We were dismissed, on our way to our rooms when I heard Vincent shouting the foulest curses to his older brother whose good mood wasn't at all affected. Apparently, my master wasn't thrilled at the thought of me dancing with the rest of his brothers at some point in the ball.

What was the big deal? Basically, all I had to do was to find out who among the brothers had the same exact injuries Vincent and Amyr managed to inflict on the intruder.

Piece of cake. If only I could dance to save my life.

Vladimir promised to teach me everything from ancient immortal rituals, to table etiquette and most importantly, dancing. Gracefully. We seriously needed a miracle.

I kept nodding as Mei narrated her long list of plans for our ball gowns, pointing out how this and that color and design could complement our eyes, skin tone, figure, etcetera, etcetera. Honestly, I couldn't care less if she weaved a burlap sack for me. My brain mechanically operated on its own as we moved along, searching for any possible way to prevent Vincent from having to face a capital punishment.

Rosario was so silent I hadn't noticed she was walking beside me. Her forehead was speckled with sweat as she clutched on her injured chest. I could only imagine the pain she was in. I let her be, knowing that her pride wouldn't allow for any form of pity or concern. Inconspicuously, I slowed my steps so she could catch up easily.

Once in Mei's room, the Asian girl pulled a bronze candle holder upholstered on the chrome yellow wall. I heard a click and a secret door slid open, leading to a big dressing room. Ceiling to floor cabinets and mirrors lined the walls, rolls of different fabric lying on the craft table in the center of the room.

Mei let out a sigh. "Too bad I only have black Nysmic to work on. I will immediately place an order for, let us say, blue or yellow?"

Reluctantly, I shook my head, unable to shake off the apprehension that gnawed on me. "Black is good," I said, looking at Rosario for some sort of expert opinion.

"Sure," she retorted, smiling acidly. "If you wanted to look like you're mourning in a party.Or boldly defiant."

"Makes sense." I shrugged, pushing past Rosario to examine a piece of black fabric that looked exactly similar to lace with an elaborate decorative vine pattern. "Just thinking of going there makes me feel like we're going to a funeral anyway."

Rosario discreetly clutched her chest after letting out a wry chuckle. "You're pulling off all the wrong strings. But then, it's just like you to do that. Let's see what happens," she replied, looking overly amused.

With a worried look, Mei took the fabric from me and spread it out. It looked more magnificent, now that the Nysmic inscriptions were more obvious, dancing in a waving motion, like grass being blown by a soft breeze on the gossamer surface of the cloth. I could tell she was troubled about this task. However, she accepted it without any complaint.

After taking my measurements, Mei let us off the hook and buried herself in a tangle of thread and fabric. Her movements were so precise and fluid, much like a professional. It was almost scary to watch her work fiercely with shears and needles, so Rosario and I didn't try to bother her. As we headed to our rooms, she paused to clutch on her chest, her face contorting with severeagony. I tried to help her but as expected, she shoved me away, telling me that she didn't need any help. All I could do was watch until the pain episode eased, leaving the familiar out of breath, her face as white as sheet.

"Don't tell anyone," she rasped wearily, leaning on the wall.

"What?" I asked, bewildered.

"About this." She looked down on her chest and clasped a hand over it. "Don't tell Master Vladimir or anyone else. He thinks I'm healing well."

I stepped closer to her, noticing a tinge of red from her loose clothing. The bandages were already soaked. "We have to get you help," I said to her.

"No!" Rosario objected, pushing me away to hide the bleeding. "Please, no," she pleaded with a papery voice.

Firmly, I met her desperate eyes. "Let me help you to your room. Then we'll talk."

I took her arm and slung it over my shoulder. This time, she didn't refuse. It didn't occur to me that her condition was this bad. Despite her efforts to stay quiet, moans kept coming through her clenched teeth as we moved slowly, carefully along the hallway. When finally, we reached her room, I helped her to the bed and started removing her top. I was right. The bandages around her torso were drenched in bright red blood. The sight of it made my stomach do a slow roll. Breathing through my mouth, I took the medical kit on her side table and started working.

Once I had stripped off the last of the bandages, she started thrashing in pain as the wound—a deep inflamed cut from the tip of her left shoulder travelling down to her right hip made by the Master scythe—was exposed to open, cold air. After rummaging the contents of the box, I was already panicking. What did I know about treating wounds?

After frantically donning surgical gloves, I started wiping off the blood and disinfecting the cut. Rosario snatched a pillow and bit it to muffle her cries. Blood oozed freely from the wound and it didn't look like it would stop bleeding anytime soon.

"I... I'll call Archie—"

Before I could stand up to get help, Rosario grabbed my arm tightly. "Stitch it," she said through her teeth.

I shook my head, stunned. "I d-don't know how," I stammered, hurriedly picking up a gauze pad and pressing it over the cut to prevent further bleeding.

"I'll... guide you... through it," she insisted, still not letting go of my arm. "P-please..."

For Rosario to say please twice in one day was really shocking. So amazingly surreal, I might start believing in unicorns. Swallowing hard, I nodded and said, "One condition. After this, I want answers. Tell me what I have to do."

I removed my gloves and prepared the instruments from the medical kit—a surgical scissor, sterile sutures, forceps and topical and injectable Lidocaine for anesthesia, which I doubted would work with the extent of her wound. As soon as I had put on a fresh pair of gloves, I applied more disinfectant over her wound and the surrounding areas.

A bead of sweat trickled over my eye. My hands were trembling as I spread a thick amount of topical anesthetic. For a moment, she appeared to relax, but then told me to inject Lidocaine into the cut. Erase that. Along the cut, meaning I had to do several injections.

"Do it!" she persisted. "Don't mind me."

So I did. I wasn't breathing while doing it, fighting the urge to flinch. Whatever I was doing, I was pretty sure they wouldn't do this kind of procedure in any hospital. Real doctors would probably use a stronger anesthetic and sedate the patient. In this case, I needed Rosario conscious. It must've been torture for her but how else would I know what to do? I never held a syringe before in my life.

When she was feeling a bit numb, she told me to put the suture in the tip of a needle holder and use an instrument that looked like a pair of tweezers to hold the cut flesh. I gave up using them though and started using my hands to stitch the flesh together. Into the skin, through the cut, to through the flesh and back up the skin. Tie the knots three times. That was what she said and in my head, I kept repeating the words loudly to keep my hands moving.

It took me nearly two hours and several needle pricks before I was done. Seventeen stitches. Lots of blood. Hers and mine. Rosario looked almost lifeless with all the pain she had to endure. The anesthetic did little for her but she steeled herself throughout the process. Once I was done cleaning her up and bandaging her wound, I sat beside her and waited for her answers.

"Master Vladimir's not as strong as you think," she started, looking up at me from under her tired lids. "If he knew, he'll try to heal me if it takes every drop of his life-force. I can't allow that."

"Can't you heal yourself?" I asked worriedly, draping a blanket over her frail body.

Her lips pulled up into a weak smirk, it was almost pathetic. "If I can, I wouldn't have needed help. Definitely not from you," she scoffed. "I tried. But this is something beyond my ability. The Master Scythe is much too powerful."

"So you're letting yourself bleed to death, is that it?" I wearily placed the instruments on a tray, letting out a sigh.

"Wrong." Rosario threw me a cold, callous look. I made no attempt to help her as she struggled to sit up. She was much too stubborn to admit any sign of weakness. "Don't think you're the only one who's trying to keep your master alive."

I went to her closet and picked a clean green pullover sweater that looked comfortable enough. "Is it that bad? Vladimir's condition, I mean," I said, handing her the clothes.

Reluctantly, she took it from me, nodding blankly. Neither one of us said anything for a few minutes. Rosario and I, we might not be exactly in each other's good books but we wanted the same thing—to keep our masters safe. And in that sense, we could both agree for once.

I stared down on my lap and blurted out, "I'm thinking of killing myself... before the solstice. That way, Vincent can deny any accusation from Cairo."

"Interesting," she replied dubiously, staring at me as if to study my face. See if I was joking. "And I care about this why?"

"Because," I began, looking up to her. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be strong enough to do it. If... If that happens, I want you to kill me." The words caught on my throat, sending bolts down my spine. I didn't sound like myself anymore. I tried to search inside me for fear but there was only emptiness. I was scared of dying, yes. But not as much as I thought I would be.

She started laughing again though it didn't reach her hazel eyes. "I'm tempted. But as much as I'd like to wring the life out of you, thanks. But no, thanks. Do you think I would really do that to Master Vincent? Can you just imagine how devastated he would be if so much as the tip of your precious little finger got hurt?" she said with a girlish mocking tone.

Immediately, I stood up and headed to the door. To be honest, I was thinking that this was my chance to get even with Rosario, make her suffer, rub it in her face because I knew she couldn't hit me back in her pitiful state. But I wasn't in the mood for another row. Much less to waste time ridiculing her.

As I was about to twist the handle, I stopped. "I think I'm turning into a wraith. My original soul, that is. I—I don't know how much longer I can fight it. But I can feel her somewhere in here," I murmured, gazing on the floor, pressing a hand on my chest. When I turned to face her, Rosario just opened her mouth, but no words came out. "I'm telling you this because I know that we both want the same thing. So if you really care about Vincent, you'll do what I ask. Before I can do any real damage." My voice quivered, barely able to keep a straight face with the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

There was an unreadable expression on her face when she replied, "I'll think about it."

Nodding, I stepped out of the door and treaded slowly along the corridors leading to Vincent's room. I tried to clear my head, shake off the troubling thoughts but an invisible weight crashed down upon me, so slowly, excruciatingly that I couldn't seem to breathe. Before I got anywhere, I saw Vincent waiting in the hallway, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, hands in his pockets as he contemplated in silence. If he heard my conversation with Rosario, he didn't let on.

"Pack your things," Vincent said softly. "You're going home."

"To say goodbye..." I mumbled unthinkingly.

"To say goodbye," he nodded, taking my hand. "Temporarily," he added before I could conjure up some grim conclusion inside my head.

I didn't expect everything to turn out right. My mind was set. I wouldn't be able to come back from Pilgrim Reaper's sick excuse for a grand ball. Not alive.

At least one of us was hopeful.