I'm sorry I'm so late (again).

Review! :D

This doesn't feel right.

There he was, at the climax of his plans, and he couldn't bring himself to do it to her. Try as he might, the great big surge of yearning had deserted him and he was...empty.

Gilbert gave up on everything at that point, throwing away Roderich's murder, the cantarella, the months of planning, with both hands. I can't do this. I just...

Without looking at her, he pulled her dress back up, over her stomach and her breasts and back up to her shoulders, lacing the stays up tight again and fastening them with tiny silver clips. Once Elizaveta was fully clothed, he sighed and sat up, hanging his legs over the edge of the bed. He put his head in his hands. Why am I so useless?

A butterfly flapped leisurely at the corner of his vision, taunting him, and he snapped. "I don't believe in you!" he shouted, and hurled a decorative crystal vase at the butterfly.

The butterfly vanished mid-flap, and the crystal smashed into the wall with a delicate tinkle, shards of translucent material flying in every direction. The rose perched inside was now adorned with a crown of stars, bleeding out in a pool of mercury. Then he moved, and the light left, and it was just a rose in a puddle of water.

Gilbert instantly regretted his spontaneous action. The vase had been a gift from his brother. He knelt, ignoring a deadly curve of glass sinking into the meat of one knee, and started gathering up the pieces in a frenzied, almost frantic manner. His hands were soon piled high with glass, and he vainly tried to fit them together again, pieces slipping and sliding until one slipped and blood bloomed in delicate flowers, slipping over his fingers to the ground. He pulled the glass out and sucked his finger. Rust filled his mouth, and he released his finger and looked at it in the patchy moonlight. It was a small but deep pinhole, and as he watched, it welled up with blood again.

That seemed to break his spirit; the hands full of glass dropped to the ground, he swiveled until he was sitting curled up in a pile of broken glass and water.

Just like my life, he thought miserably. I've ruined everything. Everything.

A chorus of might-have-beens haunted the shadows of his mind, and he pushed his face harder into his knees, rocking slightly, one hand still clenching a shard of glass so tight it sent dark vines twining across the pale canvas, a masterpiece in red and white.

After a time, he walked to the window, unconsciously still holding the glass, and opened the balcony doors. A rushing wind blew in, ruffling the curtains and the tablecloths and everything else, for the storm had barely passed, the rushing gale he'd raced with her through mere hours and years ago a close memory. Black clouds scattered through the black sky, and stars appeared and disappeared like winking eyes. The moon was hidden, occasionally piercing the clouds before being swarmed into submission again. The cold wind made goosebumps rise on his arms.

Ignoring the chill, he walked over to the balcony rim and looked over the edge. Could I jump? This time?

He was spared the decision by a sound behind him. Elizaveta was waking up.

He froze, unsure of what to do. Jumping didn't feel like the solution anymore, just a shortcut to earth, and pouring out his soul to her wasn't on his mind either. Maybe I could just climb b-

"Gilbert?" Her voice, slightly slurred, but most definitely there.

And that put him on the spot. What do I do? A thousand different options raced through his mind, and he finally selected the one that made most sense to him.

"Yes?" He walked back inside the room, rubbing his hands against his legs, and that was when he remembered the piece of glass his fingers were still curled around. "Ow."

"What happened?" Her voice was still sleepy.

And now was the point where he could sit and think and vomit out the poison he'd ingested inside of him, sitting like a molten ball of silence inside of him, tell her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Or he could continue to keep quiet and let it build up.

"I killed him," he said inaudibly. "I messed up everything for you, and now I'm begging for your forgiveness, Lizzie, because I don't know what else to do and I'm spiraling out of control and I feel like I'm falling off the world with no anchors."

"What?"

"It's nothing," he said, louder, soothing. "Nothing at all."

And the untold secret burnt inside him like fire.