A metia in his hand, a knight among knights, left unceremoniously defeat.

Wind blew roughly against his face with every word spoken to him, lined with thinly veiled deceit, leaving him with nothing but an uneasy heart, and he listenes as words go on and on, a never ending cascade of counterfeit facetiousness.

And who was he to judge? A monster masquerading as a man.

Introductions came and went by, and he hadn't felt any less of a stranger, he gave his name, but he knew the stranger was already aware of it, but he left that unsaid, it would be quite rude to point it out, and for all his flaws he liked to think he was somewhat polite.

Natsuki Subaru, came his answer, and yes, it didn't bring this mystery any closer to his grasping.

A new canvas, he couldn't wait to paint it all with his disgusting color.

Another name put to yet another face, and this one seemed so uncannily familiar, yet so far away.

And he would splash over it, drape it all with that sickening crimson red.

It all made no sense, and he was aware of it all, painfully so, words were exchanged, pleasantries, quips and gibes on his conversant's part, yet he did attempt to join in, failing clumsily, but a laugh always followed his attempts, as if to assure him, to sooth him, it might have helped.

If not for the wind harshly reminding him of the reality of this situation, and that soothing chuckle turned into nothing more than a tiny dagger digging into his already beaten heart.

His blessing feeling like a curse more than ever, but this wasn't a first, was it?

Responsibilities placed on him at such a young age, he never asked for it, expectations, duties harshly pushed to him, so selfishly, he didn't asked for it, he never wanted it, he didn't know how to do it, he did all he could, yet it wasn't enough, it never is.

And how fitting for someone like him, he was not liked by this familiar stranger, nor disliked, just treated with indifference, and somehow that was ever so slightly crueler than what he was used to.

"A big sword and fancy clothes, you have to be a knight or something?" With a smirk on his face, Subaru inquired.

"Yes." His tongue felt like ash, and he hadn't meant to sound so harsh. He wished to apologize, but he couldn't trust his voice.

Subaru looked a bit weirded out by the response but shook his head and seemed to give it no thought thankfully, but he looked at him a little more thoroughly than before.

Harsh, cold, calculating eyes bore holes through him, and burned him, and it all felt wrong, it wasn't supposed to go like this, those eyes seemed so gentle in his mind, what changed.

And he wished to voice his complaint, but Reinhardt would never do that, he wished to ask why he was treated so unfairly, yet the answer was clear in his mind, what was the point of this slothful indulgence of his, he knew it even if he didn't know why he knew it was warranted, that he deserved it.

He wasn't thar much of a painter he dare not try, he would not defile such a beautiful art with his ugly arbitrary perfection, art was sacred, and he had a habit of depreciating sacredness, it was a domain of emotion, one he foresake dabbling in a long time ago.

But he often wondered what colors meant to him. He had already painted over so many white page, wasn't it time to start deriving meaning from it?

He looked at the ground beneath his feet, eyes glazed, his teeth biting at his lips bitterly, and then a voice shook him out of his trance.

"Hm... weird, anyways, Rein, you wouldn't happen to have some money on you? Would you?" A hand came up close to his face, asking him to put something in it.

And for being such an awful monster, he had friends, two companions who could tolerate him, two canvases he could dirty over and over with no complaint.

A pink hue came to mind, a diluted red that bled from the veins and seeped to the skin, sickly white smudges accompanied it, what was pink to him, white was apathy he already knew that, and red was love, and he knew how Ironic that was, he never received any love from his blood, his kin, yet the crimson red seemed to stick to his hands like a well knitted glove, perhaps that was love?

"I-i" and his voice failed him, he longed. He wanted, he needed to see this new painting. He wondered how colorful it might be. would it hurt his eyes? Would it make his heart ache? Would he be given the brush and the chance to paint new colors over it? Was there a new pallet? Or was it just red, his sickly red, one that was supposed to mean love but it lost all of it's meaning, he wanted to be given new colors already, he wished to have another pallet, he'd start a new page, orange being his new red.

"Caugh it up pretty boy, we don't have all day, like litterly, we really don't" Subaru's tone suggested it was nothing but a joke but his gaze faraway, directed at nowhere said otherwise.

He had that serious blank face, the one that made the sword saint feel uneasy.

The pink hue was Felix, and it disgusted him to have such thoughts on his friends, but Felix was pink, and Julius was violet, envious and prideful and Reinhardt hated this, he hated all of this, his thoughts swarmed his mind and he's losing himself, his blessings flaring on and off, and he wonders if he could learn to control it, maybe then he'd try to paint, maybe then it wouldn't look so disgustingly artificially and maybe he would feel human for once.

And so he pulled a few coins from his pockets, guiding his open palm to Subaru, the later taking two golden coins from the pile then- "wait."

"Here, take this." Subaru pulled from his pocket an odd looking artifact, white and rectangular with no imperfections to be seen, and Reinhardt could swear he'd never seen anything like it, to say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

"Put it in your pocket for now, I set it up to make a loud sound, and when you hear it, I need you in the slums." With arms in his pockets.

Mean eyes more focused on the ground than him "Something bad is gonna happen, people might die, and, oh. also, i have a present ready for you there, so please come," and his feet kicking at some rubble on the ground, "or not, your call."

There was a chilling coldness to his tone, making Reinhardt shudder. This was it, wasn't it? He'd never be given the chance to paint over him, how cruel, he wished nothing more than to be given a second chance, and now all was gone.

"Why do you treat me in such a cold manner?" He slapped his hands on his mouth. He hadn't meant for it to slip out, and looking at Subaru, he seemed to be just as bewildered.

And even with everything screaming at him to stop, Reinhardt continued and asked a question he didn't want the answer to.

"Do you hate me?" He awaited, eyes closed, his breath held, and silence ensued. He waited and waited, his fingers ached.

Not being able to handle the silence, Reinhardt prodded his eyes open and took notice of Subaru's new behavior.

His left arm grasping at his right, tightly, jaw clenched, and his face turned to the side, allowing him to see only half of his panicked expression.

Pangs of guilt stabbed through the saint's chest. He hasn't meant to cause such distress, "I apolog-

"Yes" his words were interrupted by this cold, stern exclamation.

Now, those mean eyes turned towards him, wide, nervous with a tinge of madness in them.

"I hate you all, I want nothing to do with you, don't get too close to me, I don't give a damm about you, just do your job." Words were spat at him harshly.

A shoulder brushed against his, footsteps growing more feint as time went by, and he was left on his own.

And there were so many colors, and as colorful it was, it was just as melancholic, pretty and miserable, beautiful and tragic, and he'd never be given the brush to add his hue to it.

Harsh words replayed in his mind over and over. He was not saddened, concerned yes, but not disheartened, a small reserved smile graced his face, his red hair swaying lightly,

uncharacteristically unkempt.

Perhaps his blessing was something to be grateful for after all.

No paintbrush? finger painting would have to do then.

She flexed her fingers, small fractures on her knuckles making her grip slacken on her weapons, she sprung forward again.

Clack, metal connected with metal, the strike hit, her hand was shattered from the impact, she pulled back, she's exhausted, she can't keep this up, her healing slowed down.

Her mind was clouded. Strike, slash, pull back with a kick to the temple, only for her leg to be brutalized by the rusty sword, now she's limping, and from how hard she's breathing her left lung probably collapsed.

She's coated with blood and sweat, her knees wobble back and forth, shattered bones, severed limbs lay on the ground beneath her, pain was the only thing keeping her sane.

And even that is giving away slowly, exhaustion threatened to lull her into a deep slumber, she should've ran when she had the chance too.

Her opponent was playing with her, giving her just enough leisure that she might consider she has a chance, and now she's losing, an all-encompassing coldness has covered her heart.

She felt so weak, so tired, she wanted to rest, to feel warmth, she's cold, so cold, she tried to take comfort in the intestines of the other occupants of this room in her clouded state.

She leaped forth, her technique so sloppy and straightforward, like a hungry beast seeking her prey. She swiped her knife left aiming for the abdomen.

Shards of ice struck her exposed side, filling her with that empty apathy once again, stopped in her tracks as her ribs cracked and gave away for the snowy sensation to fill her being, she fell on her knees, and a kick to her jaw sent her flying to the other side of the room, back to the fight.

The pain didn't hurt as much as her pride did, but it helped wake her up, there was no running away from this, the saint sword was her opponent now, attacking the others would leave her open, the half elf wouldn't let her strike any others, and the raven haired man was out of reach again.

That was the wrong move. Get up, settling in her stance again. All of this was wrong. She's falling down now, and the snow is going to swallow her whole.

And her mind is failing her, her body is going on auto pilot, she'd fight till death, but death would never come, the only thing on her mind is the feeling of cold and how much she hates it.

And she's walking and walking for hours, days and weeks, her stomach is rumbling, she can't remember the last time she had a warm meal, her limbs are shaking, feet now unfeeling and numb in the snow, that was a bad sign she thought, but honestly she was beyond the point of caring, frostbite consuming her fingers and toes, voilete blue and irritated threatening to pop, but she's alive somehow, and in her childish mind she's not sure if it's a good thing or not.

The first bit of warmth she experienced was inside a small wooden cabin, a bottle of alcohol, she nearly downed the whole thing, it made her feel fuzzy, warmth seeped within her heart to her small body, small hiccups followed after, and the silly feeling came next, and now she's on the floor laughing to herself, then crying and throwing up, and when her exhausted body couldn't take more she fell asleep.

She awoke hours after to the sound of a rumbling in the cabin, bottle in her hands while she lay on the ground, she heard footsteps, in her panic and intoxicated mind she chose to hide beneath the bed.

She closed her eyes, hugged the bottle closer to her tiny body and listened, footsteps came closer, the man sat down on the bed, clothes ruffling, he was taking off his snow coat, now his legs were up and he layed down in bed

She felt a sigh of relief threaten to escape her mouth. Now, all she has to do is wait till he sleeps and snea-

A hand grabbed her, roughly grasping at her oversized coat, the face of a rough looking man with a deranged smile filled her vision.

She stepped too close, he lopped her arm clean off, she's aiming for his weapon, she thought it'd be easier to break it, that it would give her an advantage, but it seemed to be infused in his mana.

The sight of her dismembered limbs never lost it's novelty, he cut her right hand, then her left arm, lopped off her head, brutally crushed her left leg from the knee down, and all of her body parts are down on the ground beneath her, her blood and flesh, far more than one person should have.

And a stray thought entered her mind, if you were to change every broken part of a carriage each time it's damaged, till every part is new and pristine, is it really the same carriage?

A caugh interrupted her while she was gazing at her torn off limbs. It was the black haired boy looking back at her holding a glass of alcohol and leaning on the counter.

Right she's still in the fight, her arm has already healed, and these people were giving her time for some reason, no, the sword saint could've destroyed her, they're stalling, they were from the beginning, and she should've ran, she should've, now she's just resigned to her fate.

It's all so silly. Those people watching her get flailed around, not paying attention to any of it, and this raven haired boy, this fortune-teller, as he calls himself.

She sat beside him drinking at the bar, a glass of milk in her hand, one of alcohol in his, she gave her name, he gave his, she heard him hum a hushed lullaby.

It was oddly familiar. He slumped over the counter without a care in the world, humming to himself and drinking with his green clothed friend, then he called upon her with an amused look in his face.

"Do you guys know what a fortune-teller is?" He seemingly addressed the entirety of this crowded room, but his eyes focused on her, the grey haired man beside him listened attentively.

He put a finger on his glass, tracing the rim of it, and with a little chuckle and nod to himself, "It's someone who can tell the future."

And he got closer to her, his face merely inches away from her, with his toothy wolf smile he added

"Wanna know your future, Elsa Greinheart?"

Her eyes widened, she's gripped her kekura so tight her knuckles turned white, she never mentioned her last name.

The others leaned in beside them, listening intensely to his every word, he was important to them in some way, she didn't understand much of it, not that it mattered, she needed him dead, she needed it done now.

"You'll die tonight." He ended his sentence, eyes boring holes into her, her grip let go in shock.

He stared her down, the others gasped around them, the grey haired boy had a look of horror in his face as if saying "what the hell are you doing" and it was all so ridiculous and it was so odd, so silly, a laugh escaped her lips.

No, seriously, this was just too funny to resist. The laugh bubbled out of her, and she couldn't stop it she held on her sides. My God, this was just too fun. He really went ahead and said that to her face.

The smirk on his face said it all. He laughed along with her, with his would-be murderer. Really, this man was insane, and as fun as this was, this dance had to end eventually, she pulled her knife, rushing his sides, he stepped back flipping the table with one smooth motion.

Her kekura stuck in that old but fairly stable wood, and the man was hidden away behind all those concerned people.

She gave up on pulling out her weapon when a shard of ice grazed her cheek, she payed the hooded elf no mind. She just wanted one person's guts, she went back to her dance.

Sprint, jump, dodge the wooden bat, pull out the kekura, and stop the ice shard from digging to her side, land with a kick throwing the giant to the wall, now there's one merchant standing between her and her new target, she's going in as fast as possible, not even interested in cutting this grey haired man down, with a pummel she went to cave the side of his skull in.

A wall of force seemingly stopped her, the familiar crunch of bones invaded her sense of hearing, and the man fell to the side.

A hand, or more like a jumbled mess of what used to be a hand, took most of the impact, the man on the ground was disoriented but seemingly fine, now orange and black faced her.

Before she could make her next move, a hand grabbed her by the nook of her dress, pulled her closer, only for another mess of flesh to collide against her face, once, twice, thrice, and now her nose is broken, another to her throat, and her hands are at her throat as she's struggling to swallow the blood and spit in her throat.

Her face was wet, from the tears blood and even snot, and she wasn't sure how much of it was her own blood, and now there's a hand going in the inside of her dress, brushing against her skin, and then she felt the cold steel slice her chest open.

He pulled her weapon out of her dess, slashed her, then stabbed her neck, and even in her disoriented daze, even in her mess, even in her struggle to gurgle down her blood, she couldn't help the feeling of heat invading her soul.

Her kicked her midsection, making her back away from him, and creating some distance, her cheeks flushed, her wounds already healed, she licked the blood at her lips, she wanted this, she wanted him, she needed him.

Before even attempting to lounge at him again, a barrage of ice spears was launched at her, forcing her to back away to the other side of the room.

The half elf screamed at both men, the grey haired man was suffering a concession, but otherwise was fine, and the one standing was gazing at his mangled flesh, bones protruding from his right hand, a hue of green covering it as the elf began healing it while reprimanding his recklessness, bones popping to place, and flesh stretching and stitching itself together, all in all it was a gruesome process to watch, but not as painful as the sight of it suggests.

Elsa wasn't just standing there watching, though. She was busy battling it out with the giant, though slow and lacking in flexibility. He was strong enough that landing one hit in her would put her out of the fight for much longer than she wished, and each time, she found an opening to counter his slow but brutal strikes, she'd be stopped by the little girl faster than lightening.

How amusing, this has turned out to be a bit more than she expected, all of those strangers coordinating, teaming up against her, it was impressive.

And it wasn't as if she was trying her best, she will admit it, she was a bit insulted by the way the dark haired man laughed at her, driven by her pride and her lust for blood, she underestimated him, and she just stood there bewildered as he struck her down.

Honestly, she just stood too shocked from how he parried her deadly strike, giving up his hand on the process. She never even noticed when the first punch connected with her face, too deep inside her head to react, the way he mercilessly attacked her pretty Visage.

His face, his smile, the empty sea of his eyes, the way his fist collided against her broken nose, his exposed knuckle bones digging into her cheeks, the way his soft fingers brushed against her flesh only to grasp at her weapon, God, what was this feeling?

He split her chest open, but she never felt so full in her heart, she just wanted to pin him down and take him right now already, she wasn't sure if that even entailed gutting him anymore, she's going to save him for last she decides.

The giant and his grand-daughter duet were relentless, they complimented each other's fighting style very well. Finding an opening was proving to be more of a struggle than she once thought, for now, at least.

She could keep this going for days, and she doubted the rest of the room could keep up with her. All she needed was to tire one of them out and cut them down. Patience was the key to this game.

Well, that is before the door to the loothouse slammed open, red hair was all that she saw, before the wind was knocked out of her.

Now she's here, stuck, a new flame in her heart extinguished before it was even lit, and she thought to herself, was this love? Lust? Just warmth, she settled on.

But she's losing it, and he's so out of reach, and all of these cruel people were keeping him away from her, she never asked for much in her life, just a little bit of warmth, was it so wrong to wish for something more than the freezing crystals of ice digging inside her bones.

Was she really so wrong to wish for warmth in others, yes she killed, but so did others, yes she tortured, but she was too, she played both roles diligently, she never complained when her skull caved in.

And here she is now, all bloody and sweaty, a complete wreck, she's not completing her mission, and she's pleading with a deity she doesn't even know if she believes in, was she really the bowl hunter? How the mighty have fallen.

A sword pierced her skin, lodged in her chest, her flesh giving away, red crimson dripping down from this new crevice, and her heart split in half, her legs buckled, and she fell limp on her knees.

A hand kept her grounded, the weight of suns and stars on her shoulders made sure she wouldn't get up again, not that it mattered much, when light blue ice spears nailed her legs to the ground.

Her head hung low, too tired to move any muscle in her body, strange footwear was all the scenery she got.

She heard mumbled noises, unable or maybe not willing to try to decipher any of it in her despaired state. At least he was there next to her, she thought.

A cascade of cold liquid was poured in her being, and that was just unnecessarily cruel, her heart was already invaded with an unending storm of snow, droplets of ink black oil dripped from her hair, she gazed at her coated hands.

Doused in oil?, Ahthis was it, her end, how pitiful, she thought, didn't people usually get more sentimental at the end, was she supposed to beg or pray? she even heard that people experience their lifetime of memories like a stage play, and they bore witness to it, judge it, regret, or long for something in the past.

Something that once was, but now will never be, and how lovely would be to drown in a warm embrace of memories that she loved, she had few, just her and her little sister, sitting on the roof of a random house, dangling their feet in unison, humming and laying with each other, savoring that fantastical heat.

Or maybe she'd slip into that sleep that seduced her for so long, and she'd dream, dreams of a future where she could smile, where her heart will be filled, where her hand will be held, where she can pretend to be like all those normal people with those normal families, she'd go out with her loved ones, do all those boring chores she detested, live that simple boring life she hated, and how unsightly, now she'd trade it all for that mediocrity.

Oh how pitiful she was, down, down she fell, and how sad, how terrible, she opened her chest, and couldn't close the hole, and her tears fell, so did the rain, and it'll wash her all away, her blood, her flesh, her bones, her sins, all down the drain, no one to save her now, her life amounted to nothing.

Live a life of misery, and you get the right to blame the world, and she's taken just as much as was robbed of, a zero-sum game it was, that was her life, you tip the scale on both side, so diligent, so spiteful, take what was yours but never more, but she's had everything taken from her, so she keeps taking and taking, and it'll never be enough, and she's left empty.

The scales lay balanced the weight of her sins equal to the world's blight, and it all pointed to zero, and that's what she wanted all this time. It was uncaringly fair. She had her payback, her revenge, she enacted her lopsided justice, and it left her just as empty.

What went wrong? How had it all led to this? Why is she cold again? She got what she wanted. She was ruthless, unfeeling, just as the world was to her. This was fairness incarnate, and she's miserable.

She wishes to live a little longer, to know a little more to life, should she have gone about it another way? What other way? What other choice? To forgive?

To forgive, to let go, to find warmth within her, not in another's guts, in their smiles, in their love, she could've done that, she should've done that, and now she's drowning in regrets, and she remembers how this all began.

She lay on her back, the weight of a grown man on top of her, she was dead, cold, a corpse in his hands, she never felt so empty, he took off her coat, exposing her to this cruel world.

His hands traced on her flesh, on her hollowed out stomach, and her heart felt even more empty, she hated and hated, she was afraid, disgusted, she was colder than ever, she knew not what he wanted, but she knew she'd never be the same when he was done with her.

If he was done with her, would he even let go of her? Would he do it again? Should she surrender herself to a life of unknown misery, but she was too empty, too shell-shocked to move, too afraid, her fingers twitched.

Bottle near her, lightning quick, a thought entered her mind. She grasped the bottle, tightening and quivering little fingers. She held it up and smashed it on the ground.

Too startled from the noise next to him, he pulled himself up from her, looking around for this strange noise, giving her just the chance she was looking for.

She stabbed the bleeding bottle to his midsection, a screech came out of him, deafening her, he struggled, his hands going to her small neck choking her out, her eyes bulged from the pressure, panic invaded her small frame, she twisted the bottle and drove it even deeper, his hands clasped tighter around her, she twisted and moved, widening the open wound, his hands going numb, she didn't relent, stabbing him again and again and again and again and again...

Her breathing harsh, her mind too messy to think, a warmth seeped to her, his insides poured out on top of her, she should've felt disgusted, but in this cold cold weather, with this bone chilling experience, she couldn't help but relish in this cruel warmth.

And that was it, she was just a child, she knew not any better, she gave in to the dark whispers in her heart, too battered to care, too lonely to be guided to anything better, guts were warmth, eat or be eaten, she learned harsh lessons that day, that molded her into this disgusting mess.

Tears fell from her face, a miserable smile in her deranged facade, it was the end, it wasn't as glory filled as she wanted, but that was fine, she'd make her peace with it, unfair or not, this was brought on her by her hands, all that was left was to accept it.

She looked in front of her, hazel brown invaded her, locking eyes with her, at her level, on his knees.

With a hand, he brushed his hair back and looked anywhere but in her direction, "told you, your future is to die today."

A choked voice escaped her lips, and she wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a strangled wail.

He went on "but...the future can change, and people can too, you know?"

Her eyes widened, her jaw hung low, she did not understand, too miserable to think, to clouded to consider.

"I'm not doing this for you, I hate your guts, I'm doing this for my daughter, so give your life up, be reborn, Elsa Greinheart dies today, but you can live, you will have to pay for your crimes, but there's a chance of redemption in that." His face held a little smile, one filled with regrets, a cruel little imitation of a smile.

His hands held on steel molded cuffs, imbued with magical qualities capable of locking one's gate away, he offered them to her, extended an olive branch, a chance of redemption, salvation, to forgive the world.

"What do you say? Why not try to be better, for Meili, at least." His tone sounding like an old friend beckoning her to pick the right choice, the mention of her sister filled her with warmth, and brought her tears, leaving her wailing like a newborn infant.

Yes, she could try, she could try to forgive, it wasn't too late, she could change, even if she's never forgiven for her sins, she'd have to at least try, she owed it to her little sister, to the world, to herself, to the memory of little Elsa, she'd give it another try.

She promises herself to discover a warmth from within her, and she would give it to those who craved it the most.