Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Filippa woke up with a head-splitting headache and the smithereens knowledge of what happened in the future. On the floor she was lying next to her vomit, she saw flickers of colors, a warmth that conveyed dreams of what will be and what could have been.

Colors that she knew were just splintered memories and not real.

   Or is it?    

She remembered blinding white pain, her body losing sense, and the sight of hands reaching for her. How the older her twisted away from searing hand, fear, guilt, dread and hope mixing and swirling into a complex feeling.

    “Don’t!”    

With a twitch, the present her raised her head and stared blankly at the body in front of her.

The body is female, middle-aged with an approximation of thirty-five to forty years old. European, highly probable was, if not with French ancestry. Eye color is a shade of blue, similar to cornflower, and white hair—

Abruptly Filippa flinched and recognize who it was.

Mama! It’s Mama! Why is Mama so cold? Mama, mama, mama!

Bile rose and she vomited again. Gagging and sputtering, she clawed at her chest. Heaving, involuntary tears dripped along with her spit. Everything hurt, her head, her throat, and her chest. She wanted to wipe her mouth but there was nothing and then suddenly a piece of cloth appeared from indigo flame and floated in front of her.

With instinct from the sudden vague knowledge of someone who had been using mist flame for years, she used it to wipe her face.

    “What are—“    

Filippa flinched at the voice she heard but didn’t.

Hand tugged on her hair as she tried to make sense of what was what but she couldn’t—

Her head hurt and, and her… Her flame? Was crying for something, it wanted something but she didn’t know what it wanted. She was dead but she wasn’t and Mama was already dead and now she was dead again—

She didn’t know what was what.

All she had other than confusion was a regret of something, but what was it?

    She was broken    

It didn't make any sense to her.

But everything was already not making sense, wasn't it?

Each time she blinks, flickers of colors burst like fireworks  Orangegoldorangewhitewhitegold. She couldn’t figure out just what exactly she was seeing but she knew it was memories.

    I want Mama! Mama, Wake up! Please, Mama!    

A bite on her tongue pained her but she didn't react. Though the body felt pain, her mind felt numb. It was just a vessel and she just... Didn't care.

    She had already stopped caring a long time ago    

She... Died? But she didn't.

Mama was dead though, that was real. Her mother was dead then and dead now.

Many died... But they weren't?

    Who are they?    

Shakily, Filippa raised both hands and cupped them in front of her. She didn’t see but she knew her eyes turned soft indigo with specks of azure. Then true to what she willed, an azure-edged indigo flame appeared.

She could do what she couldn’t before but could now?

Then Filippa truly did die?

She was... Here though.

Back in her rickety old home with the rotting body of her mother.

She understood that mama was dead, death was normal. She was used to it.

Death was an end, a final rest. It was an eternal sleep.

One where they shouldn’t be able to come back from.

Filippa died.

Her mind was a mess, a bunch of tangled thread bundled into a knot where the start and end couldn't be recognized. But that she was, Filippa knew.

Knew like the blood was red, white was white, amber was both pain and home—

Ah.

Then, this must be a dream.

Filippa knew she truly did die. If that was real then this must be an illusion. The fake her mind conjured just as she died, a mechanism to protect her mind even at its last moment.

    how did she die?    

Or perhaps it was her afterlife.

That her dream showed Filippa her mother’s death was odd. Memories of her past had all but scattered away. Obscured by the passage of time and new pain. She knew she used to dream of this. A large amount of her nightmare before she learned to use her mist was filled with this. The smell of her slowly rotting mother, the smell of iron, the disgusting smell she couldn’t understand, the earthy smell of mold—

Filippa stood up on deadened legs and approached her mother.

She... Knew it again.

Even though she had already forgotten the face of her mother.

Now, she was close enough that she could trace it with small hands that could barely grip her sword.

This was a nice dream.

Though some memories may have been inaccessible to her, it was not entirely gone and could be retrieved. But Filippa hadn’t dared to retrieve this forgotten memory even though it would have been easy with her mist. A part of her was always afraid. That she might go back to this room and just cry unable to do anything.

But, through years of countless, she was already desensitized to death—red, red, red, so much red—. Perhaps that was why she could stand here again without crying for her mother. Still unable to do anything because Mama was dead, Filippa was alone for the first time and the bad men would—

Her hand shook as the fear she hadn’t felt for years rose again, even though she knew it had already been burnt away.

    Red, red, white, red, so much red, it’s burning, everything is burning, red, fire, red, red, white    

    The bad men are coming, they will hurt Mama again and she will not be able to do anything again, no, they were already dead, they died, and they burned and burned, and burned    

Reality fractured, fake and real mixing and mixing and mixing—

She hadn't dared to dream for a long time, because her dreams had only been nightmares.

Despite her old fear rising, this should have been a nightmare as well. But to Filippa, it felt a little more like a nostalgic memory, a dream. One she dreaded but still a dream

Filippa was back again to the place where it all start, Mama was dead, she was alone for the first time and the bad man was coming. But Filippa was stronger now, she could make them go away and leave her alone. So—

So.

This was enough.

Knowing this was enough.

There was an urge to kill them all, to make them feel something worse than what Filippa felt. But, but, it was okay. She was okay. She didn’t—

Shouldn’t—

Ah. Her chest hurt.

This was fake anyway. She had done it before, just because it wasn’t against her commands. The curiosity if it would help was there but. But. There was no meaning to it when they were all not real. There would be no meaning to it. There was no meaning to it when she did try. Standing here, she was no longer afraid, she remembered the fear but she wasn’t anymore.

This, knowing she wasn’t that useless crying child was enough.

    “Hold on—”    

Filippa had been dreaming for a long time, she had no need for it now when she was dead or going to be dead.

That was why—

So, she closed her eyes and let it all go.

She was so, so tired.

(The first time, she was too overwhelmed to do anything and just cried and cried and cried until someone found her next to the broken body of her mother.

The second time, she was just too tired to care and let everything go.

Filippa was eight when her mother died and she was separated from her body hours later when the smell of rot had already filled the entire house.

Filippa was eight again when her mother died the second time and she burned everything down.

Two weeks later, when all that was left was a husk of burned buildings, black cars with the marks of a pair of horses and a shield skidded to hold in front of it. Not long after, it was burning again in amber.)

To her, it was all but a dream.

    Even if the end of this dream was death, then she was fine with it too. Because then it meant Filippa could finally rest    

"Thank you."

Once, Filippa was grief-stricken and merely cried without stopping. Young and weak, she was just a child who didn't know anything when she should have.

It could have saved her, she should have saved herself, but all she could do was cry.

    Useless, useless, useless    

Filippa and her mother had lived on the bad side of the town. While their life wasn't the worse, it wasn't good either. They might have a roof above their head and only went to sleep hungry a few times a week, but they were also in debt.

They lived under the mercy of the Berlusconi, kneeling and baring their neck.

Once in a while, when the due date had passed and they still couldn't pay, men wearing suits or stinking of alcohol would slam open the door and start yelling and breaking things. When that happened, her mother would push and lock her in the restroom harshly, uncaring when she wailed, desperately banging at the door.

Her mother ignored her sobs, trying to protect her however she could.

She had hoped that her mother would open the door.

She had hoped the men would stop hurting her mother if she screamed enough.

She had hoped that someone would hear and come save them.

But Filippa was a foolish child with similarly foolish hope.

All she could do was cry and cry and cry.

Crying solved nothing and it was nothing but energy spent.

Her mother couldn't be saved from her crying, wasn't saved even at the end. Most of the men were happier than anything when she cried, occasionally they would be annoyed and just beat her mother more or touched mama in ways that she shouldn't have been touched. Whether she cried or not, they would still hurt Mama. From behind that wooden door, she couldn’t see anything but it was somehow worse.

Because Filippa could hear her mother cry and whimper. Then when the door was finally opened, she could see the shaking, bruised, and broken body of her mother.

Often, she climbed out of the window and tried calling someone to help them.

But.

The sympathetic only looked sad and turned away from her while the one who wouldn't even hear her out, pushed her until she fell and couldn't follow them.

When she limped back home to the unconscious body of her mother and woke her up, her mother was frightened of touches and just sat there blankly without even crying when it must have been scary.

As she grew up, Mama touched her less and less.

By the time Mama was dead, she had already forgotten what her hugs felt like.

Filippa should have known better. After years of living under the mercy of Berlusconi, she should have known that crying helped no one and it was just a waste of energy. That waiting for someone to save them was useless because no one would do so.

But by then it was already too late.

At first, Filippa thought that finally, someone had come to save them. She was taken away by the man and did so foolishly thinking that maybe they could wake her mother up and they could go somewhere safe, away from those bad men. 

But that was not so.

Mere days after, Filippa was standing in a room with a bunch of other children and was greeted by a man in a clean and expensive suit. "Hello, children."

"From now on, you guys are prospective members of the proud Berlusconi Famiglia." The man had said with a light smile and glinting eyes. Dread had filled Filippa, then denial.

"But before that." The man said as he pointed a gun toward them. "Of course, you know about an entrance exam, right?"

Filippa didn't know what it was.

Later on, when the room was stained red, just like her red splattered hair and the red splattered knife in her hand, as her mind slowly came back, she understood what it was.

A culling.

The man kept that smile on his face as he clapped. Still empty but maybe a little delighted at whatever he saw. Even though he had just been silent when he forced them to kill each other, silent even when any of the others tried to kill him in the confusion. Those that tried ended up being killed by him instead and the others knew better than following their footstep. His smile widened to a grin that might have been pleasant on another man's face and not on his with the crazed glinting green eyes.

He said to the rest of them that was still standing. "Now, wasn't that just wonderful?"

With a pleased hum he counted. "—three, four. What an auspicious number… Did you know that four are the symbol of death?"

"Is that not just a perfect start for our new members?"

His answer was only sudden hysterical sobbing and wailing.

It was perhaps, at that moment that Filippa realized, she couldn't bring herself to cry anymore. Nor did she wish it, because she finally understood.

Crying helped nothing.

It was Christmas and Mama managed to get time off. They even had a little panettone to celebrate.

Midnight, when the cake was polished off and they were huddled under many blankets, sharing heat, Mama whispered to her. “What do ma petit cheval want to be when she grows up?

She had forgotten what year that was, just that Mama was still fine with touches and hugged her often. Rarely did they have the time together due to the elder’s work. She nuzzled into her mother's bosom with a little giggle.

“Cavaliere!”

“Oh? Not a Principessa?” Her mother was so warm.

There was a distaste to the thought, she remembered. But being a princess was not a bad idea, because that meant she could have many things, and then Mama would get many things too. “Principessa cavaliere?”

Mama had laughed, a small breathy sound that made her grin wider. “Why a Cavaliere?”

“Cavaliere protects the people! So, Lippy will protect Mama!”

Mama had faltered at that and then, suddenly cried while hugging her tighter. Her mother rarely cried in front of her. She only cried when she thought she was asleep or away. This memory couldn’t be forgotten even if she wanted. Shocked, she had tried to console her.

“I’m sorry, Filippa, I’m so, so sorry…!”

“Mama, it’s okay, don’t cry! Lippy is here, Lippy will protect Mama, so—"

Her mother had just kept crying.

“Mama’s sorry, ma petit chevalier! She will get at least you out of here, you don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t— I should have— At least, he cou—"

In this dream, memories were fuzzy. There were things she just knew and didn’t, things she remembered and didn’t. It was nice. Because it felt like she was free, not chained down by what happened.

The largest part she was grateful for was that the memories of what happened during the time she spent in Berlusconi were barely there aside from knowing she was there and what happened. Like she had watched a movie about this and while she emphasized it, it was like she didn’t actually experience it. Only the knowledge that she had watched it and knew vaguely of what happened.

It was… nice.

Perhaps it was her mind's way of protecting her. As it was, her memories were fuzzy, just a little glimpse here and there or simple knowledge that was spoken to her. Particularly her time with Berlusconi.

It was odd and something niggled in the back of her mind.

“Oh no, no, no! I’m sorry, Signa Filippa, don’t forget! Please! My flame is— You need to—"

She had forgotten something important.

But Filippa who remembered the burning white pain and searing hands was just too tired to care.

She just wanted to rest.

“Why did you hit the boy, ma petit cheval?”

She kept quiet, head turned away from her mother.

Mama sighed. “I won’t understand if you don’t explain…”

“…”

“Filippa.”

With a nasty frown, she mumbled. “…He was bothering the kitties…”

Spreading the ointment gently, Mama smiled. “See, wasn’t that easy?”

She blinked and stared up at Mama who merely stared at her kindly, with perhaps a troubled twist on her lips. “Mama’s not mad?”

“Of course not, you’re being a chevalier, a Cavaliere, right?”

“…yea'.”

Her mother tweaked her nose and said. “Don’t get into too much trouble next time, okay? Chevaliers don’t need to fight to help and even if you do, try your best not to get hurt.”

Her mood significantly lifted, and she grinned. “Okay!”

“Be kind, ma petit chevalier.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please—”

“Now, now… I know you can do better than this.”

“Please—”

“No. 1, do you want to test me?”

“…I’m, I’m sorry, I’ll— I’ll do it, please forgive me, I’m sorry—”

“Good. Now get to it.”

“What is this?”

“…Le mie scuse.”

“I don’t need an apology. I asked, What. Is. This?”

 “…”

“I see. Well, It has been a while since you visited the room hadn’t it?”

“Kill him.”

“Si, boss.”

“Ah, make it interesting though.”

“Si, boss.”

“Don’t hold back just because he is… well he is not your friend, right? So, it shouldn’t be a problem. Though it would be interesting if he was…”

“…Si, boss.”

Mama, I’m scared…

I’m sorry Mama, I hurt them, I didn’t want to, but—

But—

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

Mama…

I’m not a chevalier…

"For showing me this warmth—"

Filippa opened her eyes and was confused.

Standing in the burning building and protected by a dome of soft indigo—how is she doing this?—, she was still aware. Even though she had tried to burn everything down, the illusion continued on. She tried to will it away but it didn't, she was still inside the dream.

She didn't believe she could unconsciously create an illusion that she wouldn't be able to escape from. This might be a more complicated matter than she thought. That she couldn’t mean there were three possibilities. One, her ‘desire’ might have been stronger than she thought. Two, she was trapped in an illusion made by another. Three, it was her afterlife…

The latter made things complicated. What with her… being just a few steps away from being an atheist. A little. Aside from that, that meant she was fighting against the ‘rule of the world’ which was not… ideal.

For now, that meant she must either finish this dream or crack it. To her mind, the passage of time ran slowly like reality did but it could be just seconds from her death or it was a dream after death.

Filippa had no idea when the dream will end, it could be until the moment of her death as 'time' ran its course and it could be until her 'death' in the dream. There was also a possibility that it would run on forever like how eternal sleep meant an eternal dream.

As such, she conjured a gun and press it to her head.

The most efficient way of ascertaining if death could end this dream. Decisive, she unlocked the safety and was about to press the trigger—

    "Filippa!"    

She halted.

Dazed, she put down the gun.

She, she mustn't. It was, was, he didn't, he wanted—

    “It’s okay! Come here, you can—"    

Filippa squeezed her eyes shut and throw the gun away. It dissipated before it could reach the ground.

Her flame cried for something but it mustn't—

Crying was not an answer, do not cry, for it help nothing and was nothing but a waste of energy. Yet, as she curled into a ball and fall into her domain, Filippa had to get rid of the urge to do so.

     "Don't— Damn it! Let me go—"    

She fell back into her garden.

Fire, there was a fire.

She was, was—

She was to defend the mansion. But fire, it burned through everything.

Boss... Boss was gone, dead.

Like many of the others.

She was to defend the mansion.

Boss was dead, the mansion was burning.

Then.

What should she do?

What, should.

She, she must—

The—

Children. The new batch.

They were still down there.

Order—

Her order was—

Was—

The children.

She flickered and disappeared.

She stepped into the room full of suffocating children of various ages, but mostly younger than her, coughing and dying.

They were dying—

She, she needed to—

No one was saving them, no one can, She couldn’t—

…could she?

She needed to save them, no one did to her, so at least she must—

Better, she needed to be better, no more red—

Air.

They need to breathe.

The smoke needed to go and so does the fire.

But how—

Away, they need to go away from here.

Somewhere safe, away, away, away!

For the second time, she brought her will to life.

With a power she didn’t know where it came from, she sent twenty children of various ages away from the burning building, just somewhere safe.

Then, there was something—

Something was restraining her, tying her, swallowing her up and she can’t get away—

Amid burning buildings and dead bodies, an angel flew.

He laughed cheerfully as he popped white sugary treats she didn’t recognize into his mouth. She didn’t know who he was nor did she want to. All she wanted at that time was to get away from there as soon as possible.

White, he was white.

With snow-white hair, fair skin, a pristine white outfit, and beautiful angelic wings, he seemed like the only pure being in the area. But he wasn’t. The man above her was a demon pretending to be an angel.

She had never met him before, but she felt like they should have.

There was familiarity.

“Milord.” The monster with a red mask said.

The voice was not loud and the demon was far away, but he heard it. Turning toward them from the Berlusconi being killed one by one, he stilled. She couldn’t see what his expression was but she could feel that he was surprised and then delighted. Much more than he was before, watching the one-sided killing happily like the boss did when she was ordered to entertain him.

The white demon flew and descended in front of them. With a hum, he stared at her and she felt like she was being peeled apart—

Whatever he saw in her, he was satisfied.

“Well! I suppose this is a world where I get a sibling! Or maybe a cousin?” He cheered with a smile. Leaning down, close to her crumpled form in front of him, he asked.

Ah.

“Say, what is your name?”

She thought belatedly through her dazed mind, half in pain and half overwhelmed by the sheer power of him and those that surrounded him. A power she didn’t understand but knew was around.

“Cugina?”

So that is what it was.

Years of training overrode her urge to run away, bone-deep fear made her lower her head deferentially and answered without a tone. Just like how the boss liked it. "No. 1"

The white demon hummed and tapped his heels. She couldn't see his face but for some reason, she knew that he was displeased. Holding back the urge to whimper, she choked it down—don't make noise, don't make noise, unless ordered it's forbidden, don't—

"Welp!" He suddenly announced with a loud clap.

A hand tilted her head up. "That just means I need to give you a new name, right? The parents or oldest give the name to the new member of the family, after all!"

While still keeping a hand on top of her head, he continued. "White hair and eyes a shade of pink..."

Abruptly, his hold tightened. "Innocence... Well, it's certainly lost, after all, it seems like you have been here for a while!"

Slowly, he smiled prettily when what was behind that pure white persona was not. "White carnation and pink carnation to express ‘remembrance for innocence…’ or you can say, ‘innocence lost’.  From today on your name is, Garofano!"

"Welcome to the Gesso family, mio cara cugina!"

For the second time, she was given a name she didn’t want and was brought into a family she didn’t want either.

Deep inside, she can feel something cracking.

The demon in front of her smiled wider as if he could hear it too.

Life in the Gesso Famiglia was better in some ways and worse in others.

She screamed as the moth crawled up her body and start eating and burrowing their eggs deep into her body. They entered any opening her body had or made more in and slowly they keep consuming and—

This is an illusion.

Fuschia-colored eyes flashed azure and then soft indigo when she slowed her surroundings and crack them open with her mist. Dropping to her knees she panted for breath. Her eyes squeezed shut as her head throbbed and her injuries stung as she heaved.

Suddenly she felt nausea, smacking both hands to her mouth she gagged and vomited bile with eggs inside. The eggs hatched and turned into larvae that quickly approached her again. She tried to get away but she vomited again and again and again—

Her hand slapped against the floor and suddenly her surrounding started to burn, the critters dying with a high-pitched scream. Blood dripped out of her ears and then everything went quiet, her sight went dark, suddenly there was no smell and she can't feel anything but—

A scream escaped her mouth again when something constricted her and start biting messily and sucking her blood away. As time passed, her voice petered out and she could feel her body going cold until she completely black-out.

Tired eyes opened to the white ceiling of the training area. She was alone, which meant that training was over for the day. Rolling over to the side, she gingerly picked herself up and limped to the medical ward.

Slide the sword down, numb ears from the screech of the blades, and sent a quick punch to the abdomen at the target’s flinch.

Air left the man in a whoosh and she stabbed his throat, twisting her sword she pulled it away in an arch of blood into two of her other mission. When they closed their eyes, she sent constructed wolves at them and let them loose on whoever was close enough. Ducking under a spray of bullets, she sidestepped and backward into mist, slicing upward and skeletons rose to pull on the other people in the room. The room turned pitch black and she wrapped their clothes tight to their form. Stumbling around, they either fell to her blade or any constructed skeletons or beasts she made.

A storm flared his flame without any care on his allies who were burnt, she flared her rain and when he faltered, sent constructed blades at him. A few disintegrated but enough managed to end him. With a little less than half left, she sent a harsher command for them to sleep. A few fell right into eternal sleep and the rest who was either disoriented or incapacitated were easily finished with her blade of any construction in the room.

Steadily, she cut down the size of her mission, starting with the easiest, to the hardest and the leftover.

By the time she was done, she was slipping on puddles of blood, She ignored her shaking limbs when she was done, it was not the first time she killed nor was it her first mission. Hesitation had no place in her mind. Her land phased into mid-air and she pulled out a red vial, diluted components of storm flame. Rolling it to where the bodies lay the most, she turned half mist and explode it with her flame.

Disappearing into mist, she left the disintegrating area.

For years, she was kept mostly underground for training and… obedience. After years of conditioning, her first mission which wasn’t giving a show for Berlusconi’s boss and his friends was given by the Gesso.

The training was much brutal and there were new things that she wasn't accustomed to. Nonetheless, it wasn’t much of a difference from her life in Berlusconi. After more training that might be more demanding than what she was used to, she must admit that it was more effective than Berlusconi’s way which was more… painful. A small part of her was glad that she wasn’t hurt for no reason or obedience—yet—. The only time she was hurt was during training but she could still handle that. It wasn’t senseless cruelty. Only pragmatism that was a lot more arduous.

Even so, the larger part of her was afraid. It was the feeling of being stuffed full of something that invigorate her and yet felt more like poison. One couldn’t exactly argue against the word poison.

Her flame rebelled when she stayed there. The odd magical power called the dying will flame, one she was told was their soul, their will brought to life. If that was so, then that meant her initial thought of the white demon was true. She might have not as much fear of… punishment but. But her flame burdened… no, gifted her with a new sense. It opened her mind and she had more to consider other than just plain fear of bodily harm or any other threats.

Because that beautiful amber fire of his may look warm, it may croon the safety of home and reasons to follow him. But to her, it felt cold and cruel. It shone a beautiful color that was supposed to give them a home and it did. Even so, despite the way, many of the other members of Gesso turned into loyal soldiers for the man… her flame, a rainy mist, quivered whenever she was anywhere near him and the owner knew. No matter how she tried to still it and fake calmness, no matter how she managed to fool many, she couldn’t fool him.

Byakuran was only ever amused.

Just being in the same building as him, whenever he flared his sky even just for the slightest according to his emotion, she could still feel the coldness. The way he looked at everything and anything from above as if he was just playing a game. Even breathing became a harrowing task. What was worse was she couldn’t hide it.  He knew she knew that while she might be his cousin, to him he was nothing more than another of his possession. His flame told her that, she felt it.

With her newfound power, numbing her body’s pain with mist or just making it go away was possible. She could even say, she was freed from that sort of agony. However, making his flame go away was impossible. It was always present, may it be from the man himself when she was close to him, his leftover will all around the base, or even a distant flare of his flame. The foul tinge of his flame in any instance of those moments turned her body metaphorically inside out. She felt like her soul was about to vomit because his flame to her in any ways were wrong.

At the Gesso though, she was given more freedom. One she didn't know what to do with but was glad for anyway. Because she could get away from him, even if it was for a small moment. "If you have the time, go do whatever you like~ As long as it doesn't go against my orders, of course." The demon, Byakuran had said flippantly.

With a smile that never seem to leave his lips, he said. "You know what your commands are, right?"

"Si, signor Byakuran."

He pouted and prodded with a whine. "Won't you call me Fratello?"

Her body went cold at the thought and she ended up answering just a second too late. "If it is your command."

The demon paused and turned to face her fully, then his smile widened. "Ah, you are a mist after all. I thought you were already broken!"

With that cruel statement, he dismissed her. "Nah, that would be boring. Do go wild on whatever you decide to do, okay?"

"It'll make things just a bit less dull."

Filippa sat quietly, swinging her legs back and forth.

With a curious stare, she asked. “Mama, what are you doing?”

Her mother smiled as she removed the dull-colored flower spikes. One by one, she gently dug them out and separated the vibrant purple flowers. “I’m replanting the purple hyacinth.”

“See here?” She pointed to the dull-colored flowers and when Filippa replied in assent, she continued. “When tending to purple hyacinth, you need to pick out the bad part. If you don’t, it would make the other part of the flowers—” here she pointed at the vibrant one, “—go sick.”

She let out an oh and asked again. “Purple hyacinth?”

Mama smiled a little sadly here. “Yes, isn’t it pretty?”

“Un! It’s really pretty! Just like Mama!” At that, her mother laughed, but it was still tinged with sadness.

Later on, when she learned flower languages, she couldn’t help but wonder what her mother was regretting.

Ginevra Ricci giggled at her phone.

She was amused at her boyfriend’s antics. He was whining about his workload. Apparently, his manager was unusually strict today, he was saying that he was just late for barely five minutes and he got his wage docked by five percent. Then for some reason, he couldn’t fathom, the ‘damned superior’ of his doubled his team’s work when the deadline was still two months away. It was only noon and more than half of his fellow employees all around the same floor were not so subtly complaining when the man was away.

After that, he started raving that his manager must have been caught by his wife cheating like some sort of cheating cat. If not, he wouldn’t have a plaster on his cheeks that just had to be covering a slap mark. Also, the ‘shitty manager’s shitty temper that he had his head shoved too far into his whorish secretary’s ass or… vagina, whichever the bastard like’.

Blushing at the profanity being sent, she sent a disapproving emoticon at the language.

Then the manager’s secretary who was a, she quoted ‘bitch’ actually splashed the manager’s coffee at one of the finance counselors next door. Because and this time he quoted, ‘the woman was in her way’ and should have ‘used her eyes’ when she walked. The secretary was also the one his boss was cheating on and so, the manager filed a complaint about the finance counselor. The ‘bitch’ wasn’t even that pretty compared to the wife.

As a fellow office worker, Ginevra couldn’t help but sympathize with the office workers where her boyfriend worked at. Her boss might be a little of a control freak as well, but he wasn’t that bad even on his bad day! Consolingly she sent a cute video of a puppy falling down the last two steps of stairs. Then another of a cat shrieking as it was being bathed. Her boyfriend sent a series of crying emoticons, all crying about how adorable the pics and videos were.

As a girlfriend though, she couldn’t but feel miffed at how her boyfriend was praising his boss’ wife, whom she might add, he saw in photos. So, she sent a video of a dog being neutered and an emoticon of calmly smiling. Which was answered with paling emoticons and questions of ‘why???’. He then sent stickers of anime characters doing dogeza and a promise of cheesecake and milkshake after work for whatever he had done.

Huffing with an amused smile, Ginevra sent a sticker of a pleased cat.

“Ricci!” The brown-haired girl heard just as she shut off her phone.

Blinking, she smiled nervously at her division’s manager who was staring at her disapprovingly.

With a quiet apology, she went back to the mind-numbing work of typing the numbers.

Two days later, Matteo Russo, the CEO of Russo’s Gemstone Company, a moderately well-off gemstone company was found dead, the cause of death being excess smoke inhalation when the room ventilation was broken and he was too high to realize it. The man was found possessing illegally acquired drugs for personal recreational use. 

Three weeks later, Tommaso Russo, a cousin of the late Matteo Russo suicide when it turned way that the company he inherited was riddled with debts with no way for him to clear them. The man had survived the initial fall from the ninth floor with blinded eyes, multiple fractures, and broken bones all over his body as well as a head injury. But in the end, succumbed to his injuries in three days .

A month later, the widow of Thomas Russo went missing and was found after a week of search rotting in the closed mine of RGC after dying from multiple blunt force trauma. After further investigation, it was then revealed that the old associates of RGC Company were not happy with the sudden death of their friend and business partner. They then hired a local gangster to beat up the woman who could have prevented the murder from happening.

Due to the possibility of more unlawful affairs, a wide-scale investigation was conducted for Russo’s Gemstone Company, Bella’s Jewelry, and Metal Heart Company. Three months later, the three company was closed and sold off due to proofs of illicit affairs such as tax evasion, corruption, and others.

Within a year, the real estate of RGC, ELLARY, and MHC was legally bought off by the up-and-rising Fiorella’s Company. The various debts incurred were easily taken care of by Campanulla Mineo, the CEO of Fiorella’s Company.

Change long white tresses to short dull brown, make them wavey, and smelled faintly of greasy roasted pork and cinnamon.

Fuschia eyes to hazel eyes and pale skin to tanned lightly freckled skin. Lavender colored shirt, a little expensive but nothing an office worker couldn’t afford as well as a typical steel grey office skirt, and a bracelet that only a boyfriend would buy for his girlfriend. A few inches taller than usual and add a little heel to her shoes.

Lightly toned muscles from regular morning runs and yoga and she also had the habit of bringing a pepper spray key chain and low voltage taser for emergencies.

She was Ginevra Ricci, a twenty-one years old office worker, mildly pretty but fairly plain, and had a cute, puppy-like boyfriend who was older than her. Pretty but not enough to risk an angry boyfriend for. She was a little ditzy but a loving girlfriend. The young woman had a fondness for sweets and was easily bribed with them. Other employees didn’t have any bad impression of her aside from a little irritation at her tendency to look at her phone and chat with her boyfriend.

She was hired three months ago along with a batch of other newbies, but unfortunately, her work at RGC barely lasted five months.

Ginevra was disheartened at the recent happening of her company’s top and was even more distressed when she ended up being fired along with a third of the other employees. Like most of the other fired personnel, she fell into obscurity in society.

Just once, she tried leaving the base altogether, not hopping to another base in the hope of putting distance between the sky or for missions. Merely an outing for herself.

She walked alone through the crowdy town hall beneath the sunlight she rarely had the chance to for years. The burning sun above and the beautifully paved streets, the smell of sweets and perfume, the endless chatters of children both younger and older than her running around in joy. The first time she stood in the middle of that beautiful and lively place, she ended up having several panic attacks in succession. The only silver lining was that she managed to hide under the cloaking of her mist while even in distress and thus didn’t end up as something to gawk at.

In barely half an hour since she left, she swirled back into the base, stumbling past unaware members into her room. For months, she hid inside the dark room for things other than her training. Using mist flame for her needs, eating just the bare minimum.

The sound of cracking filled her head. Ever so slightly, it fractured like a cracked glass ball. She felt like something was leaking, it was turning dark and the warmth in her chest was turning uncomfortably cold. Day by day, she kept hearing the terrifying sound. As if she was the one breaking apart, scattering like fallen petals.

In the third month, Byakuran showed up.

“Hm… I came to check on my cute little sorella but she won’t even greet me?” He had said as he entered the room.

Flinching at the light, she curled into a tighter ball beneath her blanket.

With no further ado, he pulled it away and set a hand on her head. “Don’t break yet, will you? I like my toys intact, even if they are barely useful.” Then, the demon suddenly pulsed his sky flame.

Startled, with the instinct of a cornered animal, her faltering flame went haywire. She lashed out at him, plain illusion and real both attacking him and everything. Though she tried to throw herself backward, away from him, his grip held fast. Even when she pulled on his hands, nails turning into claws in the hope that pain would stop him or even intimidate him, he merely laughed and slapped the hands away.

His sky kept pulsing like tar, slowly enveloping the fragile core of her flames.

Hot! It’s hot— no, it cold? No, it’s hot! It hurt, get away! don’t come near me, get away—

She felt nausea but nothing came up, just the disgusting feel of both hot and cold clingy tendrils holding her soul together, cooing in cruel amusement. It crept up, cocooning and stitching her flame, her soul together with scorching needles and freezing threads and she couldn’t stop it—

Desperately she pulled on his hands because that was wrong, she didn’t know what exactly was happening but she just knew her flame hated it, feared his, and whatever he was doing that made her flame trashed like an insect held onto a cold surface. She gasped in pain when his flame tightened around her flame and he sealed up whatever he made. When he finally let go, she threw herself away from him, from the bed, head banging against the wall in her haste. Breathing heavily, she kept flame-tinted eyes on him.

Cold—

No, hot—

It’s hard to breathe—

She can’t, something is pressing and—

Her chest felt both cold and hot at the same time, it felt terrible and even though her flame kept banging on it, the burning cold and searing hot wouldn’t go away—

With horror she realized what it was, there was a piece of his sky caging her flame in. Breathing in, she choked on his flame and her sight was a multi-color amber, indigo, azure, and a faint purple. It messed with her senses, leaving her in a drunken mess.

The demon merely sat down on her bed and looked at her curled body against the wall. “There, isn’t that better?”

No, it was not, it was worse.

If before she felt like she was breaking apart at the lightest tap, after whatever Byakuran did, she felt like she was stuffed into an ill-fitted new container. Covered up in hardened tar, it clung to her, constricting her, and yet she knew even if she fell from an impossible height she wouldn’t break completely. It was wrong. She felt that she was stronger, and more put together. But her flame, her soul felt tarnished, she felt trapped.

She kept quiet, merely staring at him.

Suddenly, he raised a hand as if he was about to touch her—

Her head banged against the wall again when she tried to get away from him.

Byakuran laughed again like he was watching a cute animal. “Ahh… For a mist, you’re rather expressive with your feelings, aren’t you?”

Tilting his head to the side, he continued. “Mists are vindicated little things who would attack or have revenge on whomever that hurt them or theirs. They would hide like a coiled viper and strike when their target isn’t aware. Your rain made you more passive than most and it will make things a lot more interesting when you do snap.  But, mio cara fiore, you are either more patient than I thought or more of a coward, aren’t you? I thought you would be more intolerant than that. There are worlds where you were actually like that!”

“In those worlds, you would either fight my enemies protecting mine zealously or fight me protecting yours… This world might be one of the rare ones where even though you are mine, you aren’t, not really. I wonder why? It’s giving me anticipation for the future!” Cupping his chin with his right hand, with the other he pointed to the right and left. “How would you rebel against me?”

Wary, she kept her eyes trained on his appendage.

The Demon cooed at that. “Ah, I think less of a toy, you are more of a pet!”

Swallowing, she opened and closed her mouth. Trying to speak but failing as each time tried, her mouth would dry, and lead fell into her stomach. Her abdomen, the core of her soul felt heavy and tight. Byakuran, like the norm, merely stared at her patiently, always smiling and as always amused.

“Why?” At last, she managed to rasp out.

“Why what?” He ticked off his fingers. “Why are you here? Or why do what I just did?”

“…both…”

The white-haired demon leaned forward. “Well, you aren’t running away, are you?”

He said as if it was so simple when it was anything but. She might not have the courage to try it but it was not baseless either. It was clear that the male was much stronger than her and those that follow him were the same, to them, as it was, she was barely a speck of dirt under their shoes, much less him. If she tried to run and he was to take offense to it, then she would either be dragged back or killed off. Time in Berlusconi taught her that. She didn’t need revision to know the Gesso could be the same.

“Jest aside… You’re not dim-witted, mists are rarely so and you are no less of a mist despite your adorable demeanor.” Snapping a finger to regain her attention he continued with a crack to his feature.

And ah there it was.

The coldness, the darkness she had felt even if she never saw it.

His eyes slit and lilac eyes seemed so dark as he spoke through sharp-edged lips. “You are mine and like I said before, I like my toys intact. We have no affinity at all that it’s almost… well, no, it’s hilarious. Considering we have blood relations and all. But I don’t need a weak or a dead chess piece, so I merely did the next best thing. Do be a dear and not make me break you, okay? Because you will only break if I want you to, no more and no less.”

“Now then! I need more marshmallows!” Suddenly, he stood up and patted his crease off. “Follow me, will you? Ah, that’s an order!”

His hand snapped out and pulled her up with fake gentleness, he only regarded her trembling with a smile. “I can’t have you hiding like a rabbit if I want you to be useful! Though that is an idea… We also need to get you more acclimated to my other pawns and get you your own pawns.”

As he chattered on, tugging on her tense form, she could feel the cold and hot settle around her. Wrapping her in chains until she could do nothing but follow because when she was closer it felt less heavy. Her head buzzed and her thought was almost incoherent but at least, it didn’t hurt as much, the constriction felt less tight.

“Oh! One more thing! I almost forgot!” He stopped and turned his head around.

“Sorella, what’s your name?”

The words were set as questions, but truthfully, it was an order. A statement to ascertain her loyalty. From the moment she was given the name ‘Garofano’, she was no longer hers but just a doll in his toy house.

“Because I remember once more—”

“Just— Ivan! Do something!”

Filippa jerked awake and vomited all over herself.

Shivering, she clawed at her chest. Uncaring when her shirt tore at the rough action and even when her nails bloodied her skin. Her flame, her soul was okay. It was okay, it was still hers. Nothing was restraining her soul and there was nothing not supposed to be there. It was hers. No one else, not that—

Only his—

Not, not By—

Bile rose again and she threw up until there was nothing in her stomach. Until it hurt so much that she needed to fool her body into thinking that it was not empty and that she was not feeling nausea anymore. Waving a trembling hand, she cleaned herself off and constructed a new outfit. Focus. Focus on something other than, than— A simple shirt, the color powder blue, and a cream pleated skirt that reached a bit before her knees.

Suddenly, she thought of her too-small body but the right body. She was older not, not this small eight years old—

But it was right as well, why—

She—

She shouldn’t sleep, it felt like a long time ago that she forgot sleeping was not a preferable choice. Standing up, with a twist of her wrist, a thin sword, a rapier appeared. It was not a real medium, just something constructed in her mind. But the intent for why it was made was enough for a replacement. She gripped the handle and slash it down. Right after, a hole opened in the space and she stepped out of her domain.

Distraction, she needed a distraction.

Anything to keep her mind busy.

Stumbling on autumn leaves, the sound of crackling leaves entered her ears. Tapping her rapier twice on the ground, the sword changed into a silver bracelet. She eyed her surrounding cautiously, covered herself with mist flame, and trudged on. Ignoring how heavy her chest felt or how her legs kept dragging.

The world was burning in amber but she kept her faltering stride.

She was drenched in blood the first time she felt that warmth that people would go crazy for.

Blood on white, blood on the blade, blood on clothes.

She was thirteen and she only knew of him, because how could she know for more or less than that?

She remembered trying to wipe her mouth but to no avail. The red merely spread further on her skin. There was also a moment when she wondered if licking the blood away from her lips was worth it. The liquid was uncomfortably stained. At this time, her control over her mist was not well yet. As such, she had to limit her usage in case of emergency. Blood bothering her was the least of her worries.

She squinted a little when she felt unfamiliar flames entering the threshold of her half-made domain.

Later on, when she gazed into burning amber eyes, she couldn’t help but rue her fate as well as her cowardice.

"How the warmth of a home felt like."

Life could never stop giving Tsuna lemons to deal with. Sure, there might be a saying about making lemonade when life keeps giving you a lemon and all but fuck it all. Weren’t there too many lemons? There was his chronic disease of being an utter failure in everything except, perhaps games. If he fails even in playing a video game of all things, he might just attempt and succeed in what his rain attempted.

Then there was the utter joke his life was, a bullied victim that even his cloud, the literal wakagashira of the Hibari Clan pity and yes, he knew the older boy pitied him. His hits were somewhat gentler than the usual way Hibari bites the other rule-breakers. Something whispered that it was not pity but he was resolutely ignoring that part of his mind, kicking it down, stomping it, and burying it deep, deep inside the depth of his mind.

Third and unfortunately not the least nor last because why the fuck it would be? When would life give him a break? Life hated or loved him so much that it tried giving him an ‘interesting’ life when he had no capacity—liar, liar, pants on fire— to deal with it.

Turns out, pardon his foul language but one of the few reasons he studied Italian was to do this, macchia di merda irresponsabile di un padre turned out was not only that ‘I went out to buy milk and just came back after years of getting lost in the road of life’ sort of father but was a ‘sorry I went out to buy milk and had to kill this guy but work kept me busy and I just came back, here the milk, it might be spoiled though’ and then proceeded to force feed him the milk.

In case it wasn’t clear, the spoiled milk was the Mafia mess.

Yeah, he was not only an utter failure in life who was bullied for most of the course of his life and was also an heir to the largest and bloodiest Famiglia in the goddamn world and history.

It was a series of shit shows after that. There were of course him getting friends—mine, mine, mine— which was nice, he was never letting go of them ever. Then the first major event, which was the utter little shit Mukuro was despite his understandable reason—yes, he is mine now too— but he did give him the adorable Chrome—he is never letting go of her and he might be planning some forgery and murder shortly, if he was going to be a mafia heir despite his hate for it, he better takes advantage on the avenue he was given. He would never admit it to Reborn though, never— so he could forgive his transgression

Of course, after that was the Varia, oh my god, what the fuck was that? Tsuna, a barely trained civilian for only a year over, was expected to fight against the Vongola’s elite independent assassination squad and not only win but stomp them down? The number of times Tsuna prayed to his damned ancestor to help him or better yet, fix these messes was innumerable.

Reborn certainly knew but left him to it, probably for some sort of demented reason that he thought Tsuna needed some ways to flush his irritation away aside from punching or getting naked or putting himself and his enemies on fire. He was probably risking forest fire at the rate he was going and Reborn knew it too.

Thankfully, he managed that too and he was going to ignore his hoarding tendency now. No matter how much he had the urge to drag the Varia back home to his mother so she could pamper them. Especially Xanxus, Xanxus, he had no idea where he was starting on him, let alone do, so he won’t. He shouldn’t and wouldn’t bring them home too, because, despite everything and his budding hoarding issue, that was a line he mustn’t cross.

He mustn’t.

Something inside Tsuna rumbled in displeasure at the idea he wouldn’t have his elements or the others he had his eyes on, because they were his and he was going to burn the world down if any of them want it, also, do any of you want a castle or two? And nope! His mind liked to go that way these days and he was going crazy because what the fuck, mind of mine? Like most of his problems, he was going to bury it and touch it maybe never.

Next was the future.

That, that was.

It took every shred of his being to stop him from blazing everything away and going X-Burner on anything and everything that was looking at him. He wanted to claw Byakuran down from his white flowery throne and tear him to pieces. Because, his capability of sensing flame may not be as acute as his intuition or capability in destroying any bastardi that intends on hurting his family, he could still feel the hurt radiating from his elements.

Their flames were on their last threads and they kept seeking his sky for comfort. Despite there must be a difference between the future him and him. Even Hibari was not an exception. The man might be calmer after ten years but his flame was a barely contained feral thing. A hurt feral cloud who was forcing himself to be calm.

Hibari, a cloud.

An unrestrained cloud.

Forcing himself to keep calm.

So, so.

The first time he saw the Millefiore’s sky through a hologram of all things, he had to contain his snarl. It was not the time and he needed to keep himself calm if not for himself, then for the one depending on him.

The second time was better. The way the older man hacked into their security was a mess and a half because their base was truly compromised if they could break through it. It was only the presence of Dino being there, a fellow sky who radiated calmness enough for him to restrain himself. There was also the unfortunately cute little cartoon of mini Byakurans which threw him off.

So, grudgingly Tsuna steeled himself for what the megalomaniac might say to them. It was rarely a good thing when the enemies of his life start monologing—yes, he was talking about Mukuro—. Just as the white-haired man was about to start, whatever he was going to say seemed to be derailed as the cheerful expression abruptly twitched before it reverted when he caught sight of the Cavallone's boss.

His intuition started pinging here, a little too late as well.

Then, "Ah~ if it isn't the poaching horse~"

The insulting nickname seemingly slid through Dino without any crack in his expression. But the occupants of the room all either twitched or stumbled at the sudden burst of sky's rage that overwhelmed them.

Ah, Tsuna thought.

It seemed that despite his worry, the one that would snap first wouldn’t be him but the so-far calm and sunny sky, Don Cavallone.

"Byakuran." Dino spit out the name like a curse.

Even Reborn, whose reaction was the first with a suddenly shocked expression as he scrutinized his past student. Whatever he saw made the tuxedo-wearing baby look grim with a tinge of horror and then sympathy. If the situation wasn't so, Tsuna would be shocked at how well he read the Arcobaleno.

"Where is she?"

The man smiled cruelly and cooed with a bite at his parfait. "Now, now... Calm your horses, Cavallone. Don't you already know?"

The mix of grief and rage that then flooded the room then couldn't be compared to the previous one when the man continued.

"After all, you do know the difference between a dead element and a rejected element, right?"

Chapter Text

She walked and walked and walked.

Up a dirt trail and it was raining red.

Down the road and she was stepping over, around, and into puddles of red.

Sweat dripped and she wiped it with flashes of red at the edges of her sight.

Red, red, red, there is red everywhere.

She was covered in red, breathing in red, walking in red, and drowning in red.

Again, and again and again.

Rinse and repeat and she was clean but then red again in the next.

It was blue and it turned red again.

It was clear and it was dark again.

It was the smell of perfume and smokes, trees and iron, red and red and red.

The red won't leave her alone.

It wouldn’t go away, never had it gone away. She had worn a pristine white uniform with black and her flame embellishment before as if that falseness was to cover up the red beneath. As if it would fool others to think that beneath that black glove was clean skin and not red and red and red.

A mere illusion, a fact that the white devil thought was hilarious. False, false, false, false it was false. An ironic joke that the one covered in the most red was clad in the purest white.

She blink and the sky turned red, she blinked again and the dirty puddle turned into a puddle of red, she blinks and the perfectly fine person in front of her turned into pieces of mutilated flesh, she blinked and she blinked and she blinked—

Clean it was and it turned red.

Red it was and it turned clean again.

Rinse and repeat over and over and over.

In 1965, Randy Gardner, a 17-year-old high school student kept himself awake for 264 hours and 25 minutes, an eleven days record that broke the previous bar of 260 hours held by Tom Rounds.

It was an experiment that questioned how long humans can stay awake and it was at that science fair that Gardner broke the world record. Several other ordinary experiments had a record of about eight to ten days with no side effects in the form of serious medical, neurological, physiological, or psychiatric problems.

However, these individuals showed progressive and significant deficits in concentration, motivation, perception, and other higher mental processes as the duration of sleep deprivation increased.

Nothing caused permanent issues after a day or two of recovery sleep. Some soldiers were said to be able to stay awake for four days, perhaps due to their training which built up their resistance, or just plain adrenaline. Unmedicated patients with mania go without sleep for three to four days, deprivation of sleep could cause various high-risk ailments to a human.

For other experiments such as one on lab rats, they were said to be able to stay awake for two weeks before ultimately succumbing to death due to hypermetabolism.

However, the execution of the aforementioned experiment was done under great scrutiny to ensure the health of the participant wouldn’t be impaired. Further examination revealed that in self-defense in the middle of the dangerous endeavor, the brain of the participant had been cat-napping to ensure peak condition. In years after, attempts of breaking the sleep deprivation record were then forbidden in response to the fatality of it.

In the limitation of flameless humans, it was concluded that losing days of sleep wasn’t entirely fatal but could aggravate any other preceding condition. Thus, increasing the chance of life being lost due to the lack of rest.

Flames, however, could increase the chance of living for its user. Commonly would be the sun flame which had an activation attribute and the storm which had the disintegrating attribute. Sun users would use activation to boost their bodily function for anything they needed while storm users would dispose of the accumulation of toxins in their user’s brains. The latter is due to sleep being another method of removing the said substance.

Other attributes could ensure the same needs even if utilizing a different method. It, however, must be kept in mind that utilizing flame attributes in one body is an exceedingly difficult practice. Unless either the quantity or quality of the flame of an individual was above the common standard that it would fulfill a body’s needs without prompting or the user was consciously using said flame for such activities, it would be no more than a simple adrenaline rush.

Furthermore, the adrenaline rush is also in fact, another usage of dying will flame.

Pain assaulted her sense when the bullet pierce through her thigh. Having the caster’s mind disoriented, her illusions faltered. At the weakness shown, the target started to advance on her. Shooting as he did so, even if she showed false images at him.

It’s not painful.

With a twist, she blared a loud sound and the man stumbled at the way his eardrum burst. Another attempt made him slap a hand over his eyes as it suddenly felt like lava was dripping into them.

There was no bullet in her thigh.

Yet, his gun hand was still up even if unsteady.

It’s… not painful.

She jolted in realization at what he was attempting to do. Her injured leg buckled for a moment as the illusion she was casting trembled. Quickly, she flashed close to him and let her blade slice his hand off, then tucking his head into her domain. Flicking a cautious look at the gun, she flinched as it started to glow a dreadful red

—red so much red, why is there so much red—

In that fraction of time, the gun exploded and it was the flare of her rain to slow the storm flame that gave her enough time to flash away. Gasping in pain she grasped at her legs. The skin burnt off her legs as blood started to seep out, drenching the green grass with red blood.

Her lips wobbled and involuntary tears accumulated at the pain. Clawing at her eyes, she willed the urge away.

Focus. Breath instead. She thought.

Laying stomach down, just outside the mansion, she trembled.

Don’t let me cry. Fil-Garof— She begged.

The sky in her chest tightened its grip on her soul.

Why is there so much red

Time was a hard concept to perceive in this world of not-dream.

At times she found herself on the border of Rome to Czechoslovakia to Brazil and back to Italy, Sicily. If it was the mere conjuring of her mind and she was actually still standing in the same spot, she couldn’t differentiate it from her actually going to those places with the help of her mist. Did she walk there? Was it mist travel? Perhaps it was not those places. There was a possibility that she was in Japan when she thought she was in Yugoslavia and was in the Vatican instead of the Alps.

West to the east, south to north.

Morning to night and afternoon to dawn.

Was the answer important?

Ah.

Her head kept throbbing uncomfortably and her chest with leads in it.

She kept her gaze on the hot chocolate filled with marshmallows. It was a warm drink to have during winter, one she only had for a few rare occasions when her mother was still alive and no longer during the three years with Berlusconi. Sipping on the velvety drink, she couldn’t help the pleased hum that echoed out of her at the nutty taste.

Soft chewy marshmallows melted in her mouth and she swallowed them with appreciation.

There was an odd tinge in the drink. It fizzed from her tongue and spread out, slightly cold like peppermint but mostly warm.  It made her head fuzzy and her body relaxed. Her head nodded slightly to the side and a little yawn escaped from her.

It was weird.

She felt… calm. It felt like it had been a while since she had the chance to relax. But as she slumped lightly to the cold body of Bluebell who happily leaned back at her, she fell into a light doze.

Byakuran was right across her and she was still suffocated right under his flame. Breathing and exhaling the sky he emitted, she still felt like she was going to lose air. Sitting beside Bluebell though, the feeling was still present yet far away. Like she was in a safe bubble, still underwater where she was drowning but for just a brief moment, she was granted a gulp of precious air.

She was forgetting something.  

Distantly, through the haze of her sleepy mind, she felt someone take away the glass of hot chocolate as she nuzzled into the blue-haired girl’s side.

Warm, warm body beneath the thin cloth, a loving caress and slide beneath the rib and angle it down for the kidney and hot searing red spurting and colouring perfect white with imperfection and it would turn that angel to a devil to a human pull him down tear apart that fake wings and stain him, them it with—

Her stomach gurgled and she thought of the warm taste of chocolate.

In less than a second she had a cup of hot chocolate with a generous topping of perfectly gooey marshmallows on top. The white sight and sweet smell reminded her of sea salt and amber.

Rot crawled out of her mouth at the thought and the once tantalizing scene shattered into dirt.

She watched it drop haphazardly onto the asphalt road.

The sound of honking cars suddenly broke the haze she was in. She looked to the side at flashes of colorful lights. Screams resounded and she closed her eyes at it. Turning away from it, she looked down again at the dirt.

With a jingle of her bracelet, cracking the asphalt, a single flower bloomed out of it.

A simple yellow camellia.

Her lungs heaved and her stomach churned uncomfortably. Squeezing her eyes shut, she exhaled shakily.

For a moment that yellow was stained with pretty red.

It was hard to breathe.

Her whole body jerked as she started seeing doubles. Colors intermingled into an array of iridescent haze over her sight.

Her skin was too tight as if a weight had been placed upon her chest.

She heaved and slumped against the nearest vertical structure. Breathing in with metaphorical shrapnel tearing apart her throat. It was with great agony she tried to keep her bodily function going without her mist tearing everything and even her apart.

Back, she needed to go back.

Byakuran—

She needed to find him, so it will hurt less—

Crack.

It's breaking, her fire, it’s going to stop burning—

Shuddering, she fell back into the mist.

She reformed outside of his room with wobbling legs. This close, inside the hotcoldhothotcold flame of his, with closed eyes breathing in the uncomfortably searing yet freezing sky, the emptiness in her chest was refilled to the -disgusting- brink it was.

She gasped and choked in water, liquid clinging around her, her or her soul? But it was there and forcing itself into her mouth and she couldn't breathe—

Closing her eyes, she stood still for a few moments before knocking on the room.

It wouldn't pass, it never did.

But it was becoming more manageable.

Her feet brought her to the more impoverished part of the town she was in. Briefly, through blurred eyes, she wondered where she had found herself. While heavily slumped on a colorful wall she could barely smell the rotting rubbish around. If she tried a deeper inhale, perhaps she could find the smell of piss and alcohol if not the familiar smell of sweet iron.

Exhaling, she took a moment to wonder why did she stop at an alley.

Familiarity.

Filippa had been used to this sort of place had she not?

Full of the degenerates of the town. Screams, wailing and often the sound of moaning was all around. If there came the time it became silent, then it meant that soon enough gunshots would sound and gunpowder would instead invade the people’s nostrils. Not the familiar smell of rot.

For them, the smell of rot was preferable to the gunpowder and sweet iron.

Blinking she lifted her gaze, for a moment it doubled and she saw a dark room with screaming and wailing children. Red sticky on her hands, it curled slightly as the knife she was gripping fell with loud clangs. Harsh breathes rattling but she stepped forward, toward another small figure holding some sort of weapon. Reaching down for the lost wea—

Another blink and she was back in the alley.

Distantly, she heard another scream. High pitched and clearly the sound of someone being hurt.

Her mind blanked.

“L-let me go! Please don’t— M-my daughter is here, please—” Mama, they are hurting mama again and again and again—

Filippa could feel her face twist as she stalked toward the voice. Mama, mama, answer me, mama, please— An exhale and the click-clack of heels resounded.

Filippa stumbled out of the bathroom as it was suddenly opened. Wincing as her knees slammed into the wooden floor she yelped in pain. More than that sting though, she was more concerned about her mother who was shaking as she leaned against the wall.

With a sob, she rushed toward her.

Keeping fearful attention on one of the men who had let her out, she kneeled beside her mother. A hand clutched on the shirt left messily, and she pulled it over her unresponsive mother. Another keen left her as she tried to ignore the red and blue coloring of the tan skin. The harsh flinch when she accidentally brushed against her left her shaking as her eyes felt hot.

She looked at the suited man still standing. Nails clenching so hard it break into her skin she stared silently at him. The man tilted his head and chuckled in amusement before leaving with just a backward wave.

When the door finally clicked shut, she turned her complete attention to Mama.

Dull eyes stared down and when Filippa followed the gaze down, she barely kept her meager lunch down.

There, written with a sharp pen with some parts gouged was a messily written ‘Berlusconi’s’ on her mother's thigh.

With proper abbreviation of ”’s”, even. She thought hysterically.

Sword was a rarely used weapon for mists. As was typical for most illusionists, they would fight from a distance where their safety was certain. More so when one was fighting against fellow flame users. For them with strong mist flame, eight out of ten, they would be mid-range to long-range fighters unless they had secondary flame to use. It was less of pride but more of playing to their advantage.

For her, it was the latter.

Even before she was trained in mist flame, she was first trained in how to use a weapon with sharp edges. Out of all the variations from knives to bayonets, she was best with a sword. Barely as tall as double the length of one, she was the best of her batch in close combat with a weapon.

For the Berlusconi, that was that and in the Gesso she was trained again with a sword but then a rapier alongside her mist.

Swiping the sword up, the man’s hand fell off with a wet squelch, and the woman he was pining down scrambled away with a strangled scream. Tripping over herself as she did so.

She ignored the flash of white and focused instead on the man. He screamed and screamed, crawling away from her. In response she let vines grow out of the crack of the concrete. Tying and holding him down. She squeezed the blood out of where she had maimed him like a faucet. When all left of that limb and up to the shoulder was dark purple, she let the unconscious man wake up.

The man said something incomprehensible but she let it slide out of her ear with bare a thought. He kept patting his right hand as if he was surprised by something. The smell of something rancid reached her nose and she furrowed her forehead.

Tilting her head, she stared silently at him as he started babbling. Apologies overlap with begs for his life alongside curses.

Red, red, red pretty red, smelly red disgusting red but red on white let it stain, let it stain, let it stain, let stain him with red red red so that mask is broken and black is shown and its all mud black mud disgusting mud scary mud but true mud red black and white and amber and and and and and—

Ah.

Would it remind him enough?

Would he do it again?

Perhaps, he would.

Perhaps she should—

“I wish—"

Slamming both hands against her eyes as visions assaulted her again, she was the one who let out a strangled sound this time.

Something, someone—

There was someone that she had forgotten.

Someone that she promised, someone that had wanted to—

No, she didn’t forget—

She never would, after all, he was—

She just—

He was kind.

Too kind—

That’s wh—

The first wish that she dared to voice since the white descended and red drowned everything up. Since the amber swallowed her up and she was but a doll, like a playing clay to be molded to whatever the white wanted, and was no longer the indigo and azure she was for she had touched that wa—

“I wish— I wish I had met you sooner. If so, then perhaps there wouldn’t be so much red, perhaps that sky would be blue, or maybe your amber rather than his. Perhaps this world wouldn’t be this room full of water but instead a garden under the sky. Perhaps I wouldn’t smell sea salt each time I breathe, no more iron, no, not th—”. He stopped her rambling with a sudden hug, and something warm hit the back of her neck, along with the smell of salt.

She flinched and tried to wrench herself away from him before she realized it.

It was… tear.

The man was crying.

Why, why was he crying? Did she hurt him? Again, did she hurt someone again again again no, no, not again—

“Over there! The device reacted!”

She snarled as the voice interrupted her. Turning towards the sound she found men, approaching her. Suited men, guns on hand and guns concealed. Blades on hand, blades in sheathes.

Again, they found her, they would take her and she would be trapped inside the room again she would be forced again and then there will be red, so much red, and it's all slick and gooey on her hand like how chocolate melt in her mouth and it's delicious but disgusting and she is scared again—

The black will come to take her away again, again, again and it will be hot again it will sear again it will burn again and that white and amber will come again it will whisper lies to her ears and she would follow because she was scared and she was foolish stupid unsavable no one will come and it will be red and white and amber and red and white and amber—

I made a promise—

They approached her, rushing at her weapons at hand and they would take her again and she won’t be taken again.

The ground cracked and bones crept up, flowers bloom and the building all crumbled like dirt. Turns into mud and the pretty flower bloom from mud and mud become flowers. They are pretty, so pretty and they are the weakest but strongest. Don’t let them pluck, don’t let them take, bloom, bloom, bloom so none will take again. Down, to the wonderland, the intruder will fall and they would fall and fall and fall—

A sweet blade, stained red on iron kissed her forehead and she lunged back forward and down his sword. Her blade, hold her hand and she let it dance beneath that pipe so the red would taint that black.

Kling and Klang, another blade met her blade, and another come forward. Light spilled from his head just like like like like that white and amber and it will take her again and then then then then—

Snapping her head back as an elbow met the side of her head. The man between them backed away from her blade and pain disoriented her mind. Snapping out of the downward spiral, she takes another look and found long silver instead of messy snow.

Vines crept up his body but the man walked away from it with barely a glance and he— she— he— is strong and again they will take her, chain her, choke her drown her stain her in red until she would forget again—

What did she forge—

Remember, she need to remember so she know what to do, so she would do right, so she could find him again.

…who was him?

No, red red red no run run run run.

Sh— F— Gar— she runs.

“I wish—” The man had choked on his next breath, body trembling as he hugged her as if it could shield her from the pain.

Filippa stumbled to a stop and looked around. Her body spun around as she looked at where she was.

The sky was bright atop and she stood on the concrete floor, up far from the people where red is inside and behind that skin is so black, so black like how people are—

No, not black, they are not black not black not bad not all bad he was kind—

Who, who, who was him—

She crumpled down to her knees and retched.

Blink and all of it is black and red and white and black and red red red.

She coughed as she press a palm against the red. Curving the other against her stomach because it hurt, hurt so much, and its all hollow and she was empty—

She blinked and Filippa blinked as well.

Empty, she was empty, there was no longer amber in her chest. She was not Garofano who was drowning in amber and choked with red and white but she was Filippa. Filippa who was her Mama’s child and Filippa who loved Mama and then that Filippa who finally died.

But Filippa came back again and that amber, not that black red white red white amber who drowned her but that kind amber, her sky took her red stained hands and hugged her. She was not hot nor cold but she was warm. She was not drowning and drowning others in red anymore because he stopped her—

Filippa coughed more red and its pain but it was okay because—

A sob rose and she pressed red-stained palms on her eyes.

No tears, no tears, no tears—

“It’s okay, just cry, because— Because this time, I’ll hold you as you cry, I won’t let you be alone anymore, so, so this time, let’s go home, Filippa.”

He was not here, though.

He, who was he, she can’t remember—

No tears, no tears, no tears.

Until he is here, until she is not alone anymore, she doesn’t want to cry.

Nails tore into the skin and more red dripping on the red on the ground. So much red, it’s pretty, it’s disgusting, it’s scary, it dirty—

Her next breath rattled her lungs and it hurt.

Tears turned the world underwater and she was drowning again Filippa want him but where was he who was he—

But.

But she wouldn't find him and he wouldn't find her. If one or the other happened it would not change the end. Filippa had died and she was stuck in an illusion. This is a dream, one that was as sweet as it was bitter. When had she forgotten the taste of freedom in her chest? No longer with chain tying and choking the life out of her.

But.

She was here and he wasn't and she was dead, dead, dead, deaddeaddeaddeaddead—

She was drowning in red again.

Filippa hoped that she would never meet that kind of sky again. That he wouldn't die, that would live long, that he would never be alone and that both he and his were happy.

"That's a lie, isn't it?"

Flinching she pressed her head harshly onto the floor and breathed in rancid bile and sweet iron.

Her lips wobbled as she whimpered. What did she say to that person again? What did he say again?

Ah, that's right.

"My wish is—"

To that person whose name she couldn't remember, she had said—

“I wish that you never had to have that thought. That— that you could have had a normal childhood, that you could be happy. Away from the pain this world had caused you. That even if you hadn’t met me, a wretched man like me who failed to protect you, save you even if we never knew of each other, that you be—”

Filippa blinked and smiled hesitantly. She reached up behind his back and let her fingers curve, crumpling his coat up. Clean of blood unlike the real world.

A human inherently always has desire.

Wishes.

Her Mama had wanted to be free from the place that was their home.

Wish—

Filippa had a lot of wishes.

Something that must not be granted.

She wanted to die.

Something that couldn’t be granted.

She wanted her Mama to hug her again.

Something that couldn’t possibly be….

She wanted to meet that man again.

She curled into a ball and hope the dream would just end.

What was his name?

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“Oya? Then I suppose I could grant that wish of yours, Cara.”

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“Just… for a little price, of course.”

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The first time she felt that warmth, she was drenched in blood.

She was thirteen and she only knew him by name, because how could she know for more or less than that?

Blood on white, blood on the blade, blood on clothes.

She remembered trying to wipe her mouth but to no avail. The red merely spread further on her skin. There was also a moment when she wondered if licking the blood away from her lips was worth it. The liquid was uncomfortably stained. At this time, her control over her mist was not well yet. As such, she had to limit her usage in case of emergency. Blood bothering her was the rank rather low on her worries.

She squinted a little when she felt unfamiliar flames entering the threshold of her half-made domain.

While they did walk through the castle carefully, it was null when the whole castle was trapped with her flame. It was not fully hers, but she made it a part of her. Enough so that slowly but surely, the rain flame laced faintly throughout the building started to affect them and she could feel their mind slow. It dulled their thinking and made them less wary.

She rose both hands in front of her, her rapier hovering mid-air.

With finesse, she weaved layers upon layers of illusion.

Creaking windows, dripping liquid, and endless walk. Getting lost and stumbling on fallen stuff or slipping on blood. Run around, find the bodies, find the fake bodies, mix it up, the inhabitants of the castle died horribly, see? The blood, the limbs, how gruesome, it could be you next. Fear rose, a small amount, but just enough that she could influence.

Shadow on the peripheral of their vision, a sudden chill, instinct starting to betray you. Before they knew it, it was night. It was mid-afternoon just before. They start to feel bitterness, they found nothing but dead bodies, which means they didn’t manage to find the perpetrator. Their mind started going erratic and they started arguing against each other.

Good, it will be easier to influence their mind.

Suddenly the storm started to realize the possibility of an illusion, his watch showed the time was still late noon. Ah, a small mistake of hers, but no matter. At this point, their mind was almost hers. No, don't believe that she nudged the thought away. Get distracted, she sent.

The lighting was affected the most, so she fooled his mind, you are getting nauseous, she sent a little more rain, making him stumble then more mist and the lightning started vomiting. Drag out their fear, paranoia, and illogical thought birthed into irrationality. Lash out, let the fear guide their mind. Then let mist flame latch onto it through that imbalance. She let their mind guide the illusion, what they fear and what they wanted.

The sun quickly tried to help but the mix of rain started to get to him too, he started fumbling and fainted. Only the storm left, the hardest, ah, he thought it was poison and lighted his flame, intending on burning the 'poison' out of the two that had fallen.

With the storm more focused on the other two, she drowned him in mist, uncaring of how he panicked just a second too late, realizing it was an illusion. But he was already hers by then. She got him lost in the product of his mind.

With that, she had trapped them.

She nudged their mind, getting information, and ah. That is interesting. He didn’t think that the storm was a guardian of Don Cavallone. But it was a boon, he would have more information than what she got from her mission. Her fingers twitched as she gently rummaged through his mind, peeling open layers and getting secrets. Before she could get too far though, she realized that the storm was feeling oddly calm even as he battled his will against her, and oh, so that was why.

There was reinforcement coming, how long they were not sure as communication had fallen before they ascertain it, they were the first responders.

More, tell me more, she sent but he wouldn't budge anymore without her breaking his mind. A little vexing, but no matter. She must finish the mission and there was not much time left to get away from the premise if the reinforcement was close.

She stilled one hand, palm down and slightly curved as if she was holding something down, and the other side way as if she was gripping something.

Decisive, she squeezed and—

—and suddenly there was the wrath of a sky burning through everything. From outside, the threshold of her mock domain, the mist holding everything together, the carefully laced rain, at a pace that she couldn't follow up quickly with newly constructed illusion, it swallowed up and burned through everything until the only safe place in the building was the room she was in. Her illusions broke—

Panicked, she tried to leave but the sky flame managed to latch onto her, harmony leaving her disoriented. It told her it was safe but it was clearly not, this was her enemy, the mission—

Mind and body's intent not corresponding—

Byakuran’s flame hissing at the foreign sky flame—

Her flame went haywire, lashing out in defense but suddenly her trapped storm victim woke up and burned through it easily. Stricken, her body spasmed and she fell to her knees. Mission, the mission she focused on—

But the sky latched on deeper, he was confused, he was raging, oh so angry—I'm sorry, don't be mad, sorry— but he was also happy—

The tar-like case that covered her flame started cracking apart, it crumbled lightly beneath the heat—warm, so warm— of the gentle sky whispering reassurance to her. Her flame started purring because it was home. Her very soul was being hugged and how long has it been since she was hugged like this? The sky rumbled, coaxing her to calm, telling her it was okay—

Eyes shut, she pulled back her flame, hiding it deep inside but choked on the next breath when she felt gentle hands on her elbows holding her upright, not realizing in the sudden happening that flipped her mind upside down, she ended up on her hands and knees—warm, warm, warm, she was cold? But now it was warm, so warm, where were you—

She opened her eyes, blearily she saw a blur of gold and orange and green—

The flame stroked and rumbled with hers, so gentle, oh so gentle, she felt warm, she was safe, she was home—

But the mission, she must, must—

The mission—

The jagged piece of Byakuran’s flame suddenly tightened, piercing her core and it hurt, it was shredding everything apart, even the kind sky—

She forced her flame away, ignoring the half-formed bond of element and sky, it hurt, but hide—

The sky, so kind, the sky panicked and pulled away slightly, feeling her sudden deep fear and she took advantage of that.

She lashed out her rain—skyskysksy, home, but no, not hers, and she mustn't, not hurt, cannot hurt, it was home— to disorient him and whirled away from the building.

Her chest stings, it felt cold again, she wanted that warmth, the kind sky that rumbled her reassurance, it told her of freedom, of a home around verdant trees, wide fields, and galloping horses. Walking through the streets meeting friends everywhere, feeling the sea wind on my skin and not fearing it for once, and smelling the smell of homemade pizza. Of protection for the weak and what is considered theirs. Of warm hugs beneath the sunlight, companionship whenever she needed it or not because she was theirs and they were hers—

And they protect their own.

Her mist faltered and she fell to the ground, gasping at the missing piece in her chest.

For a second, she had the urge to go back, because—

Because that was home and she could be safe again, away from the disgusting tendril of hot and cold that constrict her very being. She could be herself again, she could hold onto that warm hand, walk beside that golden figure who would laugh with her and she could smile again. But that was all for naught when she felt the chillingly familiar flame approaching her.

Ah.

It’s too late.

He had already sent people after her, he must have felt it when his flame crumbled like dirt beneath that beautiful and kind amber flame. Wryly, she couldn’t help but thought, as she landed in the cold white room and smelled the now sickening sweetness of marshmallows, that he must feel slighted. For the first time in a while, with a little bit more clarity and defiance than she ever felt to the de—

No, he was not so infallible anymore, was he?

The man stared down at her with freezing-cold eyes. The ever-present smile on his lips was gone as he looked down on her with blankness in his eyes. Made sense, the man who thought of himself as god was kicked right in the face by a mere horse’ after all.

Even as she was dragged to his feet, knowing that whatever he might do would hurt more than anything, she couldn’t help but feel a little vindicated. Because her sky whom she would likely lose in the next moment as Byakuran’s raging sky pulsed managed to slap that grinning smile on his face without even seeing him.

So, as pain wrecked through her mind and body as the half-formed bond between her mist and Cavallone’s sky was torn apart, she kept her eyes on his for as long as she could, gifting him a smile.

Despite them being cousins and having almost similar coloring, their looks were already eerily familiar. At that moment though, when she smiled at him, the two probably looked more alike than they had before. She learned the light curve of her smile through watching him after all. It must make him burn in rage, having his pet taken away even if it was for a brief moment, and said pet throwing the fact right at his face.

She couldn’t help but feel glad, that while she would intricately feel the pain of her sky’s flame being burnt right off her mist, Don Cavallone would only feel the pain of being rejected. Still hurt, because how could it not? It was their first meeting and probably only meeting, yet they ended up almost falling into a bond right away, even while being enemies. It spoke a lot about their affinity, they were practically a match made in heaven without the romantic part.

Truly, she was glad that her sky wouldn’t know the feeling of fire burning parts of their soul off, however new that part was.

It was unlikely she would ever meet him again if she even survived this forced separation. Byakuran would make sure of it.

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"Ah, so that was his name," Filippa said quietly.

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He pulled her tighter into his embrace, almost like he was hugging an oversized doll but at the same time, telling her of his love for her. Despite all the blood that had been shed and all the mistakes that could never be forgiven nor could it be fixed. As if he was a child that was ignoring the reality of things.

“Ah, but Dino,” Filippa said.

She let tears drip as well.

“I think I’m already happy.”

And she was sad as well. Because this is no tale with a happy ending.

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Blood dripping out his mouth, the Cavallone Decimo struggled to keep himself upright with the help of Romario. In the middle of the room, sat a single figure. Petite, she sat on a throne made of white marble. It was bare of anything, just her, that throne and windows granting the view from sky high.

Dino couldn't see her face through the veil, but that snow-white hair was distinctive enough. Wearing a variation of Millefiore’s white spell uniform along with a black cape, the elusive Garofano looked barely old enough to even graduate grade school. She sat primly like a doll waiting to be played with. The impression made him bite his tongue.

More than that, it was her flame that made his sky trembles in rage.

Three years ago, he met his mist guardian amidst strewn bodies, much like how his little brother met his. But unlike Tsuna’s whose mist was unrepentant and left no deaths for that particular incident, many died in that mansion at the edge of his territory. Some his, some his allies, and some Millefiores. Just thinking of that night made his sky more erratic.

He was certain that he would have burnt the entire building if not for the other reason that had him barely keeping the snarl off his face.

The mist was crying.

The mist was shaking as she tried to control her flame away from his sky and it was not because she didn't want a bond. It was not because she was afraid of him. Nor was it because of anything that had a direct relation to him. Dino had an almost full set of guardians by then, all but mist left. He was already familiar with bonding and his sky had always been more sensitive.

Reborn had said that while he was not an all-encompassing sky, he was close to it. If nurtured properly, he could probably reach that prowess. Dino was clumsy, awkward, and couldn’t read the room for the life of him when he was young. But the one thing that he had then in the past, then in that accursed mansion, and now again in this floating fortress, was that he knew when people were hurting. He had good flame sensing, even when he was latent.

Just like how he knew something was wrong with Sawada Nana when he first met her, something that Reborn only had a hunch on. Something the man-turned-toddler knew only because of encounters with previous victims.

Dino knew of sky control. He knew how disgusting one could feel.

Knew the sickening cloy on your very soul that threatened to swallow one whole as it felt cold and hot at the same time. Knew the way it fooled your heart and brain to do what the sky told you. Knew how running away would never work. For where should one run to if the heart itself knew nothing? What was wrong when logic was gone with the soul chained and the heart knew no wrong as it was fooled?

That mist was either unlucky or lucky enough to know the oddness of the situation surrounding her. Her flame had been avoiding harmonization with the sky that controlled her. But, was it better for her to know something was wrong, and yet she couldn’t stop it either way?

The mist in front of him and the mist of that night was the same.

The mist who ran away from him in fear despite his sky recognizing the chain binding the mist's very soul, the hope he felt when the mist's flame touched his sky, the hope and longing he felt when the bonding entered the first state. His flame just barely subverted the sky chaining her.

The same mist who he resonated with, whom he felt the pain of knowing how sky control felt. The mist who he wanted to bundle up with his coat and bring home to the warmth of his home, his protection. If there was something he was sure about then it was the resolution to protect he decided as his.

Right before the chain he was burning away broke, it suddenly turned inward and stabbed into the mist's flame. Tearing apart both his and the mist flame and filling her with their intent. It was panic at the irredeemable pain it would do to the mist that he let go of her. It was regret that filled him right the moment the mist vanished from his and his subordinates’ flame range and it continued for the entirety of the war.

Barely an hour later, Dino could feel the realization and despair from the fledgling bond. The regret and gratefulness towards him. Then, the tentative bond was forcibly broken by the sky which chained the mist.

It had left him incapacitated for months from the backlash before he could take the field again. Rendering the Cavallone unable to protect the area outside of their jurisdiction. Even his elements were not exempted from the scarring, even if a few weeks of rest was all they need.

Three years later, staring at the slumbering form of that mist and the discordant, muted flame in his sky, Dino was reminded of those days again.

The room was instantly filled with his flame and his mist woke up. His intel had called the mist, Garofano. The mist funeral wreath of Millefiore, they called her. Laughter bubbled up at that. Because to him, it was clear that she was not Byakuran's. But then again few reached the proximity that he had with her.

His eyes screwed shut at the flickering of indigo, purple, amber, and brief azure. It surprised him that he could be more enraged than he already was.

Because—

Because that purple and amber weren't supposed to be there. It was a sign of flame discord for a mist that had been firmly a rainy mist and the total possession of a sky. He had suspected discordant flame, that was inescapable considering that the mist had tried to shield him from the opposing sky flame—his failure, how could he, cazzo, she was his, how dare that puttana hurt his mist, how dare h—.

Then—

Even then, the flickering colors, the mist, his mist despite the forcibly broken bond, was still struggling. Her flame was still weakly reaching toward him behind that thick cage of flame.

Suddenly, the flame turned entirely amber for a moment, as if it was being scorched. It was being scorched, he realized with no little horror. It was a reminder, branding, and no mere chain. Only then, did it start glowing indigo again with flickers of darker and brighter spots of what must be purple and amber. The purple increased more than it was just moments ago. The rain gone, either suppressed or scorched away until it would again.

"Multiple hostile individuals confirmed." The small figure intoned quietly, the voice echoed through the room and the world itself seemed to still. "Breach on the fifth, fourth, third, and second gate confirmed."

He slapped a hand against his mouth as his very soul itself rebelled. Heaving out the brief ration he had right before the mission he slumped more against Romario.

That was no longer the extent of mere sky control. It was beyond mist possession or was it just control anymore. It was a direct maiming of the soul. A complete breaking of mind like a vase and then piecing it together with sky flame with mock harmony. Byakuran had thrown away what he deemed was unneeded from the young mist’s mind and soul, the pieces that made her, her, and constructed her like what he wanted.

He swallowed down bile and a wave of rain washed around him.

How old, was that girl when he first met her? How old was she, after three years had passed and that small frail-looking form hardly changed?

Slowly, ever so slowly the room started to glow with shades of indigo. Purple and just the slight azure.

“Possible threat to the main powerline, confirmed.” At that line, his mist stood up and forward. In response, his men readied their weapons. Grimly, he let Don Cavallone rise and step away from the comforting hold of his rain. Bono took his hands off his shoulders and he take in a breath as the scars where his injuries were dully twinged.

“Execute existing command, ‘remove hostile entities from the premise.’” 

Tears prickled the edges of his eyes.

Ah, what to do with all this anger, he thought.

He let his flame suffuse into the room itself, fighting for control as he petrified the mist flame that ruled over the room. Spreading it as far as he could as he let out a harsh breath. His gut rebelled at him as he re-enacted what he did to defeat the mist, years ago. With reluctant pride, he realized that it wouldn’t be as easy as it was.

He wanted nothing more than to burn the entire fortress to the ground now. Uncaring of the initial plan. Because if what he thought was correct then—

Then—

Dino thought of the flashes of images. Of that pair of thin hands of a child with malnutrition holding a knife with a deathly grip. The blood on his hands and the impression of pain. The despair and heaviness tugged his limbs.

Of the dead form of a once beautiful woman and the grief that had overtaken his body, of calling for his mama but the men in suits pulled him harshly away, all the while laughing and lamenting on another dead whore. 

Of the laughers that ran around as he ran around a woman he knew not but knew she loved so.