People are most certainly going to hate me after this. Like I said; I'm a sadistic writer who shouldn't be allowed near the fate of a character.

Thanks to LionsandTrolls for the review, and I'm so happy that you like Clarity. Yes, I refer to Clarity as 'they' on purpose. They have female anatomy, but do not identify as female.

*hands you skull-shaped cookies* And congrats on identifying jacksepticeye. He's got one or two more appearances later on.

Chapter 3 – Running from an Illusion

The soiree continued until ten pm, and by then, the dancing competition had worn out even Tanith. Everyone (except Anton, who had left at half nine) quickly decided that it would be best if they stayed the night at Edgely Manor. Most of the guests picked out a guestroom, Erskine and Saracen had opted to sleep in the living room on the couches.

It was probably around two am when Saracen was woken up by movement in the room. Inching open his eyes, he noticed Erskine hurriedly getting dressed, his face contorted in panic for some reason. He remained still until the gold-eyed man had left the room, before getting up and pulling on his own clothing.

He snuck into the main landing and observed Erskine pulling on his jacket and slipping on his shoes, before testing the door. Valkyrie had left it unlocked by accident, it seemed, because the handle slid down without a hitch, and Erskine immediately exited the house. Saracen followed suit – after putting on his own coat and shoes of course – and remained in the shadows, planning on staying undetected until he figured out what was going on.

Saracen trailed Erskine as he hurried down the road leading from the manor to Haggard. He noticed how the man seemed to put on a burst of speed every so often, and he kept looking around warily. So far, he hadn't seen Saracen.

Being the mage he was, Saracen knew that Erskine was scared of a possible pursuer, but apparently it wasn't him.

"Keep going, keep going," he heard Erskine begin muttering at some point. It was also now that he noticed how the man kept stumbling, and that his breathing was harsh and panicked.

It was at the outskirts of the woods surrounding the Edgely Estate that Erskine's knees suddenly buckled beneath him. Saracen remained hidden, wanting to know what was going on. Much to his surprise, Erskine more or less broke down crying on the ground for a few seconds before he pulled himself to his feet and carried on towards the town. It was a painstakingly long walk, but Saracen followed Erskine all the way to Haggard.

Erskine carried on to the harbour, and stood at the end of one of the piers, shivering slightly. Saracen decided that now was the time to confront him.

"Erskine? What are you doing?"

The mage spun round to face Saracen, gold eyes brimming with terror, hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Without warning, he dropped to the floor, the hollow 'thud!' of his knees against wood making Saracen wince.

"I'm sorry," Erskine whimpered fearfully, head bowed in submission. "I… I don't know what got into me."

Saracen frowned. "Were you intending to meet someone here?" he asked, keeping his voice level.

No, he wasn't, muttered the voice in his head that knew things.

"No," Erskine mumbled. "I… I don't think so."

They hurt him. You were just too oblivious to see it. Now he runs because he's scared that his rescue was just an illusion.

"Erskine," Saracen continued. "Are you… running from something?"

Erskine nodded. "I'm a bloody coward."

They destroyed him, and you did nothing!

Slowly, Saracen walked over to Erskine, pausing whenever the mage looked about ready to bolt. Once he was right in front of him, he knelt down and lifted Erskine's head to meet his gaze.

Haunted eyes stared into him fearfully. Saracen had seen eyes like that before. Forty years ago, he'd come across a woman with the same terror and hopelessness in her eyes. He'd offered her a coffee at a café he'd liked, and she'd told him her story; for two years, she'd been raped and beaten by her abusive husband.

When she was done, she took a pistol out of her purse, placed the barrel against her temple, and pulled the trigger. Someone had screamed, and Saracen – splattered with her blood – had stared at her corpse in shock until someone had shaken him out of his trance. That had been the first time he'd broken down into tears in front of a stranger.

He'd asked to keep the bullet. He kept it as a reminder to never let anyone else suffer how she had.

You failed…

Gently, Saracen traced the dark shadow beneath Erskine's left eye; the clouded one. He felt Erskine shiver beneath his touch, and withdrew his hand.

"I'm so sorry, Erskine," Saracen breathed. "I am so, so sorry."

He didn't get a response. Instead, Erskine just stood up and walked to the end of the pier where he sat down and let his legs dangle over the edge. Saracen joined him.

"Do you know what it's like?" Erskine asked as he stared over to the horizon.

Saracen shook his head. "No. But I met someone who did. A nice girl who just got away from her husband. I offered them a coffee, and they told me what happened…" He tailed off for a second as the memory was dragged kicking and screaming to the surface. "She… she shot herself. Right in front of me. I didn't even manage to ask for her name…"

"I… I'm sorry to hear that."

"I'm sorry I didn't realise what was happening to you. I would've gotten you out if I had."

"It's not your fault. I deserved it."

"No one deserves that, Erskine. No matter what you did, you didn't deserve it."

Erskine didn't object. He was too lost in his own thoughts. "The ocean looks really pretty tonight," he murmured.

"It does, doesn't it?"

"You know; I thought I'd recovered pretty well these past six months. Turns out I haven't. I'm still scared of everyone."

"Why?"

"The warden… would batter me to a pulp if I stepped out of line. Then everyone else followed suit. I was the gaol's punching bag."

His voice cracked when he said 'warden', Saracen observed.

"At first… at first it didn't bother me. But then, he…"

"He took it too far," Saracen finished for him.

Erskine nodded. "Every day," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It was always one thing after another, and…"

Tears started streaming down his face, and Saracen reached out to wrap his arm around the man's shoulders, but Erskine flinched, and he refrained. The tears were quickly coupled with sobs, and Erskine brought his knees up to his chest and cried into them.

"It was horrible," he choked. "I just felt so disgusting, I-." He couldn't say any more, as he completely broke down. Heart wrenched by Erskine's pain, Saracen wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, gently rubbing his back in an attempt to reassure him.

"Erskine, it's okay," he whispered. "You don't have to think about it anymore. Come on, calm down."

Erskine kept weeping uncontrollably for another five minutes until his sobs dwindled into small gasps. Eventually, even those stopped.

"Better?" Saracen asked, releasing Erskine from his hold.

Erskine nodded and took a deep breath, wiping the dampness from his eyes. "Much," he croaked. "We should… we should go back."

"Good idea. It's three in the bloody morning."

They more or less ran back to the manor. When they got back, they both went back to the living room and went back on the couches, hoping to get at least one more hour of sleep before everyone else woke up and turned the living room into a social hub.

Saracen fell asleep pretty quickly, but Erskine lay awake, unable to let himself succumb to the depths of slumber. He hadn't told Saracen about the insomnia he suffered from, or the fact that he needed medicine to help himself get any sleep at all.

The insomnia hadn't even been a result of his treatment at the gaol. The war had done things to him, and sleep hadn't provided much solace. It got worse after Darquesse. He'd always be too scared to go to sleep, lest he wake up in absolute agony. He knew he was being ridiculous, what with the homicidal goddess being long gone, but he couldn't help it. That torture had scarred him almost as much as the gaol had.

Shivering, he turned on his side and curled in on himself, trying to ignore the ghostly feeling of steel-toed boots that slammed into his ribs and the last remnants of that never ending torture.

Why does it still hurt?

Please don't kill me. *hides*