A/N: This story's going to take a turn at this point, for better or for worse. Please leave reviews with any comments you have about it, good and bad! :)

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"Don't touch it! Just don't touch it, Kanda!" The samurai glanced over at the troubled youth, pale as the sheets on the bed. He moved closer toward the letter, picking it up, careful not to touch the blood. Allen put his head on his knees, breathing harshly. Kanda could hardly believe what he read.

My Beloved,

Allen. Allen Walker, oh what a glorious name that is. I knew our stars were intercrossed when we first met that fateful day. You are my light, my songbird. You, and only you, are the one that dips into my dreams at night and my thoughts, forevermore. Allen, will you fly away? Will you fly away from me? I know everything about you, Allen Walker. Things even you yourself cannot comprehend.

Draw closer, my pet, come into my cage. A free animal must be imprisoned, as it will flee. But worry not, dearest; I am coming for you. I will come for you soon. So soon my very being tingles at our fateful day. Ours. Yours. And mine.

But please, please hold this in mind: I am a messenger, a messenger from love's thorny brambles. A messenger, which is I, and nothing more.

Lector Osmond

Feeling like his breath had just been knocked out of him; Kanda all but threw the letter back onto the dresser. He furrowed his brow. The note was creepy, damn creepy, but he couldn't help but think that there was something peculiar about it. Something that didn't quite match up, or didn't quite follow through. He was jerked from his thoughts when he saw Allen standing. Immediately his muscles tensed and he was on guard.

"Give me the fucking letter." Allen's tone was dead and harsh, making Kanda shiver unintentionally. When the black-haired exorcist made no move, the teen shouted, "Give me the fucking thing so I can rip it up into shreds!!"

Allen charged forward, but deep inside Kanda realized the letter would be useful in the future, and swiftly locked onto the boy's arms. Barely able to hold him back, the samurai quickly pushed him onto the bed, pinning down his wrists so he would have the weight advantage. Now all there's left to do is wait, Kanda thought. Allen's eyes were wild, though he seemed to be calming down, and his pulse fluttering in his pale neck. The Japanese man was mystified by the rapid palpitations, and relinquished his hold to place his hand gently over Allen's collar. It was a mistake, and the white-haired teen recognized it immediately.

"Ahh," groaned Kanda, clenching his teeth and gripping the boy's shoulders. Holy shit, Moyashi just bit me! And indeed, that was true, for Allen had clamped his teeth squarely on the tender region where shoulder meets neck. Kanda emitted a low, pained sound, oddly aroused by this. I mean, someone was biting him! He shouldn't be feeling this way… should he? Oh god, Kanda became panicked; don't tell me that was Moyashi's tongue.

Kanda flushed, for Allen had wrapped his arms tightly around the samurai's back. Slowly, painstakingly, the cursed exorcist relinquished his grasp, a long, thin trail of saliva trailing from his mouth. The rush of cool air called goose bumps on Kanda's bite-mark, but he was even more surprised when Allen, eyes heavily-lidded, gave the mark a light lick. Kanda literally keeled over to the side, body paralyzed with shock, his face bright red. Sleepily, Allen muttered, "Soap will sting, Bakanda." Kanda simply stared.

Later, in the bathroom, Kanda inspected the total damages. Damn, that's one hell of a hickey. The area of skin was purplish and red, and the samurai noted that there was no bleeding. Even with his supernatural healing properties, it was going to take about fifteen minutes to a half-hour to heal. But did he really want it to go away so quickly? I mean, it was a love-mar- Kanda stopped abruptly. I think I'm losing my mind.

On the bed, Allen was dozing off. With a start, he sat up and glanced into the darkness of the room. "Oi. Moyashi." Relief had never come so fast. The teen walked over the samurai leaning against the door. Kanda flicked on the lights, the brightness causing Allen to squint.

"Hey, where'd you get that bruise?" Kanda's ears perked. Did the idiot seriously not remember? Hmph. Probably a trauma-induced thing then. He didn't know why he was so disappointed.

"None of your business," the samurai responded shortly, "do you want dinner or not?"

Allen was puzzled. Kanda was annoyed, but he couldn't remember what had happened since seeing that god awful letter. Where was it now? The white-haired teen glanced over to the bureau. It wasn't there. Kanda, following the boy's line of sight, was relieved that he'd put the letter safely in one of the drawers.

"C'mon, let's get going." The two left the room, putting the afternoon's events behind them.

The many booths of Hershey Park were closing now. The dazzling sun had been replaced with the wan moon, and all around it stars glimmered with a soft light. All the rides were cast in an eerie silence, only the occasional clank of equipment to be heard. It was already nearing midnight, and few customers were still there to make purchases. In a far corner of the resort, in the small tent-like space beneath the majestic Ferris wheel, laid Lector Osmond, moaning in pain.

"Where the fuck have I been?!" He scrunched up his face, shaking. The source was the index finger of his right hand. Blackening and infected, it had been cut clean off.

The last thing he recalled was being on the cruise and fighting with Scarlet. Oh, Lord, the God-awful bitch; he was glad that she wasn't here, or else he'd be in more agony than ever. Ah, yes. Everything started with that phone call…

He'd been arguing with Scarlet again. They'd run out of money for the trip, as the woman had bought a new pair of expensive high heels to add to her overflowing collection. The atmosphere inside the cruise cabin was stifling, so they'd gone outside in hopes of fresh air soothing their tempers. Wrong. It was like adding fuel to the fire.

Just as they were about to leave to take a walk, Scarlet standing outside and impatiently tapping her feet, Lector heard the jaunty ring of his cell phone. He walked over to it, looking for the number. There was none. Curious, he put it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"May I speak with Mister Lector Osmond?" The voice was male, low and dark, but somehow Lector couldn't put down the phone.

"Y-you got him. Whaddaya want?"

"I would like to interest you in a deal. I understand that you have been pressed for money as of late."

How did the bastard know?! "E-err, yeah. But what's it to you?"

"Here is my proposition, Mister Osmond: For ten thousand dollars, I would like you to gain the trust and affections of a youth named Allen Walker. He is fifteen, with snow-white hair and a pentacle above his left eye."

Was this guy shittin' him? Ten grand!! "You're serious, right?"

"Is my sum too low? Should I raise it? Or perhaps, lower it?"

"N-no! I'll do it! Gimme the cash, ya hear?" Lector inwardly cheered. He was going to be rich, and he wasn't giving a single penny over to Scarlet.

"Meet me at the end of the corridor on the third level. You will receive your payment there. If you complete your task."

Lector rushed out the door, excited. But his mood was dampened when Scarlet began bickering with him once more, and he was about to strike her when- Oh ho! The target himself approached him. Lector began trying to flirt with the youth, but when he saw the expression on Allen's companion's face, he deepened his attempts. The anger on that Asian boy's features was simply too funny!

After Allen was whisked away by the long-haired kid, Lector, convinced he'd done his job, walked to the third level. Scarlet had long since abandoned him, preferring to go into the gift shop, and saying, "We're OVER, jerkwad!" He'd only smiled, grin stretching, growing larger.

He was almost to the corridor when he spotted a long, slim hand encased with a black, velvet glove holding out a huge, thick wad of money. Immediately, Lector ran to get it. There was a flash of red- and no more.

At the present, Lector was more than irked. He was freaking enraged. Not only did he fail to receive his payment, he felt like he was in hell from his amputated finger. Suddenly, a memory of him writing a letter in blood flooded his mind. The hell? So that's where his finger had gone?? Horribly afraid, he had to get out of this place! It wasn't safe, damn it… Starting to stand, he turned around and collided with a figure cloaked in black.

"Who the fuck are you?!" Lector sweated, brow drenched in perspiration. The person was almost entirely covered by the cloak so that all he could see was a pair of thick, swirly glasses perched on a veiled nose. This guy was dangerous, Lector could tell that much.

"My, my. Such vulgar language." The figure showed no sign of leaving, so Lector, furious, took several swings at his face.

"G-GET AWAY FROM ME! AWAY!!" Tears began running down his face, and as the figure laughed, he blindly punched once more. Trembling, Lector realized he'd connected.

The glasses fell to the ground, the thump loud as the beating of Lector's fearful heart. "It looks like someone's a little too frisky today." With untraceable motions, the person's arm rushed forward. There was a sickening crunch. A scream.

Lector hyperventilated, staring at his stump of an arm, real vessel laying several feet away. Blood pooled beneath him, intermixing with sweat and spit dripping from his mouth. THAT VOICE… He recognized it now! He tried to get up, pleading with his legs, but the figure chuckled with manic glee.

"You're not going anywhere, Mister Osmond." Lector's mind went into overdrive. Sobbing, pulse leaping in his chest, he started to write quickly with his detached arm, ignoring the absolute torture of sand particles rubbing into his bare, skin-less flesh. Save me, somebody SAVE ME!!

"Writing a note, eh? No one's going to come here. Pity this isn't a more popular place, Mister Osmond." True, the Ferris wheel was the least popular ride in the entire park. Lector ignored the man in front of him, frantically writing for his life.

"Not listening, eh? Well, this note will cost you, then…" Lector had just completed his words when a hand collided with his face. Pop. Pop. Pop. Lector couldn't make a sound as his captor wrenched each of his teeth from his mouth. Now that his swirly glasses were gone, the man's eyes gleamed red. Red as the tranquil night sky. Red as the liquid slowly drenching, congealing on Lector's clothing. A murderer's shade.

Red.

Red.

Red.

Color the world.

Red.

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A/N: Please tell me if I should change the rating of Kanda Candy to "M" instead of "T." I'm so nervous at this chapter… It's definitely very risky. But so will the next chapter, I'm sure of it… DX