Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan walked down the narrow halls within the Bastille toward the cell where Milady de Winter was held. A few prisoners yelled as they walked by, others ran tin plates along the iron bars. Lanterns hung from sconces on the walls and the flames flickered and caused shadows to dance across the floors and the ceilings. The scent of sweat, waste, old straw, and mold wafted throughout the halls. The Bastille was not meant to be comfortable, even for those who found themselves within the private cells on the upper levels.

Aramis clenched and unclenched his fist as he walked. His mind raced, his heart clenched, and his soul ached. None of it felt right. And he knew in his gut it was only a matter of time before Athos discovered what happened. Something like this couldn't be kept a secret.

Aramis stopped suddenly, lowered his head, and pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. "We can't believe anything she says," he said and turned toward Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"She saved your life, Aramis," Porthos said. "Shouldn't we at least give 'er an opportunity to tell 'er story?"

"She saved my life," Aramis said and took a deep breath, "to work her way back into Athos' life."

"He loves 'er."

"And libertine's love whores," d'Artagnan said. "It doesn't mean she's what he needs."

"An' how do we decide what is best for Athos?" Porthos challenged. "Isn't that best for 'im to decide?"

"Not when it comes to her," d'Artagnan said. He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight to his other leg. He was out of line, he knew it, but when it came to Milady he simply didn't care.

Porthos crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "This isn't right," he said, with a creased forehead. Concerned, he looked at the others in question.

"We're under orders," Aramis said. He turned and continue toward the cell.

"Doesn't make it right," Porthos muttered and followed.

When Aramis stood in front of her cell, he placed his hands on his hips and squared his shoulders. Sunlight entered through the narrow window and cast light across the floor and where she sat on the narrow cot. Her long hair fell forward around her face and shoulders, and when she looked up with green eyes, she immediately diverted her attention to the floor. A plate of food remained untouched on the floor near the door. The brick and stone walls were cold, damp, and covered with dirt and moisture.

"Are you here to taunt me on my way to the gallows?" Milady said.

"You asked to see me?"

"I saved your life, Aramis. I thought you might repay the favor… obviously I was wrong." Her voice was broken in an unfamiliar tone. "Where is Athos?" She turned and looked at him.

"Away. Why did you kill the Marquis?"

Anne took a deep breath and leaned back against the wall. "Find Athos."

"You murdered the king's half brother —"

"Would it have made a difference if he wasn't?"

Aramis stepped forward, threaded his arms through the gaps in the bars, and leaned forward. "How many people have you killed?"

Milady swallowed, licked her lips, and looked out the window. "It's going to rain," she said, and then frowned. She pinched her dress, felt the fabric between her fingers and rubbed it. How many people had she killed? How many lives had she changed because of her actions? How many families had she destroyed because she took the life of a father or a mother? At the moment she took those lives, she never asked, because what was important to her at the time was her wants, her needs, her desires. She never thought to stop and ask what effect her decision and her actions would have on anyone else. Even Athos had suffered her dismissiveness, her carelessness, her selfishness. It was easy to see now, while she sat alone in a cell, waiting for the moment to come when her life would be taken. But still she felt a sense of justification for her actions: she needed the dress, she needed the money, she needed her history kept quiet. Despite what she had done, despite it all, there was a piece of her that hated those that condemned her, those who felt the need to pass judgment, and those who thought better of her victims than herself.

She knew how to act. She knew that when a family member died; it was appropriate to cry. She knew men wanted and needed to be loved, and she knew how to provide that. She knew because she watched people, how they behaved, how they acted, and when they responded. She was a quick study and knew without a doubt she could turn most situations in her favor when given the right opportunity. Whether with Sarazin, Richelieu, or Rochefort, she learned as much from them as they had taken and used her. "When I met Athos, I thought I could put everything behind me… I thought I could change my life to fit the expectations of those around me." She sighed and took a deep breath. "I don't know why," she dusted her dress, "but the only thing I feel is… hate."

Aramis shifted and glanced toward Porthos and d'Artagnan who stood quietly outside the view of the cell doors. "Hate for who?"

"Everyone." Milady closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sun on her face. "When I killed Thomas… I knew my life was over… it wasn't perfect," she shrugged, "don't misunderstand. Athos gave me everything that I believed I had wanted at the time, but it turned out…" She paused and took a deep breath. "That's not what I had wanted."

"It wasn't what you wanted?" Aramis said. "Or, because you had it, you wanted something different?"

Milady quirked a smile. "You always were the smart one, Aramis."

"Why did you let me go?"

Milady looked toward him and tilted her head to the left and raised her right eyebrow. "I let you go to prove to Athos that I still loved him… but even that didn't work."

Aramis' eyebrows drew together. "Do you love him?"

Milady took a long moment to think, and she narrowed her eyes as she focused on the wall across from her. "I don't know if I've ever loved anyone… I don't know what that feels like…"

Aramis clutched at the cross around his neck. "Why?"

"Why what, Aramis? Why don't I share the same feelings as those around you?" She huffed and changed her position on the narrow cot. "I wish I knew… but as I look at you, the others… at Athos… Athos." She looked at him with her eyebrows raised and a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "The man who asked me to cut his throat when he learned I had survived, the same man who handed his lands over to people below his station, the man who loves more than he should and tries to hide himself behind duty and honor… That man? The man who didn't believe his baby brother would try to accost me?"

There was an anger in her tone that Aramis was familiar with. The accusatory tone that she used when she tried to prove her point, when she believed her own lies. Aramis looked toward d'Artagnan, who grew impatient and uncomfortable. He had crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head in frustration while she spoke. Even Porthos had leaned his shoulder against the wall and pursed his lips with a tightened jaw.

"I cannot decide, Milady, if your wickedness is a part of who you are, or if you are possessed by something that cannot be undone."

Milady chuckled and then with a hint of sadness in her voice she said, "Once you learn of it… please tell me." She wiped her cheek with the flat of her fingers. "There is a woman on Piore Street, her name is Madame Gagneux."

She stood, and the chains holding her to the wall chimed and Aramis realized the reason for her not stepping forward.

"Let her know that I sent you and ask her for the sleeping apple."

"Why?"

"Don't let me hang, Aramis." She looked at him, her eyes wide and sincere. "Do this for me, please. I saved your life… the least you can do is allow me to die in my own way… please."

Aramis pushed himself away from the cell door. "Anything else?"

Milady took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Tell Athos…" she paused and collected herself. "Tell Athos I'm sorry."

Aramis nodded, stepped away, and then left the area. Again, he was hit with the wafting odors of the cells and the prisoners. The stench was sickening, and he increased his speed as he continued.

"What is a sleeping apple?" d'Artagnan asked and grasped the hilt of his sword to keep it steady as he walked.

"Poison," Aramis said.

"Are you goin' to get it for 'er?"

Aramis nodded. "I owe her at least that."

Porthos exhaled slowly through puffed cheeks and rolled the tightness out of his shoulders. "Hell."

Aramis stopped suddenly. "We need to stall Athos —"

"I'll go," d'Artagnan said.

"He's probably already on his way back. You've got to catch him before he crosses Lake Serpent." He nodded and clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder. "You've got to keep him delayed."

D'Artagnan quickly left the narrow hall at a jog.

Porthos shifted uncomfortably. "What happens if he learns about this… or worse, gets back before her execution."

Aramis took a deep breath and rubbed his face. "Then we help put him back together."