A lone shadow flitted across the rooftop.

Pain battered her resolve from outside, and weariness from within. The joy of victory was snuffed out by the groaning of the manor beneath her feet, and a far-away scream of terror.

How many more would there be? Surely, she hadn't gone unnoticed. Would they finish off the humans at the gates first, or make a beeline straight for her? How long did she have? Minutes? Even if she reached the garden, what could she do? Introspection offered no answers.

As she crested a ridge, a familiar and far-off gap in the tile came into view. Ciel would be there, alongside the Ancestor and her sisters. Yet it was not the prospect of returning there that stopped the Executor in her tracks.

Three well-dressed men stood between Noel and the garden. Two tall and lean, in slim suits, and one hunched, shriveled figure in frayed finery.

"Your escapade ends here, Executor," said one vampire.

"The others play with their food," continued the other. "We do not."

""So says Father.""

Within the dull eyes of the Rozay-en patriarch, Noel glimpsed still-smoldering malice.

"How much do you know about Rozay-en?"

"She's the Fifteenth Dead Apostle Ancestor. Her Mystic Eyes can weave illusions, snatch souls, and project memories. And she's known to control certain plants."

"Textbook. If the textbook was a fuckin' pamphlet. I didn't ask you about Rita; I asked you about Rozay-en. What do you know about 'em?"

"Uh, well… they're her clan? And they're known to be related?"

"Executor, I should – never mind. You're lucky you've already got too much on your plate."

"Wouldn't c-call that lucky… sir."

"Ah, shut it. And listen. You're getting a history lesson." Bestino poured himself a glass of Classico from a dusty bottle, went to reseal it, paused, and offered a glass to his guest. Noel ignored the glass and took the bottle from his hands. He snorted. "It's true, huh. A death sentence really does make you braver. That's coming outta your pay when you get back."

He got a nervous nod in reply.

"Alright, so. Rozay-en. Old family, real old. Been troubling the Aquitaine since Caesar. Empires rose and fell and they didn't give a damn. Drought missed their vineyards. Peasants were butchered before they could rebel. Battle and politics never took a son or a daughter. See, the Rozay-en had a trick that other nobles didn't: their heirs were always born with powerful Mystic Eyes."

Noel paused mid-sip. "Ah, were they… a magus family?"

"Not at first. Theirs was a natural blessing, no assembly required. Until one heir learned thaumaturgy alongside horse riding and sword swinging. And that, well… you know how magi are. Bend the rules just a bit and you start thinking you can break them. That's what the man of the hour concluded. His name's struck from history now. He's only known as Lord Rozay-en."

She was vaguely familiar. A patriarch who'd turned his whole family into vampires, establishing a dynasty in the underworld. Perhaps the over-strong drink was helping her memory.

"See," Mario continued, "he could divine the future, just a bit. His eyes would warn him of dangers to his relatives. When he developed that talent with a little sorcery… we think his foresight showed him his family line cut short, whether by war or guillotine. He wouldn't've liked that very much. If there's one thing we know for sure about the guy, it's that family was everything to him. Guy absolutely loved his daughters."

"Love?" Noel found herself trembling, and not from the wine. "Vermin can't know love."

The blonde boy across from her gave a wry smile. "You're not wrong, Sister. There's no room for altruism in vampiric biology or society. Anything that looks like it is just an imitation. Of course, our guy didn't get that. One night, he and the entire Rozay-en clan rejected their humanity together."

"I knew that much," Noel muttered. She threw back her head and let the wine wash over her tongue.

"Tch." Mario scowled. "Death sentence's made you too brave. Here's the important part so listen the fuck up: The entire clan became high-ranking vampires overnight. If you'd paid any attention during training, you'd know that's not how it works. You can't just conjure up an army of bloodsuckers that strong out of nowhere. Takes time and luck and bodies to generate anything above Ghouls. Something else was at play. Either he had outside help – not impossible if we involve other Ancestors – or it's something to do with their family trait."

His fingers brushed over a list of twenty seven entries on the desk before him.

"Old records have our Lord as an Ancestor. Principle: Garden, or Family. But they omit a given name; it's just Rozay-en. About five hundred years ago it became Rita Rozay-en, and the Principle changed. For the uglier. Hers is… we don't know for sure, but it's listed as Flower, or Rose. See where this is going, Sister?"

For once, she did. A glimmer of understanding came over Noel. "Yes… it's pathetic."

"It's human to be pathetic," said Bestino. "However awful this guy was, his daughter's worse. We have the numbers to prove it."

"If – if you say so." The purpose of the lecture still escaped Noel, and she didn't feel like pressing the matter. Vampiric family dynamics were irrelevant to her mission, after all.

"Now!" Mario slammed his palms on the desk and suddenly stood, as if he'd come to the same conclusion. "That's all I have to say. Enough lectures. I don't wanna give you a pep talk so I won't. Go die in a ditch somewhere, you rotten hag."

"W-wha!?"

"And take these with you." A pair of thick-rimmed glasses slid across the desk. Noel recognized them immediately. How could she not? She'd stared at them up close many times. They brought to mind someone's long-gone smile.

"I don't – I don't want those!" she sputtered. "Not from you!"

"Too bad. It's an order." Mario grinned. "Now show some fuckin' gratitude. Mook like you wouldn't normally get hardware this good, but it turns out these Mystic Eye Slayers only work if you've got depth perception." With a snap of his fingers the glasses warped, turning inside-out until only a pair of contact lenses remained.

"But I… I don't even have Mystic Eyes."

"Oh, I know," said Mario. "But they do. Weren't you listening? The Rozay-en are famous for their Mystic Eyes. I shouldn't need to tell you about the fucking train full of 'em. So make yourself useful, will ya?" His smile faded. "Look those bastards in the eye, Executor. Show them your hatred's stronger than their hunger. Then you might just make it out of this alive."

Noel stared at the lenses. It felt all sorts of wrong to be taking from the dead. Or rather, it felt wrong to be taking from him. What would Ciel think?

"Why are you-."

"Hedging my bets," Mario said. He turned away. "That's all, Executor."

It was even more wrong, that she'd just considered her partner's feelings. Yet when recalling that doomed young man, Noel couldn't help but remember his affection as well. He'd given it to the most unforgivable woman on Earth, making her seem like just a girl. Then he'd taken it back, with two steel strokes.

"…yeah," Noel said. Her hand left the bottle and reached for the contacts. "Vampires and love just don't mix."

A curved blade sped towards her stomach. A pair of teeth closed around her throat.

Noel twisted away. The sword ran across the haft of her halberd. Fangs snapped shut around empty air. She fell back, skidding across tile as the vampiric twins stepped forward, preparing to follow-up in perfect sync with one another.

She'd pushed them back once, twice. A dull ache in her bloodied side and growing numbness down her left hand was the price she'd paid to do so. This time, her strength would certainly fail. Bruno had been playing around. They were warming up.

The two vampires stood once more next to their patriarch. Thorns pushed out from one man's knuckles. The other's sword fractured and bloomed into jagged metal.

They'd gauged her strength and found it lacking. Noel knew it better than anyone. If she wanted to survive the next ten seconds, only one option remained.

"L-Lord Rozay-en!" she blurted out. The twins blinked, glanced back at their father. A silent communication passed between them. The decrepit vampire raised his head slightly. She took it as a sign to continue. "Let's – let's discuss your daughter."

Another pause. And then: "Justify yourself," said the swordsman, "or perish."

"You can't resist Rita," Noel said, mind running a mile a minute. "Not with those roots in your skull. But I'm –"

"An outsider," said the other twin. "A soon-to-be-corpse."

She shivered. Death was closer now than ever. No miracle would save her. Only words. "Would one more Dead matter?" she asked. "Over the chance of regaining your title? Your last chance at it? I'm…" she nearly choked on the words. "I'm not crazy enough to die for no reason. Let me live. I'll make it worth your while."

Neither of the two vampires replied at first. A faint breeze whistled across the roof tiles. Then the thorned one broke out into a mocking smile. "The quality of Executors has waned," he said. "A pathetic display. You should've faced death with dignity."

Noel twitched, recoiling as he raised one clenched fist. Yet the blow never came, for the near-mummified Lord's lips twitched. His throat loosed a dusty old sound that might have been a laugh or a hiss. "Last… chance… you say?" She could scarcely make out his words. It forced her to step closer, narrowing the gap between life and death.

"You were told…" What were they told? Her thoughts seemed to run in circles. Noel was entirely uncertain, yet some niggling instinct at the back of her mind urged her to look deeper, to grasp at the underlying truth that would set her free. The more she scrambled, the more she was sure of it. "You were told your daughter would extract the Reincarnator's knowledge from my partner," she said at last. "B-but you don't know what she'll do with it, do you?"

The old vampire's laugh grew louder. He shook from the strain, having to be steadied by the others' hands. "Oh… but we do…" he wheezed. "Aylesbury… the Numerology… to call the Dark Six. Foolish girl. You have… no idea."

"N-no!" She cried as the twins readied their weapons once more. "That's not why she wants him!"

The two vampires paused.

The Lord was still.

All three, awaiting an answer she did not have.

Yet there, on the precipice at edge of knowledge, where the certainty of fact ended and the vagueness of memory began, was exactly what she had been searching for.

"Lord Rozay-en, look at what's to come," Noel began. She composed the words carefully, one by one, knowing they might be her last. "You know who's in your daughter's heart, and who isn't. The snake knows the magic words to let a single sinner inherit the entire garden. And I… I know what it looks like when love isn't enough to save someone."

She glimpsed it, reflected in the crippled monster's eyes. A scene of slaughter that sent a shudder through them both.

Lord Rozay-en bowed his head and choked out one word: "Go."

Then he was gone, and only she and the garden remained.

The garden had changed. Before, it had been all roses. Now it was all thorns.

A mass of weaving vines – and the rare flower – sprang from the bloodstained earth and engulfed everything in the courtyard. Thorny creepers slid up the walls, inexorably advancing outwards. If one had approached from inside, they'd have seen the corridor slowly swallowed up. Those foolish enough to try to fight through the vines would be torn apart and processed as nourishment.

Between momentary gaps in the greenery shone a pale light. To the onlooker above it was a fearful, unknown light. Those familiar recognized it for what it was: the light of a Principle made manifest, of a soul's garden blooming into reality, with the vines serving to stabilize its border.

Inside, nostalgia became truth. From the stored annals of memory, a world was born.

Within the garden were four ladies and a puppet.

Courtly dame, noble belle, and dignified femme sat at a small table, splitting between each other a pot of steaming tea. Yet none drank; they merely held their cups without expression, like mannequins posed for painting. Their chests glowed red and pulsed like reflections of one heart, a single beat coming every second on the dot. They were the audience, tucked away, encased in a thorny shell near the courtyard entrance, contributing applause to the final act of a sordid story.

Within the rest of the courtyard there were no vines, no flowers, no plants at all.

There was only a desolate chamber, deep underground. High pillars holding up a distant ceiling. A crude stone sarcophagus at the center, bathed in moonlight from the aperture above.

Ciel remembered it well, though the memory was another's. Everywhere else had been explored. The depths of her mind and memory had been ransacked. She'd relived childhood embarrassments and horrifying traumas and worst of all, the fleeting moments of happiness before it had all come crashing down. Yet this one coffin had, until now, refused to open.

"You won't gain anything," Ciel said, as the Rose Princess stepped towards the coffin. "He planned for this." Gleaming barriers of numbers and angles, made real by the vampire's eyes, had previously rebuffed her. Now they crumbled before the Ancestor, whose steps sent ripples through stone.

Rita paused. Looked back. The vampire had shed her earthly form, blooming red, resembling a mythological dryad more than a predator. Yet Ciel was the same as always: a small girl with one arm and one eye, insubstantial and ghostly compared to the chamber and the vampire, only able to speak because that right had yet to be revoked.

"I have seen all there is," Rita declared, "of Elesia and Yumi and Ciel." Her eyes narrowed, lazy satisfaction slipped, revealing bared fangs and sheer scorn. "One word suffices for her: Pathetic."

Ciel said nothing.

"Placing a lash in handmaid's hands," Rita continued. "Seeking refuge in persecution." Moonlight shuddered and bent as Rita scowled. "Masochist," she hissed. "Coward. Be despised, then, since you wish it."

"Take my soul," Ciel replied dispassionately, "if it irritates you so."

"Never," the Ancestor swore. Her malice hung in the air, a far cry from her usual good humour. "There's no place for such filth in my garden. I've kept and tasted hundreds, thousands of ornaments. Never have I seen such a twisted soul. Only the Church could tolerate it."

Her scowl softened. The royal veneer returned. "Yet I've need of the key that unlocks the snake's secrets. Perish after."

Once more, just like the first time, just like with him, just like before, Ciel could only watch.

The Lady stepped forward. The snake's final barrier shattered in a burst of flower petals. Only the coffin remained. Rita placed a hand upon the lid, dug fingers into stone as if it were putty, and flung the lid aside, where it tumbled into darkness.

She blinked. The coffin was empty.

She blinked. The chamber's grey stone was now white marble.

She blinked. Pillars became massive statues, likenesses she did not recognize.

She turned. A pale hand closed around her throat.

"Ah."

Lightning coursed through her body. Sparks burst behind her optic nerve. In an instant the lady was seared from the inside out, all while the fingers on her neck tightened, lifting her into the air.

"Proud of her success, the foolish girl forsook her guide," spoke a man. "Bold in vanity, she soared as if to touch the skies."

Wind blew in the enclosed space. A breeze laden with sweet scent surrounded the twitching vampire.

"But as she neared the sun, its heat melted the flesh from her bones."

She was flung aside, into one of the stone pillars. It cracked and crumbled, arresting her flight.

"With no more petals to sustain her façade, the rootless girl called her father's name, and was buried in the cold, dead earth."

Rita pulled herself up, dusty but unhurt. The wound to her pride had been worse.

"You would be so stubborn." She scowled once more. "Even in death."

"Especially in death," crowed the man standing before her. "You really shouldn't have opened it. But now that you did…" he gave a deep, elaborate bow. "Thank you so much, Rose Princess. I'm going to use you now."

"Oho… just try it, snake." Not a trace of fear decorated Rita's features: only amusement. "No, you are less than that. A spell wearing cast-off skin. You can only resist and then fade."

The Serpent of Akasha gleefully adjusted his glasses. "Perhaps. This self is an ephemeral dream. Yet what is Principle, if not dream made manifest?" He gestured to the chamber, the garden made real. "There was one theory I refrained from personally testing," he explained, "to avoid earning its subjects' ire. But when such a perfect opportunity arises, I'll not pass it up."

She sneered. "I never much liked you anyway." Behind her, the ruined pillar unraveled into verdant creepers.

He pulled a pocket knife from within his school jacket, flipping it into a reverse grip. Pale fingers fused to the handle. Glasses were cast aside. Mad blue glowed within his eyes.

"Give it to me," Roa commanded. "I'll have your Idea Blood."

Rita spread her arms. A spring-laden storm swirled about her, shuddering in anticipation. "Take it if you can!"

Ciel, alone in the beam of moonlight, silently observed the proceedings.

As did Noel, standing far above.