They hadn't sent Antonio to a church for a trial. They had sent him to a prison after he had been turned in. This was no longer about "saving souls" and religious intolerance. He had gone against the entire country. This was treason. There was no trial, no need to determine if he was guilty. It had long since been determined. But there was questioning once, one where they asked him about Lovino and Roma.

One with beatings, too. But he stuck to his story, false tears rolling off of his chin, pretend shudders making his body shake. They believed it all eventually. That they had been killed and thrown into a river and that he had felt as if he had nothing to lose, so he returned for the last of his things. Ludwig had captured him and brought him here. One question struck him.

"Why should we believe someone who lies for a living?"

To that, he spat on the mans cheek, earning a harsh beating, but evading the question effectively.

He wasn't sure how long he had been inside the prison. No more than a month, he thought. The prison was mostly a blur. He never left his cell, which was no bigger than a closet. It smelled rank in the cell like stale piss and rotting flesh. There was probably a dead rat hidden somewhere in the hay scattered along the floor. There was a small window above his head. He couldn't reach it, and it wouldn't matter if he could. It looked as if it had been just covered by bars at one time, but now it was boarded up with thick slabs of wood.

On one particularly cold day, a guard came to Antonio's cell. This was a guard slightly shorter than Antonio with a long, black beard and greasy hair. His teeth were nearly as black as his beard. He pushed the cell open and looked down at Antonio with a stupid smirk on his face before grabbing him by the hair and yanking him up. Antonio didn't meet his gaze. He wouldn't give him that.

"I know exactly why you saved that boy, Carriedo. It's because you've developed feelings for him. I should have known. Disgusting." He pushed Antonio back down but kept a firm grip on his hair. "Theres a special place in hell for people like you. As if it wasn't bad enough that you betrayed your country." The man pulled out a dagger and before Antonio could register what was happening, he heard a soft slicing noise and felt the pressure on his head diminish.

"Much better, Carriedo."

Antonio's eyes widened and he reached up to touch his hair. It was short. Almost as short as Lovino's, it felt. His eye twitched as he looked at the pile of hair behind him. It could have gone worse than this, though, and he was thankful that it had only been his hair. The guard gave him a swift kick in the stomach before sautering off. It seemed that each blow was more and more painful every day, though he didn't show the pain he felt.

He was losing muscle and he knew it. He wasn't eating or drinking nearly enough. He looked down at his body in contempt. He was thankful that Lovino wasn't here to see him like this. He looked like shit. He could feel a beard starting, even, and a mustache. Looks were something that he had clung to before, but that had to be forgotten in prison. He looked worse than the poorest beggars on the street.

But still, a glimmer of hope shone for him in the reminder that Lovino was still alive.

.

Lovino tightened his grip on the handle, his damp hand shaking uncontrollably as he threw his head back and shut his eyes. His expression twisted into one of pain and desperation. His jaw tightened but he was careful to relax the rest of his body. A weak sob escaped his grit teeth as he muttered prayers under his breath. He raised his arm and aimed for his stomach. Just one puncture and-

"Lovi, che diavolo stai facendo?!" Grandpa Roma grabbed the knife out of Lovino's hand and threw it onto the floor. "Don't let me EVER catch you doing that again. Do you want to go to hell?! Do you want to leave me alone here? What about Italy? Think of Italy! Think of Feli. Think of Antonio! This wouldn't be what he wanted. We're going to leave tomorrow for Barcelona and once we get that money we're going to start anew."

Lovino dropped to his knees and sobbed. "You don't fucking understand! I just w-want to fucking DIE! Why won't you let me d-die? Italy doesn't matter if Antonio isn't there with me. I could stay for you and Feli but you don't f-fucking need me! Let me go, goddammit! I want to be with Antonio! You don't get it, do you? YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE!"

Smack!

Lovino stifled a groan and rubbed his cheek before looking up at his grandfather's fiery eyes. "I don't know what it's like? How do you think I felt when she died? We were married for 22 years! She was my life. My everything. I couldn't remember ever being without her. YOU don't understand, Lovino! You don't understand what it's like to have to watch the person you love die! You don't understand what it's like to lose your only child!" Roma's cheeks were wet with tears by the time he finished talking.

Lovino's face was twisted into an ugly, red expression now. "But I know what it's like to lose my mother and my father! I'm s-sorry, okay?" He wiped his nose on his sleeve and turned away from Roma, who was already calming down.

"Let's not talk about it anymore. You aren't killing yourself, figlio. You aren't a coward because I didn't raise a coward."

"Please . . . just go. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just leave me alone."

"Lov-"

"Pl-Please. Go."

"Listen-"

"Just GO!"

.

The air was freezing. It was worse than it had ever been. Antonio's eyes shifted to a ray of light pouring in from somewhere above him. He glanced at the window. One of the pieces of wood had been removed somehow. Perhaps it had fallen or been accidentally kicked off. For whatever reason, one of them was gone, and leaves, trash, and dirt had blown into his cell. The window, he noted, was at ground level. So he was in a dungeon of sorts. So if he could climb out the window, he'd be climbing onto the grass.

That wasn't possible, though, with the bars still on the window. He looked down at the leaves and crumpled pieces of trash in the cell. He picked up the first piece of paper. It looked like some sort of ad for a new horse, but the paper was muddy and worn. The next paper wasn't crumpled, but folded. He opened it up to see three pictures of strangely drawn men. Wanted . . .

It was them. It was Roma, who looked nothing like the real Roma, Antonio, who looked so much different from the Antonio he was now, and Lovino, who looked slightly like himself. He looked a little too young to be Lovino, but besides that, his looked the best. Antonio tore the Lovino part off and examined it. It was enough to make him feel a little better. He brushed his fingertips over the fading ink before hiding the paper beneath the silver bucket in the corner of the cell. Someone was coming.

"You there, what have you got? And don't play stupid, I saw you put something under that bucket," A cool voice said. Antonio glared at the guard walking to his cell. He was different than the usual one. This was either a good thing or a bad thing. Hopefully good.

"You piece of shit, show me what you've got there, I said!"

So it was a bad thing.

The real question was why was the window open, but this guard probably thought it was always open. He seemed to be fairly new and fairly stupid.

He opened the cell door and kicked Antonio's side once, twice, then once in his stomach before pulling the paper out from under the bucket. He examined it with disdain before crumpling it "I didn't want to believe the rumors, but they're true, aren't they? You had a thing with a Jew. And he's a kid. And he's a he. I think we'll move you up a month, hm? You were set to die in two months, but I'm thinking a month is the longest you deserve."

Antonio really didn't care what the guard was saying. He was more focused on the fact that the guard still held the picture of Lovino. The guard must have noticed because he said, "Tell you what. You can keep this picture in exchange for one thing." The guard took out a small but sharp looking knife. Antonio's nostrils flared as the knife was held against his left cheek. It felt almost as cold and unforgiving as the cell. Almost.

He opened his mouth as if to ask what the man wanted in exchange for the crumpled picture, but words wouldn't come. He hadn't spoken in a week and his voice only cracked. He looked to his left just in time to see the hand with the knife rear back.

A hand wrapped around his neck and burning pain consumed both of his eyes as the knife sliced the left one and nearly punctured the right. He screamed in pain and covered his eyes with his fingers. The door to the cell slammed and the guard was gone.

"Shit," Antonio half whispered, half cried. "Fucking shi- ngh!" He touched his left eye and pulled away his shaking hand. Out of his right eye he could see blood coating his fingers. Bloody tears soaked his lap. He touched his right eye next. He could feel a cut from the corner of his right eyebrow to where his eyelashes began. Good. His right eye was fine. He ripped off a piece of his already ripped shirt and held it to his eye, trying hard to ignore the burn of his blood. He tried to look out of the eye, but all he saw was bright, throbbing red. But there was something on his floor that he spotted.

The picture. The picture was on the floor. And he could still see it. Not as clearly, perhaps, but it was there. He uncrumpled it and traced the ink once more. One drop of blood fell onto the drawing, landing awkwardly on the cheek of the drawing. It almost looked like a weird kind of blush, Antonio noted.

Then he thought about what the guard had said.

A month. He had a month. He was going to . . . to die in a month.

He felt an unwavering sense of despair at the thought of death. He wasn't like Lovino who seemed to so easily accept his inevitable death. He knew he would die when he came here, but it never truly sank in. It was a thought and nothing more, but now, with the darkness closing in on him, he realized that everything he had ever known would come to an end.

And Heaven was no gurantee. He had done certain awful things as an Inquistor's aide. It didn't sink in until now that they wouldn't be forgiven. So what would be waiting for him? Hell? Limbo? He didn't know, but he would pray until they dragged him out of his cell to kill him.

Wherever he would end up would be worth Lovino's life, though. He was sure of that.

To Be Continued . . .