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After Ludwig's intervention, things went back to normal.

Gilbert continued to prance around the halls, occasionally dropping by to visit Francis, who by now was so sick from the poison that his skin looked transparent, and offer falsely reassuring advice, though he wondered if he'd made a mistake by poisoning one of his best friends and killing that stupid Austrian. I'd have gotten over her eventually...right?

But he didn't have time to think about things like that, because most of the time he was walking with Elizaveta aimlessly through the palace. He enjoyed those walks. Sometimes they'd both chatter about nothing, and sometimes they'd stroll for long stretches of time without saying anything, arm in arm. He didn't just enjoy them, he lived for them.

Today their meandering walk took them through the gardens. Bright colors and scents exploded out of the earth and the cracks between the butter-colored paving stones, and Elizaveta tugged him towards the tunnel of trees. Smiling, he obliged her, and soon they were walking through a shower of indigo blossoms. A butterfly fluttered at the corner of his vision and he looked away, focusing instead on the way the sun shot through her hair and turned it to gold. She is the only thing that keeps me sane.

When he got back the courage to glance towards the butterfly, it was gone. His smile grew wider.

"So, I was thinking," said Elizaveta, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. Gilbert bent his attention on her. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering if you'd hate me if I tried this..." her voice dropped to a whisper and she stepped in front of him, raising herself up on her tiptoes to reach his lips and this is happening this is really happening-

Kissing those lips were better than he'd ever imagined. They tasted like honey, sweet and sugary and perfect, and he instinctively pulled her closer to him, returning the kiss with the pent-up fervor that had been bubbling inside him from childhood. Her fingers ran through his hair, and he wanted her so much he could barely think, barely breathe-

And then she slipped out of his embrace. When he reached for her, she took another step back, drawing both hands to her chest. Did I do something wrong? he panicked. What did I do?

To his utter surprise, she started to cry. "I'm sorry!" she sobbed, turning her face away from him. "I-"

"Don't be sorry!" He stepped forwards and took her hands earnestly. "Not for that."

"But I didn't know..." she whispered. "I didn't know you actually loved- I swear I wouldn't have done that if I- I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you..."

For a moment the world went silent and still. Elizaveta's face knotted with anguish and regret, the sunlight shining warmth down through the gaps in the purple flowers, and the startling abundance of butterflies covering the downed flowers. I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you...

The world turned gray. His hands released their grip and dropped to his side, and he began backing away from her, hearing her calling his name only dimly, as if through a glass wall. His feet stumbled over the purple flowers faster and faster, crushing them, releasing their heady scent into the air. Butterflies took flight wherever he stepped, a wave of them rising up to either side of him, and then he finally turned around and ran away from her, away from the words. I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you...

He locked himself in his room, barring the door moments before Elizaveta reached it. "Gilbert!" she cried, nearly hysterically. "I'm sorry!"

Ignoring her, he stalked over to the balcony doors and flung them open with enough force to knock a painting off the wall. He stepped right to the edge and looked over it. The fall to the ground looked so inviting, and he was sorely tempted.

As if seeing through the door, Elizaveta called, "No! Don't do it, Gil!"

He tuned her out, her voice driving ever deeper the spike of betrayal and pain. I was pretending you were Roderich when I kissed you...

The gardens below were carpeted with butterflies that rushed up towards him, cresting in shimmers of purple and black.

He made his decision.