Mona can hear Nero yelling for her, but she keeps walking out of her building. Her main goal is to be as far from him as possible. Those were her thoughts. Those were her very private thoughts that she intended on keeping private. Her graceful hands wipe softly at the tears in her eyes. She didn't ask for any of this. She doesn't want any of this. Why her? And how did Sitri know about the kiss? No one knew about that but Maria. As far as Mona knew, Maria was living in Rome with her new wife and had never told anyone about it.

Her arms wrap around her body as she continues to walk, her feet barely touching the pavement before she lifts them again. She's never felt quite this alone in her entire life. People need people and right now, she needs people. She doesn't bother wiping the tears from her eyes. There's no one around her, so it hardly seems to matter.

She keeps walking, twisting between buildings, dodging what few people come across her path. The autumn air whips around her skin, chilling her to the core. It looks like rain again. The sky rumbles with thunder and sends shivers all over Mona. She raises her brown eyes up from her feet. The ballet studio stands before her as a sanctuary. Her nose won't stop running and she sniffles to try and get it under control. The doors are locked like she thought they would be, but she had to try. Looking around she makes sure no one is watching before she makes her way to the back of the building. The girl's bathroom window was always unlocked for some reason.

As swift as a jackrabbit on a hot skillet, Mona pushes the window open and pulls herself up onto the lip. She shimmies her way into the bathroom, careful she doesn't fall flat on her face. The bathroom is cold and dark: it feels almost as if someone turned the heat off. Despite how cold it is, it's not overly strange. The building is usually kept around 68 degrees because of how hot the studio rooms would get. Still, she shudders. She's never been in the building when it was completely empty, or this quiet before. It's so quiet she can hear the faucet dripping in one of the sinks. She pushes the bathroom door open and finds her way to an open studio room.

She flips the lights on and sets her purse down on the wooden piano bench. She takes out her iPod and an extra pair of pointe shoes she always keeps in her purse. She hooks the iPod up to the dock on top of a console table. It opened to a soft piano sonata that was one of Mona's favorites. She made the playlist to have something to warm up and practice to, instead of having to search for every song she wanted. She stretches for an hour before she wraps her toes and slips her pointe shoes on. She forgot just how much she missed having them on in the last few weeks.

"The Pull" by Now Now slips softly over the speakers. It always amazes her how the body and muscles can remember movements better than she can, and if she just lets them, if she listens to them, then they'll move for her. Mona rolls her neck as she dances, as far as she can in each direction. Her old ballet instructor told her it should be her signature move as a dancer. This song she takes it slow, letting her body ease into its rhythms. Parts of her ached at the stretch, still sore from her attack.

By the time the next song comes on, a remix of "Radioactive" and "My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark", she's ready to dancer harder and faster. Everything emotion she's felt over the last few weeks comes rushing to the surface. She feels prideful at the completed, perfect, triple pirouette followed by a split leap. They're two of the things in her dancing that she is expert at. As soon as she hits the ground again, she takes off spinning and stepping again.

The longer she dances, the more her eyes want to close. It's not a performance, so she decides to let them slip close. It helps her feel more distant from the current situation she finds herself in.

After a time, a slower piano song flits over the speakers, and she struggles to slow her body down, to let go of the anger. She opens her brown eyes to watch herself in the mirror; correcting her form when she needs to. It feels good to dance again, to throw herself into the movements until she can scarcely breathe.

On her second spin, Mona catches Matrem standing still in a darkened corner of the room, her face twisted into a maniacal smile. Mona stumbles and finds herself falling to the wood floor, but before she smashes her face against the planks, she stops. A pair of black leather clad hands grip her arms tightly before pulling her backward into their owner's chest. She jerks her head to the left and finds Dante looking down at her. She breathes heavily, her chest heaving against the fabric of her clothes. Concern fades from Dante's face as she gives him a half smile.

"Nice catch," she chuckles.

"I have my moments," he says, "Unfortunately, I get the feeling you aren't exactly my catch." He sighs as he straightens and lets go of Mona's arms.

Quickly, she turns her face away to hide her blush, but she knows he can tell why she looked away. She lowers herself to the floor slowly where she starts to unlace the ribbon around her ankles. As subtly as she can, she looks up to the corner where she saw Matrem, but only shadows are there.

Dante plops his large body down next to hers, his arms resting on his raised knees.

"We've been looking for you, ya know," he states, watching her out of the corner of his blue eyes.

"I've not been gone that long."

"About three hours."

Mona's head snaps up so she can look at Dante. "Three hours? That's not even possible! I've only danced to like three songs."

Dante laughs and leans against the mirrored wall. "Actually, you danced to about thirty, while I was here. Beautifully, by the way. And that's saying something coming from me. I've never cared for all that fancy ballet shit. But there was fire in yours." He smiles. "I thought the floor was going to break."

"You watched me?" she asks as she slips her shoes off. She hisses when they pull away from her foot, revealing fresh blisters, and cuts around her toes: she needs to trim her nails down again.

"Yeah, I did," he confirms. "I didn't see why I should stop you. Seemed like you needed a release," he explains with a shrug of his shoulders. "Fuck, baby. Doesn't that hurt?" He gestures to her abused feet.

"A little, yeah. I've let my nails get long. And I'm out of practice. I'll just soak them tonight in the tub and they'll be fine. Thank you," she adds, "for letting me dance. I did need it." She scoots next to him and leans back against the mirrors. "So, why did you come and find me and not Nero? I figured he would have chased me down."

"I stopped him. I figured if he would have tracked you down, he probably would have killed you for running from him. Said you smacked him?" he questions her with a smirk on his face.

"I did."

"What'd he do?"

"He was being an asshole."

Dante laughs. "Seems like a good enough reason to me. Hell, sometimes I slap him just for the hell of it. It's wonderful therapy," he jests with a smile.

He lifts his arm and puts it around her shoulders, pulling Mona closer to him. She rests her head on his chest and sighs. He feels nice against her, even though he's nothing but muscle. Despite that, he feels almost like a teddy bear you get from the fair. And on top of that, he is unbelievably warm. He smells nice too, she thinks, like shoe polish, gunpowder, leather, and some kind of expensive after-shave. It's a warm smell, like sweater weather. It reminded Mona of fall leaves, coffee on the front porch, a fire, warm apple cider, cold fingers, sweaters, fat fluffy cats with warm bellies.

"Did I ever thank you?" she asks him quietly.

"Thank me for?"

"Saving me that night."

"I don't remember. Maybe." She feels him shrug under her.

"Well, now I am. Thank you, Dante."

Dante leans down and kisses the top of her head. He can feel her falling asleep. She hasn't been sleeping much, he knows. Not that he blames her. So quietly, he sits, letting her drift slowly off to sleep against his chest.

"Sweet dreams, babe."

"You danced so beautifully," Dante croons.

Mona smiles at him but notes that something is very much off about him.

He pushes her forcefully backward, making her head smack into the brick. Mona yelps and starts to slide down the wall from dizziness. Dante grabs her roughly and hoists her back into a standing position.

She screams.

His once bright blue eyes are pitch black and bottomless.

She kicks at his legs and hits at his face, but he doesn't seem to feel any of it. His mouth twists into a sadistic smile and he digs his hands into her arms.

"I'm sure you'd dance even more beautifully," he whispers, leaning forward to lick from her jaw up to her temple, "covered in flames."

She looks away from him, trying to find an escape, but instead, she finds Matrem. She approaches them slowly, her smile spreading across her face.

"Dante, please!"

"Who says this is Dante?" he asks with a curious little tilt of his head.

He leans in and smiles, his teeth turn into sharp daggers. Slowly, his jaw opens until it's wide enough to swallow her whole.

Mona awakes with a jerk and gasping for air. Sweat slides slowly down her face and neck, soaking her shirt. She scans the room for Nero or Dante, but the room is completely empty. From the light outside the curtains, Mona guesses it's somewhere just before sunrise. She exits the room, making her way to the kitchen. Her mouth is dry and her throat feels like it's on fire.

The house is quiet, as it usually is. It used to make her nervous, but now she's gotten accustomed to it. She had never before been in a house as quiet as Dante's is. As quiet as she can, she descends the stairs and makes her way to the kitchen. Just as she's about to reach the doorway a strange sound stops her in her tracks: a soft, repetitive, thudding noise echoes around her in the still room. She stops, her body paused halfway in a turn before she glides back around to confront the noise.

For a moment, there's nothing in the dark room but her and the sound. She stares, squinting her eyes in an attempt to strain them into seeing something. Then she catches it: something small is bouncing down the stairs. She thinks it's a ball, but in the darkness, she can't be certain. It hits the bottom step and bounces into the air, lands, and then begins to roll towards her. She backs up and watches it cautiously. About three feet from her, she realizes that it's merely Bob.

"Bob," she sighs, "I thought Dante locked you up in the cabinet?" Mona asks the shrunken head as if it could answer her at any moment.

Shaking her head, she turns around and makes her way into the kitchen to get a drink. The water is cool on her sore throat, but the liquid settles heavily in her stomach. She should eat something, but returning to sleep sounds to blissful to ignore. Mona refills the glass and takes it with her out of the kitchen.

"It's late. You should be in bed," Dante says in a tone that verges on threatening.

Mona gasps and drops the glass onto the floor where it shatters. She turns towards Dante's desk, her body shaking. Why hadn't she noticed him before?

"Shit, Dante. You scared me," she explains with a tremble in her voice.

"Apologies. Why aren't you in bed?" he asks her as he moves away from his desk.

She watches him for a few seconds, swallowing before she answers him. "I had a nightmare."

Before she can continue, Dante interrupts her. "Well, I'm certain whatever dream me did, was not intentional."

Her blood runs cold. "I never said you were in the dream, Dante."

He smiles, his mouth twisting up in a way that was the definition of sinister.

"Who says I'm Dante?"

In seconds Dante has her on the floor. She's not quite sure how it happened, only that one moment he was rushing his body at her like a wrecking ball, and the next she was on the floor. She couldn't breathe, the force and weight of him took every ounce of air she had in her lungs and expelled it outwards. She scrambled, her legs kicking and twisting her body beneath him. He lost hold of her, only for a second, but it was enough. On her way to standing, she reached out and grabbed a piece of glass, hissing as it cut into her palm.

She runs towards the stairs, making Nero's room her sanctuary. The sounds of his body gliding across the floor behind her as he ran thundered in her ears. He can't catch her. If he catches her, he will most certainly kill her. Or she will have to kill him. She doesn't think she can kill him, let alone hurt him. He's her friend.

"Nero!" she screams as loudly as she can, her throat tightening up with the strain of it.

Eventually, Dante will catch her, she knows this. Nero is her only chance of making it out alive. Her palm slices open a fraction more as the glass slides across her palm. He's going to catch her; he's going to slam into her at any moment. She slides as she twists her body to the right, rushing down the hallway with the jammed door. There's a crash behind her and she wonders if Dante caught the bookshelf instead of her.

"Nero!"

Why wasn't he answering her?

Mona skids to a halt. There, at the end of the hallway, Dante stands tall with a smile on his full lips. She has no idea how he got there, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that he's blocking her escape.

"Nero!" she cries with relief. "Thank God! Help!"

Dante turns, ready to fight, and Mona takes her chance to flee. She doesn't have long, maybe all of three seconds before he realizes Nero isn't there. Her lungs are starting to burn and her hand is slick with blood. She has to make it back to the stairs though. At least in Nero's room, she can go out through the fire escape.

A chair comes flying from the hallway she just exited and slams into the wall beside her head. She keeps running, the flinch costing her several seconds. She has one foot on the stairs.

It all happens in slow motion: Dante reaches forward and grabs her ankle, she falls forward, her jaw hits the edge of the step as she falls. Stars dance in front of her eyes and she takes a confused moment to praise Jesus that she didn't bite her tongue in half. Dante rips her back down the stairs and flips her over harshly. His body straddles her hips and he wraps his large hand around her throat.

"Dante, please." She doesn't beg him like he wants her to.

She doesn't want to hurt him.

"Oh, that was a terrible beg, Mona." He sneers and tightens his hand around her throat. "I'm going to have to teach you how to be–"

Dante jerks above her, confusion spreading across his face while he looks at her. His hand lessens its grip and she takes a gasping breath in. Tears prick at the corner of her eyes. It shouldn't have come to this, she thinks. She whimpers and drives the shard of glass deeper into his stomach. He gasps above her, his hands moving to clutch at the long shard. Mona cries beneath him, the tears falling into the shells of her ears. She's killed him, she's killed her friend, the man who saved her, who took her in, who has done everything to keep her safe.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "I'm sorry."