Lies, if you keep being so great, I may not know what to do with myself.

Mickey had messed up! He had messed up worse than before! Was there a way to run away from the problems he had created? He tried with all of his might, running further and further from Katarina – from the theater – from – from - where? He didn't even know where he had come from or where he was going. Was this the theater? Was it Ludwig and Gyro's headquarters? Was it Minnie's mansion? He was going through an endless hallway, hearing footsteps echo back and forth. But they sounded like more than one person was running. Wasn't he alone?

He needed to get out, he needed to get away, and so he grabbed the first doors he could find and flung them open. Inside were mirrors, vanity mirrors, hand mirrors, wall mirrors, different shapes and sizes, all of them reflecting the hero of France, the Scarlet. Catching his breath, he approached the tallest mirror, watching his own reflection. The Scarlet, the hero, the lover, the spirit of France's change…

"So who are you?"

Mickey didn't say anything – that had been the reflection. All the reflections were turning towards him now, angry, and Mickey began to stumble backwards. "I'm… I'm the Scarlet!" Yet when he spoke, his voice was that of the paperboy – his clothes were that of the paperboy. He touched his throat, but couldn't speak again.

"No, you're a worthless paperboy." The Scarlet walked out from the mirror, addressing his counterpart with disdain. "That's why you were chosen, wasn't it? Because no one would care if you were missing or you died. You agreed with that, that's why you joined in. You would give up yourself to let me live. But you had to mess that up, and for what? A kiss?"

Mickey tripped as he walked backwards, and fell on his tail. "N-No, I didn't mean ta! I… I thought she…"

The Scarlet began walking towards him, altered voice growing darker in angered growls. "That she would love you? You didn't listen to Gyro and Ludwig because you didn't want to hear the truth! If she does love anyone, it's me! And I love all the women of France. I don't give my heart to any one person, or they'll be in danger! But you can't seem to grasp that. Not a pathetic commoner who foolishly fell in love with his best friend… you should have been grateful to have her friendship, but then you got selfish, and began to dream!" He pulled out his sword, and the other reflections in the other mirrors started to fade. "A dream you refused to let go of! Why do you think I was born? I'm here to help people! I'm here to stop the next Bloody Sunday from coming! You keep getting in the way! You're the one putting everyone in danger!"

"I didn't mean it!" Mickey continued to try and back off, but the room had gotten smaller and smaller, and the air in the room grew thin. "I… I thought I could control my feelin's! I really do wanna help everyone! I wanna stop Duke Tache, I wanna keep everyone safe! P-Please, give me another chance! I can do this! I need this!" his back hit a wall, and he could not find the strength to stand.

"France needs me. Gyro and Ludwig need me. The Duchess needs me. But you?" he raised his sword high, a beacon in the terrifying darkness. "They don't need you. And I don't need you!" He brought down the blade into Mickey's chest –

And Mickey sat up with a gasp, clutching his intact chest with one hand. After several blinks, he remembered where he was, and exchanged a startled look with Gyro. "Oh… well, good morning. I was just about to wake you up anyway." It had been a week since the Katarina catastrophe, and the geniuses had felt no need to lecture Mickey about his odd slip-up, given how much he had been beating himself up about it. Gyro gently handed Mickey a cup of coffee, the small makeshift bed in the corner having been Mickey's only solace until the nightmares started. "I'm afraid we can't wait too long for breakfast… today's the day the Scarlet makes a rare daytime appearance."

"Bad guys lurk in the sunshine too!" Ludwig dramatically waved a finger to the screens that showed the church where Mickey had once been attacked by Horace and Clarabelle. "Today is the day of Duke Gladstone Gander's wedding to Miss Daisy. With the head of the revolutionaries gone, the rest of the group will either split up or dissolve into an outraged panic, leading to another Bloody Sunday. As much as the professor enjoys a good love story, I doubt Gladstone and Daisy were meant to be."

"The problem is how we're going to get in." Gyro left Mickey's bedside, cupping his chin in contemplation. "They're expecting the hero to have some say in this, so the place is packed with police. We need to find a clear entrance, because even with our help, even you can't take on that many people by yourself."

Mickey slid off the bed, but then paused as a memory returned to him. "… I… I might have an idea. Someone who doesn't want this fer Daisy." He placed the half empty cup on the table, and began to put on the necessary costume. "Yer both gunna have ta trust me on this one."

The birds looked at him for a moment, but then smiled brightly, nodding in agreement. "Of course we trust you, Mickey." Ludwig stuck both thumbs up, but even with positive reinforcement, Mickey had yet to sound or look as cheerful as he normally did.

Mickey picked up the red hat he was supposed to don, and his thumbs pressed deeply into the fabrics. "… Say, fellas…" He lifted his head, not knowing why he was bothering to ask yet felt it flow out none the less. "… Who am I?" As expected, his friends were quiet, confused by such an inquiry. To them, the answer was obvious, and they didn't need their big brains to know it. Befuddlement turned to worry, and so Mickey quickly let out a laugh, popping in each contact. "Aw, I'm just foolin'! Let's get this show on the road!" They weren't entirely reassured, but hopefully they would forget he ever asked. As for his own worries, he would have to find the time to deal with them later. Today, he picked up the sword, and blinked at his reflection. "… I know who I am fer today… and who they need."

Daisy had no family in the terms of blood, so she would walk alone down the aisle. That was the only problem she didn't have with the wedding. She didn't recognize the person she saw in the mirror as Gladstone's servants tightened her corset and adjusted her veil, but it wasn't because of the way she was primped up. There was no more fight in Daisy's eyes, no more confidence in the way she held herself, and the woman in stood in the bright white wedding dress was a defeated stranger. The wedding would be in a few hours, and the bride's room in the church was stuffed with chatty people. In an effort to get closer to future nobility, three elite ladies had also joined in to help Daisy look her very best.

"It's like something out of a fairy tale!" Brigitta giggled as she made sure not a single petal from the bouquet was out of place. "A duke marrying a commoner… why, I could almost swear you're wearing glass slippers!"

"Duke Gladstone never does anything that won't wind up benefitting him…" Magica tapped Daisy's back to make her stand up straighter. "So I'd say you're probably lucky where it counts, if you get me." She chuckled, but was readily elbowed by Goldie.

"Luck! You hang onto luck because actual hard work is too tough for you." Goldie spat at Magica before helping Daisy with that last touch of blush to her cheeks. "But you are a fortunate one, dear. All that wealth and prosperity… you'll be living high the rest of your life. Half of France must be stewing in jealousy."

Daisy didn't reject any aid given to her, letting them touch and judge her in whatever way they wanted. She would be one of them very soon, so she may as well try to get along. These women weren't so bad, now that she spent some actual time with them. She shut her eyes hard, and then opened them to look at the trio of gossipers. She could not see any malice or dominance in their faces, and the pain she had been carrying around for days intensified. They had come in with less than noble intentions, but they were willing to treat her as one of their own, despite where she had come from. Perhaps she could tell them what no one else was going to care about. "… You know…" She pulled her veil down over her face. "We don't actually love each other."

"Oh, no, say that isn't so!" Brigitta grabbed Daisy by the arm, sympathetically squeezing. "I know you came from less than humble housing, but surely Gladstone loves you! He wouldn't wanted to have married you so quickly otherwise! And in time, you'll learn to love him too! And then you'll be like me and Scrooge!" She gave Daisy a quick twirl, more than eager to spread word of her one true love. "You'll look forward to talking to him about even the little things, because every conversation helps you learn more and more about him!"

Daisy dizzily stopped the twirl, trying to catch her balance. "I don't think that's love… that's what I have with my friend, Donald."

"Don't listen to her, she hasn't stopped dreaming of prince charming since she was six." Magica chuckled, earning her a glare from the insulted party. "Trust me, the love between Scrooge and I, that's the real thing. You'll have it when you find enjoyment in staring into those colorful eyes, and when you can read his intentions like a good, steamy book."

The bride shook her head, some sparks of her old self beginning to return with each disagreement. "That can't be love either… that's what I have with Donald too."

"It's not your fault you don't know, you're young." Goldie shoved aside her younger rivals, knowing that her age made her the wisest woman in the room. "Love takes time to develop. It's really more of a matter of comfort… that you still want to see him, even after you've argued. That you still want to see him even after you feel terrible. I'll have you know I hated McDuck's guts the first time we met, but mark my words, we'll be married yet."

"All right, now I know that can't be love." This was getting ridiculous, and Daisy had to put a stop to it. "Because that is exactly how I feel about…" That's when it hit her with the mighty force, the river of denial soaking her and sweeping away any lingering doubt in her moment. "… Merde." Her hands fell at her sides, the bouquet dropping at her feet. Maybe she could have screamed that it wasn't true, told herself that it was a final resistance to Gladstone, but after Gladstone had taken everything else away from her, she had nothing left but her honest emotions.

Donald had done more than change her views on the upper class. Take away titles, and he was still a kind and caring man who held onto friendships like they were the real wealth. He had learned from his past mistakes and strived to become a better person, acknowledging his own faults and even allowing Daisy to love another, if that was her wish. He longed for love in the purest ways, from friends and family, and asked so little in return. He was sweet, he was generous, and Daisy was awfully, wonderfully in love with him.

Her make-up ran as tears blinked past her curly eyelashes, and she fell forward, the last of her will gone. Goldie caught her, stunned as Daisy began to sob into her chest. The servants continued going about their business, but the trio of women came around Daisy to touch her, unsure of how to handle this onslaught of sadness. "Merde! Merde!" Daisy wailed, clinging onto her elder desperately. "I love him, I do!" Wasn't her punishment for planning the robbery done? Why did she have to love him and be given to someone else? "Merde, merde, merde!" She yelled it over and over again, damning the world, damning herself, and damning the rest of her life.

The light lover, the beautiful lover, and the oldest lover could not find words to comfort her. They looked at one another, and for once, there was a mutual stirring within their bickering hearts.

Daisy would be married within one hour during the afternoon in which spring had started to blossom. The last remains of winter were melting away, and the chilly winds were becoming faint memories. But even the arrival of warm weather wasn't enough to lift Donald's spirits. He was perhaps the only elite member of society who wasn't attending the wedding. He sat in his room, at his desk, trying to pen another letter to his country but unable to formulate a single word. His hand shook, and then, in sudden anger, he tossed the pen across the room, before laying his arms on the desk and slamming his forehead down.

Duke Gladstone had personally come to the mansion six days earlier to invite Donald and Scrooge to the wedding. Donald had tried to ask about Daisy many times, but was continuously shot down, and eventually he gave up. He knew that as a good friend, he should support her and wish for her happiness. He wanted to be a good friend, but not that good. He still loved her dearly, loved her more with each passing day, and to see her wear the ring of another man was too much. He thought he had been okay when he had spoken of her feelings for the Scarlet out loud, but to have reality show him that he'd never been an option for her all along was fatal.

"If you want to use that anger better, then it's a good thing I came along."

Donald jerked up in his seat, almost falling backwards at the arrival of that voice. "What the…" His window was now open, with the Scarlet standing on the sill. "You? What're you doing here?"

"I'll cut to the chase." He stepped down and into the room. "I need your help to stop Duke Gladstone's wedding."

Donald didn't know what the most ludicrous thing in that statement was, since there were so many to choose from. "Stop… stop the wedding? Have you lost your mind?"

"All of France is about to lose their minds if it goes through." He grabbed the back of Donald's seat, setting it back up. "She's more than a pretty face. If she marries him, the other members of the revolution will see this as a betrayal, and it may be the tipping point that sets off the next Bloody Sunday."

The Scarlet hadn't just lost his mind, he'd thrown it into the ocean and let it drown! "What are you even talking about? Daisy's got nothing to do with the revolution, and I've got nothing to do with any of this!" He got out of his chair, the anger that he'd been suppressing ever since he first stepped into the city starting to rise again. "If they want to be together, we've got no right to interfere!"

"Listen, I can't go into every detail now, but I need your help!" He'd have thought Donald would leap at the chance to help, so now the Scarlet's own anger was being tested. "I need you go into the church and help me sneak in. No one will suspect you, and since you'll have arrived late, there will be-"

"No, no, no, I'm not gunna – goin'- going – no!" He clenched his beak as his hick dialect threatened to surface. No, he couldn't get into this madness! He was supposed to prove to his uncle he was a worthy heir, that he belonged in the company of the rich, that he was better than plain old Donald Duck. "I can't help you! I won't! What makes you think I'd even try?"

"Because you're in love with Daisy!" He remembered well how angry Donald had gotten when Daisy had thrown herself at him, literally, during Fantome's party. He recognized such jealousy in his own heart, and though time had passed since then, Donald was making it clear how he felt about her within this argument. "You need to help me save her, and save France! You have to believe me, she's more important to the revolution than you know!"

"And just how do you know, anyway?" Donald jabbed a finger into the Scarlet's chest, and the hero sucked in a breath, blinking back into the nightmare for a moment. "You always know everything about anyone, but how did you learn all about this? No one knows anything about you. How can I even begin to trust you? If I wanted to help Daisy, I wouldn't go with a man who is a complete stranger! How do I know I can trust you?"

The Scarlet had no time for this, nor did Mickey, and in his fit of frustration, one persona stood in front of the other with mighty conviction. "Then… then…" He swiftly removed his red goggles and his hat, and then spat the chip from his tongue into his glove. He could hear Ludwig and Gyro trying to stop him, but he stuck a thumb into his eye, painfully and quickly taking out one contact, his green to blue eye becoming pained. "If ya can't trust him, then at least gimmie a shot!"

Donald's eyes widened, and he began to travel back in time. Days ago – weeks ago – in this same room, as morning approached – when young boys were discussing the death of a duke . "… You're… you're that paperboy!" He blinked once – twice – it was still him. "… Wow. I can't believe I didn't remember those ears."

"Help me stop this weddin', and I'll tell ya what I know… and why I know it." He stuck out one hand, not in a gentlemanly and graceful fashion, but in the way that Mickey would do it. Donald didn't need the Scarlet. "Will ya help me?"

Had a different voice come out of Mickey's throat, Donald might have said no. To hear a familiar dialect, to hear someone else who had probably skipped letters and smashed others together, a man of the poor who was standing up to become someone else... This was what Donald had strived to be. But even the Scarlet couldn't be this way all the time. There were times the real self must emerge. The real Donald grasped his hand firmly.

There were many entrances to the church, and since Horace had failed his bosses and bosses' bosses so often, he was stuck guarding the entrance to the kitchen. These days, the church was more for ceremony than prayer, which meant it had to have the most luxurious of items for all occasions. It was probably for the best that he was left by himself, fuming about the last thing he had heard from the Scarlet. His duty to aid his woman… he had started working for Pete and Fantome to aid his woman! When Clarabelle had first told him that she was working under Fantome, Horace had begged Pete for a similar chance. He couldn't let her do these dangerous things on her own, but for all his effort, her heart still belonged to Fantome. No matter how terribly he treated her, she still came crawling back to him. Why was she so desperate for love when Horace was right there?

But he couldn't do anything about it. Fantome was handsome, powerful, and rich. Horace was a lowly police officer, always following orders. What was the point of standing up and saying anything? He'd be ignored, or tossed aside, or… there were hundreds of reasons not to fight back. He was nobody. He was nothing. One man couldn't do anything.

His self-loathing was interrupted by the mutterings of a fowl dressed in blue, and he recalled the face of Donald Duck. What was he doing all the way over here? He stood up straight, saluting. "Good afternoon, sir. Can I help ya out?"

"Sure can." Donald tugged nervously at his collar. "I'm late for the wedding, but if I walk in the front entrance, Uncle Scrooge will see me, and… it wouldn't end well for anyone. It turns out I'm also inheriting his temper."

"I hear ya, sir." Horace partially smiled, and turned around to open the door. "Follow me. Nobody's in the kitchen, and the weddin's about ta start. No one should see us come in, and I'm sure ya can blend right in." Horace kept his back to Donald as he walked inside the porcelain kitchen, and didn't hear the sound of a third pair of footsteps. He unlocked the door to the hallway, and stepped out in front to point ahead. "Ta the left is the stairway that'll take that ya ta the bell of the church. Ta the right is the way to the weddin'." He began to head down the right, but this time he did notice no footsteps following him. "Didn'tcha hear me? I said it's this way." He turned around in time to see Donald and a red dressed vigilante running up the stairway. "What? Aw, no, not again!" He flimsily made a grab for his gun, but he couldn't guess why they were going in that direction.

Nor could Donald. "Hey, what's the big idea? The wedding is that way!"

"This is your first lesson as a hero, Donald!" The Scarlet grinned, never looking back from his destination. "A big entrance can make all the difference!"

Given Daisy's expression, the wedding march that began to play sounded more like a funeral knell. All the members of nobility and wealth that had turned to see her grimaced as they saw despair under the thin veil, though there were exceptions. Fantome smiled pleasantly as she passed his pew, relaxed that a plan of his had finally started working again. Mortimer wore a similar gross expression, imagining his own bride taking Daisy's place. Gladstone, waiting at the altar, was relishing in her misery. She deserved to feel that way, after daring to reject him. He always got what he wanted, and her unhappiness was what he wanted most in this moment.

Everyone could see Daisy was miserable but no one was going to do anything about it. It wasn't their place. No one had the right to intervene on a Duke's wedding. Everyone imagined that must have been what the person who sat beside them was thinking, which is why everyone was astonished to hear a voice cry out. "Wait!" The Duchess rose in her pew, having seen Daisy's expression and not able to take another second of it. "Something's not right!" Even the musicians had halted, but in the space of their silence, a new noise rang out. A loud banging, a loud ringing, the bell at the tower of the church had begun to ring early, playing back and forth. Everyone looked up, and the amazements continued to build, as the ringing joined in with shakes coming from the roof.

The shakes escalated, and sprinkles of dust and debris began to fall from the roof. In fright, the first two pews were emptied by fleeing citizens. Right above that spot, the shaking came even harder, and then the cause came crashing down – the gigantic brass bell from the church tower slammed through the roof and onto the floor, not harming a soul but dropping the jaws of everyone present. As the dust settled and the noise stilled, two bodies leaped from the top of the bell, landing on the floor in unison. Donald and the Scarlet stood side by side, and the duck had to admit, it was more exciting than saying I object.

"Forgive me, my ladies, but you won't be catching a bouquet today." The Scarlet drew out his blade, walking around the destroyed pews. "This wedding is false in every sense of the word, and my good friend and I cannot allow it to proceed."

"How dare you!" The red fury that came over Gladstone's face stood out ugly against his green tuxedo. "Someone arrest these fools!"

The police standing in the corners began to run in, and the Scarlet nudged Donald, giving him the right encouragement. "I've told you what to say. I'll take down these guys, they won't use guns in a place filled with the people who pay their salary." That left the wealthy to become an audience as the Scarlet began taking down men left and right, allowing Donald to grab Gladstone and confront him head on.

"I know exactly why you're marrying Daisy, and you can tell Fantome it won't work!" Donald growled, shoving Gladstone back. "I'm not going to let you use her in as a pawn for your twisted games!"

"Don't touch me, you… you country boy!" Gladstone backed up into the altar, scaring the priest off while he grabbed a lit candlestick off of it. "Everyone knows you don't belong here! You'll never be like us!" Gladstone took a swing at Donald with the candlestick, but Donald smacked it out of his hand.

"And I'm darn proud of it, too!" Donald rolled up his sleeves, letting his temper flow as it used to back in his days on the farm. "Why should I be ashamed of my roots? If I can't adjust to this city, then the city will have to adjust to me! I'm proud of who I am, and no one is ever going – goin' – gunna make me feel bad about myself again!" Then he did what no country boy – or even any member of Gladstone's family – had ever done, and punched him hard across the face, ending his luck once and for all.

The Scarlet wrestled the last of the police officers down, his blade wet with blood but only having caused minimal damage to his enemies. "And why should they expect you to change, Donald? It's the city that needs to change!" He pointed his sword at the pews, making sure he was heard. "Here, you all saw the look of anguish on that fair maiden's face, but only one of you spoke for her! Women are not trophies! They are not bargaining chips to be used in political struggles! They are more than beauty, more than kisses! Poor or rich, no woman deserves to walk down the path she does not wish to tread! If we want to find a better tomorrow, free of bloodshed and inequality, then it's one you must walk on willingly! Rise for your sisters!"

Gladstone fumbled as he tried to stand back up, a bruise blossoming on his handsome cheek. "I always get what I want! Always, always, always! I won't let some hick and his madman stop me!" In a sprint of insanity, he headed straight for Daisy, but a black high heel stepped out and tripped him flat on his face.

"Don't you dare take another step near her." Magica rose from her seat, now looming Gladstone after her small assault. "That man may not have the best taste in fashion, but he's said what I've wanted to say for a long time. Why should I use my beauty instead of my brains to get someone to listen to me? My words have more value than any dress I've ever bought!"

More police from outside of the church began to spill in, but other women had begun to stand up, standing in their way. "I've been chasing after that miserable miser for so long," Goldie declared as she bore a fist to two startled officers. "That I've never tried to aim for big business with my own merits! I'll get women with me to work for what I want!"

"And everyone should be free to marry who they love!" Brigitta clapped her hands as she too stood up, cheering Daisy on. "Oh, honey, if you love him, then go get him!"

Was Daisy dreaming? Was an entire church filled with women higher up on the social ladder than she standing up for her? She took a long look around the room, as women in expensive dresses dared the disoriented police officers to lay a hand on them, and soon men began to swell up in their defense as well. She yanked off her veil, and tossed her bouquet, and in the flurry of petals, she saw them who they truly were. Not nobility, not rich, not a different class of creature, but they were all people, the same as her. They all beat with the same blood in their hearts, and love and care were forces that rich or poor could begin to touch. The revolution should not have tried to dominate one class over the other, but unite them to find the shining future.

Grabbing her dress in her hands, she ran up the aisle, and threw herself in Donald's arms. He caught her tightly, refusing to let her go, and this time she repeated different words over and over. "Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime!"I love you, I love you, I love you, and the bride kissed him deeply.

The Scarlet put his blade back in its scabbard, but his work wasn't done yet. Gladstone was gone, as was Fantome.

Gladstone wanted to make a getaway in his carriage, but the earlier panic from the falling bell had now flooded the street with frightened people in their own carriages, riding in the street. He stood on the sidewalk, clutching his head. Where had his luck gone? Things always went his way, when did it change? He was better than everyone else, so he deserved his luck. That country boy, that commoner girl, that masked man, they stole his luck! He had to get his luck back! He was nothing without his luck!

"What a shame." A black gloved hand graced Gladstone's shoulder. "I was so sure you'd make a good groom. But it does save me from buying you a wedding gift." Fantome waved a dismissive hand, keeping an eye on the streets. "You're no longer of use to me, Gander."

"No, no, I can do it!" Gladstone heaved, touching his injured cheek. "I'll… I'll get my luck back! I have to!"

"No, Gander… your luck's run out." Then Fantome gave Gladstone a light push, which was all that was needed to put the duck in the line of one of the speeding carriages. The driver yelled, pulling on his reigns to try and stop his horses, but it was too late. Red splattered against Fantome's dark clothes, and he calmly turned around and headed back inside. With this plan down the drain, he'd had to get a head start on the next one. He could no longer afford to wait. He had only taken three steps back in when he saw the Scarlet running for him, and heading back outside now might further expose what he had done.

"Duke, this way!" Clarabelle shouted off in the hallway, Horace next to her. Fantome had no choice but to run with his henchmen, the Scarlet following on his tail. Clarabelle took the same direction the Scarlet had earlier, heading higher and higher up the church tower.

"You will answer for your crimes this time, Fantome!" The Scarlet shouted after him, and the Fantome knew at this rate, he would be given little choice.

Fantome reached out to grab Clarabelle by her wrist, stopping on the stairs. The walls were illuminated by stained glass windows, and the fade of the setting set cast its colors on the four players. The streets now far down below screamed at the blood spilled, and Fantome stared at it through the window's storybook image. He looked behind him as he saw the Scarlet advance, a plan formulating. "… You seem to know so much about me, Scarlet. But it works both ways. I know how you think, and what you value." He pulled Clarabelle close to his chest, and murmured tenderly in her ear. "Are you ready to be of use to me?"

Clarabelle thought it apt she heard that in the church, the voice of her savior telling her the words she always wanted to hear. Her beloved Duke had found a good use for her? She would be able to help him? "Yes… yes, of course!"

"That's a good girl." His hands slid down her arms, his cool fingers held her softly…

… and then he pushed her too, smashing her through the window.

Time stopped for her as gravity took force. Her only use for him was her death. Her heart left her as colored glass entered her, and in the bits of their reflections she saw how ugly and stupid she had been all along. In trying to prove to the world how worthy she was to live in it, she had only served to make an even bigger fool out of herself. He didn't love her – he had never loved her. Why did she think he could?

She was a hideous steel mill girl. No one cared about her. Her only use was death. Then let death take her, if that was the only one who would have her. She closed her eyes, welcoming her end, for her life had been a waste. She had failed the man she loved, she had failed her friend, and she had failed her fellow women, and become the very thing they were now rallying against. Take her, take her now, take away this useless creature who no one wanted!

"No!"

Hands grabbed her by her bleeding arm, her body swinging as a pendulum in the air. With blurry eyes, she saw four arms that were being cut by the jagged glass as they held her, trying to keep her from meeting her fate. Horace and the Scarlet suffered as they held her, but they showed no sign that they would relent. They clenched their teeth as they pulled upward, but why? Why were they doing this? After how she had treated them both, they were cutting themselves wide open to keep her from her destiny.

"On three…" The Scarlet breathed, sweat trickling down his masked face. "We make one big pull." Horace nodded, and the count began. "One… two… three!" Both men used every ounce of power in their bodies to yank Clarabelle upwards, and she fell back into the hallway, collapsing on top of Horace. Fantome was long gone, having known that the Scarlet would save a citizen before giving chase to him. The hero let go of Clarabelle, letting her rest in Horace's arms. She trembled, unable to explain or believe what had happened, and Horace pressed her body forcefully to his. No words were exchanged within the trio.

The Scarlet quietly began to descend the stairs, leaving the two friends alone. Clarabelle could not cry, and Horace cried for her. Which was the pathetic one? Which one had no use in this world? There were yells in and out of the church, but on that stairway, it was so very quiet.

Early the following morning, Max was finished getting dressed. As much as he loathed following in his father's footsteps and taking any odd job that came his way, he needed money for his inventions. Things in the group had been tense since Daisy's sudden engagement, but now that it had been revealed as a hoax, along with the hospitalization of Gladstone Gander, trust had been ingrained back in, though there was still the issue of the mole. No one had figured who had been spilling their secrets but Max would have to use his brains for that later. He left his room at the same time his father left his.

Goofy smiled sheepishly, as while the tension had left the revolutionaries, it was still thick between the Geefs. Max snobbily turned his nose away, and opened their front door. He could not walk out, though, as a very fat police chief stood in front of their doorway, chewing on a lit cigar. Max reeled back from the stench, and Goofy peeked in from around the doorway. Pete spoke as he chewed, and now Max could see other officers waiting behind their Chief. "G'morning, fellas… ever wonder what the inside of a prison cell looks like?"

End of Chapter Twelve.