Kristoph spun around, eyes locking onto the man standing in the doorframe. Although Konstantin's voice held a hint of humor in it, there was also an undulating coldness. The man's brown hair was pulled together in a loose braid, and his arms were crossed. The fact that he was smiling did nothing to ease Kristoph's rapidly growing anxiety.

I'm fucked.

"I…" Kristoph tried to search for a convincing excuse but could come up with none, not that it would have made a difference. "I was always curious about this room. I just wanted to see for myself what was so interesting about it. I'm sorry, Father."

"I see. And tell me, did the room coincide with your expectations?"

"I was only in here for a few minutes, so I'm not really sure," Kristoph lied. Konstantin's eyes slowly made their way around the room, soaking in every little detail and minor change. "I just looked at the painting. That's all."

"And what did you think of it?"

The question surprised Kristoph, as did his father's neutral tone. He didn't want to tell his true opinion (it looks like crap) so instead said, "It was…distinctive. I never saw anything quite like it."

"Yes, my paintings are quite brilliant, aren't they?" He smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "It's a shame such beauty must be limited to this room, but I am a patient man. One day, my work will be displayed to the outside world."

Konstantin tilted his head and looked at Kristoph as if he were a butterfly pinned to a board. "Now, we must decide how to deal with this belligerent attitude of yours." Konstantin put a finger to his lip in deep thought, and Kristoph felt his stomach churn. "I believe I know just the way to quench any rebellious thoughts that may have entered your mind. Come along."

Konstantin reached out and grabbed Kristoph's arm, leading him out of the room and into the hallway. His grasp was strong and constricting, and the bruises from a couple days ago caused the pain to flare up again. Kristoph tried to catch a glimpse of Konstantin's expression, but the light reflecting off his father's glasses prevented him from getting a good look.

"Now, I realize you're fifteen. It's not uncommon for seditious thoughts to leak into the heads of even the most upright of individuals at this age, " began Konstantin, still gripping onto his son. They began to descend the stairs. "But it's important to recognize sinful thoughts and deal with them immediately when they emerge. In childhood, we often view ourselves as invulnerable." He chuckled wryly. "While you might believe life to be full of ample opportunities to correct your wrongs, the harsh reality is that you will find no such comforts as you age. Errors you make will stay with you for a long time. That's life,unfortunately."

Lower and lower they went, and every step made Kristoph feel like he was being pushed closer and closer to the edge of a cliffl. Kristoph felt Konstantin's harsh grasp tighten, and bit his lip. "Adam and Eve betrayed the trust of the Lord, and they suffered the consequences for such actions. Just as He did, I too expect cooperation."

Despite his fear, Kristoph had to try hard not to roll his eyes. Comparing himself to God had to be blasphemous, surely?

They were now at the lowest floor in the Manor, and Kristoph felt his insides twisting in panic as he knew where they were going. He resisted the instinctive urge to try to pull away, knowing that would make things worse.

At the end of the gray hallway, Kristoph could see it: the black door to the South Room. Unlike the North Room, this was one Kristoph was more intimately familiar with. He felt an overpowering wave of hate and resignation.

Konstantin dragged him closer to the door and yanked the gold knob. Entering the South Room felt like crossing the gate into Hell; abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

The room was tiny, with black walls, a black floor, and no windows. There were no air vents or connection to the outside world beyond the door used to enter, enhancing the tight, suffocating atmosphere. Various paintings of religious figures decorated the walls, though the scenes depicted were far less gentle than the ones in the North Room.

A small brown desk with a Bible on top was located next to a small fireplace, and a large bookcase was in the corner. A closed cabinet was on the other side. Konstantin motioned for Kristoph to sit in the wooden chair by the desk. He did, and for a moment Konstantin stood silent, the smile never leaving his face. "Tell me. Are you aware of the reason why Hell exists in the first place?"

"It was created by God as a place to send the rebel angels who fought against him," Kristoph recited stiffly. He abhorred this room. The figures on the walls seemed to be looking at him with disdainful, condescending eyes. The heat emitting from the fireplace and lack of windows felt as if he was being smothered by a blanket.

"You're correct. And why did He give those treacherous angels eternal damnation?"

"The angels challenged God's authority."

"Exactly. Their own pride was their undoing, you may say. Are you familiar with the name of the leader of the insurgents?"

Is this a trick question? "Lucifer…?"

"Well, you certainly are full of surprises!" Konstantin's smile grew even wider. Kristoph knew his father's surprise was for show. "That is correct. Can you tell me the other alias of Lucifer?"

"…Satan. The Devil."

"Indeed he is. God's authority is incontestable, you see. His rules must be adhered to, as do mine as long as I remain on this earth." Konstantin's hand fell lightly on Kristoph's shoulder in a gesture that might have been perceived as fatherly if Kristoph didn't know better. "Everything in God's kingdom has been crafted with utmost perfection and attentiveness. That is why His kingdom has no place for sinners and blasphemers. They needed to be locked away, isolated from the righteous ones who deserve the breath of life they were given."

Konstantin's grip suddenly tightened. Kristoph winced, but tried to not let his discomfort show. When he glanced upward, he saw tears in his father's eyes, which caused panic to surge into his heart faster than anything else during the past few hours. "It pains me to admit this, but His kingdom has no place for you, my son. Your birth was shrouded in sin, and as you grew older, I hoped you'd be able to break free from that fate. Unfortunately, I was mistaken." Konstantin's tone developed a steel edge as the tears vanished in an instant. "It's festering in you like a weed. Do you think sacrifice is sometimes required for the sake of the greater good?"

Kristoph was startled by the sudden question. "Y-yes."

"So do I," Konstantin agreed. There was a thick and heavy silence for a few seconds, before he continued, voice softer yet still authoritative. "The unfortunate truth is, you're not needed. Perhaps it sounds cruel, but it's simple honesty. If you have any regard for the greater good, you'd understand why it's better to remain alone than to drag down others with your impurity."

'A-are you going to"—Kristoph swallowed; his throat was dry and he didn't want to verbalize the thoughts that had been plaguing him since his visit to the North Room—"k-kill me? Because you think I was born evil?"

Konstantin tilted his head again, and Kristoph couldn't make out his expression from the glint of the glasses. "I'm not going to do anything."

That made Kristoph relax slightly, but only slightly. But that slight edge was enough for him to gain the courage or recklessness to say, "What you think about my…birth isn't true."

I'm feeling especially suicidal today, it seems.

He dared to glance up to look at his father, who had that artificial smile plastered on his face. Almost immediately, Kristoph turned his head downward, heart skipping a eat. What frightened Kristoph the most about his father was not the authoritative posture, mock smile, or even the cold words, but the eyes. Eyes that, behind the amusement and disdain, reflected an almost-animalistic madness in them.

This man is insane.

"Oh? I admit I'm curious as to your reasoning. So why, exactly, do you believe my words to be false? Do you have any proof to claim otherwise?"

Kristoph looked downcast, refusing to meet with his father's delusional eyes any longer. "I do have proof."

"…hmm?"

"I have enough proof to contradict your claim." Although Kristoph was very tense, he couldn't ignore the pride welling up inside of him. Finally, after all these years, he had a chance to prove his father, who had made his life miserable, wrong.

"Well, then!" Konstantin's smile grew wider. "Don't hold back on my account. Show me this decisive evidence that you claim is in your possession."

Kristoph took a deep breath. A part of him knew he was presenting evidence to a lost cause, but the other half of his brain, the side that was desperately yearning for self-aggrandizement, emerged victorious.

"Nothing I, or anyone else, can say will change your mind. The only proof you'll accept is a word higher than your own." Kristoph motioned to the large Bible sitting on the desk. "In the Bible, Deuteronomy 24, I believe, it states that children should not be blamed for sins their parents have committed. Even though you say my birth was shrouded in sin, I was not the one doing the sinning. Therefore, I should not be condemned for an action I had no say in."

Kristoph looked at his father with eyes full of resolve. Konstantin merely tilted his head, smile never wavering.

"How odd. I can't recall such a passage ever being mentioned."

Liar. You basically memorized the entire book. Now just because something in it doesn't agree with your viewpoint, you decide to ignore it?

"Perhaps you just…forgot. If you want to check its authenticity, then you can look in there." Kristoph motioned to the Bible again. He felt a surge of pride as Konstantin sat in silence for a moment, a finger stroking his chin.

"I don't believe that will be necessary." Konstantin kept smiling, eyes fixated on Kristoph. After his initial mental victory, Kristoph's satisfaction began to dissolve into anxiousness. Why was his father staring at him like that?

"Your knowledge of scripture is…surprising, I admit," Konstantin finally conceded, looking at his son as one would look at a rare creature instead of a human being. "However, I find you to be lacking decisive evidence."

"…How? You're the one who says I'm evil because of the circumstances surrounding my conception. I just showed you proof that contradicts your belief. How is that not decisive?"

Konstantin threw his head back and gave a brisk laugh which echoed throughout the small, dark room. "What you told me was a passage about children. However, what you failed to address was yourself. You're not a child, not really. You're…something else. Something dark. A devil in child's clothing."

"But that's ridiculous! You can't possibly believe-"

Kristoph stopped short. Madness danced in Konstantin's eyes, as if relaying a silent message: "Possibly believe what, Kristoph?"

There's no use arguing with him, Kristoph numbly noted as he watched his father drum his fingers on the desk. The man was arrogant, spiteful, and most of all, dangerous. The last thing he needed was to give Konstantin reason to open the cabinet and inflict whatever pain he saw fit. No, it was better to just go along with whatever insanity his father had in mind.

"If we're finished, I'll be taking my leave. To atone for your lapse of judgment, I want you to copy a passage from Isaiah 14. 'Hell from beneath is moved for thee to meet thee at thy coming…How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer…thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit.' I believe it to be quite fitting, given the situation."

"How many times?" asked Kristoph, surprised. That was it? Could he really be that lucky?

"Enough for it to finally sink in. Or, when you're unable to write anymore," Konstantin's smile twitched. He reached over to the bookshelf and delicately picked up a red notebook and pen before placing the items on the desk in front of Kristoph. He started to move towards the door before stopping suddenly. He leaned his head down towards Kristoph and dropped his voice to a low, commanding whisper.

"During your little tirade, I noticed you did not address my other point. The one about you not being needed, of course. Naturally, I do not hold this against you, I just merely feel the need to point that out." Konstantin reached out and gently put a few of Kristoph's loose strands of hair behind the boy's ear. "And although you may have some misgivings concerning who really is in charge of this household, I can assure you that the person in charge is indeed myself."

Konstantin stood up and slowly walked towards the door, before turning to glance back at Kristoph. Once again, Kristoph was alarmed to see tears in the man's eyes. "Goodbye, Kristoph. I wish things could have been different."

Kristoph heard the door behind him slam shut, along with the jingling noise of a key being turned to lock the door. Kristoph gave a loud sigh as he rested his chin on his hand. Although he felt relieved that his punishment merely consisted of copying lines, and that he was finally away from his father and his erratic mood swings, Kristoph couldn't quench the feeling of apprehension that was building up inside of him. Konstantin's voice and words echoed through Kristoph's head:

"The unfortunate truth is, you're not needed."

He swallowed and began to methodically copy the Bible passage. It couldn't be true, could it?

It can't be; Father was only saying that to rile me. I mean, there's no denying Father isn't exactly fond of me, but there are other people who rely on me, I'm sure. I don't think Mother wants me dead…at least, I certainly hope not. I'm sure Sophia cares somewhat for me… or maybe not. I did act nastily towards her today, after all. And yes, she's always been so kind, but does she truly need me? I doubt it…but Klavier…yes, Klavier definitely needs me. He always asks for my help, after all. Father was just trying to toy with my mind again. I have Klavier, my brother. After I finish these stupid lines I'll go back to him. He needs me, after all.

With newfound drive and enthusiasm, Kristoph went back to writing with a more positive attitude. Trying to ignore the haunting figures on the walls and the heat from the fireplace, Kristoph finished the passage and repeated it again. And again. And again.

As the seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes turned to hours, Kristoph's attention began to wane. The stifling air combined with the intense heat was giving Kristoph a painful headache. He looked around the room for a clock, but only saw the painted angels and saints wearing solemn expressions. For some reason, Kristoph grew irritated at the paintings as he continued to scribble the passage down on the piece of paper.

It's almost as if they're staring at me.

One painting in particular caught his eye: 'The Sacrifice of Isaac.' It depicted Abraham holding down a fearful Isaac, knife at the throat, while an angel calls out to them from the sidelines. For reasons he didn't understand, the image gave him goosebumps.

After what seemed like another hour passed, he buried his head in his hands. He was tired, and the pounding in his head didn't help either. Kristoph felt a dull, throbbing sensation in his right hand and moved it up to the firelight so he could see it better. His whole hand was red and raw, with faint traces of blood at his fingertips. He blinked, not comprehending what was going on. After a few seconds it dawned on him that he wasn't able to notice the pain in his hand from writing because he was too distracted by his headache as well as his determination to write the passage.

Kristoph gave a small sigh of frustration as he cradled his damaged hand. Without a clock or windows, it was impossible to know how much time had elapsed. His stomach was grumbling and he had started to feel pains from hunger and thirst. How long had he been down there for? Two hours? Four hours? Eight hours? Eight hours spent writing that stupid passage over and over, with no one coming to check on him? Is that what was happening?

As much as it bothered Kristoph to admit, he wanted his father back. He needed his father to come back and let him out. Taking a breath, he picked up his pen and continued to write.

He wasn't sure how long he kept at it, but at a certain point, his eyes drifted around the room, once again hoping to spot a clock that magically hid from view over the past several hours. His search was (predictably) to no avail, but Kristoph's eyes landed on something else. A painting that Kristoph didn't remember from the last time he was here.

Across from the desk was a large painting of what Kristoph assumed was supposed to be God. He was pointing angrily at a figure who was absent from the picture frame, making it appear as if God was pointing at the viewer. The small plaque under the painting read, in small letters, "The Banishment of the Immoral."

The banishment of whom? Adam? Eve? Maybe…Lucifer? It doesn't matter. Either way, I'm stuck here until Father decides to come up again, whenever that may be. Was he trying to prove something to me by having that painting here? Was he attempting to liken this punishment to Lucifer's? That's ridiculous. Lucifer supposedly was banished to Hell for eternity, while I'm only here for….

Kristoph's pen stopped moving.

…Forever. He doesn't plan on letting me out. This is my Hell, and he doesn't plan on letting me ever leave it.

All of a sudden, Kristoph felt extremely lightheaded, and he placed the pen down on the desk.

Part of him was whispering that this had to be his paranoia talking, and that Konstantin would be back soon. The other part of him hissed that now was definitely the time to panic and reminded him about the letters in the North Room.

Trying to ignore the searing pain in his head and hand, he walked over to the door and gave it a few desperate bangs. Silence. Panic welled up in Kristoph's chest as he fruitlessly pulled the doorknob. He didn't want to die; not here, not now! Not when Klavier was out there, all alone, innocent, and unassuming.

Klavier…

A sudden wave of horror and nausea overwhelmed him. Klavier. He thought of how his little brother would wonder if Kristoph would ever come back, wondering if Kristoph chose to abandon him. The poor child, who might not even live to see the age of eight.

Father's trying to kill me, I have no doubt in my mind of that. But what about Klavier? In one of those hideous letters, he said something about dealing with him…does he mean like this? Giving his son a slow, painful death? He's insane. Completely and totally insane. I need to get out; I need to help Klavier! My Klavier!

Kristoph gave the door a few more bangs before realizing how ineffective it was. He was on the lowest floor of the manor in a room forbidden to anyone besides Konstantin and the patriarch's unfortunate victim; of course no one was going to hear him.

Kristoph moved over towards the cabinet. His fingers trembled on the handle, instinctively dreading the tools inside, but self-preservation eclipsed his fear. He pulled the handle to find…

cabinet was cleared out.

Kristoph gave a strangled cry of frustration and slammed the cabinet door shut. His plan of using one of the tools to break down the door or force open the lock dissipated in an instant.

If possible, the room seemed to become ever hotter as Kristoph leaned his back against the wall and clutched his arms. The various saints and angels depicted on the walls became distorted, looking far more satanic than holy. He shut his eyes, thinking of all the people important in his life.

His mother, Katharina. The woman who he adored, even though she rarely gave him a passing glance.

Sophia. The only person who genuinely cared about both him and his brother growing up.

His father. The man who he despised, yet reluctantly respected, even now.

And his little brother, Klavier. The rambunctious little child who always wore a grin and needed Kristoph more than anything.

Klavier needs me. I can't die yet. I can't I ca-

The room finally overtook him. The boy's eyes shut slowly, and the world as he knew it turned black.