I keep my hand clenched tight around my weapon as the three of them disappear. My once friends. The people I thought I could have trusted. All gone in a blink of an eye. They abandon me. Well, at this point, I am used to it.

George is in front of me seconds later. He holds out a hand the way a friend would, but instead of taking it like he wants, I just stare at him. Fortunately, he doesn't press the matter. Instead, his gaze drifts to the girl laying at my feet, her crimson life force drained onto the sand.

"Well," he says, swallowing. He doesn't enjoy killing, as much as he would have one believe. I see the hesitation in his face, the way his clenched fists tremble. He is not immune to the horrors that death brings, and he assumes himself weaker for it.

But I, on the other hand? I simply step over her body as if she is nothing more than a roadblock in my way. I have no time for the dead.

"Look at this," George says, bending down to the corpse to pick something up. I keep my eyes trained on him at all times, not willing to look away from him for even a second. I still shudder at the thought of what he has done to me before.

"Are you done yet, or must we stay here longer than necessary?" I finally ask, my voice echoing in the empty stadium. "I hate this place." It is too big, and the sky above us is not real. Just another illusion. I'm seeing so many that I'm starting to lose track of what's real and what's fake.

Like Alexander's feelings for me.

"Yes, yes," George says, and I don't have to look at him to know he is frowning. He is impatient with me, and though it might be foolish, I do not care. My fury with Alexander has grown so complete, it fills my every waking moment. I do not know if I will be able to rest until I see him hurt as much as he has hurt me.

I want him to hurt. To tear everyone he ever loved out of his grasp and shove my scythe into their neck. Over and over again, until he is left with nothing but his guilt. I want him to suffer the same way I have. I want him to cry. I want him to break.

I cannot get his words out of my head. They play over and over again, grim as the toll of a bell, and it doesn't matter how hard I try to ignore them.

Someone who actually matters could get killed.

Those damned words haunt every dream I have and every moment I spend alone, and I am unable to think of anything but how much anger lurked behind his voice as he shouted them. The implication that I never mattered to him still makes me want to scream myself past exhaustion, or hole myself up and cry until I cannot cry anymore.

And now, they have come true.

But I do not feel any better. I just feel empty, and far more alone than I have ever felt before. And I have to wonder, is it me?

"But look at this necklace," George insists. I turn to finally give him the attention he seeks. He is holding the necklace by the golden chain, smiling at me with something truly devious hidden in his gaze. Whatever trepidation he displayed earlier is long gone. I accept the necklace as he hands it to me. A rose hangs from it, colored a soft pink. It means nothing to me.

"What am I looking at?" I ask, lifting my eyes from the petty triviality.

"The letters A.S. are engraved in the back. Looks like this belongs to her sister."

"So?" I ask, my wings flexing in annoyance. I want to get back my room and continue with my studies, not sit here and talk about the stupidest things ever.

"Perhaps this can get us to finally break her."

"I still don't understand what you need her for. Shouldn't we just dispose of her and move on?"

He clicks his tongue and steps past me, so I'm staring at his back. How overconfident can he truly be to show me the most vulnerable side of him? All it would take is a single strike, and he could be laying dead at my feet the same way the girl had. I will not lie and say I haven't thought of doing something like it before.

I do not work for him.

"Don't worry about what I plan, Thomas. All you have to do is help me."

"What if I don't want to help you anymore?" I ask, though I already know the answer. He will get rid of me by whatever means necessary. I am his biggest secret, his sharpest weapon. He needs me as much as I need him, and the last thing he would want is for me to fall into the wrong hands.

He doesn't answer me directly, and I'm not expecting him to. "Try not to worry about that, either. But for now, let's head back to the castle, hmm? I'll get somebody to clean up this mess."

~•~

I stand alone in the ballroom, surrounded by the bright colors of the people as they sway and dance. My back is pressed against the wall so I can see everything in front of me. Having to take the precaution drives me insane, but I feel safer for it.

The music is hardly music, even by the usual standards of a Peritum. It is boring and lackluster, a combination of the same three notes played over and over again. I yearn to hear more, something that reaches past the physical boundaries and touches the soul, but every time I have asked George for just a taste of the delicacy that is Earth music, he pretends he hasn't heard me.

But I will not beg for anything, no matter how much I want it.

As the music drones on, I am focused on something else. My eyes sweep the ballroom, searching for intruders or those with the intent of causing harm. I am ignored by all, and frankly, I don't care. I really don't understand why George keeps inviting me to these things. I find them boring and excessive, and that is not a new revelation to me in the least bit.

"There you are!" he exclaims, as though he can read minds and was summoned. "I was starting to worry about you."

"Oh?" I ask, far from amused. I peel my eyes away from the ballroom and turn to him. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"You're not having any fun."

"Do I ever have fun at these?"

He frowns, though I don't know what he was expecting me to say. "Well, I suppose not."

"This is a waste of time. May I please be excused?"

"Why don't you enjoy yourself?"

"There is nothing to enjoy."

"Sure there is," he says, and I see something far too similar to weakness flash in his eyes. He contemplates for a moment, then offers me a hand. "Dance with me?"

I consider laughing at him, effectively brushing off his request. I do not dance, and I do not want to dance. But his eyes bore into mine, and letting out a sigh, I accept his hand. "One song," I say. "And...will this be like last time?"

"You don't want anyone to watch," he says, smiling as he pulls me away from the wall.

"That's not it. I'd just feel...safer."

He makes a sound of disbelief, but regardless, time freezes around us. There is no falter in his step as he guides me to the center of the ballroom.

"Do you want me to play something?" I ask.

"Don't worry about it."

I frown, but I know there is no arguing. "Shouldn't we be planning?" I ask as he turns around to face me.

"Planning for what?"

"No wonder it's taken you so long to even have a chance at winning this stupid war," I mutter underneath my breath, not sure whether I want him to hear me or not.

George smiles placidly as he sets a hand on my waist. I shift, not comforted at all by his smile. I want to flinch away from his touch as the 'music' starts back up again and he begins to lead the dance. His eyes are warm, his face is bright and hopeful, and I can't do it. I can't do this all over again. I know how this ends, how it always ends. And I'm not ready.

I push away from him before the dance has even really begun. "I can't do it," I say. "I'm sorry." I counteract his spell in his moment of weakness, and the people around us swirl back to life as though they had never been frozen in the first place. George watches me for a moment before I turn away and disappear in the crowd as quickly as I can.

I leave the ball. I know I'm supposed to sit and watch and be as intimidating as I can, as a symbol of the King's power, but I couldn't stay and watch any longer. So I do what I do best, and I run away.

My feet bring me to the dungeons, a route I'm starting to learn by heart. Every time I see a shadow move or hear a distant sound, my heart races faster. I hate it down here, even though I'd never let it show in front of somebody else.

"Thomas!" calls a voice, his voice. I stop, drawing the dagger I always keep belted at my side. "Thomas, wait!"

"I am," I return, my voice echoing through the tunnels.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Careful, you're about to trip."

"What—oh, right. I forgot."

"It's actually quite useful," I respond, peering through the darkness. Somehow, I am still able to see the faint memory of colors lasting long after the light had disappeared. Shapes are even easier to make out.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

"It is of no importance," I return briskly, cutting him off before he could continue. The last thing I wanted to do was chase this subject further. "I will get over it."

Fortunately, he got the hint and dropped the subject there. A light flickers to life in his palm, and I have to squint my eyes to adjust to it. "Are you going to interrogate Schuyler?"

"Interrogate isn't the right word, but essentially, yes."

"May I come?"

I was momentarily caught off guard that he had asked my permission. The corners of my mouth longed to pull up into a smile, but I fought the urge down. "If you want to."

He nodded. "Let's get this over with, then. I've got stuff I need to take care of."