Hello! I know, I know, I'm such a terrible person. I took my time. But it's honestly not my fault.. this time. My computer crushed, and crushed and crushed again and.. well, it doesn't really interest you, does it?

I would like to thank denna5for her generous review- Thank you for not giving up on me or the story!

Ligia Elena: Wow, a new reader to torment! Thank you so much for your review.. s! My self esteem really climbed for a few days as a result. Poor, Poor world...

Uninformed: The summery WILL make sense... eventually. Please keep reading and send me all those wonderful reviews! (Drooling)

And last but never, ever least- thank you for my beta AK8 who had to sacrifice long hours to sit and fix mymany mistakes!

CHAPTER 2

You've never believed there was such thing as fate. Fate is only an excuse for the soft hearted who refuse to do the task that is required from them. This is the ultimate fiend of all those who have wished for greatness and got stuck in the grayness of life. But more of everything, you abhor fate because it was what put you here in this forsaken place, without asking you.

You are sure that if Mom were here she would have said that in the greater scheme of things this event has probably come to teach you a lesson. To make you a greater person and you should thank the bastards that chased you here. That even if we don't always understand fate it always has a plan. We are just too short sighted to understand everything. The best that we can do is to let time lead us and let ourselves sway with it. Then again, she died from the decent of a plant.
Talk about irony.

Then she came to the future and changed the course of time that was and that should have been. So the concept of fate is no longer so valid asyou saw that one can change his own destiny. It is not marked by stone, only by a little mark of pencil. Now you only have to find the right eraser and rewrite what you think fits better.

Only this time, it may not be so easy doing it. You're kinda stuck.

"Damn." You kick the walls of the cave when you try, in what seems to be the thousandth time, to open it. You already used everything you could think of to open it- spells, kicking it and even, oh, the shame, 'Open Sesame.' But none seemed to work. None seemed to matter.

And you start to be touched not by an undefined paranoia, but a real fear. The fear that you are not going to get out of here alive.

Ever.

"DAMN!" Now you yell, wanting someone to hear, to help you. "LET ME OUT!"

But there is not even a tiny change.

So you crumple on the cold floor, your arms hugging your knees in a fetus like position. You try to absorb a sense of comfort, this way nothing can hurt you.

But everything stays far too warm, far too lighted, and far too dense. You don't know what to do anymore. Time is running away from you, and you are not powerful enough to stop it, to save yourself.

In a rush of desperation, you laugh. Loud, dull, horrible laughter that you are sure means that you are slowly losing you mind. But you still can't stop it.

When you were a child you never thought that isolation could hurt. In fact, living among a large family you thought this was the best scenario ever. But then the Irony master reared its ugly head, giving you exactly what you have always wanted. And in the way you wanted it, no less. A warm, closed place in which you won't have to talk to anyone, deal with anyone. Where you could just to be yourself for the first time.

So here you were given your dream. And you laugh and moan and laugh again, all in the same time and in the same tune. Never really sure what you are feeling and why you are feeling that way.

You watch the walls, the fire and the air with equal fascination, as if aid can come out of them. Then everything becomes dull again, the pain in your chest widens and you don't care anymore. You don't care if you will get out of here or not. It doesn't even matter anymore.

Suddenly there's a light touch on your shoulder. It's nothing more than a moth movement or a bit of wind but it is whispering to you not to give up. So you take all the pride that you were left with and shatter it on the wall, begging. Only this time, you beg the wind.

"Please," you whisper, your voice is breaking. And to think that once you had been so cocky. Oh, how the mighty had fallen…

"Please, I beg you. Let me go," you plead on you knees. This time not even knowing to whom you direct such a selfish plea, and not even caring. You don't even know who is the strongest that can fulfill it. You then wonder if anyone would help you. Which god you have not yet offended in your brutality? Which merciful entity still holds even the tiniest capability of compassion toward you?

You rock in your place, banging your head in the brick wall again, and again and again. You are seeking for a way out this pain. Maybe you will pass out and upon your waking realize you are free. Maybe you will see everyone and have a chance to make everything better.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

You feel something salty.

Tears.

You are crying now andthere is nothing you can do to stop it. You don't want to, either. There isn't any point to act brave, to hold everything inside, to not let the acidic feelings of failure and fear consume you. No, there is no point at all. Nothing that you fought so hard for matters anymore.

"Ple-ea- ase"

And in the thought that you can't possibly sink any lower, you let completely go. You sob uncontrollably, the tears making rivers and oceans, filling the world in their bitter taste, and your heart. For you cry for everything. For the times you should have cried and couldn't. For those you never thought about in years, who have never spoke a word against you. Yet you never told them how much you loved them, how much they meant to you.

You never looked in their eyes, even once, and said you were sorry. So now, almost a century later, the dam is broken and you can tell the truth. "Mom-da-ad-I'm- so-rr-rryyy!"

Only to them it is too late. You have waited too long to tell them.

It takes hours to let all the tears go. When you're done you feel even emptier than in the beginning. You're drained from every force of decision that once led you and in which you took for granted, and now- is gone.

Through the blur of the tears and despite your swollen eyes, you can still see the fire dancing. And you no longer feel hate or anger, only a wonderful numbness. And you get up, not even knowing to where you are going, but let your body lead you. You are nearing the flames, feeling their warmth and the scent of scorched skin, but nothing makes sense. A heat wave is working through your body, but you don't feel a thing. You just keep walking toward it, like it is nothing but thin air. It can't harm you, nothing can hurt you anymore.

You are your own ghost.

You walk through the flames, your eternal punishment, and then the fire is extinguished. You see its sparks lingering just for a little. Resting before they will have to travel the distance between your heart and the stones that are resting near by. Such fitting analogy.

Then they are dissolving completely. You don't even stop to wonder why you take all of this in such calmness. Why you are happy that it's not so hot here anymore. Why you aren't afraid it's not so dark here all of a sudden and why the doors are being opened.

And just a moment before the world loses every sane attachment of emotion and color, you guess that Mom was probably right after all.
Maybe this was what your woven fate was meant to be- to lose.

Your hand is clutching the soft sheets that are underneath you. You don't dare opening your eyes, to let go of the comfortable warmth around you. There is a warm blanket around you and you risk a moan of pleasure when your hands are tracing the smoothness of a pillow.

Pillow? Bed?

You open your eyes and let the fresh air wash over you, feeling like a junkie on drugs you can't get enough. There is light all around you, the purest light- sunlight. Not the intense red one you became so familiar with. No, this one is gentler and its essence is freedom.

You let a smile appear on your face and fight with your mind that there is no real reason to wake up. You turn and instinctively cling to the body that is beside you. There is only one woman with that odor. With a content smile, you begin kissing her hands, climbing all the way up to her delicate face, taking in her familiarity.

"Hello princes," you whisper in her ear and give her a quick peck on the cheek to wake her up. You take your time to admire her peacefulness while she's waking. You wait to see the welcoming flutter of her long eyelashes, to be greeted by her eyes. The sight you are so thirsty to see.

In a hurry to rush things up, you tickle her belly gently, knowing there is no way she can resist that. But she stays calm and non- responsive.

"Come on, wakie, wakie." You are descending to kiss her eyes when you stop frozen.

Her eyes are wide open.

"No," you whisper in terror and stumble to get away from the bed. But your legs are being held by the sheets, and you fall on her, a sickly smashing voice is heard. Like bones cracking.

"NO!" you scream, seeing her eyes still fixed on yours. A twisted smile is stretched over her lips, like she's content. She has taken her revenge on you.

"No, this can't be." You shake your head, refusing to accept any of that, and release yourself from the grasp of the sheets. But her fingers are molded inside your hand and you have to tear them away in hurry, her fingernails leaving bleeding marks.

You run to the door, you have to get away. You open it, and there's a skeleton standing there, smiling, with dad's eyes. All its teeth falling one by one as it opens its mouth, and screams, "MUURRDERRRERRRRRRRR!"

You hurry back to the room. Bianca's body is now sitting in the king-size bed you both bought in England years ago, and through the window the moon light is shining, making her bones visible. Then she smiles terribly as well, her hand holding a large glass.

"Wine?" she asks and the glass in changing its color from yellow to red. Blood red.

"Come." She lifts her hand and you are floating toward her. There is nothing you can do to stop it. Too late you realize what is in the glass- poison.

"Cheers," she says and pours the wine forcefully down your throat.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

You wake up. You are dripping with sweat and your nails are raw and bleeding from trying to dig into the stone floor.

You take a minute to catch your breath.

Suddenly new flavors and lights are invading your closed irises. At first you try to shoo them, commending them to go away. Everyone always listened to what you had said, why can't they do the same?

When they do not seem to hear any of your colorful insults you are forced to open your eyes to deal with them.

Everything is a blur. Snow and rain are mixed together, they are white. They were so dreadfully, repulsively white. Come to think of it, everything is so shiny.

You would have thought that after all the time that you spent in the reprehensive of hell, you would like a change of environment. . . . but have you really been there? Something inside you rebels that maybe everything that happened was only envisioned by you. Then there weren't months and days that passed, only mere seconds, only a nightmare.

So why are you here?

The memory refuses to come back. You only feel a lingering tickle in the side of your brain, hinting to you that there are secrets there and more than meets the eye. So instead of forcing yourself to remember, you walk in the place you knew for so long. Yet this is so wrong, so different. The colors are mixed, the people are so unlike what you expect them to be, that it hurts. And the air. . . even the air feels unnatural. It has a taste, not like the one you were used to. If you hold it in your mouth you could almost feel something….sweet. Pure.

You glance at the strangers, amazed to see that they are free. Then you remember that there was a time when the people in your home were free too. You feel hate bubbling inside you.

In which way are these people better than your family? From you? What have they done to deserve having the courage to walk in broad day light and dare breathing?

Speaking of which, what is all that day light about? Where did it come from?

And why does it refuse to go away?

"Is everything alright, young man?" A man wearing a colorful suit is coming near you, his expression of great care.

Your heart is racing. You don't know what he wants, what his agenda is, and who he serves. Without thinking, only feeling, you grab the knife that appears in your hand. You push it towards him, right through his heart.

His eyes are gaping and he tries to scream. You don't let him.

"Who do you serve?" you whisper in his ear. If possible, his eyes are becoming wider, not understanding. Whoever the Power is here, he trained his spies well.

You put more pressure on the wound, wanting him to tell you more. But his body is falling to the ground.

Useless.

"Kid! Stop! Police!"

You don't hesitate, you run. You should have known, the Power always has more spies. You must not be captured. You run to a deserted alley and disappear.

Let the so called police try to catch you now.

Even the underworld isn't quite how you remember it. It is dark and cold, and quite frankly reminds you more of your home than the nauseously bright garden that dwelled underneath the ground in your place.

But what is your place, you're not sure anymore. Is it possible that somehow you passed through time, like Adam foolishly tried to do in order to SAVE you?

Ha!

Who was he kidding? All he ever wanted to do was undermine you, to make himself a king. It's a good thing that Wyatt killed him. That way you alone can rule your kingdom.

If you ever find your kingdom.

A nauseous feeling from the pit of your stomach is telling you that you should be careful. There is someone here. Turning abruptly, you try your best not to laugh.

Kyla, the pure Angle on your world, is dressed in black.

She comes to you slowly, purring. She dutifully bows and places her hands on your shoulders. Smiling ,she says, "Hello, Lord Chris. I've been waiting."