I finally have some ideas on where this story can go… let's just say that it'll be going many places. School is over so I can think again! Thanks for reviewing! Glad everyone is enjoying the ride so far, but keep your seats buckled, it's about to get bumpy!

Forgot the disclaimer last time… this is all in fun, yadda yadda yadda.

Prisoners of the Past

In the Blink of an Eye

"Lucrezia Noin… Lucrezia Noin…" Was that a man's voice or a woman's? It was hard to decipher… There was a lilting, lyrical quality to it, along with a bass note only a man could have.

The androgynous voice continued to whisper to her. "You don't mean anything to him… Lucrezia Noin… nothing at all…"

She tried to stop the voice, willed it to stop. Is this a dream? I should be able to control it by just… wanting it to go away. Wake up, damn it!

But the voice was so enticing…. "Do you remember your family Lucrezia?" Was that her shaking her head? She couldn't even feel her body moving. "No… because you are no one. And a no one can not marry into the Peacecraft family…"

The voice kept on whispering, but at that point she was no longer listening. It was that very thought that plagued her mind, chanted as a mantra in her subconscious for the past two years. She could never marry into a noble family, much less the oldest remaining noble family on Earth. Not her.

She lacked pedigree. History.

Family.

I'm just…

"… insignificant", supplied the voice for her.

…insignificant…

" …a nobody…", it continued.

…nobody…

"…he does not care about you, or what happens to you…", it finished with a sneer in its voice.

And I can't care about him. Not anymore. Not if I want to forget.

A sharp pain immediately struck her, the force of it leaving her gasping for air and blinking little flashes of bright white light. Behind her eye lids, every time she blinked she saw fire.

Burning. Destruction. Two people running. Screams of men and women and children. The heat was unbearable. Scorching. Choking. The people kept on running.

It was a woman and a child, both dark-haired, smudged with dirt, fear and panic etched on their faces. Desperately looking for shelter.

The woman tripping and falling hard on her right foot. A twisted ankle. Her expression contorting into pain as she shouts to the child, "Keep running!"

And the child beginning to cry. Loud sobs that wracked its small and frail body. Grabbing onto the woman, only to be pushed away again and again.

"Go! Get away from here now!"

One last shove sending the child stumbling away, and the woman left behind to watch crying silently, accepting her fate. The flames indiscriminatingly engulfing their surroundings. No concern for the living, be they mothers or fathers, or children with their whole lives ahead of them.

No mercy. No emotion. A fire, once started, gladly burns. And it will not go out without a fight.

It certainly does not care who burns with it.

Warriors do not blink. Precious seconds pass when one blinks that could cost them a battle. This was how the staring contest began. Blue on blue, not even flinching.

If either talked, it would mean their end.

At that moment, while staring into the cold eyes of her potential killer and victim, Dorothy finally understood why battles were often likened to a chess match. It wasn't about strategy only, because strategy has no account for luck. In a chess match, what is luck to one player is the opposition's mistake. If a chess game was played mistake free by both players it would always in a stalemate.

Dorothy was no stranger to thinking on her feet, and at that moment decided the best way to get out of her predicament was the only option open to her.

"Why don't we settle this by starting all over?"

He noticed how her eyes held a strange gleam, one that he couldn't place. Malicious, maybe. Conniving, certainly. "What are you suggesting?"

He was still curious, after all.

Dorothy took a chance in his apparent interest by lowering her gun. "I'm suggesting that we complete the original mission. Sweep away all the left over… trash… otherwise…"

She left the possibilities hanging in the air, but he knew exactly what the 'otherwise' entailed. He knew the original mission better than he knew himself, the culmination of almost two years of planning. To have it go wrong… so… fucking…wrong…made his blood boil. Most of the time he didn't even want to think about the problems he created for himself because he'd get into a towering rage.

The major problem with completing was the mission was he could find out. And all signs would point back to him. He was the last person he wanted to face for so many reasons. The thought of him made his eyes flare up with hatred, his heart beat with an unnatural ferocity. Uncanny, the feelings that came about when he thought of him.

Burning hate is a dangerous creature. It turns a person blind to all but one thing, the one thing that can motivate the most indifferent of beings, the most cunning of all evils.

Its persuasive skills can tempt the holiest of men… no euphemism can truly encompass it's power over people, it has no redeeming qualities…

Simply put, it's revenge. Sweet, swift, and satisfying.

"The mission is officially back on track."

Woohoo I'm going places now… I've got a whole storyline past, present and future set up, so now I need to write it out. Sorry for the shortness. I'm working on that. Wondering what's going on? Who is Dorothy talking to? What's up Noin? Will Milliardo find her, and what happens when he does? Keep wondering. I'm trying to build suspense here. Enjoy your summer!