Blood drips from the scalpel clenched within Ana's palm as she stares at the deep red liquid pooling around her feet. 

The room is dark. Medical instruments and religious paraphernalia lie scattered across the room. Familiar chains hang from the ceiling near toppled room dividers and bloodied sheets. Her own pupils stare back at her from atop the growing pool of blood. 

Her gaze is empty, yet her pupils are wide. She touches the skin beneath her eye, leaving behind a bloodied smear. In the darkness, her eyes look black. Soulless. 

She withdraws her hand and turns her gaze to the corpse lying not two feet in front of her. That's what she is now, isn't it? A corpse. A body that will eventually go stiff and decay. 

The scalpel slips from Ana's hand and lands in the sanguine pool with a quiet plop. Blood spatters across the top of her boot. She watches it settle with a blank expression. It blends right in.

Something clatters to the floor behind her. 

She turns towards the sound.

Her boyfriend stands at the ward's entrance with shaking hands and pupils blown wide. His breathing is short and quick. She glances at the floor near his left shoe. The stick settles into place. He must have been carrying it when he walked in.

She glances back up at his face—his vision is directed elsewhere. She follows his gaze.

Ah.

He's seen the body.

Ana’s heart distantly thumps in her chest, yet somehow at the same time, she can't feel it. She should be scared, worried, terrified of how he’d react. And yet… 

He sucks in a sharp breath and covers his mouth with both hands. 

“Annie…” his voice trembles as he speaks, “What have you done…?”

Ana follows his gaze back to the body and watches as the dark red liquid continues to spill from her chest at an increasingly slower pace. 

She turns back to her boyfriend and, after a long moment… forces a smile. 

Because Blake’s safe now. 

And that’s all that matters.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Three weeks ago…

“I can’t believe we’re actually in Rome!” Ana exclaims, near-skipping through the Fiumicino airport doors towards the taxi rank, “There’s so much to do - oh! Can we please have pizza for dinner tonight? I’ve always wanted to try authentic Italian pizza!”

“Say cheese,” Allen interjects; Ana strikes a cute pose with her supposedly-secret-boyfriend, Blake. He looks tired, but smiles with a peace sign towards Allen’s phone anyway.

Allen takes the picture.

“Pizza sounds good to me - what do you think?” He replies.

“Eh, I’m in more of a seafood mood,” Jenna says with a shrug of her shoulders, "Which reminds me," she smacks her fist against her palm, spinning to face Ana, “Ana! You, me, pepper spray, c’mon!”

“Wh-?”

“How the hell did seafood remind you of pepper spray?” Blake balks; Jenna sticks her tongue out at him as she steals Allen's little sister away, “Hey-!”

“You boys wouldn’t understand, but a woman needs her protection-”

“Jenna, I’m fine, please, I don’t need pepper spray-” 

“And as such it’s my responsibility to ensure that Allen’s itty-witty-baby sister,” Jenna pinches Ana’s cheek for dramatic effect, her other arm slung around her shoulder, “Is protected. Ciao!”

“Ah!”

“What do you mean ciao? Hey- Hey, get back here!” Blake shouts, “What about your bags?!” 

“Put them in the cab for me!”

“Put your own bags in the-! God damn it,” Blake growls in frustration, dragging his hands down his face—he turns to Allen, “You could have anyone in the world as your best friend, man. Anyone. Why her?!”

Allen hums and takes a photo of the young man now glowering at him in front of the taxi rank. He looks rather dramatic, with his overpriced tan coat floating about in the wind behind him. Allen feels the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. Blake and Jenna really do look the most alike when they’re having a sulk. 

He has to resist the urge to point it out - Blake deserves to get a little rest in first before Allen teases him too much. It was a long flight.

He then tells Blake to go flag down a taxi willing to wait for a bit while he wrangles the bags. No point standing around and doing nothing – knowing Jenna's shopping habits, they’ve got time.

───※·❆·※───

The taxi driver pulls the rolling door shut, before he slips back into the driver’s seat and asks where they’re going in heavily-accented English. Ana leans forward to give him the address of their hotel while Allen relaxes back into his uncomfortable third-row seat.

Allen closes his eyes; he's content to let his little sister take charge of this one. 

“Tired?”

Allen hums, hearing the telltale click of the seatbelt to his left – Jenna’s finally buckled in. He cracks open an eye to see her fiddling with her purse, before he closes it again. She's probably just trying to unearth her phone or something. 

He half-listens to the excited chatter of the group as the taxi pulls away from the curb. Ana and Blake sound particularly excited about visiting the Colosseum. Jenna does as well, if her constant interjections of 'cool gladiator facts' have anything to say.

Allen smiles to himself. Next to their upcoming Dolomites day hike (that he's not looking forward to), she seems the most excited about the Colosseum. He finds himself looking forward to it too.

Hopefully he'll be able to get some nice photos for their holiday album.

Time passes as the taxi weaves throughout the city and the chatter begins to die down. Ana and Blake become engaged in a hushed conversation of their own as Jenna sprawls out in the car seat behind them, fingers tapping away at her phone.

Allen yawns, blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

His head lulls to the side. 

He absentmindedly watches Jenna play her gem-matching game for a few rounds, feeling more and more amused with every missed timer—she’s not very good at it. He waits until she’s given up on the game and returned to mindlessly scrolling through her social media feed before he interrupts her.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says, resisting the urge to laugh when she startles mid-scroll.

"Huh?"

“For the trip," he elaborates, turning his gaze toward the window, "I forgot to say it on the plane."

She barks out an amused laugh, reaching over to ruffle his hair—he bats her hand away and tells her to stop it. She cackles and withdraws her hand with a wolfish grin.

“Don’t sweat it, seriously," Jenna says, absentmindedly taking a picture of a cheese shop as they pass by, "Just think of it as a week away from our dogshit parents, or a well-earned vacation to celebrate you never having to see your piece of shit mum ever again. The possibilities are endless."

"Mm," he hums, " Just don't forget to tell me how much everything costs so I can pay you back."

Jenna snorts.

"Yeah, sure," she replies, clearly intending to do the exact opposite. 

"Jenna–"

"Ah-bah-bah-bah—Sorry, I can't hear you over all the fun we're going to have," she interrupts, pretending to plug her ears; she grins, "My money, my rules, buddy. You can pay me back by having the time of your life."

Allen groans, failing to suppress a smile of his own. He rolls his eyes and tells her to put that ridiculous smile away. Their taxi has finally come to a stop in front of their hotel.

───※·❆·※───

Thwack!

“Go! Go! Go!”

The rounded stone soars through the sky as Godien stabs his blade into the soil and runs. His gilded boots slam against the dirt pentagram drawn into the soil as he races past the first, the second, the third base—arm outstretched as he finally approaches the second to last–

"You're out!"

"Blast it!" Godien curses, his toe making contact with the fourth base mere seconds after the stone-keep catches the rounded stone in his mitt.

The knight laughs, “Apologies, your highness!”

“Liar,” Godien retorts, tone sharp despite the grin tearing his cheeks asunder. He does a cursory stretch before jogging back towards his teammates, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't fibbing a sin, Sir Diarmad–?"

“Prince Godien dir Fearg Impireal!”

Every knighted man, woman, and daemon in-between either freeze, or startle. 

Godien stumbles over a rock and falls face-first into the dirt—it's almost a miracle that he doesn't end up eating it too. 

He feels the shadow of his younger cousin envelop him as he pulls himself to his knees, throat suddenly drier than Scorchlands on a hot summer’s day. He can’t help but notice the entire courtyard has gone silent.

He tries not to gulp too loudly.

“Your highness.”

Against every fiber of his better judgement begging him not to, Godien looks up—he blanches. Wow, his cousin's eyes are certainly... red right now. Who knew a little natural back-lighting would be all Iarlaith needs to make those fluffy purple locks look absolutely freaking terrifying–

“Iarlaith, hey, haha... fancy seeing you out here–"

“Get up.”

Godien scrambles to his feet.

“Oh, wow, would you look at the time,” Godien laughs a little too hard, turning to face the knights with a strained grin, "That's a game, set and match for me, I'm afraid. Sincerest appreciations to each and every one of you for indulging me in this wonderous experience–”

“Godien.”

“Thanks for the great game; would love to play again sometime—eek!" Godien backwards walk-jog-runs towards the palace entrance, hands nervously flailing about as Iarlaith herds him out like a prized cattle to the slaughter, "Remember me fondly. May the lord-and-lady-be-with-you-bye!” 

The second the heel of his boot touches the marble floor of the palace hallway, he spins on his heel and bolts.

Maybe if he runs fast enough, Iarlaith will forgive him.