A/N: I wrote the first part of this mostly lucid. The rest was written on DayQuil/NyQuil Severe. And antibiotics. Weee. I'm so sorry.

Thank you Alter Ego Bob, thenumbertwentyseven (Thank you for the numerous encouragement!), Lunammoon, Mokki Takashi, Voidlash, Amaterasuxoxo, Bluebadger (He forgets and remembers interchangably. Weirdo, indeed! I made up the bowing thing. It just seemed too significant in the cutscene to be nothing.), Moon ninja Luna ( ^_^ More on that.), A pal (I love researching names and such. Thank you.), Othaeryn, auroraskyewalker (All he knows and believes, but we shall see what the future entails.), Kyoki no Megami (It's piling up more than even she realizes.), Branded Lunacy (Haha! XD), Pineapple (I like world-building. I'm glad you like it!), Guest (I've gotten multiple readers saying Kya was too unlikable in the first chapter. Thank you for your kind honesty. What you said is something I will be looking into.), Cookie-koko, Guest, Guest, Guest, Guest (I don't know who's who...I'll just thank you all.), Spoogut, Scragglewaggle, fuutaba, Howlestva (He is very difficult. Thank you!), Othaeryn, Just A Fan, and everyone for all your support and advice and encouragement. I hope I didn't miss anyone. Please know all your words mean a great deal to me.

Chapter 26

"You can't be serious."

Ghirahim arches a brow at me through the reflection of one of his many mirrors. "I'm perfectly serious. The last two times I took you with me proved near disastrous and absolutely nothing has triggered any visions for you. It's better if I go out alone."

"But I—"

"No 'buts,' Kya. None. I won't hear it. You are staying here." He straightens the mantle cape over his shoulders before moving on to perfecting his make-up and hair. "It is safer for you."

I stand several paces behind him, arms crossed and eyes glaring in the full-length mirror. "I can handle myself fine. I did against those Wolfos, didn't I? Somewhat. Sort of. What."

His quiet chuckling recedes. He swipes a finger at the purple shadow beneath his eyes, sculpting it to just the right slant. "You cut one of the females on the cheek. Congratulations. She would have killed you in the next heartbeat. I had to save you."

I hide my wince. "No, you didn't…"

His gaze flips to the ceiling. "Don't be a child."

I open my mouth to speak.

His firm reply is swift. "You are staying here. The matter is closed."

I snap my jaw shut, clench my teeth. "I'm not a child—and it's not like I burden you."

"You do, actually," he says with all the nonchalance of small talk, neglecting to notice how I flinch. "I must always look after you. It will be easier with just me." He runs his fingers through his sleek hair, angles his body to the side, and smiles at the resulting reflection with pure admiration.

Then he catches my mirror image.

"Oh, don't look like that, darling—so morose and dejected." He pouts in mockery.

The only effort I make to change my expression is glower.

He turns around and comes to me, taking my face in his hands. "Oh, my sweet, I—"

"I'm not your sweet," I say through gritted teeth.

He leans down until we're nose to nose, baring his teeth in a smile. "But you are. We'll do something fun when I return. Just the two of us. That will cheer you up."

The noise of protest in my throat goes unheeded.

He kisses my nose and steps away. "Ta-ta."

With a snap of his fingers he's gone, leaving me in the emptiness of his room.

The ticking clock, that imaginary sound I've kept in my head ever since the tower, resumes its tempo as I'm left waiting.

Waiting. Lingering. Yearning for something gone by.

My raging screech fills the glossy space, threads through the hanging silks, and slams into the walls of stone. There goes freedom, moans my writhing spirit. There goes adventure and exploration. Off beyond my reach. Now once again I am stuck—not on a rock in the sky, but a dark castle so tall it flirts with the clouds.

I picture the outside world, of its spanning glades and mountainous uprisings. I squeeze my eyes shut and see the glittering spray of the waterfalls, pitch my head back on my spine and remember the feel of the cooling mists and the touch of slippery smooth rock beneath my feet.

I open my eyes.

Gone. In a flare of rhombus panes. Gone.

Just like the person I've come to rely on and…

…And maybe enjoy adventuring with.

That last thought disturbs me so greatly I take a step back from it. As if it were a real, threatening presence looming before me, I turn and run for the door.

I slam face-first into Shii not five feet down the hall.

She doesn't even acknowledge the painful nose-to-snout collision. "What! What is it? I heard you scream!"

I blink watery eyes at her from over my hand-covered nose. "What?" I ask nasally, not understanding. Then her words sink in. "He left me," I reply. At her confusion, I expand, "He left without me. He left me behind. I wanted to go."

It didn't sound so childish until spoken aloud, and internally I cringe.

Shii's stern face confirms my self-condemnation. "You stupid human, I thought…" She shakes her head like she's trying to fervently loosen a nightmare from her brain. "Never mind what I thought. Such immaturity! Can you not entertain yourself? Or do you need me to make puppets dance for you as the hatchlings require?"

"I—" I stop. "Hatchlings?"

At this, Shii's green lids descend over her pale yellow eyes. She sighs. "Yes. Hatchlings. Tell me you did not think we popped up from the earth like flowers."

"No, no. It's just…I, uh, hadn't thought about it. But now that you mention it…without any males in your species, how…?"

Immediately Shii stiffens. "You know how! It should be obvious."

I stare blankly.

For the first time ever, I hear Shii stutter.

"It—it happens when…the female is…is stim…stimulated…" A growl rumbles up her throat. "You know what? I am not having this conversation with you, human. You want the talk, then you talk to Essil."

With that, she turns on her heel and stalks away.

"I think I got the gist if it," I call after her, grinning because of her uncharacteristic fluster. "But thanks!"

"Entertain yourself!" she snaps back over the shoulder, disappearing into the main room and the halls beyond.

My smile drops as soon as a far-off door slams.

A teasing part of me was happy to see her flustered. At her departure, however, another part bows her head and sighs. Oh, it mourns, to sit and count the hours alone as I have always done. The rage of the other half soon follows that sentiment. I shake myself from both self-pity and anger. Both easy for me to fall into. Neither will help me.

I take to wandering what has become the living quarters of Ghirahim and me—no, I correct. Just his. To say it is ours is too strange, too…intimate. I'm a guest. Or a prisoner. Both. An 'enforced guest,' I decide, because 'prisoner' reminds me of iron bars and dank dungeons.

Thinking of dungeons leads me down the dusty road of why. Why I'm not down in the dungeon in chains. Why I'm not beaten bloodily for the information I hold. Why instead I'm living in cushioned luxury with the very man who should be torturing me, and so on.

No use in asking. I can't come up with any answers. At least none that make sense.

Walking from room to room, a sullenness blankets me. More wonderings with nonexistent replies. In Ghirahim's red silk room, my mind reaches back to when I first woke up in that big round bed, pained and confused, hearing Ghirahim demand I not die. Ambling to my room, I recall his face when he presented it to me. Composed yet with an undeniable eagerness that I should be pleased. Next, the bathing room, in which I'd been in just this morning, rushing to be clean and ready to go. I was excited. I was looking forward to (freedom, I say, and I must deny everything else) spending time with him (I can't, I can't say that, don't say that) only to be refused on the grounds of…what? Safety?

Does he realize what he sounds like? Does he realize what he's doing?

…And do I realize how I'm responding?

I trail my fingers over the tomes and scrolls lining the walls of the main room. I've helped him look through them. I've kept after him to get rest, subtly reminded him to eat and drink by announcing my need of those very things. His disappointment weighs on me. His happiness makes me feel feather-light. His well-being has become tied to my own.

Leaning over wearily, I grip a ledge of the built-in shelving. I confront the question that's been bubbling inside me.

When did I start caring so much?

To walk the fine edge of loving your enemy, but not fall into the chasm. Tch. For all I know, I've already slipped, and am plummeting in a freefall. Or maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe it's not a drop-off, but a gradual decline.

Either way, I need to catch myself and maintain distance. I must grab hold of something and climb back up to reason and sensibility.

Guard your heart. Guard your heart.

The mantra beats around in my head until it's all I can hear. But too soon images of Ghirahim assault me. Of the way he smiled fondly after me as I ran the meadows. I can still feel him holding my hand and leading me carefully from the rocky plains the Taliticus inhabited. At the waterfalls he clucked at me not to fall in the rippling pools, and his barely concealed relief when I skittered over wet rocks to be back at his side…I didn't want to notice it. Just like I didn't want to notice how my heart warmed in response.

"Idiot," I grumble aloud. "Get ahold of yourself."

Oh, good. I'm talking to myself again.

I need to get out of these rooms.

With destination in mind, I swoop through the room until I find my translating parchment and, after tucking the paper down my bodice, I test the exit door to see if it's locked.

It isn't.

Looking both ways yields nothing but carved beige halls speckled with rainbowed light from the stained-glass windows. The idea that I could just walk out sits wrong with me. Shii either forgot to lock the door, or by now she assumes I won't run. And she'd be half right. I wouldn't run to escape. I'd leave simply to go out and see all I can see.

I squint suspiciously down the wide halls before retreating to the rooms. But not to stay. Not wanting to run the risk of being stopped, I go to the spider-webbed corridor separating my room from Ghirahim's.

I wish I thought to bring a light. But then one of those little candles, nestled within indents in the walls, while luminous in their togetherness, wouldn't be anything but a spark in this darkness. So I walk blind, hand outstretched into the blackness. It isn't until I step through a half-built sticky web that I realize my foolishness. Spiderwebs mean spiders, and spiders in this world often mean Skulltulas.

Suddenly my hearing sharpens. Was that dust falling from the ceiling? Loose pebbles at my feet maybe? …Or a Skulltula scuttling towards me?

I tear into a sprint, mindless of anything but fear. Blindness is forgotten, and when I come to the first bend in the tunnel I slam into it. That doesn't stop me—I run with hands sliding along the roughhewn stone, following it down and around and around, panicking like cattle in a chute.

The fright ride stops when my palm slides in with a patch of stone and a hidden door slides open. I fly through it, come out into the light of a large fire crackling under a cauldron. A familiar stone table spans before me. An old brick oven simmers contentedly on the wood used to fuel its heat source. Pots and pans of iron and copper hang just about everywhere.

Essil blinks at me with wide eyes. She is still as a rock, poised with a rolling pin pressed into a slab of dough.

"Hey," I say casually, hands on my hips. Like I meant to come bursting out of the wall and this is business as usual. "What'cha doing there? Making pizza? We should. Make pizza, I mean."

Essil gapes like a fish. "W-what? How did you know about that door?"

"What door? Oh, that. Yeah. Kind of hard not to notice the tunnel, Essil. Wanted to know where it led. Led me here. So, like I thought, it's a servant tunnel. Appropriate that I should use it, right? I mean, I am a servant."

Her head shakes, the orange frill atop her head flattening. "Not like us. You are so much more—"

"So," I interject, because I don't like where she's going with that. "Pizza. Ever heard of it?"

As it turns out, she hadn't heard, and we end up on what I'd like to call a 'cooking adventure,' much like when we made spaghetti. I do my best to instruct on how it's supposed to be composed and Essil, with her expertise on edibles, fills in the blanks I cannot.

About an hour later, we pull a sizzling pizza from the brick oven.

"Well, it's not Digiorno or Dominos," I say, "but close enough."

Actually, it turns out better than anything I've had before. Maybe it was Essil's touch, or maybe it was something of the ingredients from this world. Either way, when we both try a slice, our eyes simultaneously pop wide. Neither of us speaks. We can only chew silently for a few moments, letting the collective flavors wash over our tongues.

"This," Essil says after swallowing, "this is amazing! Where did you learn to make such—something so exquisite?"

"Somewhere," is my evasive reply. "And you did most of the work. I just gave directions."

"I must call Shii—she must try this!"

Essil runs out the usual entrance, returning shortly with a disgruntled Shii in her tracks.

"How did you get down here?" Shii barks. "I did not see you leave lord Ghirahim's wing."

"Tunnel," I say simply.

Shii's eyes narrow.

Essil interrupts what was no doubt going to be an interrogation. "Try this!" She shoves a cheese-strung melted slice up to Shii's snout.

Shii's lip curls in contempt, but she obligingly takes what Essil offers. Her disdain doesn't last past the first bite. In fact, she eats the whole thing before speaking. She wipes her mouth with her arm. "…The master will want this."

"Yes," Essil agrees solemnly, her claws fidgeting in her apron.

"But this—what did you call it?—pizza…was a test, correct?" Her eyes sharpen. "As a test, we must eat the whole thing. To deem its worthiness, that is. And make another for our lord."

Essil nods, her deep purple scales shining in the fire's glow. "Of course."

I watch the exchange with a smothered grin. "Just eat it, you dorks. No, no more for me, Essil, but thanks. I, uh…I think I'll go look around."

Shii immediately homes in on me. "Where do you plan to go?"

"Nowhere. Just around. Is that okay?" I ask with a hint of peevishness. "Or do I get to be locked away? In that case, which way's the dungeon?"

Shii seems to ignore me at first, taking the time to lick her claws clean. I wait impatiently, glaring all the while. Finally, she says, "Lord Ghirahim did not forbid you from exploring, and the castle is on lock-down besides. I suppose there will be no harm. But"—her gaze cuts into me—"in case anything should occur, I must be nearby. Do not leave this floor. Swear to it."

"Totally swear. Bye!" I'm out the kitchen before the last word leaves my mouth.

As I wander the adjoining halls, I wonder what she meant about the castle being on lock-down. I didn't think to ask why, too excited at being left to my own devices. But soon I come across evidence attesting to it. Locked doors. Halls barred off by transparent but unpassable magic. My journey through the castle reminds me more and more of the games I used to play. A secret chamber here, a hidden corridor there. They're all different, too. Some sections are bright with ceilings spanning so high I can't see the top, some are cramped and dark. Twisted metal makes up statues of beasts I barely recognize. Others are made from ceramic and are far more uniform.

It's like Ganon's castle, I think with mounting enthusiasm. Find the Map. Find the Compass. Find the Boss Key.

I get so caught up in my expedition, I forget Shii's warning. I find more doors hidden in walls. I find spiral staircases. I go both up and down. It helps me not feel so trapped, helps me to forget the greater world outside that I wish I was in now. Too long was I constricted on islands high above. I love Turk, but to rely on another being to fly me from one place to another was stifling. I want to be able to go with my own two legs, on my own two feet. To run on land that doesn't end.

Running through halls that never seem to end is a close second, I guess. But it reminds me of my dependence on another.

Although…I could leave. If the front gate isn't locked, of course. Which it most likely is.

All I need are some small keys. Any small chests around here? I wish I could pick locks, circumvent the need for keys of any kind.

The halls aren't changing like they did when I was running from Ghirahim those early days of my capture. Maybe the magic has run out on them, and he hasn't bothered to recharge it. I almost can't believe when I find the corridor leading to the great doors that would take me outside the castle. I hesitate in their midst.

No, I decide. No, I can't. They're locked anyway (or do I want him with me on the outside?) and I'll just look like an idiot for trying. And that's what I tell myself. I attest it to my cowardice, because I won't accept any other explanation.

Catwalks. At least I think that's what they're called. Open rampways built high above the ground floor, hidden in the ceilings that stretch up into forever. I don't know how I stumbled across them. I blame it on my need to scour every nook and cranny.

But here they are.

And here I am.

What are they here for? I can't help but wonder. I follow the paths the walkways make, intersecting above and over many rooms, sometimes tunneling through from one to another. I'm in the blackness of the dark stone ceiling, looking down on any who might be beneath.

I guess I can see how it'd be useful. But I have no need for eavesdropping or spying today. Looking appreciatively around, however, I decide I'll keep these high-up ramps and tunnels in mind. They help me find the library, after all. And, honestly, that's where I'd wanted to go to begin with. To the floor to ceiling library that goes on and on, with ramps and balconies and balustrades of its own. The diamond paned skylights welcome in the clouded sun like soft spotlights throughout a grand stage.

Finding the books I want is a long and arduous process. Next to none are written in the Hylian language I can read. Most are ancient, and others seem downright prehistoric. Seriously. There are stone tablets with what I assume is letters carved into them, worn and discolored from centuries upon centuries.

Is this a library or a museum?

Either way, it's…really cool, actually. I pick and gather what my parchment could possibly decipher, find a place to sit—on the green silken couch Ghirahim had shown me earlier, the one where Bob the Bokoblin had waited after…that incident.

It takes a long time going, but once I'm thoroughly in a tome and know I can decrypt it everything takes flight. I find myself diving into books on demon culture and stories regarding the strange nature of monster comradery. Even when I can't decode a text, there are pictures I can go by, just to guess, to ponder, to wonder at.

It feels like a method of exploring and adventure all its own.

Old ink drawings show me monsters I've never seen in person. One looks like a humanoid rat, its fangs long and dripping with I don't know what—the page is faded, whatever colors there might have been drained to an unvarying, smudged brown. The yellowed pages creak as I carefully turn them. A bi-pedal crocodile creature is featured next, the lines and swirls of ink done in a consecutive but detailed manner. A war axe is gripped in the creature's claws.

There are more I come across, much more. An upright wolfman reminiscent of the Wolfos. An ox-like humanoid depicted with a mighty ball and chain being swung over its head. A batman—a literal bat-like man, with wings spread and empty eyes glaring upward. It makes me think of Batreaux.

Some I know the names of: Keese. Moldorms. Others I do not. Among them is a stegosaurus-like dragon with small wings and large ears. I marvel that they could ever be real. A ridiculous thought, considering where I am, in a world not my own.

Amongst the books I've pulled there is a faded red one. I flip through it, not able to discern much, but one picture captures my interest. A male and female, looking oddly like humans if it weren't for their horns, standing opposite each other. The female is dressed in crisscrossing strips of white fabric, the tail ribbons of which the male holds. I twist my mouth and tilt my head. Did he put her in that makeshift dress or was he taking her out of it? I slide my translating parchment closer, but the words are smudged into the pages. All I can gather is the word 'Binding,' which is weird enough for me.

Placing it aside, I grab for the other books.

I focus on all the information the tomes and texts provide with an ever-increasing tunnel vision. I want to know. I want to see and experience. To discover the mysteries of this world.

Slowly poring over pages upon pages, I learn the demon and monster society is more advanced. They would be, of course. They had more land and resources. Meanwhile the people up in the clouds have…

Well, clouds.

Down here on the surface, the demons are far more than the savages I'd believed them to be. While makers of a violent society, they coveted the best. Even in wisdom. But, from what the pages tell me, prestige, titles, jewels, and land took precedence. Above it all? Power.

I can understand the want of power, in a way. Power is protection. It is a lack of degradation or humiliation. It's security. Yet, as the old saying goes: Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Is that why they are the way they are? I deliberate, fiddling with a corner of a page. It would explain their arrogance and carelessness. For Demise and Ghirahim, doubly so. But then, were they ever without corruption?

I space out, looking at a blurred letters but not really seeing them. Was Ghirahim ever without corruption? Was he ever without his master? Not if he was made by him. Or… I shake my head. Too many unknowns that even my 'visions' couldn't help me with. What do I really know of Ghirahim? How much of him did the game show me and how much am I just guessing at? One thing I do know: Even in my previous life, I admired his devotion to his master. No matter how deranged or to what monster he owed it to. If…if he set his loyalty aside (he never, ever will) I think I might…respect him less, in a way. I'd be relieved, no doubt about that, but…

He'd never do it. Ghirahim's loyalty and sense of duty is his strongest trait. Above his sadism. Above his eccentricity. Above his everything else—whatever that may be. I used to marvel over that back in my old life. His one redeeming attribute. His most damming quality as well. A contradiction.

I sigh, trying to refocus on the book resting on my curled legs. Like my feet, my mind wanders.

A shadow slithers in my peripheral. I jerk my head up to find Shii, standing near one of the pillars. Her glare is more exasperation than anger.

"Oh," I say, "I, uh, I'm on the same floor?"

A sigh hisses out her nostrils. "You're not. But I'll let it slide."

"Really? To what do I owe this leniency?" I snigger, though secretly relieved.

Her claws tap against her arm. She snorts. "Nothing, human. Stay out of trouble. There is…something I must do. I'll have others around to watch over you."

I sit up straight. "I'm not a kid that needs babysitting, you know."

For a rare second, Shii's eyes soften. "Perhaps not. Even so…" She turns and walks, and I think she's done, but then so quietly: "Jewels must be protected, child or not."

I sit there dumbfounded long after she disappears between the walls and their mile-high length of literature. Eventually I shrug it off. She was being generous. Or joking. Most likely joking.

The books take me away. I get so wrapped up the light of day bleeds into the red of evening without my notice. It probably would have shifted to dark without me knowing either, if it wasn't for one thing: A book. With strange drawings and stranger contents. Shuffling through it with my parchment as guide, I get the gist. A cookbook—or something like one. I get interested. Hey, I've taught them some Knowing Realm recipes, they can teach me…

But wait. What is this saying?

My brows scrunch. Ink drawings of humanoids and Bokoblins and other demons. They're chasing the humanoids. The humanoids—which have no horns or claws or fangs or fur to speak of—run with their arms in the air. Like they're being portrayed as frightened.

I turn the page. And the next. The next.

The demons thrust spears into them. Cut them up. A depiction of a…cauldron…and a horned creature tossing in an arm from the humanoid—

I slam the book shut.

Reopen it.

My hands shake as I put the pieces together. From the book. And from my memory. Indua said something like, "Are they no more than food and entertainment?" and the way Balak licked his lips—and the spider demoness: "We haven't had human in such a long time."

Rising above them all is a memory from another life. A memory filtered through a silver screen.

"I'll delight in casting your body into this pit and snuffing out the flame of your life! Your broken body will serve as fine sustenance for the demon king!"

I remember the words, trace them over and over in my head. In my mind's eye, I see a face above them. Black and shining with spectral diamonds just beneath otherworldly skin. White eyes glaring and glowing hauntingly. Ghirahim telling Link how he is going to kill him. But then one word sticks out.

Sustenance, I think. Food. People. They…they…

They ate people. The people they killed.

The realization flies suspended for a moment. Two moments. My brain draws the line from start to finish—a long line. And then it crashes. Explodes.

I shoot up off the sofa. Panic mounts, and against everything I've realized one thing sticks out. I could expect this maybe from stupid Bokoblins, or any other leaning more towards barbarism. But…

Has Ghirahim…?

…your broken body will serve as fine sustenance…

Something inside me snaps.

I don't realize I'm moving—I just move. I'm running, heart pounding and head throbbing with blood, ears singing with the red ocean's shout, my breaths punching in and out. The halls race by, windows with fading light flashing past, the sparks of candles doing the same. I fly down halls that no longer change or move. Before I know it, I'm sprinting straight for the great front doors. They're locked; they must be, but still I run.

The great doors are not unguarded.

Unfamiliar Lizalfos stand in the shadows of the giant sconces, spears in their claws and daggers at their hips. None of them move at the sight of me. I lock eyes with only one. She is dark scaled, her deep amber eyes so vivid they stand out like a cat's eyes shining in the night. Those eyes focus on me, narrowing to mere slits, hate shining through them.

I fear an attack from her.

But she does nothing. Neither do the others that glance to her for orders.

I never get to find out if the great doors are truly locked or not. The fear and confusion swirling in me are so immense, I…I don't know. I see white. I see a flash that overtakes everything. I hear a thunderous bang, like multiple war canons going off right by my ears. And then I'm outside, the doors swinging, stone chips falling from where the walls were struck by the iron's force.

The doors to the outer walls don't hold up any better. I wish I could say I knew how I did it, but in that moment I don't know anything but run and get out.

Black trees with their tangled bare limbs cover me from the ever-stormy sky. The ground is also bare and far from dry, but dense and rocky enough that it isn't too muddy. I follow loose trails, vault over large dead logs, slip between jagged boulders. I keep going and going, not wanting to stop because then I'll actually have to think. I don't want to do that just yet.

Exhaustion, however, slams down its iron bars over my lungs and limbs. I can't go any further. And I'm an idiot, such a stupid, stupid idiot because I have nothing. Absolutely nothing. No sword. No dagger. Not even a damn cloak. I ran out of there like a mindless chicken with just the feathers on my back—make that the blue dress. At least I have some form of protection with its enchanted fabric.

I plop down on my rump and lean forward on my hands, heaving for breath. The ewe tremors. The sky is clouded yet it is open, far too open. The tree limbs are broken up here, spilt apart to reach for the sun. But there is no sun. The last vestiges of its light linger in the west as nothing but a light stain against darkening purple and blue. The black thunder clouds in the east rumble a distant warning.

Get somewhere, says the she-wolf. Somewhere hidden. Anywhere.

Like there, I finish for her, my eyes adjusting on a crevice leading into a hallow but narrow portion of rock. There are rocks everywhere, ranging from boulders to pebbles. The fissure I crawl into is made up of a huge hill of them, all held and compressed together by clay and dirt. Nature's way of creating a makeshift cave instead of a proper one. But it'll do. It'll have to.

I crawl all the way to the back, and I don't know how long I stay there. My back is against the rock, my arms resting on the knees I've drawn up. My head hangs as all the thoughts I've been running from come rushing in. Tears burn and drip. I'm an idiot. I've been fraternizing with an enemy with no compassion for those they deem beneath them. They've gladly pillaged, murdered, and eaten humans. And to think it took that last one to shake me, as if the first sins weren't bad enough.

I wanted something to put distance between me and Ghirahim. I got my wish.

…Why do I feel more torn up than ever?

Slowly I shake my head. This isn't even my world. It's not my fight. And I…I didn't know what I'm doing. Never did. All I know is…

I'll be good, and I'll love the world like You did, like You do.

Love my enemy. Like my God loved me when I was His enemy. I promised I would.

"But I don't know here the line is," I whisper, voice quaking. "And for everything I do know, there's…there's just too much that I don't."

Dirt slides through the rocks, dusts my hair. It's no answer, at least not one I know the meaning of.

I don't hate Shii. Nor Essil. Or Bob. I don't think any of them would rip me to shreds then feast on the remains. I don't think they'd disrespect my corpse in any way, especially not in such a…grotesquely horrible manner. I don't even think they were around when humans walked the surface.

But Ghirahim was. And did he…?

He treats his enemies with a careless hate. A carelessness that perpetuates shredded bodies left to lay unburied. I can only hope he didn't bother bringing any of that flesh to his lips.

…your broken body will serve as fine sustenance…

And then I shut my eyes and see him drag his bloodied blade along his mouth, see the blood of the Wolfos he'd slain dribbling down his chin.

So shortly after that he wrapped me in his cape and carried me cradled to his chest like I was some sort of precious baby.

I slam the heels of my palms into the sides of my head. Why does he treat me so differently?! What is it with me? I didn't ask for any of this! How can he be so cruel and then turn around and be so…so…

More importantly: How can I turn a blind eye?

I can't.

I know who he is—or I think I do.

But I don't want him to die.

Now I've trapped myself. Am I going to let Link kill him or and I going to let him kill Link and—by extension—humanity? Do I even have a say in any of it? Tch, asks the stupid woman who ran out here, where demons abound, with no defense. So, they're right. I'm just a childish wimp.

"I'm an idiot," I mumble, rubbing my eyes, and then my collared neck. It itches.

"Well, I won't argue with you there."

I jerk, sucking in breath. "What're you doing here?"

"Funny question," Ghirahim says, his voice carrying through the narrow little cavern. "I was going to ask you the same."

I strain my vision, can just make out his feet at the mouth of the tunnel. "You eat people?!"

A span of quiet follows. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you rarely do that. Have you ever eaten a human?"

When he doesn't respond a second time, I repeat the question, enunciated so it echoes like long, individual claps out of the slim tunnel.

Instead of answering he fires out his own questions.

"What is this nonsense?" He nearly laughs. " I come home to find my castle in an upheaval, the front gates blasted open, with my guards out in platoons searching for you. Is this what led to it? Where did you ever conceive of such ridiculous ideas?"

"The library. A book. And before you try to cover it up, it was very clear—there could be no misunderstanding. Now answer my question."

"You will do well to watch your tone, girl," he says, all laughter gone. "Come out here. Now. Carefully."

"No!" I shriek. "Not until you tell me—"

"You little fool, be quiet and settle down! This little hidey-hole you've chosen isn't stable. Come out this instant!"

As he says it, more dirt falls from above me.

I don't care. Accusations and mean words spill from my mouth before my mind can get a read on them. I call him things I wouldn't have even at the beginning of all this. I shout curses to him and his kind. How dare they treat us like cattle. How dare they treat us less than people. I rant and rave and slam my back into the rocky wall behind me, ever the while pebbles and dirt shift and rocks tremble. What I thought was solid and compact turns out to be precariously jumbled boulders disguised by silt and sand.

In the darkness little but his white attire stands out, and scarcely at that. But with the white haze of his outfit I can tell he's kneeled at the mouth of the cave. I hear his breath go in and out slowly, deliberately calming. "No matter what you may think, Kya, you must come out of there." He waits. Then he hisses so it's barely audible, "Please."

My hearing's muffled by my breaths. My face burns with tears. This isn't how I wanted to react, but it's like something's taken over me. Panic. Anger. The ewe and wolf acting like they've witnessed their own kind being devoured before their very eyes rather than having read about it in a book.

Because it's true. I know it. I just…need to hear it.

Tell me I'm nothing more than food or entertainment. Tell me you haven't had human in such a long time, and what a treat it'll be when you finally run out of use for me.

"Haven't had a vision in a while. I think they've dried up," I say with dead inflection. "Guess you don't need to keep me around anymore. So, where's my destination? The dinner table?"

I hear him snarl. "For the love of the damned gods! What do you want me to say?! That I ate the heart of your ancestor? It was so long ago I can barely remember it! It has no relevance now! You are in no danger, no one will touch you—"

I stopped listening past 'heart,' really. My brain just took a minute to catch up.

I hear myself scream and thrash from far away, like it's someone else. Then there is a downpour of dirt, the quaking of the rocks, and great weights come down on me.

It's black. It's quiet. I can't feel myself.

Then the rumbling starts up again. The rocks roar. The dirt shouts as it's blown off me.

I swear I see a creature of black skin and white eyes. See as it hurls a boulder against the backdrop of the night sky, where speckles of stars peek out from behind the clouds. But it's gone in the blink of an eye, and Ghirahim, white and crimson, stands in its place. He falls on his knees, bends down to me, hands hovering. Eyes wide and wild with an emotion I can't discern. I can't…feel myself.

His shaking gasps ghost over my face. "You stupid little…! Didn't I tell you…!" He gathers me in his arms. So slowly. So carefully. He sweeps a gloved hand through my hair, and it comes away with blood soaked into its whiteness.

The look on his face in that moment…I don't think I could forget it, whether or not I wanted to.

He pulls me to his chest, whispering and murmuring, "Darling, my darling, my sweet…"

The black of night closes in around me. My last thought is of his face, when he pulled his hand away and saw the blood. And I find it so funny…that for one who revels in bloodshed, he suddenly looks so, so scared of it.

A/N: The lovely Mokki-Takashi made yet another fanart of Kya for this story! Thank you, Mokki! The picture is in my deviantart's favorites.

I'm sorry to everyone for being so absent. I blame my immune system. I hope the chapter wasn't too jumbled. Any crituqes I will accept. I make a note of all of them, and while I don't go back and make changes right away, I plan to.

Thank you all again! I don't deserve all those reviews.