Sometimes, my head is foggy. I stare at the wall for hours and hours when I'm supposed to be looking at budgets and signing documents. Sometimes, I dream of Zeref and black and everything I want but can't have yet.

Most of the time, I dream of Erza and red and everything I want and could have had, but lost when she walked away.

Sometimes, I wake and my eyes are dry.

That's not as bad as the days when I wake and they're wet.

Sometimes, my lungs ache and I'm lightheaded because I've forgotten to breathe. Sometimes, I feel so perfectly insane. Broken pieces. A shattered mirror. I don't know the man staring back a hundred times at me.

I thought once I saw her again the fits would get better. They've only gotten worse. Obsession is the thing I live and breathe.

There is something about her that feeds the addict in me. I want my skin under her nails. I want to fist my hands in her hair.

I want her lipstick smeared across her face and my lips.

I want her sick and bleeding and keening.

I want to lie with her bones forever.

I can't stop.

I can't

I can't stop. Erza...

Erza, please. I can't.

Erza sat in front of her tall, silver mirror and watched Mirajane work. She kept waiting for the takeover mage to grill her—she was being unusually quiet, given the circumstances—but Mira just hummed out a gentle tune and threaded her hair into elaborate plaits. Erza wrung her hands and dug her nails into her nailbeds to keep herself centered.

Mira noticed and asked, "Are you nervous?"

Erza lifted her gaze. "Nervous?"

"I'm sure Master didn't actually mean to put so much pressure on you. He just knows what a wonderful mage you are and he knows you can make the guild look good."

Erza stared at her childhood rival. Mira had changed so much since Lisanna died. Instead of pointing out her phony personality and earning herself a one-way ticket to regret, she went with Mira's supposition and said, "I suppose. It's only natural that he'd be excited to showcase Fairy Tail." Some days, it really felt like they could use the positive publicity, what with Natsu and Gray always wrecking stuff, and then that fiasco with the Strauss's. She didn't say any of that stuff. The wound was still so fresh, even after years.

Mira put the finishing touches on her hair. Erza looked at the girl in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Her hair was elaborately braided, her bangs still loose, and her lashes were dark with mascara. She didn't want any of it, not really, but Mira came by her apartment around four and hadn't left until Erza agreed to let her help.

And then… this concoction happened.

She supposed she looked beautiful. It was just strange to think of herself like that. She wished she had her armour; it was more comfortable. She'd been wearing it until thirty minutes ago when Mira insisted that she remove it. The woman had lost her power, but she was still a force to be reckoned with when she wanted something done a certain way.

"It's five thirty," Mira said. "Siegrain said he'd be by around six, right?"

"He said he'd send a carriage, yes," Erza agreed. It was regret as soon as the words came out; Mira's eyes lit up and Erza knew she saw her opportunity to gossip and speculate. Another annoying trait that'd developed since Lisanna's death.

Mira caught up a lock of silver hair and said dreamily, "That's glamorous, isn't it?"

Glamorous? The want to pull her insides out just to make her stomach stop churning? The urge to hyperventilate whenever she thought about what she was doing? What the fuck happened to you? It felt like as soon as she saw Siegrain Fernandez, all of her rationality dried up and died. She wanted to scratch her arms until they bled just to know what was real, because when she looked at that man, everything dissolved. Remember. He's not Jellal. And after tonight, she'd never, ever have to see him again.

Just knowing he existed was like a stab to the chest.

In the silence, Mira pouted out her lip. "Well… maybe you should get dressed."

Erza jolted; she'd forgotten Mira was there at all. Dressed. Right. The carriage would be there soon. Standing, she magicked away all of her clothes save for her underthings and went to her closet and the bag housing her elaborate—and elaborately expensive—dress.

Mira watched her shamelessly while she pulled out the black fabric and studied it. She only spoke when Erza made to pull it over her head.

"Aren't you going to match?"

"Match?" Erza repeated.

Mira raised a snowy brow. "Your bra, Erza."

Erza looked down at the article in question. It was strapless and dark blue with tiny white roses on it. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, really, the bra's fine. It's the panties." Mira smirked, a hint of her old, malicious self leaking through.

Erza fought the urge to cover up the red boxer-style briefs. "There's nothing wrong with them."

Mira snorted. "Do you have a matching set, or what?"

"They're fine," Erza insisted.

Mira shook her head. "What if things get steamy and you end up at his place? He'll take off your dress, see that and—"

Erza's ears burned. "That's not happening." Not with Siegrain. Nope.

Mira crossed her arms. "I saw the way he was looking at you, Erza. That man wants to see if you match."

Erza's ears burned even more. "Get out, Mira."

"Hey, I'm just trying to be helpful."

"You've done more than enough." She wanted to summon a sword and push the paltry demon-in-hiding out of her room. She did not.

Mira turned her mouth down to the side. "Fine. Whatever, suit yourself. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

"And I'm warning you," Erza growled. "Get out."

This time, Mira obeyed.

After the door slammed closed, Erza just stood there and considered hunting her down again and yelling some more. Screaming at Mira isn't going to make you less frustrated with yourself, or your situation. But it would sure make her feel better. Turning, she looked into the mirror once more. She didn't think the underwear looked stupid before, but now with Mira's input, she felt uncoordinated and disorganized. It doesn't matter. No one's going to see it. But she would know that it was there. With a frustrated grunt, she went back to her underwear drawer and rooted through hopelessly. There was nothing. No matching anything. It doesn't matter. It didn't. No one was going to know but her. But that wasn't enough. Heaving a great sigh, she pulled her panties off and told herself that the dress would look better without a panty line anyway.

Maybe I'll get a matching pair tomorrow.

Nice ones. Just in case the situation ever came up.

Her cheeks burned hot. She pushed the thought from her head and turned back to her dress. When it hung on the closet door, it dropped almost all the way down to the floor. The material was lightweight and soft. Paper thin, and blacker than a midnight sky. Gently, she took it off its hook, undid the buttons on the back, then stepped into it. It felt like cool water sliding up her skin. With careful fingers, she looped the halter around her neck, then struggled with the buttons on the back. Suddenly, she wished she hadn't kicked Mira out, but the hell if she was calling her back for help. Working blindly, she fastened up the four large buttons, then looked at herself in the mirror.

This Erza was even stranger to see. Large, dark eyes, pale skin, long, thin neck exposed, delicate shoulders and spilling breasts.

You look like you could be a happy girl. A girl without scars. A girl that lived going forward, not a girl that wandered around with the twin of the man from her past. She almost tore out her braids and ripped off her dress, frustrated with the ruse and herself, but instead, she reached into her thin makeup case and pulled out a tube of scarlet red lipstick. It was almost unused. It tasted chalky and immediately made her lips dry. To counteract the effect, she picked up a tube of lip gloss Cana gave to her one birthday. This one definitely never had the seal broken. Snapping the plastic, she opened the cherry-smelling vial, then smeared some over her lips. Instantaneously, they looked plump and as bright as apples.

The final piece of the puzzle lay in her thread-bare jewelry box.

Gingerly, she extracted her most expensive pieces of jewelry—red garnet earrings and a matching necklace, and adorned them. The gemstones were bright against her pale skin, and beside the dress, they were almost blinding, three suns gleaming from her skin. She tried to suck on her lip before she remembered the lipstick and stopped.

Checking the clock, she saw it was ten to six. Swallowing a nervous squeak, she went to her closet, grabbed out a pair of black, strappy heels, and slipped them on. They were obnoxious to walk in. Already her feet hurt and she'd barely started her evening. Grumbling, she went for her coat next and shrugged into it, then braved Fairy Hill's hallways. Thankfully, none of the girls were lingering to ask her awkward questions.

No. That wasn't until she stepped out and saw Loke loitering outside the building. He glanced over her, then did a double-take. "Erza? I hardly recognized you without your armour."

She clutched her long coat tighter around her body and wished that it hid more. "What are you doing here, Loke?" He looked pale as usual, skin shining in the late day light.

"Mira said you had a big date, thought I'd stop by and check for myself."

"Really?" She didn't believe him.

Loke smiled savagely. "Maybe. I'm hurt. Last time I asked you out, you said you weren't in the dating game."

"I'm still not," Erza said shortly. Over the hill, she could see a carriage approaching. It was silver and gold, pulled by two giant Clydesdales blacker than night.

"Sure." Loke followed her gaze. "Is that for you?"

Erza rubbed suddenly sweaty palms on her coat. "Maybe."

He whistled. "Swanky. Who is it?"

"Siegrain Fernandez." Saying his name was like tearing off a strip of her skin. Especially when in her minds eye, she only saw Jellal's face. The horses were close enough now that she could hear the clip-clop of their hooves over the bare cobblestone.

"The wizard saint?" Loke asked. "Man." He scrubbed his hand through his hair. "How do you expect a guy to compete with that?"

Erza turned and skewered him with a dark look, agitated with herself, Mira, and now Loke. "Even if that were the kind of evening I was having—which it's not—you're a man whore, Loke, looking for a girl to spend the night with and that's all. I wouldn't lower myself." Not for you. She shook the thought from her head. Not for anyone.

Loke looked like she'd slapped him. "Hey—"

But he didn't get to finish because the carriage was there, grinding to a halt. The driver was an old, thin man with an off-white beard and crow's feet around his blue eyes. On his head was a tall, black hat and around his shoulders was a warm looking driving coat. He got down and revealed himself to be short, just a little taller than Master.

"Miss Scarlet." He bowed shallowly, then went to the silver door and worked it open. "After you."

Erza shot one more nervous look to Loke and ludicrously considered his offer, only because going out on a date with him would be much less harrowing. It's not a date, she reminded herself. "Goodbye, Loke."

He nodded his head and watched her get into the carriage.

Inside, the place smelled like fabric stiffener and faintly of cigarette smoke. The seats were red velvet, and empty. With some effort, she ignored the pang of disappointment. He said he'd send a carriage, not that he'd pick you up. What do you expect? He's busy. Besides, it's not a date.

Right.

The door closed, then, a second later, the carriage was moving again.

Jellal waited impatiently outside of the Fiore council building for the carriage to arrive. He'd thought about going with the driver, but after the shawl fiasco, he didn't want to seem too eager. There wasn't any need to scare her off.

The cold winter wind bit into his suit jacket. He didn't care. He crossed his arms and ignored Ultear lurking in the shadows at his back. She'd been testy for the last two days, annoyed with him, perhaps for pushing her back. He didn't care about that either; Erza was in his head and she wouldn't get out.

You could carve her out.

There was a little place just for her. He'd start by spilling her blood, then—

The air filled with the clatter of hooves over dry cobblestones. His tongue suddenly felt swollen. That's her. He knew with certainty. Absentmindedly, he smoothed his hand through his slicked back hair and fixed his suit jacket. He still felt unkempt.

There was no time to worry about that stuff though, because the carriage was pulling up in front of him. Their smell of horses hit him, musky and sweaty. The driver scurried out of the seat and hurried to grab the door's gilded handle. When he pulled the barrier aside, Jellal felt like he was tugging back the edges of a particularly exciting present. He couldn't wait for the moment he saw her. It was going to be like taking a lighter to his skin. It was going to be like breathing fresh air after near-suffocation. It was going to be like—

Sunrise after the darkest night.

He saw her hair first, as always, vibrant and fetching. Spider silk, fine and gleaming. Then her pale skin and her dark eyes. She stood and crouched to climb from the carriage. At the last moment, Jellal remembered what he was supposed to do and stepped forward so he could take her hand. Erza hesitated. She doesn't want to touch you. Yet she did, and when her fingers closed around his, her grip was a little too tight to mask the way her hand shook. He couldn't see her dress, it was covered by her coat, but her feet peeped out of strappy high heels. Her toes were painted black. He looked up and saw her fingernails were the same. And higher. Her lips were the darkest red he'd ever seen. Forget red and ivory. She was a blood and midnight girl. Black and red. Black and red.

Black

And

Red.

He squeezed her fingers and almost tugged her in close so he could see what ruby tasted like.

Temptation.

Sin.

Redemption.

"Erza." Just saying her name was a kind of sweet torture. He wanted to take a knife and carve out his heart so he could give it to her. He wanted to use his own hands to harvest hers.

Erza shivered. "Siegrain."

He almost told her Jellal—he thought he'd give anything to hear her use his real name, but he refrained. But… There had to be some satisfaction. "You're beautiful."

Her skin flushed. She dropped his gaze and pulled her hand away.

When she didn't reply, Jellal smiled and touched a hand to her warm back. "Shall we?" He so badly wanted to see her in her dress.