A/N: Another chapter here! It's a bit longer this time; I'm getting back my groove and taking this thing back to what it was before. Enjoy!^^

Note: OMG, 58 reviews? That's just awesome, people! Thank you so much!^^

Fan Of Games: No offense taken, mate. I do admit it may not have seemed enough, but I wanted to go at a slow pace to set things back in motion. Thanks for the opinion though; that's what I appreciate.

Zeoness: What can I say that I didn't say in the reply? Thank you, and enjoy!^^

Disclaimer: Apply the usual here.

XXVI

Forsaken

It is neither science nor magic; perhaps it's a bit of both.

I clutch the amnesia potion in one hand, and take the other one to my chest. I ache all over, my head is spinning and I can barely move. But I keep moving forward, even if it means dragging my feet. It's ironic too: to move forwards when your purpose is to do so backwards. I'm a coward, that much I will admit, and so big a fool...

But I want to forget. Desperately. Everything.

The amnesia potion is something we used on certain victims… like the innocent arsonist, now that I remember. Oh, God… We made them forget so that the torture worked better. The vitae couldn't be harvested unless the victim had gone through a certain degree of pain, be it physical or psychological; sometimes, it was both. That's what made them much more valuable and efficient, Alexander had told me. And it looks like Fortune wants me to be the last victim. Physical pain, oh yes; but psychological… Heaven knows I deserve it.

I've cried after several rituals, making use of all the laudanum I had at hand, but even then the narcotic didn't work. There were mornings when I would wake up as if drunk, and the effects of the laudanum took their time to wear off, be it for better or for worse. But after a few victims, I realized that it wasn't useful at all. My nightmares would keep me up all night, haunting me with voices of pain and despair.

And like I have done many times before, I break down.

In an earlier outburst of rage I've written down brutal accusations against Alexander. But what along the way I've lost of frustration, I've gained in common sense. Alexander had told me he could lend me his help… but at a certain price. I ignored the extent of that price and in my ingenuity I believed that it would be something material… rather than my sanity. I've been in denial all this time, and that I've paid for dearly.

Alexander didn't lie to me, not at all. I lied to myself.

I want to forget. Desperately. Everything. Everyone.

I look at the small vial, my eyes bleary, and the eerie stillness of the liquid doesn't ease my mind. What I'm about to do is cowardly, almost close to suicide, but I don't have a choice. It is death by remembering or by forgetting. I curse the world, I curse myself, and I drink.

But right before I do, I ask myself…

Do I deserve to die?

Any typos, do point them out: I changed from third to first person at the very last minute xD