’’An unsung tale of two forsaken souls,

Secluded by love, isolated by mirth

No hope perceived in either soul 

Although fate hath other plans declared…’’

''Ophelia....''

''Yes?''

''Promise that you'll never abandon me, ever-''

''I promise...''

Those few agonizing words kept on reverberating in his mind brimming with anguish, like a broken record that ceaselessly repeated the same infuriating note again and again. Seven years had passed since that grievous incident befell on the Prince of Jevanna, but time seemed to stop for him just as the breeze hushed around him like the spectators in an arena, anticipating the climax of an event. The isolation engulfed his body, strangling him with despair as he knelt beside his deceased wife's grave. Tears threatening to cascade from his eyes, but Ah! His pride wouldn't have let him weep out his painful twinge.

''You lied to me sweet Ophelia...You lied that you'll stay with me forever...'' He whispered in a monotonous and slightly cracked voice. These were the same words he repeated every Friday whenever he visited her sepulcher, while he placed the bunch of white roses on her grave.

Her Favorite Flowers.

The Prince, who was once known for his charisma, his impressive smile and his witty quips, was buried long ago along with his wife. The person who stood in front of her grave with an impassive expression was no less than a statue fashioned out of his callous fate’s spite. If only he could go back in time, if only she was not persistent, she still would have been alive and beside him, resting against his shoulder and humming a well-known tune while he would have breathed out a sigh as a sensation of being soothed tingled within him, but of course those suppositions were just to provide solace to his tumultuous mind.

''Oh dear Ophelia, if only... if I knew who it was...'' He gritted his teeth in ill humor. 

Rage, the only emotion he was acquainted with in these seven agonizing years. Other than that were guilt and dolefulness that he felt occasionally as he thought about this dead wife.

Her beautiful face

her dazzling green eyes

her cheerful laugh

her soft voice.

All of it was nothing but a reminiscence that pierced his heart like a jagged dagger, twisting inside it like an assassin assassinating his victim ruthlessly. He could have written leaves after leaves on how painful it was to be bereft by his beloved wife, but all those words wouldn't have been enough to explain his broken heart. If only she didn't depart the way she did. His ache was almost at its verge and his sorrow was about to slip down his cheeks in the form of tears, but it looked like the heavens seemed to be aware of his woes and began pouring down as if trying to express its feelings to the prince, telling him that it understood his discomfort even if he assumed that nobody did. 

Time was supposed to heal his wounds, instead it added salt to them as every second that passed, reminding him that his mate was not with him anymore. His train of miserable thoughts came to a halt as he heard a familiar tender yet masculine voice calling out his name.

''Sire, I believe it's time to leave. You might catch a cold.'' He stated with his eyes cast down in respect.

''I don't want to-'' Was the dour reply of the prince. He was shivering with cold, his eyes bloodshot, clashing with the colour of his dull cerulean iris. He just couldn't care less; he just wanted to spend some time alone with his wife, dead wife.

''...Your wife wouldn't be pleased if I let you stay in the rain.'', mumbled the most loyal servant of the prince. It had been more than ten years since he served the royal family and was well aware of the grief the prince was suffering from. Joseph was more like a friend and an adviser than a servant for the prince. An exasperated sigh escaped through the cold lips of the Prince of Jevanna before he nodded and followed Joseph, tearing away his gaze from his wife's grave. He knew she was sleeping there peacefully, without him.

"There you are," Rodney said as he walked into the locker room, seeing the object of his search waiting for him on the bench. "I've been looking for you all afternoon. You really shouldn't wander off by yourself that way."

He stopped for a moment, hesitating as he stepped over to the bench where the picture lay. He stared at it for a minute, then picked it up. The picture was an old black and white photo of himself, his sister Jeannie and their mom.

The picture was worn at the edges, and looked like it might fall apart at any moment. He usually kept it in his room in an old photo album, but he brought it out every Christmas and hung it up in his locker. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been as happy as the day his dad had taken that picture. Rodney was six years old, and in 1973 the old koda-chrome was the only camera his parents had at the time. The holidays were always rough for him. Remembering that Christmas was always the hardest. That was the year his entire world had been turned upside down.

1973 was a year of changes it. It was the last Christmas in the old house he had loved so much. It was the year his parents had told him that Santa wasn't able to afford the toy train which was the only thing he had asked for in his letter that year. That was also the year he stopped believing in Santa. And, he mused, that was also the year that he had realized he was so much smarter than all the other kids in his first grade class at school... and his teacher, and the principal, and the seventh grade teacher who had called him "impertinent.' Then there was the Superintendent....

It was no wonder he hadn't believed in Santa at that point, it didn't make any sense to continue to do so. It didn't make sense to believe that an old, fat, overweight man could drive a sleigh led by eight reindeer around the world and deliver toys to over half the worlds children. Then there was also the fact that all those reindeer were female, yet they had male names. Why, self-respecting first grader growing up in Canada knew that the only reindeer to hold their antlers well into the middle of winter are the females. Sheesh.

As Rodney stared at the picture, Carson walked into the locker room. Rodney clutched the picture to his chest, trying to hide it, as he turned at the sound of the door closing behind him.

"Oh, Carson, um, hi." Rodney stuttered, as he tried to un-scrunch the picture.

"You miss `em, don't you?" Carson asked, but he knew the answer already. He knew what Rodney was holding. They had talked about the picture last Christmas when Rodney had hung it up in his locker.

"Yes, I do. Its been a long time. But, that's life. We can't have everything."

Carson stood there for moment, contemplating the lost look on Rodney's face. "Yes, life happens, and sometimes we lose those we love. And other times, we are separated by long distances. But never forget, you do still have family... even way out here."

Rodney gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I know. Its hard to forget you sometimes, you're always under foot. Getting in my way, and ordering me around. If people didn't know better, they'd think you really were my brother."

"HA!" Carson laughed as he reached over and grabbed Rodney by the shoulder, shoving him in the direction of the exit. It was time they joined the Christmas party that John was throwing for everyone in the mess hall.

"Didn't I ever tell you about the time my dad and your mom…....."

Their voices trailed off as the locker room door closed behind them, with Rodney still clutching his picture.

***a little info for those who haven't read the Heroes of Olympus:

So this takes place at a demigod camp called Camp Half-Blood. Everyone there has a Greek god for a parent and lives in their godly parent's cabin at the camp. Will is the son of Apollo, the god of the sun and healing. Patrick is a son of Aphrodite, the goddess of love. Will is gifted with Apollo's power of healing. When he heals or, in theory, gets emotional, his freckles shine with sunlight. Hope you like it! :)***

I felt my body slam against the Apollo cabin. His hands were tangling with the curls in my hair. I thought This couldn't be happening, not to me, not with him.

But yet here I was, so I decided to enjoy the moment as best as I could and pressed my lips harder against his.

Patrick, being a child of Aphrodite, knew what he was doing. He fell into a type of rhythm, his hands moving up my body in sink with our lips.

I pushed back against my cabin and he gently kissed my lips. Oh, his lips were so soft. I had thought that me being, well, gay would stop anything like this happening. But every moment with him was becoming better than the last.

I didn't know for sure if Patrick felt the same way until now. Of course I found him attractive, with his dark brown hair and freckles that moved with every motion of his face. The dimples that appeared when he smiles or went in for a kiss were more than swoon worthy.

Every girl wanted to be with him...and so did I.

I felt his breath on my neck as I clutched the back of his shirt. I had always worried that I would never be happy, that I would always just live life in fear of being rejected. But now I know that I can be happy. I can love and have them love me back.

Patrick pulled away looking at the ground and slowly smiled, bringing his freckles to his eyes. He started to laugh a little, which made my freckles glow with sunlight as I blushed. I nervously laughed with him, not knowing what else to do.

"What's so funny?" I asked, hoping it wasn't something I had done.

Patrick looked at me with a completely different face from the one that he pulled me back here with. That one was sweet, kind, loving. This one had poison on the tongue and fire in the eyes.

"I just can't believe," he started as he took a couple of steps back, "that it's finally going to happen."

"What?" I asked as I gave a nervous half smile.

"I'm going to finally complete the right of passage for an Aphrodite child."

I took a step back. I didn't want to believe what I was hearing. All the stupid children of Aphrodite thought they had to complete a "right of passage" to appease their mother.

They had to ruthlessly break a heart. They had to hurt someone so bad that the broken would always feel the loss of that Aphrodite child.

After Piper arrived and she refused to do it, many followed her path. I asked Patrick how he felt about it, not wanting to be the broken heart that completes someone's "right of passage".

He said that he couldn't stand the idea. He said that he would never do that to a person. He said...

"You were really into that, weren't you?" He asked viciously as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

I grabbed the back of my father's cabin for support. "Wh-what are you saying?" I half whispered, struggling to hold back tears.

Patrick gave me a look of fake sympathy as he came and cupped my cheek with his hand. "You really do like me, don't you, Will?"

I looked away as he still held my face and a tear came rolling down my cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb as carefully as he had kissed me.

He put a finger under my chin and lifted my gaze to meet his. He looked as if he would go in for another kiss, but instead he passed my lips and went for my ear.

I could feel his warm breath on the side of my face.

I closed my eyes tight as he hovered close to my ear, wishing to have never met him. Wishing to have never looked into his dark chocolate eyes. Hating myself for ever falling in love with him.

He gently laughed in my ear. "I'm straight, you freak."

All my body weight fell against the back wall of the Apollo cabin. I couldn't fight back the tears anymore.

He had done it. He had completed his right of passage.

He had broken my heart.

He looked back at me as he took a few steps back, smirking the whole time. He stepped closer towards me and tried to make eye contact, but I refused. I just pursed my lips and looked straight above him as my tears silently rolled down my cheeks.

"Now the only thing," he viciously laughed, "is to decide whether or not if I should tell the rest of the camp your little secret."

I looked at him in shock. Aphrodite's children were always a little underhanded, but this was low, even for them.

"Oh don't want me to, do you, Will?" He said noticing my shocked expression.

"Well..." he said, biting his thumb nail and taking a few steps away from me with his back turned as he toyed with me some more. "I guess I've caused you enough pain. I mean who knows!" he said as he whipped back around to face me with an evil grin on his face. "Maybe after me, you'll be too hurt to ever love again, let alone another guy. So I guess this can stay our little secret." He winked at me, making my freckles shine brighter under the tears as I clenched my fists with rage.

"Anyways, once I pass the threshold of the Aphrodite cabin, I'll get my mother's blessing. Then everyone will know that I have finally broken a heart. And hey," he called back to me as he started to walk off, "maybe I'll get extra credit for an extra damaged heart!"

I heard him laugh as he walked off, leaving me alone.

My legs immediately grew weak after he left. I slid down against the cabin wall and hit the cold earth beneath me. I put my head down on my arms and began to silently weep.

I thought about what Patrick said, how he called me a-a freak. As if I hadn't thought it myself. I thought that something was wrong with me for liking other guys; that I was messed up in the head. And now that someone who I actually had feelings for said it to me, I just don't know...

After a couple of minutes of sitting on the ground crying, I slowly stood up, deciding it was better to leave now then risk getting caught and having to answer questions for why I was crying.

I wasn't sure what to do or where to go. I thought about how Patrick told me I would possibly never love again, maybe not even love another man.

That was the first thing I had to do, I decided. I couldn't let Patrick win. I wouldn't let him change me. No matter what, I was going to let myself love whomever my heart chose.

But there was always the danger of being tricked, of being played. I knew that that wound would never heal, not even with all of the healing of my father. I knew that I would forever be weary of anyone and everyone I felt attracted to.

I cringed, tasting the poison Patrick had set in me. I may never be able to fully trust again.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand and remembered how Patrick did the same with his lips; as if he had to wipe myself off of him.

The memory shot a blindfold rage threw my body as I clenched my fists and hit the wall of my cabin . I leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

"Never again," I swore. "Never again."

It was the time of year where balmy breezes crept through open windows and the students would rather be outdoors then stuck inside finishing the last bit of studying. As the summer holidays drew closer talk turned to summer plans and what each student plan to do until the next term began.

This was still a heavy topic of conversation when Victoria, Jeremiah, Laura and Pansy entered Defense Against the Dark Arts on a Wednesday in late May.

"I think we're staying home this summer," Laura commented, "but my aunt, you know the one that works at the Ministry; said she would come and visit."

Pansy nodded.

"Yeah, I think after Christmas, my family is staying home too although mom did mention something about going to the coast in July."

Victoria and Jeremiah listened quietly. They didn't have much to add to the conversation at the moment as their minds were preoccupied with other matters.

When they entered the classroom and found their seats Professor Quinn was waiting for them. He seemed a little bit less exuberant than usual and studied each of them with an unusually somber expression.

As soon as everyone was seated, Professor Quinn cleared his throat and raised his hands to quiet the room.

"Excuse me, excuse me, but before we begin the lesson I have been an announcement to make."

The class got quiet unusually quickly, maybe it was his tone of voice but Victoria sensed they all knew something was amiss.

"Next year I will not be teaching you."

There was an instant uproar from the students.

"Have you been sacked?" A Gryffindor boy yelled from the front.

As soon as the room quieted Professor Quinn spoke again, his voice calm and quiet.

"To answer your question, no, I have not been sacked. I am simply taking a leave of absence for the next school year. In the next coming weeks I will be speaking to the headmistress about finding me a temporary replacement; although I have a few in mind. That is all I will say at this time."

Professor Quinn cleared his throat his tone instantly shifting to be more upbeat.

"Right then. Please turn in your books to page 407. Very important lesson today, so take notes!"

They spent the rest of the hour taking notes on vampires and werewolves. Professor Quinn even assigned a roll in a half parchment on the tensions between vampires and werewolves that had been going on for centuries, and Professor Quinn normally didn't assign such extensive homework.

The class was still buzzing about Professor Quinn's announcement when they were heading to their next class.

"What do you suppose he's leaving for?" Pansy asked.

Victoria shrugged.

"Don't know, but kind of odd isn't it? Him leaving out of the blue like this. I mean, he is a good teacher."

The rest of them all nodded in agreement, even Laura.

Later that afternoon they all strolled around the lake, but after a while Victoria pulled her friends aside and murmured in an undertone.

"Can you guys excuse us?" She glanced at Jeremiah over her shoulder, "but we need to talk, in private."

"Snog, is more like it." Laura muttered, in a barely disguised whisper.

"Come on Laura," Pansy muttered, "let's give them some time . Besides, we have to start on that essay for Quinn."

Victoria was sighed in relief as she watched her two friends walked away.

As soon as Pansy and Laura had returned to the castle she and Jeremiah strolled in companionable silence, until finally Victoria spoke.

"So… How's Jason doing?"

"He's doing okay," Jeremiah answered, " still in the hospital but he's out of critical condition. I think the Healers want to make sure he is all right in the head before they clear him for work."

Victoria nodded and they continued in silence for several more minutes.

"What you want to do then, when you return to the States?" Victoria asked.

"Victoria, we've already talked about this. We'll do what we always do."

"But, you weren't my boyfriend then."

Jeremiah smiled faintly.

"True."

Jeremiah considered.

"I could take a portkey over with Jason until he finishes work on some weekends, but other than that I can't do much. I will try to come over the holidays though."

"Until then?" Victoria whispered.

"Until then I think Laura was right. I am going to spend a fair amount of time snogging you, or kiss as we normally say in the States."

Victoria laughed.

"I know that."

Jeremiah ran his thumb over her bottom lip looking at her with such a tender expression she could feel her insides turning to goo. Then he leaned down and did exactly what he said he would and kissed her.

They stayed like that for quite some time until the sky was darkening and Jeremiah suggested they should go in for dinner. By then, Victoria had managed to forget everything important, even the departures of people that truly mattered to her.

†††

Again, and again Victor baffles Rodya. It is unclear what this newcomer wants. He refuses to go, yet asks for nothing. Everyone has something they want, and men of money do not just step down to the level of the street for no reason. Perhaps he would believe it was some altruistic drive but... no, Victor is far too driven. Far too focused on... him. Why him? He has nothing to offer...

This strange obsession became sharply evident when Rodya's mother and sister visited. Three days into Victor's visits with his patient. Rodya had anticipated this. He was waiting for this man of wealth, just like his sister's ex-fiancé Luzhin, to take a liking to Dounia, his sister. That will kill two birds with one stone, as Razumihin, who is fond of Dounia, would be jealous and drive him away while Victor's hidden motives would be revealed.

Nothing like that happened.

Victor gave none but polite glances to Dounia, who possessed much the same dark prettiness as Rodya. His intense... searching? gaze kept tight to Rodya, following his thin form, the curve of his neck as he refused to make eye contact. The stranger was charming, sweet, and came out all the more amicable with Razumihin, Dounia, and mother, than before. Only Rodya still remained as suspicious as he was, but then again Rodya was the only one being carefully watched. Like some sort of prey.

The feeling is very unnerving. Perhaps he is not an... extraordinary man- though he has not quite given up on that idea- but he is still in charge of his own mind. He won't let some stranger take that control, despite... his current weakness, his current confusion. No, there isn't any room to worry about Victor, not with the murder, not when he must contemplate the daring... No...

Even now, after... Rodya looks up and finds Victor's dark eyes on him. They are alight with curiously. Damn him! What does he seek to find?!

Again Rodya looks sharply away. He has thus far been dealing with the threat posed by this rich stranger with silence. A silence that been very hard to maintain with the infuriating comments that Victor tends to make. These thoughts, these emotions have been bottling up... Petrevich demands so much, with his constant interrogations, the girl he met... Sonia, she makes him question his own soul...

And now a rich man who gazes at Rodya as if he knows, as if he understands...

But he couldn't know. He couldn't understand. Rodya himself hardly understands... What then, what could this man of privilege possibly know of anything Rodya has experienced?!

Rodya gloomily looks down at his hands. Near every action he commits to these days can be described as gloomy. Or brooding. He is much too deep in his own mind, and has lost reality... And without such, how to determine the importance of anything? Dear God, he feels so detached... yet in such terrible suffering- and for what? To be someone extraordinary? For the sake of knowing? He was not any better for either... What suffering was greater? To be alone and ignorant or to be with those who do not know while he alone is ignorant?

"We are rarely alone." Victor comments. Rodya startles, eyes briefly drawn to Victor's again.

No response.

"You rest so often. When you are not resting there is someone else in the room." Victor continues, moving to sit on the small couth beside Rodya. "When both of those are untrue- you've been summoned to the police station, or are off attending to your friend Sonia, or are off just wandering pointlessly, or you've just been pretending to rest and... do I need to continue? I think that covers the general idea well enough. I've placed my claim."

Rodya sighs. Victor is very much a man of science. He goes about life through hypothesis, research, and conclusions. Rodya has never been one for nature seen through science, but instead human nature. He scoffs.

"What of it? You're my doctor not my Mother."

Victor laughs, "I didn't see that sort of control when she visited. I bet you do listen to me more."

A deep sigh from Rodya, "You listen to me, now, I won't have-"

Victor lays a hand on his shoulder, "Hush. I just made the point about us being alone because I want to talk to you about something alone."

A dark (gloomy) look from Rodya, bordering on hateful glare. "What is that?"

"The murder." Such a smug grin.

Rodya's heart stops. He knows. You fool... flashes trough his troubled mind. He has been so pleased with his acting, had he let something slip? No... he'd been so silent. Victor had nothing.

"What of it? I've been ill. You know that better than anyone!" He replies after a moment of his heart pounding.

Victor raises his eyebrows. "It's really truly amazing how calm you can become. Trust me. I understand deceit."

"Deceit?" Rodya stands abruptly, getting away from Victor. "What are you accusing me of? You're a doctor- did you not tell me to avoid stress?! Why do you-"

Victor stands as well, grabbing hold of Victor's arm.

"It isn't an accusation. I am sure it is a fact." Victor's gaze burns into Rodya's black stare.

"Nonsense!" Rodya jerks away as Victor lets go, sending the Russian man sprawling against the wall. He falls onto the floor, looking up at Victor with wide eyes, breathing heavily.

"What are you so afraid of Rodya?" Victor asks, crossing his arms, looking down at Rodya with some degree of satisfaction.

What proof could he have? He can't know! How is he so sure?! What game is he playing?!

"What is the matter with you?" Rodya cries. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

In response Victor crouches down to Victor's level. "I don't have any proof, if you're concerned about that. I don't want to tell Petrevich a thing. I don't want to see you sent off to Siberia."

This is all so... abrupt, confusing... had the end come so soon? Did Petrevich already know?!

It's a rather good thing that Rodya is on the floor, as he's beginning to feel faint... Perhaps this would be better if Victor really thought he was a madman... it feels as if the swissman can see into his consciousness. That can't be possible though...

"Who are you really? Why have you come here?! What is it you want from me?" Rodya's voice is weak. "You come at me with baseless accusations, claiming to be a doctor!"

Victor seizes both of Rodya's arms, to pull him closer. "And you are not ill by any doing but your own. That we both know."

"What do we both know? How can you know?!" Sonia's words rush though Rodya's thoughts, "Is... is it possible- are you divine, somehow?"

The words seem utterly ridiculous once they escape, but also fitting. Sonia has filled his mind with ideas of God, and angels, and forgiveness... He is not sure anyone- what is real. All that he'd assumed had not been quite right...

"Divine?" Victor sighs. He has considered this point very deeply. "I do not think so. Some have called me God, creator but... no- I do not think in the way you mean."

"I... I don't underta-"

"Understand! Yes, understanding- that is what I want. You asked that of me, did you not? What it was I wanted? There are so many people in my life, so many that I love, and who love me. Yet... yet none of them can know..."

Victor searches Rodya's face desperately. He receives no response.

"Where do I even begin?" Victor squeezes Rodya's arms. Another deep sigh. "You're a murderer-"

"I am no such-"

"-and as a murderer, you don't really matter do you? You're of little consequence in society. A criminal. Who would even believe you once I told you my secret?"

Rodya is staring at Victor, whose intensity is borderline feverish, incredulously. "What right do you have to speak down to me?! You are-" Rodya tries to cut in.

Victor stops him with a harsh squeeze, pulling him closer yet. His voice is a harsh whisper. "But that is only half of it! There is more to you- I know this to be true. Understanding is not just a body that listens, because I have known murderers. You are uncommon among them. The guilt you feel is my guilt! This beautiful sensitivity you posses is... is something that I went through! Can't you see? Fate has drawn us together! Has delivered to me a brother who will share my burden! Fate has gifted me-"

Thought this monologue Victor's voice has been steadily rising, and Rodya expected to smell vodka carried on his hot breath, but Victor was not even remotely drunk. This is something he truly believes! And Rodya has run out of what little, sporadic, patience he had been trying to cling to.

"Fate?!" Rodya demands attention with his voice, the intensity of his stare. He feels far too weak to do it physically. "You have come here because of some idea of fate?! Are you not a man, who makes your own decisions?!"

Victor blinks. He is not used to being torn from monologueing in such a way.

"Whatever do you mean? I make decisions, yes, but once I have done so fate guides the consequences."

Rodya is greatly annoyed. Victor can see that in the look he gives him. "the consequences of your actions stem from your decisions. That is not fate! That is facing what you have done and deciding whether or not you will accept the cost of that action or if you cannot."

"But this was fate! My actions have sent me to you. Why else would two people as different as us have come together?"

"I had no desire to met you! It was not fate that drove you to chase e down! I do not know what did! But it was not fate; it was entirely your own madness!"

"I'm no more mad than you! You know that- you know a great deal. As fate has commanded it, now let me finish my confession!"

"Ach... Victor." It seemed as if Rodya was going to make some form of retort, but instead he fell silent. This rich Swiss man was immensely frustrating.

"Thank you..." Victor takes a deep breath, he has been clutching Rodya, knuckles white, and he now relaxes that grip. "Oh... I don't know how to confess this... it has all been like a dream... no, a nightmare. Where could I even start?"

"After all of that you won't even get to the point?!" Rodya cries.

"Don't you rush me! Not in confession to this depth! Don't you understand what this means to me?!"

"No! Damn you no! How can I when you refuse to explain a damn thing?! I never asked you to even come here let alone force your secrets upon me!"

Victor is stunned. Anyone back at his home would have hung off his every word. Yet this Russian man doesn't seem to care... but, no, it can't be! Victor is just overwhelming him, that's all. So he must calm down- Rodya is just scared, not cold.

He takes a deep breath and released the air as a sigh, rubbing Rodya's arms.

"Hush now. Don't be distressed."

Rodya just stares at him. It must be working.

"I'll continue, then, now that we are both calm. What I must confess is the darkest of my desires fulfilled. My greatest guilt, secret, and regret. I am loathe to say the words aloud, as I have never confessed them to a single other soul."

"Don't let me change that for you." Rodya mutters, trying to bat away Victor's hands.

"Rodya! Rodya, you are beyond cruel to me! I cannot bear this alone any longer!"

"I do not want to know your secret!"

"Are you not the least bit curious even, Rodya?! I have defiled nature!"

"As have I? I have no room to shoulder the burdens of others! Perhaps, before, I may have asked, but I do not like you to begin with!"

"Before the murders?!" Victor snaps finally, as though he's striking a blow.

Rodya's eyes just flash. "Yes." Victor has driven him to this point, and now Victor cannot bear to by the only privy to a secret. Understanding must go both ways.

"I shall not know your confession and keep mine to myself!" Victor's heart beats, he feels a single drop of perspiration. It is time! Finally time!

"Victor, you forced me to-"

"I HAVE CREATED A MAN!"

Silence.

†††

Victor is mad. He is mostly certainly insane. Everything is very clear now.

"He... he is a creature... hideous and deformed... I made this thing..." Slowly Victor trials off, staring into Rodya's eyes.

"No you haven't." Rodya says firmly.

"What?"

"No." Rodya looks away, crossing his arms.

"I have!" Victor rocks back on his heels, looking as though he's been punched. "I have played God! I-"

"Cannot believe you wasted my time for this. And you call yourself a doctor?"

"I am a doctor! Of sorts. Look, I have studied the sciences for years! Down to discovering the secret of life! What more could a doctor provide than giving life?!"

Rodya sighs. For a moment, the way Victor was talking about regret, desires, and playing God, he thought this rich man might truly be extraordinary, or at least understand as he claimed to. However, he sees the follies of these hopes now. Creating life is a matter of fiction. Rodya knows now that Victor has targeted him to share his madness. Well, he is not mad, so Victor is out of luck. They may share some ideas, the same base perhaps... but, no. No, there are no further similarities.

"You have proof of this 'life'?" Rodya asks after his momentary pause. He is feeling really lightheaded after all this excitement.

"I do! The creature stalks me... a bitter daemon that searches to destroy all that I love! He is a monster, hideous, with taunt, dead, yellow skin, sunken eyes, and although I've given him the nicest teeth and hair... oh, it only makes it all worse!"

Rodya shakes his head, "As such an incredible doctor you should be able to diagnose your own hallucinations."

This is not how Victor imagined that his grand confession would go, and he grows weary of Rodya's tone with him. He will not stand to be mocked! No man will dominate him, not even another who may be... equal in wit. Rodya's last comment sparks his passion beyond any other.

"I have told no lies! I am not mad!" Victor cries out, seizing Rodya's collar, "And you shall not mock me for the horrors I have been witness to!"

Victor yanks Rodya to his feet, for a full groan man the Russian is far too thing and light, before slamming him into the wall of the tiny room. The plaster cracks. Rodya winces, taking the attack well, as Victor cannot see the waves of dizziness that sweep over him, darkening his vision.

"My little brother was murdered! My sister, my best friend- they are under constant threat! And you will not dare to-... Rodya?"

The other man's eyes have closed, and he isn't resisting at all... Victor releases Rodya, and then barely catches the Russian against his chest as he goes limp.

"Hmmm. You've fainted." Victor observes, anger fading. He pulls Rodya into his arms, lifting the limp figure completely from the ground. For a moment he just cradles the man, feeling how insubstantial he is.

"Rodya you need to eat more... You should really listen to me." Victor carries the other man to the door, careful not to hit him against anything, a difficult task in the tiny room. "This place is poisoning you, such a nasty little hovel."

Victor has decided his medical treatment needs to become more forceful. Also, he very much desires to control their environment. He carries Rodya from his room, holding him close, and down the stairs.

(This piece is inspired by Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical Cinderella. I reimagined the story with the prince as the main character. Christopher is a bit of a cornball, completely over dramatic, and is currently in the process of learning about the commoners who live in his father's kingdom. He borders on the self-centered side, but has a kind heart and an almost black and white sense of justice. This is an excerpt of Prince Christopher's initial meeting with Cinderella, after abruptly leaving a hunting trip during an argument with his brother.) 

Christopher had ridden about an hour's time, deep into the forest. The red and golden foliage of fall was a truly spectacular sight, but the prince was hardly in any position to admire such a thing now. Christopher was sufficiently lost. With a heavy sigh, Christopher pulled tightly on the reins, bringing his horse to a halt, dismounted from Sage's back, and rubbed the mare's brown muzzle. Sage whinnied, apparently pleased at the contact, while his basset hound sniffed along the ground, having caught the scent-trail of some unfortunate creature.

"Looks like we're lost," the prince spoke to his animals, "well, I suppose that's my fault, isn't it? Running alone into the woods wasn't my greatest idea."

Suddenly, a small, gray hare came bounding out from the underbrush, and Arrow chased after it, like a dog on a mission. Christopher did not care to see another animal killed this morning, so he brought his fingers to his lips, and produced a sharp whistle. The hound immediately left off his pursuit, in absolute obedience, and padded over to his master.

"Arrow, down boy!" the prince stooped, and flopped the hound's ears playfully, "We're not hunting today."

Then Christopher stood, to brush dirt and other forest sediment from his riding breeches and tunic. The young prince walked in a sort of slow circular pattern, taking in his surroundings. All Christopher could see was trees, and more trees. Some were deciduous, others were coniferous, but they were all trees none the less, and there were no discerning landmarks whatsoever that might have given the prince any clue as to his current whereabouts.

"Well, at least I know we're in the Forever Wood," Christopher began thoughtfully, as if his animal companions could understand him, "who ever said princes were useless!"

At this, his loyal dog perked his ears, titled his canine head, and let out a playful yelp.

The prince shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, "You wound me, Arrow, with your sarcasm."

Arrow, now lying comfortably in a pile of crisp, fallen leaves, covered both eyes with his paws, and Christopher laughed.

"All right, you two," Christopher grunted, again mounting his mare, "let's explore a bit. Maybe we shall find our way out of here yet."

The prince dug his heels into Sage's stirrups, and the horse started off at a leisurely walking pace. Christopher made a quick glance over his cloaked shoulder, only to see Arrow still reclining happily in a pile of autumn leaves.

"Lazy little dog," grinned the prince, who whistled once more, calling for his hound.

After another twenty minutes or so of aimless wandering, Christopher came across a creek bed, and Sage wasted no time lowering her head to drink the clear, cool water. The prince patted the horse's black mane, thinking. Christopher knew that fresh water was invaluable in these parts, which meant, if he followed the creek upstream, he would most likely find civilization. What a brilliant man he truly was!

"Come on, girl," ordered Christopher, tugging on the reins yet again, "this way."

Sage entered into a canter, and the prince did not even have to whistle for his dog this time around. It appeared Arrow must have thought that Christopher would have willingly left him behind, because the hound bounded after the prince at lightning speeds, kicking up leaves and clouds of dust in the process.

As the seconds ticked away into minutes, Christopher still hadn't met another human soul, but he did notice that the gathering of trees was growing thinner as he continued to move upstream with the creek. That was a good sign; it meant that they would be exiting the Forever Wood soon, and Christopher preferred sooner than later.

Christopher's stomach growled ferociously. He had already consumed the light snack Lucille prepared for him, consisting of cheese, bread, and a small canteen of water, a little under a half hour ago. Christopher had left the rest of the food behind with his father and brother, and the prince was only just beginning to regret his reckless and spontaneous nature. Christopher clutched his empty stomach with his hands, thinking up ways to keep his mind off the hunger, but it was no use. If the poor man didn't find any sustenance soon, he would surely starve! Christopher didn't think that he had ever felt so hungry in all his life. Why did being a prince entail such a difficult lifestyle? There certainly could not be another soul on the planet Earth more miserable than he!

The young prince was just about to resign himself to sighing due to his unparalleled woe, when the sound of Arrow's bark interrupted him. That dumb dog had put a damper on Christopher's infamous dramatic tendencies! Oh, well. He thought. It wasn't like the animals could appreciate good drama anyway.

"Quite down, Arrow," Christopher ordered, but when the hound began to run about in quick little circles of excitement, he added, "did you catch the scent of something, boy?"

Christopher had barely finished his sentence, when the basset hound darted off, running to where the prince could only venture a guess. He had only ever seen the dog behave in such a way in one place... the palace kitchens. Had Arrow caught the aroma of some local's cooking? Not wanting to lose sight of the dog, Christopher yipped, kicked his toes in the stirrups, and brought Sage to a full gallop.

By the time the prince had caught up with Arrow, he and Sage had just exited the forest. That smart little dog had found their way out of the Forever Wood! Christopher could see a modest cottage a little ways off, sitting alone atop a green hill. Now, all the fairy tales Christopher had ever had read to him as a boy, promised that people who lived in cottages were naturally friendly, and would not hesitate to aid a hungry prince in need. He was going to that cottage.

The prince dismounted from his horse, leading Sage along the ground, by her reins. When he reached the little, yellow cottage, Christopher left his mare to graze in the grass at the foot of the hill, and Arrow went off to chase a terrified looking squirrel. Shaking his head at Arrow's antics, Christopher marched up to the cottage, and knocked firmly on the door. There was no answer, but the prince knew someone had to be home. Something was cooking! He could see the thick, black smoke escaping the chimney flue, and he could smell the savory dish... whatever it was.

"How incredibly rude," Christopher remarked to himself, "Imagine... ignoring the prince! They should be ashamed of themselves!"

Christopher turned to leave, when he noticed a tall apple tree standing prominently nearby the cottage. Apples were edible. Christopher was hungry. The math was simple. For a fleeting moment, Christopher thought that the owners would be unhappy with him eating their apples without permission, but he soon pushed such thoughts aside. If they didn't want him to eat their precious apples, then they shouldn't have ignored him. It was logic, really. The prince rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. He couldn't very well eat the apples that already littered the ground; they were all more than likely infested with nasty, wriggling worms. No, Christopher would have to climb the tree, and it was just his luck that the reddest, juiciest looking apples were all growing near the highest branches.

The prince blew a tendril of his golden brown hair away from his eyes, and swung his leg over the lowest tree branch. Christopher used to climb trees all the time when he was a boy, that was, when his mother wasn't watching him like a hawk. Granted, the prince was decidedly more nimble when he engaged in such activity all those moons ago, but that small detail didn't matter in the least. Christopher was an excellent tree climber!

It wasn't long before Christopher reached the top of the apple tree, and settled himself comfortably in one of the high branches. Then, the rogue prince plucked a sample of the coveted fruit, buffed it against his tunic sleeve, and began munching happily. For a while, the only sound aside from the birds twittering, was the crunching of Christopher's apple... until he heard something else. He heard singing. Christopher cautiously leaned his body forward, and he realized that he pretty much had a perfect view into the cottage's attic window. There stood a girl, a servant by the looks of her, sweeping away at dust bunnies, and as she swept, she sang.

I'm a mermaid dancing upon the sea.

I'm a huntress on an African safari...

it's a dangerous type of sport and yet it's fun!

In the night I sally forth to seek my quarry,

And I find I forgot to bring my gun.

I am lost in the jungle all alone and unarmed,

when I meet a lioness in her lair...

"Hello!" Christopher greeted enthusiastically, when the poor, unsuspecting thing turned to face the circular-framed window.

The girl immediately screeched, having apparently been startled out of her pretty skin, and whacked Christopher over his head, with her sturdy broom.

"Ouch!" the prince cried, "That hurts, you know?"

Only his yowls of distress did nothing to deter the girl's assault, and she continued to bring the broom down forcefully, over Christopher's throbbing cranium. The prince was left with no other choice but to defend himself, so he covered his poor head with both hands, causing him to lose his apple, as it fell from his grip, and landed in the grass ten feet below him.

Finally, the frightened maiden let up on her attacks, and Christopher uncovered his head, so that he might look upon his attacker.

"I was still eating that," he grumbled, before Sage trotted over to the half-eaten apple, and nearly swallowed it whole, "greedy little horse."

"Who are you?" the girl questioned indignantly.

"Christopher," he answered simply, as if it were plain as day, "what's your name?"

"I.. you have..." the girl stammered, still in apparent shock at his presence, "get out of that tree!"

"You know," Christopher began, as he purposefully plucked another apple from the tree limb, "you really shouldn't keep your hair tied back in a kerchief like that. One can hardly get a proper look at you," he finished, taking an arrogant bite out of the scrumptious fruit, and it gave a satisfying crunch.

The prince took a good hard look at her, then. The girl was dressed in a drab excuse for a garment, and stray strands of black hair rebelliously escaped from a tattered kerchief, that nearly covered the maiden's striking, cornflower blue eyes.

"It looks as if you could be pretty otherwise," he added, with no other intention than to taunt the girl. Well, she deserved it, after all. She had attacked him completely unprovoked!

Understandably, the girl let out another shriek of rage, and took a swing at Christopher with her broom. However, before the maiden even had a chance to graze the prince with her trusty weapon, Christopher heard an ominous crack, originating from the branch he was straddling.

"Uh-oh," Christopher voiced, before the tree limb completely gave way, and the prince fell with it.

The prince yelped, as gravity claimed him, and he hit each tree branch on his trip down, and he hit them hard.

"Ugh," grunted Christopher, as his heavy, autumn cloak fortunately snagged against the final tree branch, saving the prince from serious injury, "the heavens love me!"

Only, as Christopher finished his narcissistic exclamation, his cloak tore, and he tumbled the remaining two feet to the grassy knoll. As he hit the ground, his rifle discharged, and in result, the stray bullet blew out one of the cottage windows. What luck. In hindsight, Christopher should have set his rifle down at the base of the tree, before he began his valiant climb up. Oh well, the prince couldn't alter the fact now. Christopher whimpered as he stood painfully, rubbing his sore bottom. Well, to say the least, this was not one his most shining moments.

---

Harry was going crazy. He had tried to distract himself with school, and when that didn’t work, business—that had kept him busy for a little while. More and more supernatural families were setting up homes in Greysfield. That meant more paper work to be filled, and more Heads to meet with. Under his guidance, every meeting had gone without a hitch. His mum was in Cuba working with some new healers, and Gemma was on the school board, working on making allowances on the new inflow of students. And Harry and Liam and Niall were keeping the peace.

It helped to have Thomas and Lydia around—He had merged beautifully with Ashton’s pack, and as a Panther he was a great asset. His influence seemed to cover more area than Beacon Hills, spreading into New Mexico, and outer pack relations had never been stronger. Lydia herself was hardworking, and better yet, stubborn. She was a beta, but she worked like an Alpha. In the space of a week, she took control of the other banshees in the school—Leigh and Perrie and Jesy and Jade—and had headed the creation of a security detail that was airtight. She had so many tricks up her sleeve—her banshee was stronger than most had seen, and she had been the one to help Thomas develop his magical ability while they had been in Beacon.

Harry had been kept very busy—however. As he had feared, he hadn’t been able to take his mind off his fertile. He felt their bond every second, weak but overwhelming all the same. He ached to touch his fertile, to feel the bond ignite and spread under his palms. Louis had started to wear the clothes Harry bought for him, and Harry was losing control fast. Not only did his actions mean an acceptance of the courtship—Louis’ body in those clothes. Everybody in the school had to know what he was now. He was so small, so gorgeous, androgynous bordering on feminine. His features were almost delicate—his ice blue eyes and the dip of his waist, and his small, careful hands.

He was sin itself—the clothes he wore, the clothes Harry bought him, pulled tight over his body in ways that seemed indecent. Harry would find himself lost in the bulge of his thighs underneath his denims, and the soft peek of his tummy when he wore crop tops. His arms were strong, Harry could see that. He was all lean muscle and soft curves, and Harry wasn’t sure how he could be the perfect embodiment of both things at the same time. Harry could wax fucking poetic about the flutter of his eyelashes.

Somebody knocked on his study door.

“Come in” He winced at the roughness of his voice and took a sip from his now warm coffee. The door opened and his keeper of the manor, Paul, poked his head in. Harry smelled him before Paul could announce him. Harry sat up straighter in his seat, sure his senses were shutting down, and Paul smirked and opened the door wider for Louis to walk in.

Louis flounced his way over to Harry, holding what looked like a goldfish bowl filled with sticky blue popcorn.

“Harold” He grinned, plopping down heavily unto his desk. He was sitting on some documents that Harry needed to approve. And some math homework. Harry looked at him. He was fairly sure he was in love. The thought was upsetting but not uncomfortably so—he had hoped to touch Louis’ ass at least once before he had to deal with the love thing.

“Louis” He answered, raising an eyebrow. Louis dug his hand into the bowl, pulling out a fistful of caramel corn. Harry was disgusted and so hard he was shaking. Louis let the popcorn drop into his mouth, one at a time, and when that was done; he stuck out his little pink tongue and began to lick. He licked fat strokes over the palm of his hand, and then sucked each finger into his mouth, pulling them out with an audible pop. He didn’t look at Harry, but he didn’t have to—he knew he had Harry’s attention.

Harry rolled his eyes as Louis’ hand hovered over the bowl once more, and reach out to grab his wrist. His fingers curled back around themselves and a vein popped in his eye—probably. Louis was looking at him now. His mouth was open, like he was shocked. There was a drop of caramel stuck on the side of his mouth. Harry wanted to lick it off. He brought a thumb out instead, collecting the mess on his finger before bringing it to Louis. His tongue came out again, but his eyes were glazed over like he didn’t know what he was doing and he didn’t so Harry brought his thumb back, wiping it on his jeans. He played with the idea of letting Louis drop for just a second more, caught up in his slack mouth and dark blue eyes, but he pulled him across the table instead, pushing the cold coffee aside and settling him into his lap. Louis nuzzled into him and he leaned down, closing his eyes and just smelling.

And then he let the chord snap.

Louis gasped a mouthful of air and clung to him, shivering.

“What the fuck”

Harry could have cried—He wanted to act like this was a one off, that Louis was the blushing virgin with the virtuous mouth. But. The fuck was too smooth, too natural. His mate was filthy and he couldn’t do anything but cuddle him. And he fucking liked cuddling him too.

“Sub drop” He said. Louis opened his mouth, wide eyed and pink cheeked. Harry rolled his eyes again. Fucking drama queen. “I know you know what that means, so I won’t bother telling you about it. Something tells me you’ve done your research.”

Louis dropped his innocent act and grinned.

He’s a manipulative little minx isn’t he?

“That something would be right” He pulled his hand from Harry’s grip and placed both on Harry’s chest. “Something tells me that you know why I’m here”

“That something would be right” He repeated. He pulled Louis closer. He was straddling him now, playing with the necklaces lying under his shirt, brushing against his skin a little bit. He nipped at Louis’ bottom lip—once to hear him gasp, a second time with a flick of his tongue, just to taste; and a third time to watch the blood beneath his lip bloom bright red. “I felt you tugging at the bond. You were trying to track me” It wasn’t a question—Louis nodded anyway. “It didn’t work” Louis nodded again “And now” His hands roamed down to Louis’ ass, feeling the heavy give of it, kneading it until Louis was purring. He sought out the warm strip of skin between his jeans and his top with his fingers and started drawing slow circles. “You want me to touch you just enough to strengthen the bond a little”

“It’s a mutually beneficial situation isn’t it?” Louis was playing at being snarky, but his voice wavered with every rotation of his fingertips. Harry felt his fertiles thighs tense as he tried to stop himself from shaking. “I liked your gifts”

He was moving his hips in slow circles, nibbling on his lower lip like he had the right to. He looked up at Harry through his eyelashes, with those blue blue eyes of him and Harry held him lightly by his chin and kissed him. He surprised both of them. Louis’ hands flew to his shoulders. Harry’s shock made him bolder –he didn’t pull back. He and Louis stayed pressed together, chests and thighs and arms, and lips hanging open so that they breathed into each other’s mouths. There was something comfortable about the way they didn’t quite know when their lips started moving or when they both closed their eyes. There was something comfortable about Louis’ nails biting into his shoulder through his shirt and his fingers more than biting into the thick flesh of Louis’ thighs. They kissed and sighed into each other’s mouths, played with the thought of licking, of tasting. Louis nipped and nipped and nipped, more teeth than kiss and Harry licked behind his sharp teeth, lapping at the back of his mouth like he was trying to reach the last bit of jam. He guided Louis into a careful rhythm with his hips, back and forth—Louis was a slow learner, but every unsure stutter sent a shot of something electric up his spine, again and again and again, until everything bordered on the edge of not enough.

He pulled back. The first thing Louis did was reach up and wrap his fingers around his horns like a dare.

“Your hair is so soft” He didn’t let go. Harry kissed him again, burning hot at the thought that Louis was using his fucking horns to brace himself.

Pin him down, never let him go, make him beg for it.

Louis pulled back this time and Harry smiled at him until he smiled back.

“Have you gotten what you came here for, little one?”

Louis huffed, but Harry knew exactly what was on his mind. He didn’t want it left unsaid so he chased it, sucked a dark purple mark into Louis neck.

“It’s never going to be enough, babe” Louis was shaking now and he felt the growl build up in his throat before he opened his mouth. “That’s why you have to wait. It’s never going to be enough, but until it is you’re going to keep chasing it. And I’m never going to stop you”  

"Oh, Toris. What have you done?"

It is a gentle whisper, soothing and concerned all at once.

Flaxen hair brushes against his clamming, pale forehead as Poland leans over him.

Lithuania closes his eyes as a soft towel is pressed over his forearm - releasing a shuddering sigh and leaning into his companion's touch; no longer feeling.

Nothing but warmth.

Wool sweaters and blood and the hissing radiator.

Crimson is smeared across the bathroom tiles and his blue jeans.

He mumbles something incoherent into Poland's collar, and his friend lifts a hand to press him closer, repositioning the towel as it soaks through with life.

Lithuania's fingers uncurl to reveal the pocket knife resting there.

Hours pass, and now he is lying on the sofa, head in Poland's lap while the television performs for a vacant audience. Poland fiddles with the white gauziness of his forearm; it had taken four towels and an envelope of sutures to stave off the bleeding.

"It hurts."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

There is a comfortable silence, and Lithuania focuses on breathing, because he is nauseous and weak and tired.

Poland brushes his hair idly with the comb he carries in his pocket, and he turns - the single movement leaving him reeling and ill - to press his face into that wool sweater.

He listens to his breathing, feels his heart, watches the rain.

Alexandria's p.o.v

"Mommy,Mommy,Mommy." I sighed as Nadia began crying yet again. "Yes sweetheart?" I cooed 

slightly annoyed. "Is daddy going to be okay?" You're probably wondering if she means Dean. Well no.

I finally had the guts to explain to her who her real father was. "Darling go get mommy a drink." I

replied ignoring her comment as I slipped her the money. "Okay mommy." She whispered exhausted.

"How is he?" I breathed as doctor Jess had walked by. "He is in good health now we wait." I shook my

head furious. "What do you mean wait? I've been waiting six months now! How much longer could

this possibly take?" Her eyes studied my face long before she had replied. "Look Mrs.Sanders I think

you should go home and get some rest. Take that precious little girl of yours as well. You both need

it." I sighed and finally agreed with her after the tough fight I had put up. "Here you go mommy." I

smiled as I accepted the large cold drink Nadia had brought to me and took a few sips before giving it

back to her for her to keep. "Come on princess we're going to go home for a little." She nodded tiredly

as we ventured out to my car. Home? Hell this has been our home for the past six months. I don't even

know if we have such thing as a home anymore. I'm so far behind on my bills its crazy. Joey and Nadia

are my number one priorities and that's how its going to be. I'm sure you're asking a lot of

questions...Dean? Well lets just say his ass is locked up for good and probably facing the death

sentence. And for me? Well... You'll just have to wait and find out. "Mommy?" I turned back to see a

shivering Nadia. "What is it baby?" her teeth chattered together making a clanking sound. "I'm cold." I

sighed and pressed on the heat. She didn't look so good. Keeping a five year old pinned up at a

hospital for five months wasn't the best thing I could have done. "Better?" She smiled and nodded

before replying. "Better." She cooed clapping. I bet you're wondering where we are since we last left

off in Florida. Well we are now in Virginia in the midst of winter. It's freezing and snow is frozen all

around. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" I turned around startled to see a very happy Nadia clapping

and squealing as she watched out her window. "What is it baby?" She kicked her feet and giggled

some more. "Kitty mommy!" She yelled. I smiled as I finally caught onto what had caught her eye. It

was a beige colored cat running around in circles being silly. "Yes baby pretty kitty." She squealed

some more but than became sad when the cat had run off startled. My life was pretty much hell now

that I think about it. If it wasn't for Nadia or Joey I would have probably killed myself by now.

Suicidal? Far from it. Crazy? Sounds about right. My life is far from perfect. The only think keeping it

perfect is that little crazy, beautiful , lovely princess I have in the back. Gosh how I've dreamed of me

her and Joey being together once again as a family. I just wish Joey would pull through. I need him

right now the most. He has no idea either. "Mommy?" I turn and look before I answer. "Yes

sweetheart?" She wipes her eyes as a sign of her getting sleepier. "Can we go say goodnight to

daddy?" She whispered sadly. "Of course darling." I breathed as we once again huddled in.

Joey's p.o.v

I lay stiff and still can't move. When will this end. When can I be normal again? "Joey?" I knew that

voice! I was so excited I wish I could show it. "Joey I - I don't know if you can hear me or not but

please... Please just hear me out." I can hear you Alex!!! I really can! "Joey... I really need you right

now." She began. Alex I really need you too please stay! "Things are tough." Alex I know they are you

got this you're tough! "And sometimes...Sometimes I just want to kill myself." What! No please don't

ever do that beautiful. "But than I think of Nadia... And you." Yes think of our gorgeous little girl Nadia

but not me! I'm fine! " I think and I think and I think." Think about what beautiful? " I think about how

you are going to pull through. How you are going to be okay." Yes I will be okay gorgeous I'm fighting.

"And than...Than I think...What if." What if what? "What if he doesn't make it?" Alex I am going to

make it. " What would I do?" Stop it I will be here. "Who would I have other than our other half?" Alex I

am here to stay. "Joey, I have to go. Nadia she loves you very much. She can't wait to get to know you.

And I love you. I love you so much. We will fight. Keep fighting. I'm sorry for this hell." After that I had

heard her soft shuffles fill across the room and a warm sensation had spread across my arm making

me feel at ease and pain free. "Goodnight Joey." After she had said that the sensation was lost and I

was still searching. Searching for that feeling. That feeling of warmth and wellness. But It was no

where to be found. The soft beeps had now filled the room along with my steady breathing.

she wiped out the tears that runned down her eyes, she still wished this was a nightmare. "yeh ahh is this how my life ended.is this a dream..."she said as she went into deep thought of had i known.

this little light of mine, am gonna let it shine 2ce

let it shine, let it shine, let it shine

yeah...this little light of mine... The congregation clapped as Mary dropped the microphone. yes, another awesome ministration,they could feel the presence of God in their mist. Mary is an awesome minister of songs, it was just beyond the normal singing,she is blessed with an angelic voice. everyone loved her ministration, they always love it when its Mary singing.

Mary has always aspired to be great, and she was son sure that greatness was going to be achieved through singing. she sat on her bed one sunny Friday afternoon thinking about how her greatness was going to be achieved."i just want to go beyond the church want to be known"she said to her herself still wondering what her next step should be and suddenly..."yes yes yes"she rushed towards her wardrobe as she brought out a flier from her bag, yes that same flier she received on her way back from the church. it was an invitation to an audition where young talents are been showcased to the world, she smiled and prepared herself looking forward to the d-day.

"sir what are you trying to say. its obvious i was best at my performance...why this" she looked at the judge who didn't care a bit about how she felt. "see Mary your talent isn't all you need to win this competition ooo, huh you had better agree to my proposal or you would lose your position to a wiser person" the judge told her as he adjusted his glasses."opportunity comes but once. don't just stand there and watch someone else take your position. are you ready? " Mary was lost, she cant just afford to lose this fame..." she thought to herself then faced the judge "ill do it sir" "wow wow what a great decision. OK lets hurry to my hotel" the two then left.

" and the winner of this year talent hunt is no other person thann.... KINGSLEY SUSAN" everyone clapped as Susan walked to collect her prize but the celebration was disrupted by a great shout backstage "someone has fainted ooo..." the voice shouted.

The shock of her life was when the doctor told her she is HIV positive, had she known she wouldn't have yielded. all because of fame, she just wanted to be great, she wanted the world to hear her but she took the wrong path and now have been confined to the hospital bed.

The sound of the door made her come back to reality, she cried even more,she wished she had never said yes.