Foton Soul- ^^" I don't even know how I'm going to approach that lol

GigiandMad- You'll see~!

general zargon- T.T Sorry, and yes, Ophelia's in shock (it's explored more in this chapter)

Confetti108- Her sister's death impacts her more in this chapter and the next one, too (sorta)

VioletDawn00- T.T I know, I was starting to like her and I was like, "Damn, I created her for the sole purpose of killing her DX"

Imaginefun- Lol I always get you emotional

Guest (Dearie)- Dear lord, you're just not meant to sign in, yeah? HERE'S MORE!

Sorry, this chapter is kind of short, next will be longer (I think...)

I do not own Soul Eater, only Ophelia and any other OCs!

Death sat in his library, reading distractedly. His mind wasn't taking in the words; they kept drifting to Ophelia's distraught face. He was regretting his unwillingness more and more as the image grew sharper, larger. No one deserved this pain, especially not Ophelia. He thought back to their previous discussion and wished he had held off on his confession. She was in shock, he knew that much. Her cyan eyes were dull and he noticed she was shivering. With any luck, on his part, she wouldn't even remember what he told her.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the coming of a headache. His temples pulsated painfully and he winced. He couldn't remember the last time he had such a headache; he used to get them often when he was younger. His mother would stay up late with him, soothingly rubbing his temples with her cool fingertips. When she died, his sister took her place, her fingers warm and calloused compared to their mother's soft hands.

He tapped his foot and stood up, clutching his head with one hand. The room spun and he groaned in annoyance. He discarded his book carelessly in his chair before stumbling out of his library. He leaned against the wall of the hallway, noiselessly sliding against it on his way to the kitchen.

The kitchen was dark, the only light coming from the moon. He opened cabinet after cabinet, grumbling,

"Where did I put the Skullcap?"

He moved teabags out of the way until he found the teabag of Skullcap. Ophelia had given it to him when she found out about his headaches.

"Just a cup of Skullcap tea and you'll be as right as rain!" She had proclaimed.

She had been right, of course; she was certainly an adept herbalist. Death grabbed his mug and stood by the hearth, waiting for the water to heat. Once it was heated enough, he dropped the teabag in the steaming mug and idly stirred with his index finger.

Perhaps he should have kept Ophelia awake in case her condition worsened? She seemed too complacent with her sister's death, something he found odd. He knew she was very accepting and understanding of death, but surely she had some sour feelings about it? He certainly would be beside himself if he witnessed his own sister's death, but then quickly took the thought back. Miata wouldn't be easily killed. She, like all Shinigami, was sturdier than a human and it wasn't right to compare her to Beatrice. Death had a feeling Beatrice went down willingly, while Miata would fight to the death.

Death took a sip of his tea and sighed, the effects instantaneous. As his headache melted away, Death thought of his sister. She was a couple hundred years older than him, the former favored child of Shi only to fall from his grace when Death had been born. He always felt she resented him to an extent for it, but he couldn't have helped it and if he could, he would have been content being the weaker one. He hadn't seen her in centuries, the two going their separate ways when she stormed out so long ago after a disagreement with Shi. He didn't miss her; when he looked back, they weren't very close. Yet, as he thought of her, a feeling of fondness filled him and he knew he did love his sister, even if she made it difficult.

He was so deep in his thoughts, it took him a few minutes to realize the serenity of the night had been shattered by a wail. He started, nearly dropping his mug in the process, and cursed audibly when some of the hot tea splashed his bare foot. Death froze to listen, his manor so silent, and the wail started up again. It was high pitched, the voice cracking and faltering at the end. He hastily placed his mug on the stone counter and sprinted to his bedroom.

Ophelia was writhing, her back arched painfully. She was gripping the sheets tightly, her head thrown back as she screamed. Death was by her side in a moment, scooping her up in his arms. She was damp with sweat and her eyes snapped open, wide and terrified. She struggled against him, not immediately recognizing him or where she was, but he only hugged her tighter. He gently rocked her back and forth.

"Shh, it's alright, Ophelia, it was just a dream." He murmured by her ear soothingly, using his real voice.

Her struggling ceased, but she remained disquiet, tears streaming down her face in clear rivulets. She was trembling as she clung to him, her whole body quaking violently. Her breath was coming out in short, panicky bursts, her chest heaving.

"Deep, slow breaths, Ophelia..." He mimicked what he wanted her to do, nodding encouragingly when she began to do so.

She wretched and he released his hold on her as she rushed to the window, vomiting. He went to stand behind her, gathering her sweaty locks from her face, and holding them for her. She vomited until all that came up was bile. She sank to the floor, her teeth chattering and her eyes darting around feverishly. Death placed a cool hand against her forehead, frowning when he felt how burning hot her skin was. Yet, she shivered like she was cold. He scooped her up, carefully placing her back on the bed.

"I'll be back." He disappeared into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth.

He went to the kitchen and dipped the cloth in the bucket of water he had near the hearth. He wrung the excess water out, grabbed a glass of water, and returned to the bedroom. Ophelia was where he had left her, face tilted toward him. He lovingly placed the frore cloth on her forehead. He slipped his arm behind her neck and slowly lifted her head up, holding the glass to her lips.

"Drink slowly." He cautioned, tilting the glass.

She drank weakly, coughing once. "B-B-Bea..."

His heart gave a pang. "I feared it would affect you this way...I should have given you something before I left you."

She didn't say anything more, pushing the glass away. She whimpered, "I-I dreamed of her d-death...and mine..."

He pushed her hair out of her face. "I won't let anything happen to you, Ophelia. I promise you."

She clutched at his arm. "S-stay; I-I'm frightened..."

Death nodded and allowed her to pull him into the bed. Her febrile skin was uncomfortable against his own, but he ignored his own discomfort. He hugged her close to his body, pulling the covers over both of them. Ophelia's warm breath brushed his neck as she sighed deeply. Her body began to grow languid and once more she was asleep. He remained awake, watching her face. Her brow was furrowed with worry and the muscles in her face would occasionally twitch, a breathless cry escaping her lips.

It was a long night and for the first time in years, Death wished he could sleep. If only to escape the apprehension he felt as he watched her suffer.