Ah, FF says inusitation isn't a word, how silly. It's uncommon, though, I'll give you that.

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It'd been a month since Elizaveta had graced him with her presence. Or anyone at all, really. His hallway had gone dark and silent, the sunlight that filtered down through the unique trick of architecture more likely gray than not.

Worse than that, though, was the silence. Natalya didn't visit anymore either (he didn't even know when Ludwig had visited last), and he belatedly realized how much he needed her razor-edged banter to keep himself sane. Not even the sentry bothered to see him anymore, and that worried him. He didn't have much of an appetite (there wasn't anything to do in the cell to make him hungry), but sooner or later he'd need food. Also, the bucket they'd been helpful enough to provide as a toilet was getting full. Several times a day, he debated doing something about it, like chucking it into the corridor and out of his way, but couldn't summon up the motivation.

At a point in the liquid river of time, he'd thought he'd heard the faintest of screams, and the clash of metal on metal. There was a war going on, he remembered dully. Yes, that's right. A war.

Guards had come and removed the other convicts from his hallway. Burly, muscular men, seeming to be in good shape. For the war effort. Gilbert had burst into a sudden frenzy of motion for a week or two, exercising with pushups and the like, hoping to get selected. Almost as soon as that had started, though, it ended as he laboriously worked through his mind's tangles. I want to get out...why? To be out of this cage, to fight for my country. Why? Because that is what I want to do. Since when do you award yourself the right to do what you want anymore? You lost that privilege when you were greedy. If I die, though...If you die, you lose all chance of atonement by throwing yourself onto a blade. How can you make it up to her if you're dead? But won't she be happy that I'm dead? That this burden has left her?

And around and around in similar ruts, until; If you stay in this cell, there is no chance that she will see you again, and that is what is right. His convoluted logic, tattered and faded from disuse, could not raze that thought, and with that, he sat back in his cell and did nothing. The other men were removed, one by one, while the albino picked at his slop and wasted away.

One day, Gilbert looked up, and found that he was alone.

Which brought him full circle. Time was relative.

He stared at the ceiling intently, imagining a little world in the nest of cracks and lichen. There was a little house, and there he was, napping on the front porch. That crack was a river, and sometimes he would get on a raft and travel downstream until he reached that little bit of lichen, a grand forest. He'd tromp off through it in search of new adventures, and by and by he'd emerge by that dark spot of a village. A small village, in the mountains, and the people there would take care of him. It was awesome. He accepted a young orphan as a sidekick, and together they made their way over the entire world, over mountains, deep in caves, fighting ferocious dragons-

The door slammed open, startling the albino out of his fantasy. "Oy, what was that?" he called, his voice raspy from inusitation. "Can't you see a man's dreaming-"

The shell-shocked face of the sentry cut him off. "You need to come with me." His face was pale under a sweaty mop of dark hair, and his voice quavered. He didn't look well, and was that...blood?

"Why?" Gilbert was on his feet in an instant as the guard - not much more than a young boy, really - fumbled at the keys, running through them with agonizing slowness until, after several tries, one fit the lock. It turned with a small chk, and the tumblers dropped and the gate swung open at last. "What's happened?"

"The Northerners have broken through our defenses," said the young soldier numbly. "We need all who can fight to defend, or by the time your sentence is up, there will be no kingdom to return to..." His teeth were chattering loudly, and he was shaking.

"Ah, kid, listen-" Gilbert said in an empty tone. "I can't go out, I need her hate, I need..." His mouth was a fountain of nonsense, a collection of words and syllables strung together to form haphazard sentences.

The boy collapsed in front of him, and Gilbert knew from the slack way he lay still that he was dead, no doubt about it. The blood on his armor, oozing from a well-placed gash in the torso that should've disemboweled him on the spot. The albino remembered the awful stillness of the Austrian, Francis's pallid form, skin nearly translucent from the poison. He shut his mouth, took a deep breath, and stepped out of his cell, pausing only to pick up the boy's sword (it was small, but it would have to do) from where he'd fallen. After another pause, he shut the wild eyes.

"I never knew you, but may you rest in peace," he muttered quickly, and was that a little tear that fell on the boy?

He took a moment to look up and savor the sky he didn't know he'd missed and sucked in his breath in shock. The gray light was not caused by cloudy days, but huge billows of ashes wafting up from the ground and obscuring the sun. Am I too late? If not, I have to hurry. I have a bad feeling about this...

Then the albino was gone, a fleet-footed specter darting down the hall.