The optimist watched Venice fall with trembling hopes. He stepped forwards, still holding on to the hope that things will turn for the best—no matter how hard he had to fight for it. Blood trickled from Ven's pale ear, his eyes painfully shut.

Lock looked at his bloodied fist in dim horror. "I didn't mean to knock him senseless," he muttered, turning his attention to the body at his feet. Ciel was still trying to wake up, guarded by Sebastian who held Rockwell's gun against the portly man.

"You really are in for it this time, Theodore." Arthur said evenly, looking towards Lock evenly. All the chatter died down and a faint smell of decay invaded the room. "What is the matter with you? Are you addicted to torturing yourself?"

Lock stared forwards, avoiding Arthur's gaze motionlessly.

"What ever happened to the genteel, delicate man your wife married? Whatever happened to the man who wanted never to hurt a soul because he knew the pain himself? When did you start to destroy everything? When did you start to rot? Answer honestly, Lock, you're at the end of the line." Arthur's green eyes gleamed passionately.

"I…"

"Don't you reply to such unnatural scum!" Rockwell spat, glowering.

"And you," Arthur rounded on him. "Keep your incessant blubbering to yourself. I could kill you in a moment. You too, Lock. You're life lies on my fingertips and I can blow it away with a simple breath."

"Then do it," Lock muttered. "Ever since my wife perished in my own arms I've been this way. There's no going back for me now."

Rockwell started to protest but Sebastian brandished the gun before him and he fell silent. No one dared stir. All eyes planted themselves firmly on Arthur, feeling terror rise up within them. Who was this man playing as a deity before them?

Clearing his throat, Arthur said at length: "I see, now. You were the scoundrel who unearthed his wife's grave some years ago and ordered Rockwell who was somehow indebted to you to bring forth those dolls, if my information is correct."

Slowly, Lock began to nod.

"I see. But what's interesting is why did your run out of the house and why did everything happen afterwards? Why did you force a butler to him and why did you make him believe himself to be a sickly, useless object? Did he see the dead body of his mother and run away in terror, so you gave him your own butler to act as a friend and then you gave him this fabricated illness as a way to dull his thoughts? I doubt this was just for your own bitter enjoyment. You do love him, don't you?"

Ciel now could sit straight, his breathing regulated, but his mind still blurry. Sebastian stepped closer to him, not taking his eyes of the trembling Rockwell.

"Though," Arthur continued before Lock could reply, "The dolls is a strange touch but I will take that as an oddity of your own, some sort of manifestation due to the stress having to drug your son and work with a butler like that…" He indicated Dante who leaned on the wall, his face gaunt and his eyes bloodshot.

"All I want is to have my wife back," Lock muttered weakly, "I want her back so I'm trying desperately."

"Going so far as to chop her into little bits and place her in the backs of dolls?" Ciel scoffed.

"I ran out of other ideas. Furthermore, I just want her back so I can raise Venice in peace and he could go on to be a scholar or a doctor or whatever he may want to be!"

"You cannot cheat death." Arthur said dryly. "Believe me, I've tried."

"Who are you?" Lock suddenly flared up, tightening his fingers into fists. "No normal human being could know all of these facts about someone else, let alone look so young but have the eyes of someone thousands of years old!"

Tensing, Arthur took a step back. It was true, what Lock described. Arthur's face was hardly lined with any wrinkles and his hair still had volume and color. But his eyes were sorrowful, mourning something constantly when they weren't enraged or glistening with joy. They were like wells, the top layer behind thin and clear—like an emerald—and then they went in deeper and deeper into a murky, damp abyss. Normally Arthur hid this from passer-bys so no questions would be asked. Anytime he looked them in the eyes it was brief and fleeting. Now it was a different scenario. Now he had to look directly into Lock's dark, stony ones and scrape up his past and see how in intertwined with his.

Everyone was important to Arthur. No matter how insignificant they told themselves to be, they played a key role in his history, being his life and culture and the reason he lived on. Arthur often thought about this, smiling to himself. He was the Optimist, after all.

"I would very much like to know as well," Ciel stated.

"You are not like Hector or I," Sebastian also thought he would put in, "you are unlike anything I have ever seen. You're some sort of enigma, something completely out of this world."

"I may not be quite as old as your species," Arthur said. These lives were fleeting, and what harm would be done if they found out? He decided to let slip some of his secret. "But I am of a race old as civilization. And no, I'm completely part of this world. Sometimes I imagine myself not to have come from a womb or from a thin celestial membrane but from the earth, brought up and shaped into a human and given like by some goddess, as some cultures say man to have been created." He laughed good-naturedly, smiling.

"That still doesn't answer our question." Lock said. His hands dangled at his side. The blood on his knuckles dried. Ven stirred slight, escaping everyone's attention, however. He blinked slowly, looking around. He met Arthur's eyes and felt a strong urge to remain dormant. He thought he saw Arthur's eyelid twitch into a wink.

"Do you really expect me to answer you in a direct fashion?" Arthur put his hands into his pockets. "Besides, I did answer your question."

A/N: Thank you all so much for those kind reviews! Keep them coming, they've really inspired me to continue writing this story and do so with all my heart! And, to address a question already asked but undoubtedly thought many more times: the spelling of "bly me" vs "blimey" Yes, it can be spelled both ways. "Bly me" however was used more often in some older literature and I thought it would fit this time period better. (Shaw uses this spelling in Pygmalion). Thanks again! I read all the reviews even if I may not respond to all!