a show of picking him up. How…her. She was most likely here for his 18th birthday, a huge gala to be held that weekend in his honor.

The ride back to the manor had been filled with her idle chatter and attempts at conversation. Rin had no desire to talk to the woman who he called "mother". She still tries to bring him into any form of conversation. It makes him bitter, how she tries to ask him about his day and act like a loving parent now that she feels her hold slipping. Desperation is a funny thing, for it makes her ignore her phone and watch him instead. Deciding he needed a buffer and presence he actually enjoyed, Rin called for the driver to take them to the studio so they could pick up his sister.

Which is what led them to this situation.

Rin stared down at the little girl before him knew bullying when he saw it. He remembers his own early years quite clearly. His blue eyes and then blonde hair were his marks of a gaijin. It didn't last once his father came to school and their parents realized their relation. That is the fickle nature of children: merciless one moment then trying to be friends the next. Try as they might, he never forgot. Even as his hair darkened with age and his eyes became a point of attraction.

Bending at the waist so their faces were inches apart, he allowed his eyes to adopt that piercing glare his mother passed to him. He did not care if this seemed like him trying to intimidate a child. No one bullies his little sister.

"Move."

Hikari was frozen. So close, she could see that those blue pools were his own and not contacts like she had assumed. She felt so confident mere moments ago but not all the wind was gone from her sails. Was he hereford te gaijin? He was one too. Had he heard them and thought they were insulting him too?

"Konnichiwa." She started. "My name is Homura Hikari an-"

"Homura?" The boy said in a blank tone. His eyes studied her face and Hikari felt her cheeks flush with how smoothly her name sounded on his tongue. Recognition flickered in his eyes as he watched her more intently. Hope blossomed in her chest once again, her confidence returning with it. "Yes. I'm her-"

"Homura Gichi's daughter., correct?" He interrupted again.

Hikari was shocked to be cut off once again but nodded. "Hai. My father-"

"Your father is a producer here at the studio." He said with a slowly forming smile. "He worked on the singular season of "By Any Other Name We Call This Sin". Didn't that show do really badly despite the books' being critically acclaimed?"

Standing straighter, Rin tilted his head and smiled coldly as he continued to speak. "And didn't "Kiss Me By the Eleventh Hour" flop really badly too? I also recall the last two shows he tried to produce didn't even make it out of the planning stages." The icy blue eyes closed with a smile. "Am I correct?"

The children all watched with spines of ice as that chilling smile bore into their leader.

"I personally think it's just bad business to keep working with someone like that." Rin continued with faux concern. "Your spouses' name can only keep you afloat for so long." Hikari and his mother both shared a tiny flinch at that. A pale finger tapped contemplatively at his chin as he appeared to think things over.

"I think it's best to cut ties with weak links. Don't you, Homura-chan?"

Finally, it clicked who this boy before Hikari was. It clicked for all of them.

"Onii-san!"

The ice fell away from his face instantly and changed to a soft expression as Rin looked at the approaching form of his little sister. While the others saw cool indifference, it was obvious how stark the contrast was between his previous demeanor.

"Sara, thought I'd surprise you and pick you up." He said while opening his arms for a hug. The cold demeanor returns when arms wrap and his shoulders and blonde hair enters his peripheral. Sara stops afoot away as she looks at how his mother hugs him close. Hikari and her cast mates are watching in growing horror as the pieces fall into place. Two pairs of icy eyes lock on gray.

"Hello, pet." Rin's mother coos as she hugs her son. Her grip is possessive and lacks any of the warmth she feigns. "You must be Sara, the second born." Her tone is light but full of derision. "It's so nice to meet you."

Rin scowled and shrugged his mother off before opening his arms to his sister again.

"It's alright Sara." He says with a smile. "Onii-San is here now."

Shame.

Her brother had none of it yet she had it all. She had kept silent because she wanted to earn her place and respect. She didn't want her father's name to be why her dreams came true. She wanted acting to stay on set and not in her friendships. And now it was ruined.

Her brother had no shame, threatening a little girl.

"Rin…"

And so she had to have it all, defending that same little girl.

Rin blinked slowly, his arms dropping slightly. His sister never calls him Rin, especially like that.

"Homura-chan is-"

"A bully." Rin cut his sister off. Bless her little heart, she wanted to defend the little gaki. "Nepotism got her here. She shouldn't be here in the first place." He tutted.

"But-" She started again.

"That doesn't mean she hasn't earned a spot?" Rin tutted. His poor little sister didn't quite understand how to let someone fall on their sword. "She may have some skill. I wouldn't know. But she still got here through her father and not of her own merit, unlike you."

Rin stared at Sara with such honest affection that it hurt. It hurt because all of her insecurities would wash away when he looked at her. Because how could she be mad at the one person who could truly understand her. They were both a little broken. Both struggling with the weight of the family's status and mixed heritage. Both trying so hard to be perfect in their imperfect world.

Oh how easy it would be to just let her big brother fix everything.

But he can't.

And that was a painful, perfect truth.

It was like moving through fog.

His head felt heavy and mouth dry like cotton as he braced himself against an endless void of darkness. Everything aches like old wounds that were poorly scarred and stretched too thin in the blistering cold. It was so tempting to just let go. To just embrace the void and let it take him like so many others.

But there was a Call.

Something was Calling to him. Inviting him into a sweltering embrace. His instincts told him to run from the flames that were slowly surrounding him but it seemed better to burn than to freeze. The closer the flames drew, the easier it was to fight against the void. The flames curled around him and despite the heat, he never burned. The tendrils of fire only pulled him closer and closer into their depths, enveloping him in the smell of brimstone and roses…

Peter gasped, his body lurching forward as he coughed and hacked against the wetness in his throat and lungs. The thick, coppery taste of blood caused his stomach to lurch with dry heaves while his lungs burned under their efforts to clear themselves. His vision is foggy as he struggles for breath, black spots dancing in his peripherals as he rapidly blinks.

His body aches but that too clears away as the world comes into focus. His limbs are stiff, like he's stayed in bed too long. He wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, to ignore the stiffness and deal with it later. But he couldn't. Something wasn't right. The taste of blood still sat heavy on his tongue and the stench burned his nose.

Had there been a battle?

His memory was foggy, a hand coming up to hold his cotton filled head. He cringed at the cold and tacky feeling of something sticking to his hair. A slime? No, it wasn't smooth like slimes and had odd clumps.

Something shifted and caught a gleam of moonlight.

It was armor, pitch black and pristine.

Momon.

The dark knight stepped forward, a disgusting squelch underfoot. Peter felt nauseous, his brain slowly identifying it as the sound of drying puddles of blood. What happened? Why was the pain and stiffness fading the closer Momon got? Why couldn't he reme-

His eyes locked on his reflection in Mormon's helm as the knight knelt before him. Blood, dark and tacky on his skin and hair, flaked and burned away as black flames danced across him and removed the last of the evidence. He couldn't see past the face shield, but he could feel Momon's piercing gaze as it analyzed him.

"What do you remember?" He asked.

Peter's tongue felt heavy as memories came racing back.

"Everything." A weak voice called out from the side.

Peter glanced over to see Ninya weakly supporting himself against a counter, a dark red cloak wrapped around him and held closed with a fist. His face was flushed while staring at Momon. Dyne groaned as struggled to his feet from behind the same counter.

"D-did you revive us?"

Lukrut slowly moved to join them. The Swords of Darkness surrounded Momon and awaited his answer with bated breaths. Any lingering effects of the deaths and subsequent revival were quickly fading now that they were fully awake and aware. Revival spells usually left one drained and unable to move for days as the body recovered from the trauma and sudden draining of what little energy remained in their cells. The caster was often left bedridden if multiple resurrections were performed consecutively, the cost of mana too high to maintain the stream of magic needed to make a simple spell. If Momon had truly resurrected them…

The Dark Knight gave a bemused huff and shook his head negative. "No. I didn't revive you." His helm turned to the door as it creaked open, Nabe's beautiful and inexpressive face glowing under the light of the torch outside. Her impassive gaze swept across the room and landed on the blank coins. A look of understanding was shared between master and maid.

"Then who did?" Peter asked as he stood and gathered his blade.

"Lady Carisimmi did." Nabe answered.

Lukrut gawked and dropped the arrows he was picking up. "Wait? Lady Carissimi is here?" His head whipped around to stare at the beautiful warrior. "But how? She's not even here!"

Nabe said nothing, only approaching Peter who was closest to the door. The blonde stiffened and scrambled to his feet. Nabe paid him no mind and plucked a blank coin from the drying blood next to him. The platinum was clean and unmarked by the blood as she held it up for their eyes.

"Lady Carissimi offered you her favor and protection when she gave you these coins." She intoned solemnly, just barely holding back her disdain for what she viewed as a waste of her Lady's magic. Such a powerful gift used on such lower life forms and so soon as well. "Lady Carissimi is a powerful healer with skill far beyond mortal comprehension."

Her eyes turned hard and voice sharp. "You should be grateful she deigned you worthy enough of such a gift."

"Nabe."

Momon's tone was full of warning, both because of her attitude and the information she was sharing. He was already taking a risk by letting Carne Village keep their memories of Carisimmi's identity as an angel. There was no need to let anyone else in on the secret.

"My apologies."

Momon sighed but didn't admonish her any further.

"I know you have many questions, but they will have to wait." His back was to the Swords as he made to exit the building. "Nifrea has been taken and we must rescue him. Lady Carissimi has also summoned us back so we must make haste. I will not judge if you do not wish to join."

"Now hold on." Lukrut cut in. "I didn't just get revived to sit back and let you guys go save our friend by yourself." The archer finished collecting his fallen arrows and secured his quiver. "I'm gonna come with you and this is done, I pledge to follow you till the ends of the Earth if that means I serve under Lady Carissimi."

Peter nodded in agreement. "I don't know much about you or where you come from, but if this is the character of your leader, then I will gladly pledge my loyalty to Lady Carissimi."

"I as well."Dyne said.

"And me." Ninya said as he handed Momon back his cloak, his clothing finished mending itself from Carisimmi's magic. He gave the warrior a grateful look before stepping back.

Momon said nothing as he replaced his cloak and turned towards the exit. "I cannot waste any more time. Nifrea needs us." Nabe tugged at her companion's sword and whispered something in his ear. "Lady Carissimi has also summoned us back so we must make haste. If you truly mean your vow, now is the time to prove it."

With no other words, Nabe and Momon stepped out into the night.

Lukrut shared a look with Peter and shoulder his quiver. "Those two sure are something." The archer followed after the duo as did his companions. He paused outside the store, looking in either direction for Nabe and Momon. "Damn, those two really waste no time."

"We should hurry up and catch up then." Peter responded with a look of determination. "Momon said to prove ourselves."

The Swords of Darkness raced through the city till they reached the gates only to be met with a decimated army of the undead. Peter's sword hung slack as he looked out at the carnage.

"Peter…" Ninya slowly said as he came to stand next to their leader, slowly rising in the distance. "Can we really prove ourselves when Lady Carisimmi has those two at her disposal?" Peter swallowed around the thick feeling in his throat.

"We can try."

It didn't take a genius to know that something was wrong.

Careful to keep his gaze respectful, Karma's pet only took a cursory glance around the room his mistress just entered. The decor was tasteful and elegant, the monochromatic colors easy on the eyes. There were two sets of doors besides the one they'd just come in so he could assume they were a closet and maybe an en-suite bath. The dim light of the torches is more than enough for his suspiciously good vision to see a butler cradling a winged being in his arms. The two are backlit by a black casket that casts a weakening light upon them. It takes a split second for him to recognize the being as the angel who had him and the rest of the Sunlight Scripture to the Tomb. Lady Carrisimi, if his memory is correct. She lays slack in the butler's arms as he rises from the ground before a glowing casket black coffin. He's careful as he pulls back the comforter and lays her on the bed, carefully arranging her wings into a comfortable position and tucking her in.

"Sebas." His mistress starts and moves to approach the two. She seems to have no care for proprietary, walking as though she's in charge. "What happened?"

The butler takes a moment before responding, brushing delicate white strands from his mistress's face. She's still under the covers, her brow pinched with sorrow. Sebas smoothes a thumb over the crease of her brows until it eases and her face relaxes. He can see the bone-deep exhaustion she carries from here even in sleep.

"I'm sure you already know, Karma." Sebas spoke with a low tone that gave away nothing. His face was carefully blank as he descended the dais the angel slept upon and approached the duo. "Lord Sephiroth's casket has already alerted us to his death. Lady Carissimi passed out due to her distress and poor self-care these past few days. I am ashamed to admit she has not been eating properly lately and has been working tirelessly to familiarize herself with Lord Ainz's position and duties."

Kama's fist clenched as she received the report, rage filling her being. Sephiroth hadn't been around to play with her and now he went and died. Who dared to kill her "brother" and thought they could get away with it. Her fury burned her veins and allowed her to ignore the grief that simmered beneath the surface. His revival will be a simple matter so her pain would fade. But this was still a serious matter. "Sebas, has Lord Ainz been informed yet?"

Sebas nodded and laid a hand on his chest. "Lord Ainz has been made aware of the situation. He shall be returning to Nazarick soon." The butler's gaze flicked towards the pet and back to its master. "May I ask why your pet is roaming the halls instead of your Maze?"

A scowl crossed Karma's delicate features, fangs flashing in irritation as she recalled her shameful display. "I felt the connection fray and let it overwhelm me." She admitted. "Neither of us have ever died so I had not expected it to hurt so much when the repercussions of the casket finally activated. I destroyed the Maze by accident. Karma avoided the knowing look from Sebas. Of course, he would know what she's talking about. Lord Touch-Me must have told him."It will take some time for it to regenerate so I will be moving my pet into the Theater until further notice."

Her pet kept his gaze lowered as he listened to his master speak with the chiming tones she usually adopted, her voice flat and without any distinctive markers. It was a bit unnerving. This was also the first he was hearing of a theater. He had assumed his mistress would send him back to the Maze or keep him at her side until his home was repaired. Perhaps he could use this opportunity to learn more about his mistress and better help her.

Sebas eyed the two carefully but said nothing on the decision. Lady Carisimmi had already given her guardians free reign sans the 8th Floor and Karma was free to do as she pleased with her pet so long as it did no harm to the Tomb. "Very well. But remain alert. We do not yet know what killed Sephiroth." Sebas stated.

"I must speak to Lord Demiurge to discuss the Tomb's security."

Sebas was quick to leave, Karma and her pet following after and parting ways in the hall. Master and pet walked in silence through the maze-like hall of the Ninth Floor, the tiny guardian navigating with a practiced ease even if each turn looked the same as the last. There were some paintings here and there, but it was impossible to use them as any sort of landmark as they passed them much too quickly. Eventually they finally made it to a long hall with no branching paths, only framed paintings depicting dramatic scenes and titles. Gray eyes linger on a particular painting of a woman laid out in skimpy clothing in snow, her skin covered in bruises and cuts as a winged skeleton loomed over her. The title "By Any Other Name We Call This Sin" was written across the button in a crooked yet elegant cursive. His eyes were locked on her hopeless expression as the skeleton reached for her.

How pretty.

He continued after his little mistress with no further thoughts, a pair of wooden double doors opening for them without prompting. Dim torches grew bright at their entry, illuminating the most beautiful room he'd ever seen. The cathedrals of the Slane Theocracy paled in comparison to opera hall, its high ceiling painted with creatures of song from all mythos, their voices joined in harmony to sink a city into the abyssal depths of Tartarus as human could only weep in euphoria as they were consumed by Sin.

Pillars of polished white marble raised the royal boxes high above the main pit, dark red curtains blocking off those private seats behind the golden ledges. Karma's pet gaped in open awe as he followed his mistress towards the stage. A set of stairs hidden behind a curtain led them backstage, the area quiet with no production going on. Karma remained silent as she led her pet further backstage, past props and costume racks neatly tucked against walls. Deeper into the depths they traveled, the bare walls left behind as the entered the cast quarters. White walls with deep maroon doors and gold stars lined the halls. They didn't stay long, exiting the hall and coming upon a pair of french doors, notes for a long-forgotten song carefully etched into the dark wood. Karma reached out to turn a knob and allowed her pet inside.

It was an orchestral rehearsal room.

Rows of neatly arranged seats and music sheet stands were arranged around a slight elevated stage for a conductor. Each section of the orchestra was clearly defined and separated, an instrument resting on a stand by each seat. Karma's pet was entranced, a spark of light in his eyes as he walked forward and hovered near the string section. Karma remained silent as she observed her pet's movements. He was awfully quiet, not a single sound had come out of him since they left the labyrinth. His pale pink hair seemed almost white under the bright lights, his clothes making him seem almost angelic.

The little guardian stalked slowly after her pet as he carefully walked through the string section, his eyes flitting between the beautifully crafted instruments but never lingering on anything in particular.. There was an interest but nothing that stuck. Karma gave a critical eye to the "traditional" instruments with a raised brow.

"Pet." She called out.

Her pet stood ramrod straight, eyes cast to the floor as he awaited instruction.

"Come."

She spun on her heel and turned towards the back of the room, where another door lay. The door was huge, nearly twice his height and just as wide, a large tumbler lock taking up the center. A vault. Gray eyes watched as Karma turned the giant lock with ease, tumblers rolling and clicking into place. The vault opened with a small hiss, air rushing into the sealed space. Inside the vault was pitch black, the door casting an ever-shrinking shadow as it opened fully. As light slowly creeped in, a figure was revealed to be standing right there in the entrance.

A woman, tall and sallow. Her face was long and drawn thin, high cheekbones emphasizing hollow cheeks. Her eyes were large for her face and round, dark circles giving her a tired look. Dark hair was combed tightly back into a pair of victory rolls. Dark marks swept under her cheek bones elegantly. Her neck was too long and bone thin to have been able to realistically support her head, but it did. It led into narrow shoulders, a small bust and tiny waist that flared into full hips and long legs. Her arms were long and spindly, fingers thin like spider legs. She wore all black, the high collar of her top just below her. A polished white stone rested in the hollow of her throat, four strings stretched tight from it and down her abdomen. Marks much like the ones on her face rested on either side of her ribs. A pencil skirt stopped just below her knees with a small train trailing after her. Black stilettos adorned her ridiculously small feet. Her proportions were ridiculously off, the long limbs and tiny body much like a child's doll. She was as unsettling as she was beautiful, hauntingly so.

Her eyes snapped open as the light touched her, pale blue irises glittering like stained glass. Her tall frame folded into a deep bow, her joints creaking like old wood when she moved. "Lady Karma." Her voice was low and tinny, almost out of tune if there was such a thing. She stood again, back straight and hands folded neatly behind her back. "What brings you to the Music Vault?"

Karma smiled for the first time since they left the ruins of the maze, her demeanor once again childlike and cutesy.

"Good day, Chiaro Scuro. I'm showing my Pet around."

Karma rocked on her heels and laced her fingers together as she spoke to her fellow NPC. The woman, Chiaro Scuro, gave an appraising look at the "human". Finding now apparent issue with his presence, she bowed at the waist to Karma. "Of coure Lady Karma."

She stepped to the side and resumed her stiff posture, quietly looming like a sentry. Karma gave a close eyed smile and stepped into the lit vault, her pet following after. His breath caught as he took in every instrument known and unknown lining the walls. His feet moved without thought, carrying him to the strings once more. Karma watched intently as his hands hovered reverently over them as he walked, never lingering on a single thing. Had it not been for her impeccable sight, she would have missed the sligh falter in his steps when he came upon the guitars.

Karma took slow and careful steps as she approached her pet. He had stopped in front of a specific guitar, the wood's glossy surface of good quality. It was a simple enough weapon. There were much grander pieces within Nazarick , like the crystal violin Lady Carisimmi had gifted her. This particular guitar wasn't her personal preference but who was she to question the efforts of the Supreme Beings.

"It is a Yamaha CGS104A." Her pet stared in confusion. Of course, a mere human wouldn't understand the significance of the name. "It is from the land of the Supreme beings. Do you like it?"

Her pet blinked at being asked if he liked something. It wasn't in his mistress's nature to inquire about his desires. "It is indeed beautiful, but I find myself lacking in its presence." He said politely. Karma responded with an unimpressed huff. The guitar was not even that valuable. Leave it to human men to over think the value of something.

"Can you play?"

"Paron?"

Karma rolled her eyes. "I asked if you can play?"

Her pet seemed slightly nervous. "I'm not sure m'lady. I have not touched an instrument in some time."

Karma narrowed her eyes and picked up the guitar, shoving it in his hands. "Play something. I will decide what to do with you based on your performance."

Her pet stared at the instrument to his owner and back. Would this make her happy? Would She feel better if he did? Summoning his memories of a time long past, he slowly plucked at the guitar strings. It was slow at first, the calluses at the tips of his fingers having grown soft after years of disuses. But slowly he gained confidence. The song was quiet and sad, his fingers playing a lullaby he'd long forgotten. Eyes sliding shut, he lost himself in the feel of the music. His focus was almost broken when he heard the strains of a violin. His eyes popped open to see his mistress playing alongside him on a crystal violin. Her part was beautiful and melancholic. She was deeply focused on her song; eyes shut and face soft with emotion. He let the music take him again, their sad song traveling though the vault and resonating and traveling through the hall to the stage.