You rushed to him, asked him how his journey was, how his health fared, if he had any wounds that needed tending. You remembered that Lyon – no, the Demon King, had told you he had failed at killing the twins, and felt a rush of happiness. At least, though he would still be branded as a traitor to the crown, he had not fallen to such depths of treason.

He shook his head, raised a hand to stem your flood of questions. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his beard had grown fuller. Pushed away your helping hand, dismounted his horse, and didn't answer you.

Instead, he replied with a question of his own.

"How is she?"

So that was how it was. "In your rooms, my lord," you had replied shortly. "Perhaps it is better that you form your own opinion of her."

He nodded, turning pale. "Then I shall hurry there. Just tell me this, Janx - she is alive though, is she not?"

You hesitated for a brief moment, and then nodded. After all, medically speaking, she was "alive".

He rushed over to the room where she lay, leaving his horse at the gates. The poor palomino horse that had carried him so faithfully across the long miles home had been forgotten the moment Monica was within his grasp. Grimly leading the tired, sweaty, steed to the stables, you wondered if Orson thought so highly of yourself. A mere means to his end – a happy life with his beloved wife.

"Janx?" Your master called for you.

"Janx? Janx!" his voice grew louder, demanding.

You hurried inside the castle, finding him quickly. "Yes, my lord?"

"Why have you locked my wife away? Where is the key?" Eyes crazed, he looked as though he was ready to attack you.

You fumbled within your pockets, simultaneously racking your brain for an explanation.

"Give it to me!" he shouted, spittle flying.

"I am looking for it," you replied.

"Give it to me!" he roared louder, raising a fist.

You slipped it out of your pocket, but your hands were shaking, and it fell to the floor. He dove for it, heedless of propriety. Scrabbling on the floor, he seized it and ran away from you, and back, back to where that hideous monstrosity awaited him.

You shook your head, panicked. That had been the wrong key – the key to the lord's rooms was silver, not bronze.

"My lord!" you shouted. "Wait. Wait!"

He paid no heed to you. You heard him struggling with the lock, shouting curses at the door.

You rounded the corner to see the long hallway that led to their room. He grudgingly released the door and headed back to meet you.

"Why won't the door open?" he growled.

"Because you have the wrong key," you replied.

"Why did you even lock her in in the first place?" he raised his voice. "This is my wife. Why do you treat her like a prisoner?"

"…I thought it safer." Even to your own ears, the excuse sounded lame. "Perhaps some brigands might seek to attack the castle, and even if I were overrun, if the door were locked, my lady would remain safe." You shook your head at yourself. Was that really the best you could have come up with? Wouldn't brigands just break down the door?

Orson had listened carefully though, nodding his head fanatically at your words. "Yes, yes. You are right. All that matters is her safety, nothing else. Thank you, Janx, for being so thorough. But now that I have returned, I am sure that I will be able to match any thief or murderer that is so foolhardy to assault Castle Renais."

The key, if you will."

You slipped the cool silver into his outstretched hand. Followed him like a grim shadow as he sprinted back towards her room. He fumbled madly with the key, jamming it into his lock, fingers shaking.

"Please calm down, my lord. Would the lady really wish to see you like this?" you were frightened to see him fallen so far into the grasp of insanity.

He shook his head quickly. His gasping gulps for air turned into slower, more even, measured breaths. He straightened his shoulders, turned the key, gently opened the door, and stepped into the room.

His reaction would determine your fate for the next few years, maybe even decades. The only question was, would you be forced again to care for this parody of humanity, or would he see the horror of it and set you free from this nightmare?

You waited outside of the door for him, hoping, waiting, pleading with all your heart to whatever god was up there, though you were sure that whoever they were, they had already long forsaken you and your master.

Hoping.

Waiting.

An exhaled puff of breath, a loud sigh of relief from your master.

Your heart turned to lead. Numb with disbelief, you kept waiting.

Hoping.

Waiting.

A grating noise in response. "Orson…I love you…"

Hoping.

Waiting.

An exultant yell. "Monica! Thank goodness you've been cured!"

And that was when you knew that your hell would not be ending for a while.

A/N: Yay! Another chapter finished. I don't want school to start again...noesss...but when it does my update time will experience a massive slowdown. D: Still struggling a bit with how I want to characterize Orson, though. I don't want crazy to be his only personality trait :P Reviews are appreciated!