Oh, glory. I've decided to do a second chapter to this, and I'm blaming it all on the fabulo-mastic author "Nevis" who's FANTASTIC. Fan-tas-tic. She rules. So so so so so so much. Well, I should say they. Cuz Nevis may be a guy. But I doubt it. And if they are, then they're one of the greatest male authors I've ever had the privelage to experience their works. If they're a chick, same thing, but guys aren't really englishly talented, if you know what I mean.

So anyways. I'm thinking about a song to use for this chapter. I've got on in mind, "Do This Anymore" by Nickelback, but that means it'd have to be another one from Will's point of view, and I was sort of hoping to do this chapter focusing on Elizabeth. We'll see. Must go research more lyrics.

*many hours later*

I FOUND IT! The song for this chapter, which I've yet to name, and probably won't until I think of something witty and fitting, is "If You Can't Leave It Be, Might As Well Make It Bleed" by Dashboard Confessional. A truly rockin' band.

SO! What have we learned? That this chapter is dedicated to Nevis, my inspiration for the day, and that I'm crazy. ENJOY!!!!!

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~*.:.*~ What you've found sure upsets you
Never saw it coming did you?
Its easy to be suprised with both your eyes sewn closed
Handeld with great percision, another thoughtless execution
You're the subject of this exhibition
A willing cadaver, a willing cadaver.
Scalpel, sutured.
Made whole again... ~*:*~

The tears poured as she watched him walk away from her, leaving her alone to weep amongst the colors of spring as flowers around her found new life. They bloomed. She did not. She wanted to leave herself on the ground, to weep forever, to cry, rot, become nothing, and do so until the end of her days. Her father wouldn't allow it. Unbeknownst to him, she saw him for the fat, disgusting, pompus git that he really was. And she hated him for it.

'To blazes with propriety...' she moaned bitterly inside her head, letting the tears fall as though they were small children, running down her cheeks as those same small children would chase after sweets. Wiping them away would be to stop them, and if she couldn't have freedom, the freedom to choose, then her tears, as an extension of herself, should.

She was allowed to mope that evening, much to her surprise. But even surprise was bittersweet, and she was silent, sullen. Withdrawn.

William hated her, of this, she was absolutely sure. Maybe not now, maybe not for years and years, but there would be a time when he hated her for what she'd done, and knowing that made her hate herself.

~*:*~ These cuts are leaving creases
Trace the scars, fit the peices
Tell your story, you don't need to say a word.
Call off the calvary, can't save a wretch like me.
Clean this with kerosene.
If you can't leave it be might as well make it bleed.
Scalpel, sutured.
Made whole again... ~*:*~

She hated herself as she dragged the tiny kitchen knife across the innocent wrist that had never wronged her. Only given her life. In a desperate attempt to make it all go away, she pressed, softly at first, and then not caring, faster, a little deeper. The crimson agony poured from the newly opened wound, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from crying out. Crying would signify weakness.

She was tired of being weak.

Over and over again, the same scene played in her head: the two of them, laughing, kissing softly on the beach, beneath the brightly beaming moon. It beamed as though it were smiling upon them, giving them her most sincere blessing, to love, and to be loved by one another. Unequivocated happiness, she bestowed upon them, the never faltering moon.

And now all she could think about was him, the things she had said to him, the pain he must have felt as she said them. She deserved this, she deserved every moment of it. Every. last. moment.

She chanted that to herself in her head, a mantra, as she let her wrist continue to pour itself into her bath. She fainted just as the maid opened the door, not hearing Estrellas scream as she blacked out into the ever-silent oblivion which she so greatly welcomed.

~*:*~ Your wires are frayed, can't fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to stand and fight
There's something better wrong with you ~*:*~

She woke up the next afternoon, her father sitting at her bedside, white as a ghost, his head buried in his hands. As he heard her stir slightly, his head jolted upwards, bloodshot eyes looking her over as though she had risen from the dead.

She felt as though she had risen from the dead. Thick bandages covered her wrists, and she was so weak, she could hardly lift her head. The many terrible things the Governor was, and as cruel as he had been in practically forcing Elizabeth to dispose of Will, he knew his daughter. Actually lifting a finger to do an ounce of work, he helped her to sit up, piling pillows behind her so she wouldn't have to hold herself up.

She could hardly speak, she was ashamed, she was heartbroken. She was still breathing. Another flaw in her plan. Nothing seemed to want to go her way, as trivial and childish a thought it was, it did cross her mind.

~*.:.*~ Your pulse is anemic, you're tired of the fire
You're bruising too easy and falling behind
And no one is waiting for you.
And no one is waiting for you.
And no one is waiting for you... ~*.:.*~

"Oh, Elizabeth... I've been so worried... I've... oh, the good Lord above..." he murmured, more to himself than to her, as he pressed his lips to her forehead. "Why did you do it? Why?" He wanted to scream at her, he wanted to shake her by the shoulders, force her to understand that what he said was best for her, she'd appreciate him in the long run. He couldn't bring himself to do it. The hurt in her eyes as she raised them to her wrists to his own eyes was hurting him more than she could ever know.

"I... I'm sorry..." she whispered, trying to say all the right things, do all the right things. A bit late for it, she knew, but it looked like her grand escape was forced to come to a close, and she'd be damned to the depths if she would do it again. Not now... now that they knew.

"This is about that boy, isn't it..." he said to her, the anger in him finally showing itself, and he almost shook with fear. He didn't recognize this angry part of him, for he had rarely shown it to anyone, and never to Elizabeth.

She hardly had the strength to nod, swallowing hard, only bringing herself more pain as she found her throat parched. "I knew it... I knew it all along... Elizabeth, please... please, trust me. I know... I've not been the greatest father... But all along, I've only had the best interests in your well being..."

"Oh yes, my well-being..." she muttered to herself, closing her eyes before the tears had a chance to escape. "Excuse me?" he whispered to her, hardly believing her ears. Since she'd been at sea, she truly had changed, and the insubordination was to end. Immediately.

"Oh, you heard me! You heard me!" She tried to scream at him, wanted to pound her fists into the bed, but her arms would not move, her vocal chords would not sound above the loudest whisper. He could only stare at her wide-eyed. "Now you listen to me, young lady, and you listen with the most attentive ears there ever were." He growled. He hardly cared about the tears that formed in her eyes, he only cared that she listened, that she shed any ideas of trying to escape life again.

She stared down at the bedspread. "Alright, you've got my attention, Father..." she said, hushed tones owning every sentace she spoke aloud. "You will marry the Commodore, the day you were set to marry that lowly blacksmith, and you will do it with the falsest smile on your face. Fancy yourself a woman of the theater and fake it, for all I care, but you will marry him. You will not shame the good, upstanding reputation I have provided for this family!" He shouted, his face redder than a handful of beets, and he stormed from the room, leaving his only daughter to wallow in her own sadness and self-pity.

~*.:.*~ Call off your quarantine, can't save the rest from me
Clean this with kerosene.
If you can't leave it be might as well make it bleed.
Scapel, Sutured.
Made whole again... ~*.:.*~

She watched him walk away again, knowing there were tears in his eyes, and she did her best to fight her own. James, at least, was a bit understanding, and knew how fragile she was now. He could only smile, as miserable as she was on the inside, because he knew the woman he loved did not love him in return.

He did not have the blessing of the moon.

As time passed, the raw ache for Will dulled in Elizabeths heart, and was replaced with an all-around sadness she couldn't put into words. Her hand on her swollen stomach, she looked at her cousin Novialeigh, who inquired as to who her mysterious suitor was all that time ago. "I miss him sometimes..." She said as she inhaled shakily, as though she were going to cry, and looked away before Novialeigh could see her tears, which were as real as she was.

~*.:.*~Your wires are frayed, can't fire right
You look better when out of sight
You were not made to stand and fight
There's something better wrong with you... ~*.:.*~
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WOW. I think that was THE saddest thing I've ever written. I feel like I could cry... NOT! I hate Elizabeth. Burn. Be lost to Davy Jones' Locker. Now, If I had ended this story the way I wanted to, it would give away secrets to Night of the Butterfly, which, remember, this is just a sub-story for. :-)

PLEASE REVIEW! I love reviews. %_^

And again, thank you Nevis, for inspiring me to sit down and write something. You so rule.