Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the year… 324, I think… I don’t remember much about the time… just what happened. I was a wee little tyke maybe ten… maybe 13, hell do I know. All I know… was that I met the love of my life back then. But uh… there’s a lil bit o’ build to findin’ ‘er if ya know what I mean.

“Hey, Heathcliff?” A nice and warm motherly voice spoke up from behind the door to his locked room, “would you mind if I came in?” With golden brown eyes stabbing into the darkened wood, a kind woman named Nelly spoke to the boy cowering beneath his bedsheets, fear gripping him as he heard her voice. “Oh Heathcliff~” She sang, her voice beautiful. There, she waited for a response… only to earn nothing, “are you already asleep?” That was… odd. The boy only fell asleep when she read him a story. “Hmm…” setting down the basket of laundry that she was going to hang, Nelly pulled the pin holding the right side of her bangs down. Inserting it into the lock she pushed it in, unlocking the door. Since it would be more difficult to pin her hair back in place, she set it into the black collar of her maid’s outfit. Reaching over, she grabbed one of the slow burning candles off of the wall and carried it into the room she slowly walked through. Since it was tidy, which she herself made sure of, she had no problem walking to the side of Heathcliff’s bed on this moon-less night. 

There, she should’ve seen his head above the covers, settled right on the pillow while he slept. But he wasn’t… he was shivering with his entire body beneath the sheet. “Heathcliff…?” Concerned, Nelly grabbed the blanket and gently pulled it off of him. Gasping, the woman looked at the boy in horror, seeing that there was a gash going down the left side of his face… and that the bed was soaked with blood. “He—Heathcliff…?!” With a quick check she found the boy was still alive… still breathing. 

Picking him up, Nelly quickly leaned him into her shoulder. “Don’t you wo—worry, Nelly will take care of you just fine, Heathcliff.” Never before had she seen such an injury this severe, especially not on the likes of a child. Carrying him out of the room, Nelly quickly hurried through the home and up the stairs, caring for naught but the poor little boy in her arms. So off she went, toiling past butlers and maids alike as they wrapped up their nightly duties, her feet carrying her tirelessly up the steps that seemed to go on forever. 

Until eventually she reached the family’s doctor, bursting in on him as he was preparing for sleep, “doctor Kenneth, please help.” Nelly said, partially winded from having to climb four sets of stairs placed all throughout this twisted manor to get here.

“Whatever seems to be—dear god!” The plain looking man shouted as he caught sight of Heathcliff’s wound, “quickly, in there. Place him upon one of the tables,” with a nod, the brunette woman whisked Heathcliff off into the side room, being a room where he performed all kinds of care. From illnesses to birth, doctor Kenneth treated and did most anything a doctor should… including surgery. And surgery would be needed in order to fix this grave wound. So, when the doctor arrived, Nelly assisted as best she could in helping Heathcliff, doing whatever the doctor told her.

Until time came to address the split eye… His left eye was torn down the middle, the cornea itself ruptured. “I… don’t have a clue as to what or who did this… but his eye will never work again, Miss Dean.” Not with the various reaction tests he had performed. Not when he failed every last one.

“Never?” She held a hand over her mouth, “are you sure, doctor…?” This poor boy… would be half blind for life…?

“I cannot perform miracles, Miss Dean,” the man pat down his forehead with his handkerchief, taking away with it the sweat from worry and hard work. He had tirelessly stitched the boy’s wound up for the past hour, putting about 23 sutures into his flesh to keep it shut and ensure it wouldn’t bleed. “I wish I could… honestly.” Because a boy such as he, no matter the tone of his skin, didn’t deserve to be irreversibly broken like this. “But you know the Earnshaws would never allow it… they’d never spend the sum of ahn to get him a new eye.”

True… they’d rather let Heathcliff suffer with this eye for the remainder of his life… “Will… the eye be a threat to Heathcliff…?”

Kenneth took a breath and breathed out, “he’ll be more prone to infection, yes, why do you ask?” Nelly, who’d been standing beside the unconscious boy, began playing with his hair, gently running her hand through it.

“Can… you remove it…?”

Her whisper was barely heard by the doctor, “are… you certain? I mean… it would be for the better, but… certainly? Are you sure the boy would be fine with it…?” No… but he would definitely be more thankful upon learning that his eye might not kill him with illness one day.

“If it's in your ability… then please take his eye, doctor…” With an uncertain breath, the doctor returned to work… and properly extracted the boy’s eye, not bringing about any complications. And so, with his work done, the doctor returned to sleep knowing that Nelly would watch over him.

Which she did… staying up through the late hours of the night until daylight broke through the window. And it was then that Heathcliff woke up, right as the light hit his eye. There, fluttering to the world of the awake, the weak boy forcibly turned servant looked at Nelly… wondering all the while why he couldn’t see with his left eye. “Mi—Miss Nelly…?”

“Ah…” roused from her drifting state, Nelly tried to sit with attention on her brow as she looked down at the boy now awake. “Morning, kiddo,” her left hand reached forward and graced his cheek, rubbing it with the gentle and warm touch that any good parent should have. “How do you feel…?”

“I… can’t see…” Heathcliff tried his best to look at the rest of the ceiling, but everything towards the left was just dark… it was as if he couldn’t open his eyelid. “And… my face hurts…”

“I know… and I’m sorry… but it needed to happen, Heathcliff,” her hand rose, running through his hair. “Otherwise your eye… it might’ve killed you later in life…” She offered as best of a smile as she could, to tell him that he’d be alright now, that everything would be fine even if he were half blind. But the meager smile was weak… too weak to provide even a little comfort to the boy. “But um… may I ask what happened?” The boy remained silent, staring at Nelly without an intent to speak… even as she reached over to gently hover over the top of the wound sure to scar. “Did… Hindley do this to you…? ”

His right hand, albeit weak, gripped the bedsheet tightly. “I—I cu—cut myself in th—the kitchen las—last night…” It was clear the boy lied, covering for who really did this to him… and because of it her heart shattered. 

“It’s alright, Heath,” her hand moved to his other eye, gently rubbing the tears from it as she whispered, “you can tell me… and nothing will happen to you, I promise.” 

Heathcliff contemplated for a moment… deciding on whether or not he should mix this saint up in his problems. But… it was Nelly he was talking to… there’d be no way she’d lie to him. “I—It was…” even still he was terrified of the repercussions… but her gentle hand squeezed his own, guiding him into admitting it… “Mister Earnshaw…”

Nelly’s heart sank in her chest. It was one thing, one very cruel and extremely evil thing, for a boy to do… But a man…? A full grown adult…? How…? How could one be so cruel… so unforgiving to a child like Heathcliff…? Sure… he wasn’t an angel… but compared to the other two children in her life, this boy was a saint…! So how could he… how could anyone do this…? It was nothing short… of the devil’s work… 

She just hoped… that after this… after all of this… Heathcliff would forgive her for lying… For she couldn’t just sit back and let this continue.

🎠~~~~~~~~⛈️

It wasn’t too long after that morning that I never saw Nelly again. It wasn’t that she left on purpose… no. I knew she’d fired… after all, she told me ‘erself. Don’t blame ‘er either… I mean, how could ya hate the only woman who’d ya unconditionally? So cheers to ‘er! Cheers to Nelly Dean! The woman who gave me the courage, the courage to get away from people that hated me!

It was one night, another one with a moon brimming with white purity, that Heathcliff decided to run away. To run from Wuthering Heights without a second thought nor a single look behind him. For he wanted to distance himself as much as humanly possible from that wretched manor, a manor he would never be able to suffer through without Nelly… without someone giving him love… And there was simply nobody… no man, woman, boy, or girl would ever treat him with love within that manor. Which was why, if he were ever lucky enough to have love, then it would be in the outer world. The world he was born into alone and suffered through for a few years before that wretched man ‘ saved ’ him. 

And so he ran for what felt like days, traversing that brimming night endlessly. Going down cascading streets filled with night-life, dirt roads teeming with critters, and cobblestone paths devoid of anyone until he came across that one thing. 

Her. 

It was simply after rounding a corner on his left that Heathcliff tripped. Falling flat on his chin and breaking the fall with his chest. Just what had he bumped into— Right… he couldn’t see with his left eye. So, turning his body to the right, despite everything being in pain, Heathcliff’s only good eye gazed upon what he tripped over. 

It was a… girl in rags. Rags so dirty that no-one would’ve ever noticed they once shared the purity that was shimmering with the moon above… Only Heathcliff did, seeing a faint patch of white right upon the tip of her right shoulder. She was blonde, much like that of a lemon that Nelly jokingly shared with him after wondering what the taste of it was like. But with how dirty her hair was, it was more dark like his. Just what was it that dirtied her hair? Mud and dirt? Soot and coal? Something… else…? The girl was pale, much unlike his darker skin tone that earned him a few nasty titles from those within the manor who weren’t the hippocratic doctor Kenneth nor the ever-so-kind head butler Nelly. She was as pale as the moon overhead, and when the moonlight bathed her emaciated skin in all of its purity… the girl… seemed to glow. It was ethereal… otherworldly too… It… was rather enchanting, calling him closer to the girl who was… sleeping… Even after he accidentally kicked her and fell forward?

Crawling over to her side, the boy looked at her from above, staring right into her open orange eyes. Eyes that looked as sweet as the oranges he and Miss Dean shared once… Eyes that didn’t retain any sort of shimmer or gloss… as if she had given up on life… That… couldn’t have been the case, right…? This girl wasn’t dead… right? He didn’t… kill her… yeah…?

“H—Hey,” the boy put two gentle hands, a touch nurtured by Nelly, on the girl’s shoulder and shook her lightly. “Hey! Are you alive…?!” Her orange eyes didn’t react, not even to the hand that appeared in front of her face to check for her breath. There… was an exhale, but it was so weak that Heathcliff could barely feel it. “Hold on, I’ll g—”

“Water… food…” the girl’s whisper was nearly lost to the wind, but Heathcliff heard her just fine, “please… don’t… leave…” Well… odd wasn’t it. He happened to nick some food and water before leaving… because he knew the outside world wouldn’t be kind to him. And such things were in the bag he carried over his shoulder. It was… 

… as if fate guided him here.

Strange… “Can you sit up?” But the girl didn’t respond, it was like her body used the remainder of her energy to speak. “Alright…” grabbing her by the shoulders, Heathcliff up-righted the girl, somewhat struggling in lifting her light body. With her back leaning against the wall of the building behind her, Heathcliff opened his bag and pulled out the canister of water. A metal can with a pop-open lid, one of six he had… not that he’d mind paying the kindness given to him. So what if he’d be out some water… he’d be saving someone just like Nelly tried to save him. “Here, slowly swallow,” tilting her head back a little, Heathcliff pressed the can to her lips and slowly tilted it back. And just as slowly she gulped. Gulp after gulp of water went down her throat, transforming the arid dryness of her tongue into something a tad more suitable for a human to speak.

And in turn the can emptied, the, however many, fluid ounces putting the girl a few steps away from death’s door. With how sickly and thin she looked… she seemed closer to death than any amount of food could save her from. Especially with the light meals that he had in the bag. Taking out one of the… protein packed… granola bars…? Heathcliff unwrapped it and held it in front of the girl, “can you eat?” Her eyes wandered down, leaving the moon and looking upon the first person who ever bothered to help her out of their own will.

He was a boy, his dark skin being comparable to the darkness of a kiwi… a fruit that she wished to taste just like with a ton of others. Then there were his eyes, one being a stark violet that looked at her with concern and the other obscured by a black patch that wrapped around his head to partially cover some sort of wound that was still stitched up. This was her savior… a boy no older than she… A boy with a heart more kind than anyone she had ever seen before. 

And that made the girl cry. She couldn’t sob, not with how dehydrated she was, but she could certainly shed a tear or two. “Th—Thank you… Thank you so mu—much…” She tried to smile, but found it hard to since the muscles in her face were a bit too weak. Regardless… there was something. Something that made Heathcliff experience a warmth in his chest. He wondered, was this something that Nelly felt whenever she cared for him?

With his smile widening, Heathcliff gestured for her to eat, “you’re welcome… Now if you can, eat,” he gestured over to his side with a tilt of his head, “because I have more where this comes from.” 

Just… who was this scarred boy…? And why was this  stranger so kind…? Was he the one she prayed for…? Regardless of the particulars, she was starving first and foremost. So, with Heathcliff’s assistance, the girl ate and ate… And for the first time in a while she was full. Honest to goodness full… 

And she couldn’t help but thank the kind boy who did so much for her. “I said it’s all fine,” Heathcliff said, sitting beside the girl, “I did this out of the kindness of my heart. So while it’s nice to hear,” his eye stared out at the vast moon, “I don’t need you to thank me… uh…” Right, he never caught her name. 

“Sancho…” she said, her eyes taking in every detail of the bright moon that watched over her. 

“Heathcliff,” he responded, realizing she didn’t know his name just like he did hers. “Sancho, huh…” he had Nelly to thank for the page he was about to use, “it’s a nice name.”

“So is Heathcliff…” the girl said, her voice still weak, “ you’re a nice person too… ” Nicest person she’d ever known as well… Even more than the homeless men and women that raised her… and then abandoned her to starve and suffer like this. “You’re like an angel…”

“I wouldn’t say that,” his cheeks became a tad more rosy at her profoundly sweet comment. “I just did what my nan would’ve,” not that he had one anymore. “So… are you hurt?” He scratched the back of his head as he thought… Was it the guilt that made him help her? “Fr—From when I tripped over you…?”

Sancho looked over at Heathcliff, straining her neck a bit to do so. “No…” she lied, seeing that he was a bit sorry for what he’d done… Wearing the same expressions of the men and women that passed her and did nothing. “I’m fine…”

“Oh…” he cracked a tiny smile, “well ‘at’s pretty good, innit?” He looked over, meeting her gaze for a moment… and then ten more… And then suddenly not a single more, instead returning their gazes to the moon. “S—So what ar—are you doing here?” He didn’t notice, but her face was slightly red, painted with a tiny amount of blood. 

She was a lowlife beggar, one who needed handouts to survive… “I’m a—an orphan…” She didn’t notice, but the warmth in his cheeks died the second those words registered in his ears. “Born with no-one…” tears didn’t well in her eyes as she said something told to her countless times, “and I’ll die with no-one ”

Heathcliff looked back at her, “we—well… I’m n—not no-one…” Those wide orange eyes looked over at him, finding the boy even more perplexing. 

“Funny… but you have someone else, Heathcliff…” Sancho thought he had a life to get back to. An honest mistake really… for these two were in the same boat. No family, no home, nothing to look forward to… nothing. 

“I don’t,” skepticism entered her gaze, “and I’m not lying. I’m… also an orphan,” while he couldn’t say his life was worse off than hers, he would soon be joining her in such a life. Not that he’d mind… especially if this intriguing girl stuck around. “So I mean it when I say it…” he reached over, putting his hand over Sancho’s, “you’ll have me, Sancho…”

“You… won’t leave me…?” She asked, her eyes looking down at his hand, “ever…?” There was just something so… soothing to it. 

“I’ll never leave you,” uncovering her hand, the boy held out his pinky, “I promise, Sancho…” 

Tears began to swim within her eyes, “well…” It was a struggle, but she held out her pinky too, “then I promise the same, Heathcliff.” Taking the initiative, the boy wrapped his pinky around hers. And in doing so, Sancho leaned in his direction and fell. Her head came to rest against his shoulder. “Thank you…”

Heathcliff didn’t mind her presence in the slightest, not finding disgust in her that everyone else would. The boy shook his head, “I should be the one saying that.” It was instinctual, this feeling. This feeling that by staying with this girl his life would be bearable. That he could do anything and everything he wanted just by being beside Sancho. 

And she felt the same way about Heathcliff… 

⛈️~~~~~~~~🎠

Do I love someone? Of course I do. I love you all because you’re my amazing family… That’s… not what you meant? Then what is it you meant…? Someone I’d want to date, huh… and what is dating? Oh… Oh! Then yes, there would be one person that fit that bill. His name…? Ah… there’s no need to know it at the moment, all you must know is that he was a boy I held in the pinnacle of my heart and still do today… For I still aspire to be as great a hero as he… Huh, didn’t you know of the boy my heart shouted for when I arrived here? No…? Huh… strange. Well it was that orphan boy I fell in love with. He was my everything. 

She was—

He was— 

—my guardian angel, an unknown savior… my first love…

But he—

But she—

—broke a promise to me. Broke a promise to never leave me… one that I still hate myself over…

Sancho—

Heathcliff—

—died because of me…

“Heathcliff…” Sancho whined as her stomach growled. They were glued at their bony hips as they sat within the cobblestone alley, “aren’t you hungry…?” 

Of course he was, he was just as starving as she was, “nope… I don’t feel anything.” But he deluded himself, lying to her even and his stomach as it rumbled. Their stomachs were entirely empty as they sang to one another. 

“Liar…” their last meal was… two days ago…? And with him having the smaller portion he was sure to be worse off… 

“I’m being serious,” Heathcliff looked down at her as she tried to sleep upon his shoulder. 

“Uh huh…” their stomachs growled again, making them both blush as they denied their hunger, “then… I guess that means we’re both full…?” Sancho spoke, her voice containing no confidence towards her claim.

Delirious… Delusions… Insanity… Such things, such bold faced lies… were all these children believed in to survive this pain for the past five full moons. 

“Yeah…” Heathcliff responded, confidently feeding into this lie so that Sancho may believe in him. To believe in his determination… “not hungry at all…” 

But she knew… she always knew how far Heathcliff went for her. Which was why she needed to go as equally far as him. “Yeah…” she ignored the pain that came from her stomach digesting itself, just as Heathcliff did, “to—totally not hungry…” Shifting in place, the somewhat neater blonde girl moved closer to Heathcliff, her left arm wrapping around his side to ensure he couldn’t leave her as she slept. But with the cold winds blowing through the alleyway how could she drift off into the land of dreams? “Heathcliff…?” With her quiet voice, Sancho hoped she wouldn’t be perturbing his sleep or his attempt at it.

“Yeah, Sancho?” The girl was correct, but not for the reason she thought. The boy had no intention of shutting his eyes to sleep tonight… not when Sancho was suffering from starvation.

“What… do you dream about…?” Dreams huh…? He… never really had any when he slept. No, his dreams were often during the day, being the only thing pushing him through the endless torment his body endured as he worked at the quarry nearby. And that was a life of never ending happiness with Sancho… A life with her as…

“I dream about being a hunter,” the lie was on the spot, for he couldn’t bear saying what it was that he wanted to say. Not without severe embarrassment looming over his head by the hair of an ass. “So that one day we can eat as much as we want…” That was just a part of it… just a simple step towards his real desire. 

Looking up, the blonde’s orange eyes settled upon the boy she leaned against, the oranges filling with tears over such a profoundly beautiful dream. A dream that she herself agreed with… but wasn’t her own, “well… I dream of being a knight.”

“And why is that?” Heathcliff asked, not expecting the girl to squeeze him tighter while hugging him.

“Because I want to do more for you, Heathcliff… And as a knight I can protect you…” Sancho’s answer made the boy’s heart thump, pounding in his chest over her desire. 

“You… already do enough, Sancho,” his hand rose, coming to her head. “S—So don’t think you need to do more…” This girl… just continued to enforce the idea in his head. 

For he wanted to spend every waking moment and even the sleeping moments with Sancho… The reason was simple: He loved Sancho. 

Everything about her was amazing. Ranging from how cheerful she always was despite how horrible their situation was. To how she always smiled even when her spirit was crushed. Or even now… when she tried to be as humanly close to Heathcliff. He just… couldn’t see a life without her in it. 

Which was why… he’d do anything he could to help her survive. And that was why he’d be following that lead he’d been given to by one of the people he worked with.  

“Uh uh,” Sancho hummed while shaking her head, “I’ll always try to do more for you, Heathcliff…” It was only natural… After all, shouldn’t one want to do all they could for the one they loved?

From his strength that was unyielding, never backing down in the face of anything. To the unending confidence that ensured Sancho everything would always be just fine no matter how dire the situation. Then to the ceaseless kindness, kindness so warm that Sancho hardly felt cold… except during the night.

She loved every aspect of Heathcliff… and would always do so. “Hmm…” Leaning further towards Sancho, the boy pressed his cheek into her head, “hey, Sancho… One day… we’ll be the happiest people ever and when that day comes…” He looked up to the dark sky, envisioning the full white moon within it, “I know you’ll have the greatest smile on your face.” If he were looking down in the slightest, then he would’ve seen the blood rushing to her face as she wore a wide smile, “goodnight…”

“Ye—Yeah…” she wrapped her other arm around his chest, “goodnight Heathcliff…” But that didn’t make his little idea any harder… not with how heavy a sleeper Sancho was. 

And so, when she eventually drifted off, Heathcliff moved her arms and slowly lowered her to the ground. He felt bad about leaving her, which was why he used a loose sharp stone to write a note on the brick wall in front of her… So that if she woke up or he wasn’t back by sunrise, she’d know where he was. And that would be in the forest directly right after turning out of this alleyway. Knowing that this could be a rather dangerous job, since the forest would be dark without any moonlight, Heathcliff did one last thing. And that was to whisper into the girl’s ear, “I love you, Sancho…” A whisper that had drifted into her ear nearly every night…

But never before… had he received one back… “love… Heath…” The boy’s eyebrows rose up in surprise… Was that because her unconscious mind was trying to copy him or because she… really thought like that? Alright, that was it. He had two things on his agenda now. One was to go get the berries that would give them a lot of energy. Or in other words blindly trust that old homeless man who helped him a few times. And the second was to tell Sancho how he felt in the morning. He wasn’t going to waste any more time, in telling her how he felt. 

So, he headed off, going straight down the path until he reached the edge of the forest. And there, with a brave face, Heathcliff walked straight in, knowing that at the center of it he’d find some berries for both he and Sancho to eat. Berries that would help them as they worked their daily jobs… 

But naivete was one of the easiest things to exploit about a child. And Heathcliff, despite being harmed by nearly everyone in his life, was naive enough to trust the old man. Who’s information led him into the forest filled with orange leaves… and poisonous berries. Berries that he’d feed straight to Sancho after finding the bush that held them. Because it was just where the old man had said it’d be. Beaming, the brunet boy began to pick the berries, creating a pouch out of the bottom of his shirt to carry them in. Brushing past some sticky leaves, Heathcliff reached further and further into the bush, not caring that he was overpicking nor taking fruit that would lead to their deaths. 

Or… that would’ve been the case… had a loud growl not come from in front of him… Looking up from his momentary greed, Heathcliff locked his eye with the equally brown eyes of a brown bear. A particularly real, scary, and large brown bear… One that started advancing towards him. 

“A—Ah…” the terrified boy began to back up, “ni—nice bear, good bear…” Sticking his left hand up with an open palm, the boy continued until he stumbled into the back of a tree branch. Falling backwards, Heathcliff landed upon his back, spilling the berries all around him. Berries that attracted the bear to stand over him, “ye—yeah… y—you don’t want to—” Lifting its grizzly paw, the bear swung down, sensing the food that laid in front of it. Food that she’d take back to her den of cubs to prepare for winter. 

But Heathcliff was human… not food… Or at least that’s what he would’ve thought if not for the five claw marks that had been carved into his flesh. Five marks that were bleeding quite badly, ensuring that his death would be nigh. Even more so when the bear roared, opening its maw wide to expose fangs that could crush his bones with ease. But what noise could be heard as the world went silent? What noise could be heard… when he was dying?

Was it the rapid steps that came with the crunching leaves? Possibly the ecstatic laughter that was followed by the whooshing air? Or perhaps even the crunching of the bear’s skull in one clean swing from a man with a spiked hammer the size of his chest? No… none of that. Why would it be…? Why would his final moments concern anything but her? Why would his last moments… be anything else… but hearing Sancho profess her love for him again?

“My my,” a set of lips moved from a person standing above him, unable to be heard by the boy without hearing. “Seems like someone angered the wrong animal,” staring down at him was a green eye—cyan if he were able to see properly. The person hummed, staring peculiarly at the closed scar over the boy’s left eye… something that he was intrigued endlessly by. “Well well, it seems you and I—” the person leaned down, allowing Heathcliff a close look at the scar going down the person’s right eye… A good look into Sancho’s eye. “—have quite a bit in common.” Sancho smiled down at him before a hand went down to his wound, making it blister in pain that made his consciousness falter. “Shu, Ish! Your assistance i—” the brunet faded out of this reality, no longer to keep a grip on life

————

The sun rose, being quite high in the sky. High enough for a beam of light to hit a set of orange eyes that were shut. And when such a beam hit her eyes, Sancho opened them. For light was one of the few things that could wake her up… Other than Heathcliff, this was the only natural way for her to ever wake up. She yawned, her mouth opened wide as a few blinks cleared the blurring tears from her eyes, “good morning, Hea—” She cut herself off, not understanding why she was laying on the ground. Heathcliff, if he ever needed to leave when she was asleep, would try at all costs to wake her up, never wanting to leave her alone. 

“Heathcliff?” In worry, Sancho sat up, her orange eyes looking everywhere around her for any sight of the brown haired boy. But, as she snapped around, her head never staying in one spot, she noticed it. The scrawled etchings upon the wall weren’t something super nice, no, Heathcliff was never one for being able to write… And she wasn’t one to be able to do that or read. But she knew how to read this because the boy taught her how to spell her name and the very basics of the language they spoke…

Standing up, Sancho felt a bit dizzy, a tad woozy from doing it too fast. But she didn’t fall or stumble as usual, no. She needed to find Heathcliff, and the state of her body didn’t matter at all to her. So, treading the same path he did, the girl soon made it to the edge of the forest and walked inside without a second thought. With her hands cupping the sides of her mouth, Sancho shouted as loud as she possibly could. “Heathcliff?!”

All that answered her were the incessant flutters of wings as an exodus of birds arose from the trees, disturbed by the small girl’s loud voice. But she continued forward, stress making her sweat. Why oh why did he do something so… so… stupid…?! Going out into the woods, at night no less?! Why… “why… Heathcliff…?” 

Why did he leave her…?

Gathering her scattered voice, Sancho shouted again, “Heathcliff?!!” The back of her throat vibrated in pain, growing hoarse with how rough the shout was. “Please!!” If he was out there he needed to say something, he… he had to. Sancho just couldn’t… she just… couldn’t live without him…  

Which was why he had to answer… Why he needed to be out here… “Heathcl—” the girl violently coughed, choking on the spit she inhaled with her heavy breath. Leaning against a tree, Sancho looked around, her orange eyes trying to see if she could spot something different among the brown bark. “Hea—Heathcliff?!?!” In the midst of her coughing, Sancho found just enough breath to shout. 

But once again, she heard nothing… just the wildlife skittering around and away. And she… didn’t like that at all. Stumbling forward, Sancho began to cry. The creeping thought that the boy she loved left her entered her mind, but each time she shouted. “Heathcliff?!!!” She needed him, but he didn—“Heathcliff!!!??” Sancho gave her heart for the boy who di—“PLEASE!!! HEATHCLIFF!!???” 

Her voice was giving out as she despaired, but Sancho couldn’t give in… She couldn’t let this demon perched upon her shoulder continue to spew such hateful lies. Heathcliff loved her! 

He wouldn’t leave her! 

Never ever…! 

He… he simply wouldn’t do this… he didn’t hate her… 

… ri—right…?

“Heathcliff…?” Sancho couldn’t shout anymore… Not with how weak she felt, and certainly not with how hoarse her voice was. “Why…?” She walked forward, using every tree she walked past to brace herself against as she breathed heavily. “ Why did you leave…? ” Her tears glistened like flickering gemstones as they fell to the sodden dirt below. “What did I do…?” It was clear there was a reason… and she was it. “Was I too close…?” Her chest was heaving as air struggled to enter her lungs. “Was I too useless…?” Her brain wasn’t functioning properly as she struggled to think. “Did… did you just hate me since we met…?” Sancho grabbed the tree closest to her and pushed her forehead against it. “Wh—hy? Why…? Why why why why why…?!” Her forehead was scratched by the bark, tearing until it bled… not that she cared. In fact, she deserved it more than didn’t… after all she ran the only boy to ever show her care… away.

Sancho grimaced as she took a shuddering breath, “why do you hate—” Leaving the tree, Sancho stepped forward, seeing a large pool of dark dirt soaked to the brim with blood. “—me, Heathcliff…” With wide eyes and weak hands, Sancho stared at the dirt… Seeing right beside the patch a brown and bloodied shirt… Heathcliff's shirt. 

The girl ran forward, her feet carrying her until she came to stop beside the shirt the wind didn’t bother to move. “No no no no no no,” Sancho muttered, panicking as she picked up the damp shirt and entered the breast pocket… Only for her fingers to touch the metal tab from the first can of water Sancho drank. She prayed, prayed that her fingers were mistaken… but her blurry eyes weren’t. They couldn’t be mistaken. And so, Sancho remained on her knees, not caring in the slightest that she was falling forward. Her forehead landed in the dampened dirt, the blood from her wound mixing with Heathcliff’s blood. “He—Heath—Heathcliff…!” Sancho cried out, spit flying from her sobbing mouth as she lamented his death… 

A death caused by these berries he came to pick for her… for them. A death he could have avoided… if she weren’t around.

“I’m sorry!” Sancho shouted, tightening her left fist to squeeze the blood soaked shirt, “I’m sorry you saved me!” Her right fist squeezed as well, crushing the tab and putting a tiny hole in her palm, “I’m sorry… for existing…!” Her forehead rose before hitting the ground in prostration, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Her wound fleshed out every time she hit the ground… and she hit it with every apology. “I’m sorry… Heathcliff!” Sancho didn’t even deserve to say his name… Sancho didn’t even deserve to live in this world without him…

“Bu—But I’ll make it up to you…” She sniffled, her lips forming a smile broken by sorrow, “because I know just how…” Swallowing, Sancho rose, blood pouring down her forehead into the sides of her eyes, washing her world in red. And it was that same red trail she followed, walking the path of the corpse that had been dragged off. 

And when the trail ended Sancho continued past it, marching ever-forward. Right toward a meaningless destination meant for her meaningless end. For without Heathcliff… without the boy she loved with all her heart… her life held no meaning. Her life held absolutely nothing. No light… no joy… no color. Not even the blood red color in her left eye was red to her… just a dull gray.  

In her hands, her tight fists that just wouldn’t… couldn’t unclench… were the only two possessions of Heathcliff’s… And she’d never let go if she could… But her hands couldn’t remain like this forever, no… she had dropped the shirt of his some time into her meaningless pilgrimage. This was something she didn’t miss… for it was something she couldn’t miss. 

Turning back, Sancho immediately looked upon the only bit of color in her life. The blood soaked brown she stared at was just ripe with it… “Heathcliff… would you hate me…” She brought the cloth close to her chest, the sullied cloth beating with the same pulse his heart drummed for her. “… if I wore your shirt…?” Without an answer, Sancho opened the shirt, looking upon the bleeding brown spine of it. And then, without a second thought she slid her arms through his sleeves, finding the shirt of his to fit her too well. Heathcliff, despite eating less, was bigger than her. And he wore this shirt that was slightly loose on him but very loose on her. 

Making sure to grab the tab, she placed it in the breast pocket with a teary smile. As her hand began to rub the bottom of the shirt, Sancho continued on her way. Walking forward on packed dirt, jagged stones, burnt grass… Sancho didn’t bother to stop. Not when her feet ached, not when they cried, and certainly not when they bled. All that mattered was the warm beating of Heathcliff’s heart that reverberated through this shirt she rubbed. A heart that she’d lay down next to…

… and die beside when she could walk no more.

Day transitioned into night and night into day, but even then Sancho didn’t quit. Even when the water in her body ran low, even when her hunger turned into twisting agonizing pain… Sancho didn’t quit. She wouldn’t quit until she couldn’t feel Heathcliff’s pulse at this point. That same ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump that helped guide her to sleep every night… would be what would guide her into the eternal afterlife. So that she may once more see Heathcliff there. 

But humans were weak. Humans weren’t designed for such exhaustive conditions. Children even more so… And when it came time to, Sancho found her body giving up in a field of gray grass, under a gray sky, with a gray sun hidden behind gray clouds. And as much as she tried to will her body forward, compelling it to continue ahead, Sancho couldn’t. And so she fell, landing within a patch of gray flowers that twisted upward and had dozens of small inch-sized petals wrapping around it. 

This was her final resting place. A field of flowers… poetic. When she died, her body may prove to be of use, giving these flowers sustenance… But that’s if she died here. 

No… that wasn’t what fate had in store for her here. “Art thou alive, dear child?” A cold hand gently checked her neck, finding a pulse so weak that he could barely say she was alive. “Hmm… can thou speak?” The man patiently waited a few moments, nay, ten seconds, yet didn’t receive a response from the child. “Haah… just a moment, child,” gently grasping her shoulders, the gray man flipped Sancho over. And there he saw it. The immense emaciation, the sallow chapped lips, and the lightless eyes that stared at the gray clouds. “If thou art to be heard,” the girl’s lips were moving quite a lot, but the man couldn’t hear, “then thou must speak up.”

Sancho’s tired eyes looked up at the gray man, her eyes widening as she did. For his right eye was violet… and his left eye was marked with a scar. “Heath…?”

The man furrowed his eyebrows, “I see not why the flowers matter… But these flowers sure are heath,” the man smiled, the smile just as kind as Heathcliff’s, “my family and I grow these flowers ourselves.” With a deep breath, the man sighed once more, “art thou…” Pausing, he realized there was no point in asking this girl anything, not when she could barely speak. “Very well, I have come up with an idea most ingenious!” The man declared to no-one in particular, not even this child at his feet. “Thou art to be fed and cared for by my family,” with arms going under Sancho, the man lifted her up. “And when thou art healed, our conversation shall pick up once more, dear child.” Looking off towards the partially broken castle, the man carried the child off, humming a meaningless tune to himself as he did. 

————

There were some nights and some days, even some times when there was not even an ounce of light. There were glimpses of things. Glimpses of people a little shorter than the ceiling. Glimpses of weapons so large that they didn’t look like a human could wield them. Glimpses of people standing over him… watching over him. One with long black hair tied into a tail, another with short black hair down to the shoulder, and the last one with long orange hair tied back with a red rope. All of these glimpses… over all of these instances… so many—too many—to count. But it didn’t matter, why would it? Because even if he did, the amount of times he awoke to catch glimpses of things didn’t match up with how many days passed. 

It was on this specific day though, that Heathcliff’s eye opened and remained that way for more than a handful of moments. Something that the woman with ginger hair noted before speaking to Heathcliff. “Hoo boy, you are quite the hassle, kid,” reaching over to a stand beside whatever it was that he was laying in, the woman grabbed a can. “Two months and twelve days,” she took a sip from it, wetting her lips with liquid that Heathcliff wished to have. “A whole buncha wasted time if you asked me…” she breathed heavily, sighing in annoyance. “I know you can’t move, but don’t even bother trying to,” with a slam that splashed the bitter dark liquid out from inside, she stood up from her chair. And with a finger pointing right into his face, which she herself hovered a few inches from, she continued, spewing a rancid breath into his face. “And don’t you even think of drinking that, brat. Coffee isn’t for children.” Straightening herself out, the woman dressed in black walked away from Heathcliff, letting her sunset stained hair cascade out behind her. 

The moment she exited the tent flaps, Heathcliff’s violet eye ran right, settling upon that can of… cawfie she talked about. His mouth was just so dry… that even blood seemed like it would satisfy him. But his arms just wouldn’t listen to him, they were weak… Same with his legs… everything was just not listening to him… All because of that bear at—

Two months. Twelve days. He’d been gone for that damn long?! Nevermind his meaningless thirst, Heathcliff needed to find Sancho! Now. 

But his stupid useless body wouldn’t move! Not a damn inch… “Sa—Sancho…!” His stifled voice cried out into the dark black tent. Stifled by his own weak body. 

“Would that perhaps be your own name?” A man’s voice spoke as he walked through the flaps of the tent. He was garbed in dark cloth just like the ginger woman that trailed behind him. “Pretty odd to say your own name wouldn’t you say, Ish?~” The man took a seat in the same chair the woman was in a bit ago. 

“I don’t care,” she muttered, walking past the man to grab the can of cawfie, but he beat her to the punch. “Hong Lu…” her voice was low, as if to warn him not to continue with the idea he had. “Don’t you even fucking dare.” 

“It’s just coffee,” he said with a smile as his cyan left eye stared at Heathcliff. That right one did the same, but he bore a scar that went down his entire face, “what’s the harm of having a child take a sip?~”

“A lot of things,” she dryly stated, having about 50 things she could think of off the top of her head. 

“Well my auntie let me drink it a lot,” Hong Lu turned around to face the woman, “and do you see anything wrong with me?” 

She bit her tongue to stifle what she really wanted to say, “just give me my damn coffee back… I want to go back to Shu, already…” 

“Alright alright~” looking back at Heathcliff, the man held a sly smile, “here you are, Ish.” But the man didn’t direct his arm behind him, no, it went right against Heathcliff’s lips, allowing him a hearty sip. 

“You sonuva!” Ish slapped Hong Lu’s shoulder, her brows furrowed, “stop that!” Grabbing the man’s bicep, she wrestled it upwards, tearing the coffee away from Heathcliff’s lips. “Don’t you know this crap’ll make him bou—” lo and behold, she was right. 

“Sancho!” Heathcliff shouted clearer than before, “I ne—need to go back to her…!” The boy’s violet eye met the man’s cyan eye, hoping for him to help him. 

“See? Already gave him too much energy,” Ish said, snatching her can from Hong Lu’s hand as she did. “Honestly, do you even think, Hong Lu?” Sipping the coffee, the woman stared down at the man who went silent. “Hello? Are you there?” But the man continued being ignorant.

“This… Sancho, was she an orphan you were picking those poisonous berries for?” They were poisonous…? Hah… so the bear stopping him was just fate’s way of saving him and Sancho. 

“Yes.”

“And she’s your family?” Hong Lu asked, not caring if Ish’s fingers dug into the can behind him. 

“I love her!” 

The man hummed as he smiled, “well, that's all.” Reaching forward, Hong Lu pulled the blanket off of Heathcliff. There, covering the entirety of his small torso, was a bundle of bandages wrapped around him. All of them were stained with a small amount of blood… “I’m sure either you or Shu won’t mind holding down the fort for me while I run an errand, right?~” Hong Lu’s cheeks brightened up as he offered a sightless smile to the ginger. 

“A case of these,” she shook the can, “then sure.” Finishing it off, the ginger crushed it and threw it in the corner of the room before heading for the exit. “By the way, we aren’t taking in another brat.” 

Oh he knew that… just as much as he knew about Sancho's fate. “Would you rather be in my arms or on my back?” Picking the latter, Heathcliff soon found himself on Hong Lu’s back. And soon the boy was walked out into the sunlight, something his eye shined away from. This temporary blindness didn’t allow him to see the numerous black tents set up inside this forest, tents that housed members of a specific group. Only two of which were awake at this hour of… high noon… being Hong Lu and Ish. “So boy, do you know where she is?”

He knew nothing that would help this man go to where he and Sancho slept that night. No names, no locations, not even a way there. “Can you bring me back to the bear..:?”

Without skipping a second, Hong Lu began in the direction of where he encountered the boy. “Your name,” the man’s cyan eye looked left to meet the boy’s violet, “hmm… would an orphan even have one?~” Well, that was a question he already knew the answer to. 

“It’s Heathcliff…” the boy responded, “thank you for saving me mister.”

“Ah hah, mister,” what was funny about that show of gratitude? “That’s what my father goes by,” a finger tapped against the back of his hands which had to be held around the man’s neck, “you can call me Hong Lu.” 

“Al—Alright…” he wouldn’t need to know his name after returning to Sancho though… “Thank you for… all you’ve done, Hong Lu.” 

“Ishmael and Ryoushuu too,” an extant smile rose upon his face, “those two helped sew you up after that bear cut you.” Ah… so then he owed a great debt to these people… “but since I wanted to save you, you don’t have to do anything for me, Heath~” Or… not. 

Huh… this incredible one-way kindness… it reminded him of Nelly. “O—Okay…” not that he’d ever say that. Nor would he speak much more as they returned to the spot where the bear was. The only sound was from the melody Hong Lu hummed. 

When they arrived at the no longer bloody patch of dirt, Heathcliff pointed Hong Lu in the right direction and soon found himself back on that street he walked down. “This one…!” The boy held back his excitement from seeing Sancho again as they passed by the alleyway they slept in for a few nights. 

Stepping forward, Hong Lu looked into the empty alleyway with Heathcliff. Neither seeing a single sign of life beside the message still scrawled into the brick. “Well, it seems this Sancho could be elsewhere,” Hong Lu tapped the back of the boy’s hand. “Would you like to go search?”

“You… you’d do that…?” Hong Lu’s ponytail bobbed up and down, “th—then please…” Carrying the boy forward, the two began to ask several people about Sancho. 

“A blonde girl with orange eyes, about… this high?” Hong Lu asked after getting the description from Heathcliff. But that woman didn’t know, nor did the three men he asked next, or the old couple after. Nobody seemed to know her in the first place… Which was why when they entered the restaurant she cleaned dishes at, Heathcliff hoped to find her there. 

“That brat?” A rather gruff looking man with a rotten frown spoke from behind the counter, “‘aven’t seen that little shite in two months.” Behind Hong Lu, Heathcliff frowned as he grit his teeth, “probably died for all I care.” About to speak up, the boy was going to tell the man to take it back. 

“You know this place is pretty nice,” Hong Lu began to run his hand over the grain of the wooden counter. “I’m sure grandmother would like it,” this piqued the man’s interest, knowing that he may be able to get a fortune of ahn for this crappy joint if this stupid boy would fall for it.

“Oh really? Well I happen to be selling it fo—”

“I never said anything about buying it,” Hong Lu said, his tone taking on a whimsical inquisitive note. “Oh no, not in the slightest.” The man held a brilliant smile as he belittled the owner of this joint for Heathcliff, “if anything, she’d probably use nails until you gave up the deed to this land.” A method that he used a few times against those nasty foes, “that or grandfather would use that lovely icepick against you until you give in~” Icepicks? Nails? This man was casually talking about torture methods…! … Not that Heathcliff understood.

“Get out of here,” the man reached under the counter and pulled out a large butcher’s knife in an attempt to slam it against the wooden counter, “no—” But Hong Lu quickly reacted, forcing the knife out of the man’s hand before taking it himself.

“Careful now~” Hong Lu twirled the blade effortlessly in his hand. “Wouldn’t want to take an eye out now,” with a swing, the cyan-eyed man nearly took out the shop-owner’s right eye with a similar scar to his own, “would we?” But he stopped within a hair’s breadth, leaving only the man’s scared jitters to be the remaining push forward into the blade. “Come on, Heath,” pulling it away and twirling it again, Hong Lu slammed it himself into the counter, cutting a foot deep into the wood with ease, “let’s get going.” With a few jovial steps towards the door, the man continued, “are you feeling hungry, because I sure am, ah hah~” Heathcliff was plain shocked by how fast Hong Lu could switch things up. It was just… plain odd…

“I—I’d rather find Sancho…” The boy spoke, trying his hardest to evade the reality of it all. If she hadn’t been there since he left, then the chances that she was de—

“It doesn’t hurt to look,” Hong Lu turned left, continuing the original way they were heading, “but you may not like what you won’t find.” And so, with both of them ignoring their hunger, they traveled the town, going around to anyone and everyone that Hong Lu saw in an effort to ask if they’d seen Sancho.

But their efforts were for naught… Nobody had ever seen this girl. It was as if she didn’t exist… But Sancho certainly did… she certainly existed… “Well, it would seem like that’s it,” Hong Lu said, his voice having never lost that cheer. Was it for Heathcliff or did he naturally sound like this…? “So, what say we get some dinner, Heath? Sounds great, right~” the boy’s stomach rumbled, but even then…

“No… I—I want to eat with Sancho…” Well… then at that rate…

“In other words, you’d rather starve to death?” Even now… Hong Lu retained that cheery disposition. Even as he spoke about Sancho’s death…

“What…?” The boy’s violet eye narrowed as he stared at the side of Hong Lu’s conspicuously happy face. 

“Is it not clear that Sancho has moved on?” 

“She’s not dead,” the boy’s tone was deeper than a six-foot grave. 

“I don’t believe that was what I said,” Hong Lu responded, now knowing Heathcliff’s latent feelings about this situation. “But if that’s what you belie—”

“I don’t!” Heathcliff shouted, tears building up in his eye, “Sa—Sancho’s still…” But the gaze he received was one of pity. Pity over his lack of being able to accept reality. Sancho was gone… and so too did he want to be gone. For it was his departure… his long disappearance… that made Sancho die. “Leave… leave me here…” He was going to rot inside of that alleyway until either she appeared or he withered away… either way was fine for him. 

“To die?” Hong Lu asked as he continued walking straight. When the boy nodded, the black haired man hummed, “nope~” Shocked, the purple eye glared at the older man, “it’d be a waste to die. For how else would you be able to have these memories of her live on?” But then it weakened… softening as Heathcliff slowly understood what Hong Lu meant. “Unless you want Sancho to die with you, that is.” He… he didn’t want that. Not at all…

“So let’s go get a quuuick bite,” he had forgotten the most important part since he’d been at this all afternoon with Heathcliff. “And then get some coffee before Ish decides to hunt us down.” There were… enough hours left within the day to get some, so food came first.

————

“There we go,” laying on top of a soft set of bedsheets, Sancho stared deliriously at the ceiling with orange eyes. The man tending to her could attest that the bed was comfortable, but she still had such a sour expression. “Rodya,” the man called out as he turned his head, “wher— Ahh, my apologies dear Rodya,” with a hand on her hips, the brunette girl stared straight ahead at her father with a dry gaze, “I had no earthly idea that thou were right there.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t, Father,” in her other hand was tray topped with a pitcher of water and wine chalice, something she felt a slight revulsion to, but not enough to dissuade her from sweating bullets like a majority of their father. “Not with how far ahead you look…” Gracefully walking forward, the woman handed the tray off to the man with dull gold hair, “do you still need me?”

“It would be well within the realm of possibility,” the man spoke, “she might prove to be… a tad stubborn.” Filling the chalice, the man gently sat the child up and pressed the glass to her lips, hoping for her to drink willingly… but she had to be forced. Something the man frowned at…

“Does she have a name?”

“If she ought to have one, I propose it will be known after her throat is wetted enough,” the man said, “may I ask what the status of her meal is?” 

Rodya raised her brows as she looked towards the ceiling, “I… believe it will be done when it is done, Father.” Her sarcasm was noted by an equally dry gaze coming from the man sitting beside Sancho, “you know we don’t have family that cooks like this often.”

The man sighed, “I suppose not… But if thou were to give an estimation… say… five minutes?” 

“Too short…” Rodya tapped the handle of her parasol, “maybe around twen—” A sputtering, spitting breath stopped her… especially since it was the girl spitting water onto her father.

Silence filled the room as all eyes fell onto Sancho. All four red eyes. “Art thou capable of speaking, dear child?” Rodya’s father asked, his patience tempered by the lengths he went through to help his family ween off human blood.

“Die…” Sancho muttered, her voice clearly heard by even Rodya, “let me… die…” Whereas her father’s eyes remained the same, the brunette’s opened wider… finding it depressing that a mere orphan could wish for such a thing… 

“Death, eh?” The man set down the glass upon the tray on the nightstand, “and why would that be?” But Sancho didn’t want to respond, not to a complete stranger who wouldn’t care for her like Heathcliff… did… “Wouldst thou mind—” with the sleeve of his shirt, the man wiped away her tears, “—if I tell thee a story?” 

“Yes…” Sancho responded, wanting to leave and repent elsewhere…

“Great, then a story I shalt tell,” lifting his feet onto the bed, the man kicked his legs out beside Sancho’s. “Wouldst thou mind stan—”

“Not at all, Father,” Rodya said, turning around to walk out of the room and shut the door to the room behind her.

“Stay away…” Sancho said, finding it difficult for her body to move.

“Then allow me,” picking her up by the shoulders, the man moved her further away from his side, “there, ‘tis a suitable distance?” Sancho’s eyes wandered to the side, marking the two foot distance between her and this gray man. “Good, then I shalt begin,” pouring her a glass of water, the man handed it off to her before beginning his story. “Once upon a time there was a man with pale skin and dark eyes and a soon to be unquenchable thirst. But for now, this man desired one thing above all,” the man’s gray eyes stared with reminiscence ahead. “Love. And not the typical love of romance that thou may expect… ‘Twas that of a family, one who wouldn’t torment nor make the man suffer and lament over his sorrowful life. One so grand that they could shower him with affection and thus in turn he would shower them with even more affection.” He smiled, even as he continued to speak, “but his life took a turn for the worse when he was stabbed by his mother and cast to the streets. The man wandered and wandered until he couldn’t walk anymore, and there, within a field of burning grass he fell. Only to be reborn with an incessant thirst, one that made him a monster in the eyes of humanity.” His gray eyes noted that she wasn’t listening nor had she taken a sip of the water. “But even then he couldn’t bring himself to harm the world that had been set up to ruin him… not when his dream of family was nigh.”

“And so, wishing for that love, the man did everything in his power to attain it. Whether it be in helping the poor and innocent or even the killing of his kind that he now found himself to be a part of, the man’s wish came to be realized. All because he would let nothing inhibit him…” The man couldn’t be happier with his family doing their best to always make him as proud of a father as possible. “Tell me, dear child, doth thou have a dream?” His gray eyes looked over to hers, “ or is thy world all bleak, colorless as thy hopes have been dashed and smeared?” It wasn’t difficult to know how she was feeling. Her colorless eyes went down to stare at the calm surface of the water, “tell me, is it because thou hath been betrayed?”

“No…” Sancho spoke, her voice quiet and raspy, “it’s because I’m useless…” The man was intent on listening, but she just stopped there. 

“No-one is born but useless. For they have yet to be ordained a purpose by themselves,” the man proclaimed. “Therefore, what doth thou believe is thy purpose?” 

“To die…” there was hardly a blink between his words and her answer, “to repent for his death with my own…”

“His? As in someone thou loved dearly like family?” This man of complete gray was piercing her through with his mind and gaze, sticking her woes down immediately. “Or was it perhaps a love unlike kinship, and thou cherished him with thine entire being?” 

“Both…” Sancho spoke, tears falling over Heathcliff’s death, just as they would forevermore. “So please… let me die…” so that she may be with him. 

“I will not allow it dear child,” the man frowned for the first time. “Not when thou hath yet to realize thy purpose…” a purpose she herself was blind to. 

“Then…” Sancho looked blankly at the man, “what is my purpose other than death…?” Her tongue lashed out with vitreous hatred at herself.

“Thou art blind and lost…” the man reached over with a gentle touch, rubbing her tears away as she looked up at them. “But I shalt provide thee light… and guidance.” Clearing his throat, the man continued, “my name is Quixote! Don Quixote, with the Don being used as a signifier of my higher standing! And I doth proclaim that thy purpose is of dedication.” Sancho’s ears began to ring as she stared into the man’s eyes, slowly realizing they were of the same red stuck in her sclera.

“Dedication towards the one thou hath loved and lost. For the world shalt never forget his name if thou survive, dear…” he awaited her name, but only sobs began to leave her mouth. “Ah, is it that thou don’t have a name?” The man rose with joy, happy to give the newest member of his fam—

“Heathcliff…!” She wailed, surprising the man for a moment. 

“That… is thy name…?” Don Quixote asked, surprised that she was given such an… odd name. If anything, he was going to give her a name that would befit her eyes… If only he thought of something better than ‘Chrys…’

“I’m sorry, Heathcliff…!” Sancho cried into the air once more, apologizing for ever thinking her death would solve anything. In fact, he would hate her for doing that, wouldn’t he…? He’d undoubtedly hate her for ever going to the lengths of killing herself. Which was why she greatly appreciated this man, for his simple declaration ruined her stupid idea. 

“Doth thou wish to be hugged…?” Out of all of his children… he’d never had to deal with one crying like this… And that was for a simple reason… none of them were actual children when he agreed to turn them. 

When Sancho nodded, the man grabbed her glass of water and put it on the tray before going back to pick her up. With a hand on her upper back, Don Quixote pulled her up to his chest, letting her sobbing tears settle into the crook of his neck. “There there… thy tears are just a signifier of thy love for this… Heathcliff.” If there were any doubts in her head, then by now they were cast out from this man who loved everything and everyone that desired it. 

If not for the knock at the door, then the one sided hug would’ve continued in peace. “Might I request for Miss Rodya to deliver it alone?” Such a task was not for her, but she still listened to her father’s request and brought a tray of silver dishes into the room. 

With pursed lips, she stood just in front of the door at her embarrassed father as the child sobbed. “Uh… what did you do…?” She swore, if she scared him by showing her his ‘scary teeth’ again…

“I can tell what thou art thinking, dear Rodya, and that is not the case… this time.” At least he realized his issue, “no, I simply told her that her life has more worth living than in killing herself.”

Rodya furrowed her brows as she walked forward, “she still hasn’t said her name I suppose?” Don Quixote nodded, leading to the brunette setting the tray of food down and sitting beside her father. Gesturing for him to put her on his knee, Rodya soon met Sancho’s tears with a gentle touch. “ Hey sweetie, ” the rose pink lips formed a smile the blonde found to be kind, “I don’t know what made you cry, but I can promise that things will be better.” After all… “for you are in the land where hopes and dreams prosper: La Mancha. And on behalf of our great father,” she weakly pinched the girl’s cheek, “we will make sure that you are cared for and loved with all of our hearts. So come on and turn that frown upside down, alright?” Despite the speech that made her heart well with warmth, Sancho couldn’t stop crying like that. Not when her heart would endlessly fill with love for Heathcliff… and pain in turn. 

“May I, father?” With a gesture to give her free reign, Rodya picked up the girl and lovingly cradled her. Then… she began to hum that tune her father always did, wishing for her beautiful voice to soothe the child’s heart. 

And, within just a handful of seconds, compared to the two minutes Don Quixote had, Sancho was already calming down. “Wow… I presume thou hath done this type of thing a lot?” 

“It's only fitting for the princess of the parade to know how to care for children who can’t help but cry at our masks.” And doing so just made her feel more special since humans would endlessly praise her for what she did… “Now, since you’re all calmed down, sweetie, would you mind telling us your name?” Staring down into the orange eyes that reminded her of a vivid sunset, Rodya smiled. 

“Sa—Sancho…”

“Well that is a beautiful name,” with a brush, a few strands of hair left the girl’s face. “I bet you’re pretty hungry, yeah? So how about we get some food in you,” she squeezed her bony cheek once again, “because you’re pretty dang skinny and that’s no good.” Sancho nodded, accepting the fact that she’d have to live for Heathcliff. 

“Th—Thank you…” Sancho said, bowing her head a little to show her gratitude towards these two who had saved and treated her with kindness. 

“‘Twas our pleasure, Dear Sancho,” Don Quixote spoke, exposing a small fang within his smile. “Now, wouldst thou mind showing off this grand meal, dear Rodya?” 

————

The plate placed in front of the boy was of some sort of sandwich with a brown patty between the top piece and lower piece. And beside it was a glass of orange juice, “are you… sure I can have this…?” Heathcliff asked, staring up at Hong Lu with curiosity in his eye. Normally, he’d only ever been fed the crappy scraps from the warm meals of the Earnshaw family with Nelly having to sneak him something nice once in a while. 

“Of course,” the man spoke, “the plate is in front of you, is it not?~” Well… that didn’t make him feel any better about it though… “It’s fine, honestly, Heath~” He eyed the meal before staring at the mostly empty space in front of Hong Lu, noticing only the cup. “Are you worried about me?” Heathcliff nodded, leading Hong Lu to reach over and ruffle his hair, “just get to eating, Heath, I’ll be just fine~”

On a dish of pure white porcelain was a fork, knife, and a nice juicy slab of meat. Beside it, a peeled orange that was falling apart at the slices. “I—I can have this… really…?” Sancho asked, looking up to both the brunette and the man with dull gold hair. Never before had she seen a meal this warm, not even at her ‘job’ since all she was given were scraps with the money she was ‘given.’

“Mmhmm,” the man hummed, “I had one of my family prepare it for thee after all.” Well… that made her feel slightly bad… “So please, do eat this wonderful meal, dear Sancho.” But then her eyes wandered back to the tray, spotting nothing extra for either of these two to eat. “Art thou worried about our hunger?” Sancho nodded, leading Don Quixote to reach over and gently pat her head, “we shalt be fine, dear Sancho, please, do thy best and eat.”

Reaching forward with shaking arms, Heathcliff grabbed hold of the bread, feeling his fingers sink into the fluffy warm expanse of it.

Picking up the tools with a weak grip, Sancho looked at them wondering what to do before Rodya kindly guided her hands forward and cut through the meat.

Lifting the sandwich, Heathcliff slowly dragged it toward his waiting mouth as Hong Lu smiled down at him. 

Piercing the cut piece, Sancho lifted the meat towards her mouth and opened it. 

As the hot food entered his mouth, Heathcliff’s eyes began to water…

As the juicy food entered her mouth, Sancho’s eyes began to water…

“It’s… delicious…!” Heathcliff exclaimed, his fast falling tears soaking into the fluffy bread. 

“It’s… so tasty…!” Sancho cried, her slower tears falling onto her hands like a slight drizzle. 

“Oh is it?” Hong Lu’s cyan eye beamed with joy  at Heathcliff, “well I’m glad~”

“It is?” Don Quixote’s red eyes sparkled with happiness towards Sancho, “‘tis quite lovely, is it not, Rodya?” 

With his mind set, Heathcliff devoured the phenomenal burger… For every moment from now on would be dedicated towards Sancho. Ensuring that her memory would endure through him…

With her mind made up, Sancho slowly ate the delicious steak… Because every moment from here until her death would be spent in Heathcliff’s memory. Ensuring that his efforts would endure through her…

… forever…

Chapter Text

“You broads woulda loved ‘er,” Heathcliff spoke, his face filled with crimson blood as he wore a giddy smile. “She truly was the best,” with the intent to drink more ale, the man with two violet eyes brought the mug up to his lips. But two scarred fingers looped their way into the handle above his hand and pulled the glass away. “Oi, the bloody ‘ell gives, Ish?” 

“You have had more than enough to drink tonight,” the redhead spoke, eventually needing her other hand to rip the mug from his hand. “But don’t worry, this won’t go to waste.” He tried to reach for it like he was a child not allowed to have the toy he so wished for… but then he fell forward onto the table, wobbling too much to stay stable. “See?” There was a quiet laugh at Ishmael’s side, “you want it, Shu?” She smirked over at the red-eyed woman who was casually leaning back in her seat.

More booze? “Absolutely,” even though she was about six mugs deep, Ryoushuu showed zero signs of being drunk. It was honestly impressive… “so, wanna get up, Right Eye?” With a cynical voice, Ryoushuu asked her question before sipping upon the beer she’d been given.  

“Nah, I’m thinkin’ this table’s pretty damn comfortable,” Heathcliff responded, causing Ishmael to sigh and stand up. 

She had a few mugs of beer, coming to four while Shu was at eight, and Heath at seven. So her face was a tad flushed. Though not to the extent of Heathcliff’s tomato-like face or to the stoic calm of Ryoushuu’s face. Hers was definitely between despite having the least amount of alcohol tonight. “Come on,” she tapped his back with her left hand as the right hand lifted him up by his armpit. “Let’s get you up, ya lug,” despite the massive growth over the past 18 or so years, Heathcliff’s immense size couldn’t compare to Ishmael’s strength. After all, she’d been in the business far longer than he.

With him back in the seat, she leaned him back before patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry that happened to you, kid,” taking the currently empty seat beside him, Ishmael leaned towards him with a somber smirk. “But hey, I bet she’s watching over you with a smile,” just like Queequeg was… “Sancho’s damn proud of the dumbass you’ve become.”

“Oi,” Heathcliff glowered at Ishmael through a blush of drunkenness, “I’d say I’m pretty damn smart.” Red eyes stared at him from across the table before she placed the mug down.

“Yeah, you would. Nobody else would,” Ryoushuu said, further annoying the brunet who was without a doubt way too drunk. And to top it off, he was the worst kind of drunk: a sappy bastard who’d lament over anything and everything. She was just happy that it was over this Sancho girl and not like ‘oh this job is too hard,’ or ‘aren’t some bloodfiends deserving of life.’ Tch, that shit would just make her mad if Heathcliff were to whine about it.

“What about the other month where I saved your hides?” The man leaned with his entire elbow on the table as he pointed his hand at Ryoushuu. There were no finer motor skills to allow only his index to point at her.

“You mean when you blindly stumbled right into a blood net that you were too heavy for the counterweight to lift you off the ground?” Ishmael asked with a snide smirk, with them all knowing full well that he never meant for such a thing to even happen. And he most certainly did not mean to trigger the trap on purpose. “Or when you claimed that there were bloodfiends still around but it was just a cowering kid hidden under the floorboards?” 

“Oi, you an’ I both know that kid woulda fuckin’ screamed for help after we said we killed all the red-eyed bastards,” that’s what still nagged at him. “And don’t say it was ‘cause of Red Eyes, ‘cause she was already long gone when we dragged the boy out,” Ishmael… could say that, but she wasn’t going to.

“This is why you’re a bloody moron,” Ishmael said, stealing his vernacular, “did that kid have red eyes? No.” The argument there should’ve stopped when Ishmael brought it up after their raid on that apartment complex, after all it was really simple.  

“I trust my gut more than my eye.” Which was why he listened to it as he stepped in first instead of Ryoushuu, allowing him to have a chance of fighting off against the hardblood spear that would’ve pierced whoever got caught. Same with the boy… there was just something so wrong with him that anyone else should’ve been concerned, but no. Only this moron did, “and you should too.”

“Ah yes, phenomenal idea to not trust my eyes while hunting things I can see,” Ishmael clapped beside one of the white ribbons tied to her headband. “Real smart idea, Heathcliff, honestly,” if he wasn’t so drunk, then he would’ve fought and lost to his mentor right then and there.

“You’re a fuckin’ cunt,” Ryoushuu’s eyebrows rose in surprise, wondering just how Ishmael would react to it. And, judging solely off her smirk, it was going to be a fun one.

“What did you say…?” Turning his head, the brunet was about to say it again, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Not when he should’ve already known she was behind him.

Knowing the fate he had condemned himself to on this day of remembrance, Heathcliff muttered, “fuckin’ shit.” The words were barely allowed to leave his mouth before Ishmael locked her forearm around the man and dragged him out of his seat. With her arm locked around his throat to choke him, she wouldn’t let go until he tapped her twice. Such was the case for every sparring session of this type.

“Apologize, asshole,” Ishmael said, bracing herself fully for Heathcliff to throw himself down so she may sink like a stone under him. There was a light groan from her as she held his immense weight on top of her, but she quickly rolled, reversing the situation. With her knees digging into his spine, Ishmael smiled like a madman as she pulled his head slightly back. “You know the drill,” with lightweight footsteps, the man with a cyan eye returned with two mugs of beer.

“Oh, may I ask what happened while I was away, Shu?” Hong Lu asked as he carried the drinks in towards the booth seat Ishmael sat in before.

“Heh,” Ryoushuu said, her red eyes glowing as they peered over the edge of the table to watch Ishmael continue in choking the life out of Heathcliff. “H.C.C.B,” a curious eyebrow rose, wondering just what word was hidden behind her SANGRIA.

“Did you perhaps call her a callous bastard?~” The room around Ishmael went silent as she hyper-focused on Hong Lu’s words. Reminding her of the woman that took her Queequeg’s mind away…

“I don’t care if you’re the boss,” her left hand unhitched the lock she had on Heathcliff, “you are next.” The man with a cyan eye smiled, finding her proclamation to be rather fun. 

“It would be rather nice to spar with you again, Ish~” Hong Lu stated, watching as Heathcliff broke through Ishmael’s grip seeing as it was loosened. “But you may want to—” rising like a whale breaching the water, Heathcliff brought Ishmael into the air before throwing her off of his back. As she hovered in the air for a moment, her hazel eyes narrowed at the ceiling lights in annoyance… and then she hit the ground full force. “—worry about what is happening in front of your eyes, first~” 

Gasping for breath, Heathcliff stood all the way up, “you bloody almost killed me, woman!” One of his hands idly rubbed at his throat that felt like it’d bruise.

“Not with how thick your damn neck is,” as she sat up, her hand squeezed her lower back as it flared with a little pain. “Damnit, if you fuckin’ busted my stitches…” Actually… Why would that be bad? That just meant more time with her favorite gal after all…

“Ah shuddup,” Heathcliff lifted his chair back up before sitting back down in it, “if anything I’d say you deserved it for tryin’ to kill me tonight.” With his eyes settled on one of the new mugs Hong Lu held close Heathcliff began to reach over. “Least you could do is try to be nice like Shu…” 

Despite her being here for the first time during the eighth yearly drinking night between him and Hong Lu, Ryoushuu was being rather polite. Completely holding herself back from drawing a crowd of ruffians as she explained some way to kill someone for fun. Unlike Ishmael, who just couldn’t hold back either her normal bickering or her constant disagreement with Heathcliff. He didn’t hate it, not even usually, but tonight was special… and he just wanted to have fun and not nurse a wound or two tomorrow.  

Ishmael… certainly didn’t notice this, nor even bothered to think further into why the duo did this every year in Autumn until she heard the story. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it li—” 

“No,” Ishmael said, putting her foot down, “I get it. And,” she wanted to slip a ‘surprisingly for the first time’ in there but stopped, “you’re right. Sorry kid,” her hand went to fluff his hair before returning to her seat, “I’ll stop being a cunt,” Hong Lu’s eyes widened as Ryoushuu smirked, so that’s what she meant. 

Heathcliff grumbled in his seat, “so then you’ll let me have one more glass?” It was tradition for him to get sloshed into the point of oblivion. Because he’d always travel this town with a surprisingly sober Hong Lu until he brought them back to their camp. 

“Absolutely not,” Ishmael said, knowing what his usual limit was, “it’s not healthy to get so blindingly drunk, Heath.” The man rolled his violet eye, the glass fake remaining staring ahead at the mug his hand was still moving towards. 

If not for her gripe, Heathcliff would’ve snatched the mug, “fine mom.” Since she wanted to act like it, she’d be unwillingly stuck with it. 

Rolling her eyes, Ishmael took the mug meant for her, “I’d think I’d drown you if I ever had to take care of you again.” To this, Heathcliff laughed, finding fun in her insult. 

“And I’d bash your head in with a little rock,” it’d take forever, but that was the fun of it since he’d get to watch the light drain from her eyes—Wow. Shu was rubbing off on him too much. “Wh—What about you two, huh? How would you kill me?” Heathcliff needed to detract from his own thoughts. 

Hong Lu thought for a moment whereas Ryoushuu needed no time to think of something. “Ah, I would drug you until you don’t know the difference between reality and falsehoods before shooting you in the back of the head.” Such a… quick turn. But his method of death sounded sorta nice… “what about you Shu?”

Reaching into her pocket, the woman pulled out a black lighter and her pack of cigarettes. Lighting one up, she took a large breath and let it slowly come out with each word. “Destroy your Occipital Lobe and the Cerebellum Eagerly before slowly skinning you alive day in and out. You’ll never know when I’ll come, nor when you’ll die. Because only when you’re more coward than man will you die,” Ishmael stared at her in shock while Heathcliff was a tad queasy. “What? Y.A.” The only one not affected at all was Hong Lu, who didn’t really find much issue with her murderous language. He was probably the only one in their entire group like that.

“Well yeah… but really?” She’d mentioned that torture method to Ishmael in the past, “against Heath?”

“It’s the most intimate and painful death,” Ryoushuu smirked, having used it only once against that bastard who stole Yuzuki’s life. “The same would go for you or Left Eye,” she’d deliver a death most lovely to her greatest friends… for she thought of them just as she would her family. Not that she even remotely liked that bastard, no. She just wanted to torture the fucker which was why the method dragged on for three months. 

“Oh well that’s nice,” Heathcliff muttered, holding his wrist over his mouth, “at least make sure my bits are used properly.” He tried to make light of this to convince his body not to vomit. 

“W.D,” her red eyes looked over at the empty mug in front of Hong Lu, “makes 14, huh…” Never had she seen her boss drink this much, “you alright?”

“Never better~” Hong Lu crooned out, not feeling even the slightest bit drunk on his empty stomach. “I could go for another in fact~” but a hand on his shoulder prevented him from rising to order another round. 

“This is the end.” The entire reason they came out here was because they found out about their ritual, every second Thursday after Autumn started, and since Heath couldn’t drink anymore because of Ish, Shu saw no point in getting anymore drinks. “Ishy and I will head back, you t—”

“‘Ell no,” Heathcliff interrupted, staring right into Shu’s biting eyes, “you two should stick around for a bit, see what else Left Eye makes me do.” Oh, right. He did mention something else after they drank. Heh, she hoped it would be embarrassing. 

“Oh, I just make you visit a graveyard and then we head back home,” Hong Lu answered, causing Ryoushuu to scowl since the mysterious fun was ruined.

Heath was about to ask why a graveyard, ‘cause that just seemed plain mean, but Ishmael beat him to the punch. “The one where everyone’s buried?” Hong Lu nodded, making Heathcliff feel a little bit like a douche. “That sounds rather nice actually…” When was the last time she paid a visit to her fallen comrades? Ten, twenty years ago? The reason was because there was only one grave that mattered to her and that wasn't anywhere nearby, but still… “Yeah, hurry up and finish your drinks you two,” she had a clear person in mind for saying hello to. After all, it would be the first time she’d be doing so in twenty years. For that blond boy died a year before Hong Lu ever came across Heathcliff. 

“I’ll drink how I want.” Ryoushuu said, wanting to flick her cigarette at Ishmael for trying to rush her. But knowing the redhead, she’d just catch it and start smoking it herself… “D.R.M, P.R,” Ishmael blushed slightly, knowing exactly what she meant by it.

“Well,” Heathcliff had nothing else to do here, even more if they were heading out soon. “I’ll be just outside 'en,” pushing himself up, the brunet shakily stood on his two feet. 

“Careful not to trip~” Hong Lu waved at Heathcliff before taking a large swig of the beer and coming away with a mustache of froth. “Say, who do I remind you of?” The question was directed at both women who stayed there to drink. However, Ryoushuu didn’t want to suffer through her boss’ usual shenanigans, which was why she downed the beer and grabbed her blade, “are you leaving as well, Shu?” If the cigarette in her mouth was any indicator, it just meant that she was annoyed… So neither he nor Ishmael received an answer as she followed about a minute behind Heathcliff.

When she exited the pub, her red eyes landed upon his stark, wide back, “what’s special about a black sky?” Her voice interrupted his personal rumination, causing his eyes to snap down to the head below him  

“Hmm… not much I suppose,” his eyes flicked to the cigarette between her lips. “They kick you out ‘cause o’ that?”

“Sure.” She exhaled, her smoky breath outlined by the streetlights, “want one?” Never had he once thought about smoking in his life before but one couldn’t hurt could it.

“If ya don’t mind,” she certainly did, but maybe she’d get a new smoking buddy out of this. Heh, doubtful. Digging into her pocket once more she tapped the cigarette pack against the back of her hand causing one to come out and face Heathcliff. “So… what, I just put this between my teeth?”

“If you need the grip, then yeah, sure,” picking it out, Heathcliff almost put the end bit with nicotine in his mouth. “Wrong way, Right Eye,” brown bit goes in the mouth, got it. When it was there, Ryoushuu covered the end with her hand and sparked her lighter underneath it, causing a flame to slowly burn the end of the cigarette. “There, breathe in now,” and, as he did, the man felt like he was choking, suffocating. An experience much unlike standing around her smoking, “heh, virgin.” She muttered while staring up at the dark sky, seeing a bloody crescent through the clouds.

“‘Ow the fuck do you smoke so damn much?” Just ten seconds in made him want to quit, but she’d been doing this for 19 straight years, “this is just pure shite…”

“Same reason you drink like that,” Ryoushuu took a staggeringly large breath as she shut her eyes. “To forget,” when she opened her eyes, the memory of that starved moon no longer hung high in the abyssal sky. Leaving her ignorant to the bleeding eye on her left that dropped tears of a rain that wished to always fall.

“I don’t do this to forget Sancho,” though she probably was disgusted with his habits that seemed likely to lead him into an early grave. “I do it to celebrate her…” For this was around the time his life changed so drastically… this was around when he lost Sancho forever…

“S.A.S.S.Y,” Ryoushuu muttered, shaking her head at his man’s stupid way to celebrate her life and death. But… she did suppose it was fine seeing as once every winter she’d leave for a week… “So, where’s her grave?”

“Grave?” There wasn’t one physically, no. And that was because he still hadn’t accepted her death… not in full capacity at least. “I mean… I guess the alleyway is still there…” 

“Still holding onto hope, huh,” he didn’t immediately understand why he felt bad about that. But such thoughts were cleared away by a hand on his shoulder, “can’t blame you.” There was a shape of a cigarette formed by the cloud of smoke arising from her mouth, “can’t really believe it if you don’t see it…” Ryoushuu sighed, her shut eyes witnessing that sight engraved into her retina, “but blindly hoping just makes the pain sting longer, kid, T.M.” When the door opened behind her, Ryoushuu noticed the sunset colored hair coming through it and tossed her cigarette down before stomping it out.

“You’ve got him smoking too?” Ishmael asked, a little exasperated since it just meant more smoke for her to inadvertently choke down. 

“Nah, this shite sucks,” he sorta forgot that it was there in the first place with how Ryoushuu’s words just seemed to suck him in. “Anyhow, where’s Hong Lu?” 

“He’s in the bathroom,” that meant they’d be stopping every half hour from now on for him to relieve himself… damnit. “What were you two talking about anyway? Sancho?” That was the most likely option… but then again it was Shu she left with the moron. 

“Shure,” Ryoushuu laughed, wanting to keep the details of their conversation between them. “That and how R.E is a moron.” His brow furrowed and his eye narrowed at her self-absorbed grin. 

“Oi, like hell we did,” Heathcliff retorted, wishing he had his weapon right about now. But his fist would certainly d—

“Think about it for a moment more, R.E,” Ryoushuu said out of the blue, not seeing anything of what Heathcliff wanted to do. “Do you want to lose that?” The threat was very much real and his drunken mind said to do nothing more than listen. 

“No ma’am,” retracting his arm, Heathcliff thought to wait until their next sparring match. Then he could get payback… if he even remembered by then. “Sorry ma’am…” 

“Hmph,” Ryoushuu turned to face Heathcliff for a moment, “like my dog, P.R? Trained him since he was young.” 

“Looks fine… but his coat is pretty bad,” flipping one of the strands of hair at the back of his head, Ishmael went to Shu’s side. Heathcliff, instead of getting mad, decided to slap his face in annoyance. 

“I hate the both of you…” the door behind them opened, “I honestly fuckin’ do.” A heavy hand clasped his neck before going around his left side. 

“Oh come, you clearly don’t mean that, Heath~” there was a glow in the cyan left eye, “right?” 

Hong Lu, right below every last bloodfiend alive, hated when the people he was close to openly discussed their hatred for one another. Even if it were a joke, he took such things seriously… even more when drunk… “n—no…” 

“Ah,” the hand flashed out, wrapping around Heathcliff’s neck before pulling him forward as Hong Lu walked forward. See… when he got drunk, he was just ever-so-slightly more forceful in his ways. But never, not even once, did he ever show the other signs of being drunk; “then let us go bid welcome to our fallen comrades~” And so they did, coming to the graveyard where Heathcliff didn’t have a slightly good time. It wasn’t bad either… it was simply plain horrible. 

For the entire time, the only thing he could focus on were the empty plots… and how he could set up a grave for Sancho here… Something that he didn’t want to do… but Ryoushuu’s words hanged in his mind as much as the sight of a lynched man smiling. Maybe… he should move on…? 

…

…

…

… or maybe he should just shut the fuck up.

He deserved a punch right across the chin for even thinking that. He would never ever move on from Sancho… not with how much his heart still yearned for her. Still yearned for someone so long gone that by all means she would’ve been fine with him moving on… but he never would. She would be his first and last love… and would remain so for the rest of his life. 

Yeah… that sounded perfect. 

Better than that shite idea of giving Sancho a false grave. Yep. Much better. Much healthier too… 

“Hey,” a gentle hand grabbed his shoulder, “are you alright, Heath?” 

“Hmm?” He didn’t turn around to face Ishmael who had found him standing there, “just fine.” But this sudden sprinkling of rain… told a different story…

🪓~~~~~~~~🎠

“He most certainly would’ve loved it here,” Sancho spoke, her face drenched with a scarlet shade of blood. “And he would’ve loved everyone too, even if he didn’t choose to be like me.” Sancho was certain of that fact as she took a sip of the delectably sweet wine that matched her red eyes perfectly. “Truly…” Sancho turned to look at her… well she was supposed to be her sister but she still saw her more like a mother even now. “What’s with that look, Miss Rodion?”

“I’ve told you time and time before,” Rodya shuffled forward, grace in every last step she took. Twirling her parasol, the woman swung it out immediately to her right, nearly piercing one of the eavesdroppers on her balcony. “I do not take politely to this,” Sancho, wondering just what she meant, followed her right out into the moonless night. There, standing there with his back to them, was their father: Don Quixote. 

“A—Ah, fancy meeting thou here as well, dear Sancho,” Don Quixote said after turning around with a wide smile. “What hath brought thee out here?”

Sancho furrowed her brows, making the thin blond tufts knit above her now red eyes. Such a large leap from those beautiful oranges, but they did make contacts for that reason. “Father…” she gently pushed the blood-pointed parasol down and stepped between Rodya and him. “Were you listening the entire time?” As much as he wanted to lie, Don Quixote was chivalrous above all else. So he couldn’t lie to a lady, even more so since she was his daughter. 

“Yes…” Her father was entirely fine with one thing. And it was her not forgiving him for eavesdropping like this on her and Rodya’s conversation.

“You…” she held her forehead while shaking it, “you could’ve just asked, father… I don’t think Miss Rodya would’ve minded either, right?” The brunette shook her head, “then yeah, you could’ve just knocked on the door… How did you even get here?” An idea formed in Sancho’s head, which, unsurprisingly, was the right answer.

“I leapt down from the roof!” Of course he would answer that with enthusiasm…

“That is at least a ten foot drop…” Sancho dryly stated, her fingers rubbing into the flesh to stave off the oncoming headache. “Are your legs hurt?” With how he leaned back with the majority of his weight on the balcony’s banister, she assumed so

“Very much, yes,” even Rodya sighed alongside Sancho, both of them finding Don Quixote’s recklessness rather annoying. “Buuut, this action hath given me a grand idea for our next show!” Great… of course this would.

“Would it be jumping with me out of the tower’s window to escape Sancho?” Rodya asked, her voice filled with  annoyance as she knew her father’s mind well enough. 

“Yes, absolutely so,” of course that’s the idea Don Quixote got… The man of grandeur… the father of delusions turned reality… their father… And despite his insanity, every last one of his children loved him. Supporting his dream of having humanity love bloodfiends through this land of dreams where everyone could wear a genuine smile… Even their own kind… Sure, there was a hunter here and there who wished to fight them because every last bloodfiend was a stain. But they always changed their minds when their father showed them that some bloodfiends could truly change. Some could truly overcome their human bloodthirst… 

Because that’s what every last member of their lovely family did, not even showing an interest in it when some of the hunters tried to make them come after it. For 100 years every member of his family, whether they were new or old, had not imbibed upon a single drop of human blood. That was the single greatest accomplishment amongst any bloodfiend elder, which was why Sancho loved her father even more. And was part of the reason why… eleven years ago… she chose to become part of this family by blood… forever.

So that someone may lovingly tend to the statue near the center of the amusement park until time itself stopped. A statue that she helped design herself with Outis’ perfect eye watching over her for the rest. A statue of her last memory with Heathcliff as she leaned upon his shoulder… Meant to resemble the both of them as much as she could remember… God did she miss him…

But that was alright… especially since… his memory… could… 

“Sancho?” A hand thankfully shook her out of her mind, for letting her thoughts continue would be sure to m—“is something the matter, my dear child?” Don Quixote asked his hand going forward to scare off the bloody tears trickling down her face. 

Yeah… obviously there was… “I must’ve gotten so annoyed at your utter recklessness, father.” She wiped her tears away with her sleeve… not caring that Outis would reprimand her for dashing the cloth with her blood. Something the two took notice of immediately. Not once, even during their shows where she happily played the villain, did Sancho ever purposefully dirty one of Outis’ lovingly crafted outfits. But there she was… dashing her crimson tears along the dark blue cloth. 

“Are you sure, kid…?” Rodya placed her hand o Sancho’s shoulder from the side, “because you don’t look annoyed…” stop.

Her father tilted his head, the faded golden locks falling into his face to block his crimson eyes. But even then he knew what Sancho was thinking, what she was feeling. Despite knowing the least about her, and not because she was the newest, Don Quixote also knew the most. Contradictory, yeah, but that’s just how knew Sancho. 

She’d say she was happy about how something turned out but inside she’d be lamenting about how it could’ve been better had she done it right. Or how she’ll be praised for doing a perfect job but wonder if they were pitying her for her past and being the newest child. And even when the audience endlessly complimented her every time she played the villain, she’d in turn say to never congratulate a villain… 

… it was as if she wanted to be miserable… so that she couldn’t be happier than her time with Heathcliff. 

“It’s not because of someone else, dear Sancho?” Stop…! “It is about me being reckless, yes?” Stop… please…! “Not something else, correct?” Please… this shell is too fragile…

“Sancho,” Rodya stepped into the blonde’s red gaze, “please sweetie, if there’s something bothering you, then get it off your chest.” The princess of the parade smiled, offering infinite warmth to the girl just as she did to all the men, women, and children who watched her procession. “We’re your family—” no… why that word…? “—so we’ll always be here for you.” Grabbing her hand was the weakest thing Rodya could’ve done, like letting a feather fall down without any help…

But it was the most devastating thing to Sancho. Globs of blood so large left her eyes as she couldn’t hold back her wailing sobs anymore. “How do you do it?” If it weren’t midnight, then her voice would never have left the manor they slept in. “How do you live carrying the weight of those you’ve lost?” Just… just how…? How could she continue in this life for centuries without the one and only person she felt a true spark of love with…? 

Oh… that was her question… “I certainly hope you won’t mind, dear Rodya?” The brunette shook her head, knowing full well his exposed and hidden intent as he stepped forward. Picking Sancho up with ease, Don Quixote figured two being in trouble instead of just her would make Outis a tad more lenient. “You simply have to find the strength to do so…” his whispering voice barely made it into her ears since her sobs were quite loud. Not that he cared. She truly deserved to cry like this with how much she bottled everything up… “Even when the world feels as if it’s suffocating you,” Don Quixote sat down on the edge of Rodya’s lavish bed and pushed through the purple curtains with his head and hair. “You can’t ever give up or back down… you must smile.” A gentle hand began stroking her head, the cold fingers weaving through the hair to help her settle down. “Because that’s just what they’d want… Heathcliff would want you to be happy.” 

She pushed her bloodied tears further into her father’s chest, sobbing just as hard as the day she lost Heathcliff… “But how can I…? How can I find the strength to be happy without him…?” Not once, even when she said she was, had Sancho truly felt happy with life. Especially when she stared at the statue… Even with her better life she couldn’t be happy… something she felt absolutely horrid about.

Don Quixote stared down at his daughter without a word. He was petrified. She felt like this all the time…? And never asked for help…? He felt horrible for being oblivious to her pain. Her unending anguish. This was a scar so deep… that he wasn’t sure any dream nor time could fix. If only… if only he hadn’t been convinced to turn her into one of his kindred… then maybe she could live a normal life and die a death in a good 60 years. But no… she had to either live out centuries feeling alone or forfeit her own life to a painful end at the hands of another… He wondered… did he have the heart to end her suffering himself…?

“Sancho.” Raising her dress, Rodya sat down beside their father, “don’t you realize you’re far too old to be crying like a child?” The red eyes of Don Quixote widened as he heard the brunette’s words, “you are an adult, just like everyone else within our family, and have been so for eleven years.” When the man tried to open his mouth, the venomous words that snaked out of her mouth stopped him. “Besides, we all have lost someone we truly cared about,” not a single day went by where she didn’t remember the name Sonya. But his face…? Nothing short of a blur. “And one day you’ll forget everything about him. To the point you may not even remember his name nor wh—”

“Shut your mouth.” The blonde commanded through her tears, glaring at the woman who dared to say such words. “I will never forget Heathcliff.” The utter certainty in her voice would not stand the test of time, just as Don Quixote forgot the names of those who wronged him until he was invited to that dinner of that manor centuries ago. “I am unlike you, Rodion.” Never had anyone but Don Quixote addressed her like that, for it was out of admiration that he addressed his princess as such. But here Sancho was… talking to the much older kindred with disdain on her tongue.

“That will change just as the seasons will eventually blur by,” Rodya glared back at Sancho, her eyes like a viper’s. “For you are not special. Not any more special than a single one of us,” with her father unable to say anything of comfort, Sancho left his freezing embrace. For just as he was shocked by what was bottled within the blonde, he too was frozen by these desperately freezing winds that left Rodya. Did… all of his children suffer like this…?

Sancho’s fist was tightened at her side, nearly summoning her first swimming lance of blood in her hand to make Rodya resent the words she spoke. But she refrained… She’d use what kindness Heathcliff had shown her and smite Rodion with it instead. “But I am… for I have something that none of you ever did…” Those filthy eyes were utterly repugnant to look at, so Sancho turned her back and walked towards the veranda. “And that—” she grabbed the banister before turning to face her father with a whimpering frown, “—is a heart.” With a simple leap, Sancho fell six stories onto the ground. She fell to her knees after landing and remained there for a few moments more for her tears to wheeze.

“Damnit…!” Sancho shouted, her fist tearing against the cobblestone rocks beneath, blood oozing from her quickly formed wound. “Damn them both…!” She… meant that from the bottom of her heart… right? “I’ll never forget… Never!” Her shout reached the two, she was certain of it. Just as certain as the words that would ring true until the day she perished millennia from now. 

Scampering to her feet, Sancho ignored the pain in her legs, finding it to be not even the slightest bit of a roadblock. And so, certain of where she was going, Sancho wandered through the empty amusement park that brought her anything but joy except in one place. Certain that it would bring a smile to her face…

With her red eyes settled upon the bronze of the statue, Sancho tried to smile as Heathcliff’s singular eye stared at her. One morning she’d forget his face? Nonsense. One day her memory would be wiped of his kindness? Absurd. One night Heathcliff would just become another visitor to this grand park of wonders and dreams? Absolutely. Not. 

Even without this statue, Sancho was certain that she would never ever forget Heathcliff. She wouldn’t forget how his kind heart revived her own, saving her not only from the literal brink of death but her mind’s end as well. Even if someone else had saved her… she was certain that no-one else would’ve been able to bring back a heart already rotting.

For only one person… one boy could have ever done that. And she was sitting beside just a faint memory of him… “Do you hear me, Heathcliff…?” She rubbed the hand that Outis said should point to the stars, so that everyone who saw this would dream of the great unknown. “There will never be a day where I forget you,” she huddled herself up against his side, mimicking herself on the other side of the statue. “For it is certainly impossible,” she whispered as her bloody tears ran down the side of the statue’s shoulder, “not with the mark you have left on my life…”

Just as she was certain… that those freezing words… were meant to ignite her frigid heart stuck in that Autumnal night. But neither of them would ever admit that… and she wouldn’t bring it up either. Not when they went to such great lengths… She would… have to apologize to them when the morning sun rose above the clouds.

“Hmm?” With near silent steps, the brunet man with a ponytail running down the length of his back stopped to stare at Sancho. He was right. There were two of her instead of just the one he passed by every night. “What are you doing out here all alone in the cold, Manager-Bud?” Her red eyes shot open, coming to stare at the pale red orbs that belonged to the man who’s right arm was stolen. 

With how short her sleeves were, she’d be reliving the cold of that moonless night all over again… “A—Ah… I am simply… remembering…” Why it was that she chose to become a bloodfiend in the first place… Why it was that she chose to be cared for by these people in the first place… Why it was that she was so lucky to have this life in the first place… Because of Heathcliff. Everything was because of Heathcliff… 

Gregor stepped closer until he crouched in front of her, “whoever it was that Outis helped you design this statue for?” Sancho nodded, smearing her unseen bloody tears against Heathcliff’s fake shoulder, “are you… gonna rough it out here until the morning like this?” Gregor was afraid of this nod, “and I assume you want to be alone…?” The third time made him spew a breath riddled with the smoky ‘sins’ of a priest. “Then here,” pushing his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, Gregor slid the coat off before putting it over Sancho and making sure it wouldn’t fall off. “There, much cozier, right Manager-Bud?” Sancho… nodded, this one making Gregor smile, “good.” With his knees cracking, the old bloodfiend stood up, seeing within her face the eyes of another who had begun to look upon him with scorn before he turned into this. “I pray you don’t catch a cold, Mana… Sancho,” that name should’ve been different considering her face… But that was just an illusion of his tired self. “Goodnight,” without another word from himself, the brunet walked away towards the castle after spending some time ruminating over the dull taste of that crisp red apple…

“Goodnight… Gregor…” If there wasn’t a title for her, then Sancho certainly wouldn’t give one back out of respect. “A—And thank you…” she called out, her tiny voice reaching her family who, just like everyone else, held their emotions on the inside so as to neither harm their father’s dream nor their father himself. Emotions that would be exposed to the sunlight the day after the morrow.

⛪~~~~~~~~⛈️

A week had passed since that moon-less night and Heathcliff found himself irritated the entire time. Not because of the people he was around nor because of a lack of work, until maybe today at least, but because of one thing… That idea of making a grave for Sancho still hanged in his head, swaying about with every second until it would fall like a sword and split his mind in twain… Though, he could definitely say that it was partially embedded in it with the raging headache he held throughout the sunrises and sunsets. 

“Are you sure you’re even up for this?” Ishmael asked, stopping in her tracks to face the brunet nursing his head. Her arms crossed and her lips pressed tight as she frowned at his clear lack of any professionalism. “I mean look at you,” her arm gestured out, her open palm pointing in his direction.

“Huh?” A vein bulged out on his forehead, “the fuck do you mean by ‘at?” By all standards, the two were garbed in the same black breathable and light coat that broke at the bottom of their spines before spreading out into two tails that stopped just a bit below their knees. These tails were embroidered with two letters in nice silver thread B.H. Two letters that stood for their main line of work in sticking it to the red eyed bastards that plagued this blossoming city: Bloodfiend Hunt. Or, better coined by Ryoushuu, Blood Hunt, for that’s what they did whenever they either caught wind of some traces or were assigned to a job. For they systematically tracked down each monster that carried this Blood and Hunted them until erasure. So far, their biggest takedown together was a Second Kindred. 

Going down their arms were sleeves braced with a lightweight metal that helped them both tank bites from bloodfiends and their creations of blood. The same metal coated their equally dark chests and pants, making them blend in with the nights they hunted on. Even if a pale moonlight coated them, their clothing would absorb it and attempt to match the tone of the light casting down on them. It was some hoighty-toighty fancy shite that he only understood because of seeing it in action dozens of times and not because he understood the blithering science behind it.

Nor did he understand how that weapon lazily slung across his back worked. All he knew about it was that it was a large club, a bat he preferred, that he’d been given after designing it with Hong Lu. For the weapons, everyone’s weapon minus Ryoushuu’s odachi, were designed by their boss and the one receiving it before his family made it and delivered it over to wherever it was they were staying. His bat was long, sleek, and lightweight yet sturdy. Sturdy enough for one of his strongest swings to clash against a Second Kindred’s blade before beating it and swinging their head clean off. With his strength though, without the undulating and rotating spikes that came from a press of a trigger, he could take the head off of any damn bloodfiend or human if he so wanted to. It was a fine weapon that had saved his ass and their group quite a lot. 

Point of it was, that between their outfits and how they carried themselves, there was damn near nothing different between them. The only difference being how her spear, with a rotating head and sharp wings to help burrow into a body, was slung properly on her back. “Well… I mean a lot but I’ll try to be brief with my list.” Ishmael cleared her throat, “you reek of sweat and cigarettes from last night’s training session with Shu. Your hair is a mess and sticking out like a cow licked it. Your slouching form is a clear lack of respect. Your breath carrying an undertone of whiskey won’t make us look good as representatives. Your weapon being loose enough to swing and hit someone. And the way you look irritated.” Oh. He wondered why? Clearly it was because of this meeting and not her stupid little nitpicks.

His violet eye crackled with electricity as a storm of lightning rolled into it, “‘oo gives a fuck? ” Heathcliff asked, taking a step closer to Ishmael as his fist tightened, thirsting to grab the bat and bash her damn head in. “Little miss oh everything just neeeeeds to be perfect,” his voice took on a mocking falsetto as he raised his hands to make fun of her.

“Oh hah hah,” Ishmael rolled her hazel eyes, not finding Heathcliff irritating enough to stoop down to his level. “You’re what, 29? Yet you still act this childish?” Her dry tone pissed him off even further as she continued to look down upon him.

“And you’re what, 73 trying to pass off as a 30 year old?” Ishmael’s eyes narrowed, finding his coincidental, childish jab to be annoying. “Maybe you should act your age you with—” too many coincidences led her to believe either Shu or Hong Lu blabbed a bit too much about her. 

“You continue with that and I swear, Heath,” her finger pointed menacingly at him, “you won’t like it.” He smirked, letting her know what was coming beforehand.

“What? Something wrong with being called a withered bitch?” Her eyes narrowed, glaring daggers that tore through the strengthened cloth like butter. “What, gonna cry? Maybe have a little la—” Ishmael did warn him. And so, despite him blocking her jab, Ishmael grabbed him by the hair and tugged upon it with the other hand. “Sonuva!” Shooting forward, one of his hands reached around and grabbed her by the ponytail before trying to rip her hair like she was doing.

“I am not that withered bitch!” Her voice rose, nearly coming to a shout as her free fist slammed into his inner elbow, breaking both his grip and the fully bent arm in one blow. Then, in a blind rage, she performed the same strike that took down the red-eyed cunt. However, without a spear in hand, she didn’t take off his jaw with her strike that tried to knock him right out and onto his ass. As much as he tried to, Heathcliff couldn’t properly fight back. That strike damn near shattered his brain with how the world began to spin. All he could do was hope that she’d stop after seeing how pathetic he was…

And she did. Not because it was Heathcliff she saw, but the cowering woman she had once loved. The one that mindlessly covered her face when Ishmael kicked down that cabin door to let light flood the dark room. It was… the same pose that she made after that withered bitch turned her and almost everyone in the crew into one of her thralls. “H—Heath…!” The moment she let go of his hair, Ishmael reached forward to grab him by the arm and help him stand. “I—I’m so—”

Heathcliff’s violet eye burned with hatred as he was lowered into one of the seats nearby, “just shut the fuck up.” His muttering whisper broke her sentence and any other words that would form. So, with a nod, she unhitched his harness and set the weapon beside him before letting him lean back into the chair.

On his right, the door to the meeting room they were supposed to enter in three minutes opened, causing one of the meeting leaders to come out and look over at the duo. “The Blood Hunters I presume?” The man’s eyes wandered to Heathcliff who looked downright unreasonable to talk to, and why shouldn’t he be…? Well… he kinda brought it upon himself actually…

“Yes…” Ishmael softly spoke, her breath barely reaching the graying man, “but um, if you don’t mind, can my colleague stay out here for a bit? He sort of…” the man who she believed was hiring them looked at her right hand’s raw knuckles, “needs a little break.” His violet eye glared over at Ishmael for a moment as she made it look like it was his fault for this. It was. But that wasn’t the fucking point to him.

“Of course, we were the ones who called you here after all,” the graying man said, inviting Ishmael inside the meeting room after shaking her hand. “Do join us whenever you’re feeling up to it mister…” Heathcliff didn’t give his answer, not with how much it hurt to move his damn jaw.

“Heathcliff,” Ishmael said, stepping into the room to see three more men at the head of the table, “thank you for having us sirs.” She bowed towards the three before the door closed, leaving whatever proceedings occurring in there to be unknown to the brunet. 

When his vision straightened, Heathcliff brought a hand up to his tender jaw. Just touching the reddened spot made it feel as if the bone was gonna shatter on the spot. Fuckin’ arse had a bloody mean right hook on ‘er. “Sonuva fuckin’ cunt…” the absolute tiniest portions of his fingertips made him seethe with pain. All he said were two words. Two fucking words… And for that she tried to ruin the way he spoke for the rest of his life. 

As he continued to wince, the brunet recalled a night where he happened to mention Wuthering Heights and how that out of all the demonic bitches there, there was only one angel among them that had been forced out. Hong Lu, having his ears assaulted by a rather excessive amount of cheering, only heard ‘withering’ and ‘bitch,’ to which he said never to say that around Ishmael alongside a warning. 

So… if anything this entire punch was his own fault… Fuck. “I’m the one that gets my ass beat an’ now I’ve gotta go save ‘er arse,” he whispered under his breath. “You see how big a crock o’ shite that is, Sancho?” He asked while looking over at the bat he grabbed. Standing up, he felt a tad dizzy, but it blew over quickly, allowing him to walk to the door and knock on it. 

“Join us,” one of the men inside said, causing the dark skinned brunet to walk inside. There were four men, including the graying one they saw before. A blue haired woman with lighter blue eyes, another gray haired man with a mustache and shut eyes, and finally, at the head of the table… was a man that looked like an older Hindley… Of course, he was the one who had to look away in disgust for a moment, not that he gave a shite. “So, Miss Ishmael’s colleague,” the man at the head of the table stared into his grizzled visage lined with scars. “Would you mind explaining what kept you?” It was the same man who looked down on him that spoke… perfect. 

“The broad gave me this beautiful shiner,” he tapped his chin, showing not even a single flinch. “One punch too.” In her seat, Ishmael wanted to melt into a puddle of nothing and die right there out of embarrassment. Not because of obviously losing this client, but because she’d have to return to Hong Lu and Shu with her head completely down because of this moron she confidently said could take either of their places… “Ya see, we had a little scuffle and she punched my ass like I was a damn bloodfiend. Hell, if she decided to use ‘er weapon,” his knuckles wrapped against the door behind him. “Then there woulda been a shite load o’ blood, a damn hole three feet wide in the wall, and a corpse to take care of.” 

“What is this point you’re trying to get at?” Ishmael… furrowed her brows in surprise. Heathcliff had never taken initiative like this in any of the meetings he was present for. Either Hong Lu or Ishmael herself did… which was why she brought him along. 

“What I’m gettin’ at is that we will strike these bastards with all we’ve got,” he grabbed his hurt jaw and tilted his head to crack it. “No matter ‘ow many of the fuckers you want us to kill,” he walked forward, his heavy steel toed boots thudding against the floor, “we’ll exterminate e’ry last one with just as much ferocity.” That… was a phenomenal sales pitch. And all spawned from a punch? Wow… he was ridiculously smart… Or maybe he’d been turned incredibly smart by the punch…

Either way, it seemed that because of him, they were given the contract to exterminate the head of a family in retribution for his dead son in district 16. A contract to take place during midday a week from today. Great, barely enough time to get their shite together and get shipped out. 

So, with the news of their contract in mind, and Ishmael’s hand since there were physical papers, the two began their return. Though, there wasn’t a word spoken between the two. Not until Ishmael broke it halfway into their train ride back. “I’m s—”

“And I said to shut the fuck up,” Heathcliff rebutted immediately, seemingly prepared to speak since the moment they left that room. “I said that shite so I deserved it,” his eyes stared out at the dark tunnel their train went through. “So if anything, I’m gonna be the one apologizing,” Ishmael stared up at the person she still thought had been the ten year old boy they took in. But no. Heathcliff was 29 inside and out. The capable and dependable man that he was…

“Really…?” Ishmael looked out the window as their scenery flashed with momentary light, “even though I slugged you like that?” Looking over, the redhead looked at Heathcliff who certainly looked like he couldn’t care less. 

“Sure,” Heathcliff rubbed his sore chin, “gonna be a damn shiner that’s for sure.” But…

But that certainly didn’t give her the right to just hit anyone who reminded her of Ahab like that. No, not at all. “What do you want?” 

Knitting, the partially scarred brow fell and the intact one rose, “the ‘ell do you mean by that?” If anything, he maybe wanted some ice, some booze too… “Scratch that stupid as shite question, Red. Six pack o’ my favorite beer and a bottle of whiskey.” 

Ishmael was sort of surprised. Didn’t he want revenge for what she’d done? “Same as last night’s?” 

His sharp teeth shimmered in the daylight the train tunneled out of, “you know it.” 

The hazel eyes rolled as if they were traveling downhill, “that stuff’s absolute crap.” Crossing her arms and re-crossing her legs, Ishmael continued. “So what say I splurge and get something nice and smooth for all of us?”

“Ish?” Heathcliff’s eye peered over at her, “you’re a bloody saint.” With the goal in mind, Ishmael did just that and those who wanted to enjoy it got the chance to do so. 

A shot to their success. A shot to the deaths of their enemies. A shot… to the death of the Manchegans.

🎠~~~~~~~~🩸

With a lance of blood created by Outis, Sancho charged forward, “thou shan’t take thy princess back!” She shouted, pushing the heavy weapon forward into the ‘Hero’s’ shield, “for she shalt become my—” she pierced through it, making this instance the first time the villain had ever won during one of her father’s shows. “—bride?” Jabbing the ‘Hero,’ Sancho couldn’t contain her surprise when blood spilled from her father’s lips.

“A—Ah…” Don Quixote’s face was stunned, the fake expression making everyone believe that he truly was stabbed with the blunt lance. “Th—Thou hath bested a hero…” his crumbling knees broke, sending him crashing to the ground to kneel before the villain. “Thy… villainy… shalt be ended one day…” he began to fall backwards, condemning his princess to a fate of evil deeds from Sancho, “cur…” And with the hero’s early death… the curtains fell upon their story, leading to a few boos amidst the applause.

“Fa—Father!” Sancho dropped the lance and ran over to Don Quixote’s side, “are yo—” The man suddenly rose as she crouched beside him.

“Of course I am,” his hand rose, the cold skin resting upon Sancho’s head, “I wouldst never allow mine sons or daughters to rend mine flesh asunder.” With a smile, the man with dulled golden hair stood, “but thy worry toward me makes my heart burn aflutter.” Red paint adorned her face, her cuteness betraying the rather villainous outfit she’d volunteered to wear every Sunday night for their show. “Now, if it isn’t much of an issue, I need thee to join me right now.” If not for the urgency in his tone, Sancho would’ve chastised her father for making her fret like that. 

“What is the issue?” Looking at her father’s earpiece, Sancho wondered just what it could be that he was hearing.

“It seems that there is a visitor within our castle,” Don Quixote didn’t even bother switching out of the outfit he wore, once being the coat of a general that fought in a long and arduous war that took the lives of many. “A harbinger of doom supposedly…” Seeing as he was hurrying, Sancho followed behind him, doing just as he did in staying in his general’s coat. Her outfit was rather similar though nothing more than a mockery of his own. It was designed to be disheveled, telling a subtle story of downfall that plagued the rotten villain’s life, making her turn out that way. While the hero did try to help her, the villain always refused until she was killed out of mercy by the hero. Sancho wanted to believe it was nothing but a story… but it could've entirely been real knowing her father. 

“What do you mean by that?” Not even the hunters that occasionally tried to illegally kill them brought such language out of Don Quixote’s mouth. But this random person, this stranger, was a threat to them? “Should I summon Rodya, Outis, and Gregor?”

“No, dear Sancho,” the man spoke as they exited through the backstage and into the underbelly of the amusement park through a hidden door, allowing them the swiftest possible access to their home. “If they prove to be violent, then my might alone shalt handle them. So worry not my daughter,” a warm smile met Sancho as they walked below the park. “Neither harm nor oblivion shall fall upon us tonight.” Don Quixote was certain of that, but information was different… Especially if whoever their guest was came from those who ran either the district or the ones ruling over this City…

This confidence filling Don Quixote waned when he was met with that same face that allowed him to even create such a place in this district. The blue haired woman sat in a chair with two large swords upon her hip and a bloodfiend forced to the ground beside him. It was… a random bloodfiend. One that Sancho didn’t recognize from their gathering 11 days ago. She knew entirely well that Don Quixote had not missed a single child during their round up to announce to them about revealing whatever it was they held inside. He wished for them to share his pain with him and not spare a single feeling… It was… counseling of sorts, so Sancho wasn’t allowed to be there. Counseling that wasn’t anywhere near halfway done…

“Ah,” the woman stood up at the sound of their footsteps into the room, “so you finally grace me with your presence.” Turning his back on the bloodfiend, the blue haired woman with a smirk turned to face Don Quixote in his own ‘throne’ room, which was simply a bedroom. 

“Doth thou mind cutting to the chase? I’d rather not let the fear thy presence brings propagate further within my child’s minds.” The woman standing across from Don Quixote loved their dealings together. For neither of them wasted time. 

“Then, to get straight to the point, this ‘child’ of yours consumed the son of a company in district 11.” The woman’s claim was met with a blank expression from Don Quixote and a shocked step from Sancho. 

“No-one in our family would ever go against our father’s wish!” There was anger in that step too, enough to make her hair lift as the latent blood in the walls and floors began to stir. “So do not accu—" a bloody lance flashed out, effortlessly blocking the sword aimed for his daughter. 

“Bari.” Don Quixote quietly and calmly said as he glared down at the woman with a grand smile. “Do not strike my family unless it is death that thou wish to court.” Her father… really held nothing back when he was serious. 

She laughed, sheathing the blade before returning back to her position beside the other bloodfiend. “Then you’ll kill me if I touch this one?”

“N—No,” Sancho spoke up as she shook, doing so once more as her voice rose in her father’s place. “Whoever that is has never been a member of our family…!” Don Quixote didn’t speak, as if he was taking the blame for this man who never lived with them. Which made Sancho quite a bit… angry.

“Fa—Father don’t let he—” whoever this bloodfiend was shouldn’t have ever opened his mouth. 

Not unless he wanted his tongue torn from it. “The name of the Manchegans shan’t ever belong to a Seventh Kindred to the Alucards.” At their side, Don Quixote held the writhing forked tongue that told nothing but lies.

“So you knew as well?” Bari asked, fluidly drawing her blade before holding it above the Seventh Kindred’s neck. 

“Of course. I am familiar with all the families within the surrounding districts, including that one woman family…” That bloodthirsty woman ran against his ideals to such a disgusting degree. “But thy family hath caused trouble to mine own for centuries…” his red eyes glowed bright as they glared down. 

“Well,” Bari sliced down, causing the man’s head to roll, “they’ve caused even more trouble.” She didn’t want to flick this vile blood around out of respect for this man who had dueled her once before. 

“In what capacity doth thou speak, Bari?”

She sheathed the blade and headed for the door, “they were able to get that company to hire one hundred and twelve veteran hunters to come here in three days during the morning.” Well… that was certainly a lot. Any incidents that had occurred in the past 19 years consisted of groups hailing no more than five members each. So for an entire 112 to be deployed, and on a false charge no less, was more insane than anything she’d experienced. “Do your best to stay alive,” Bari grabbed the door, “because I’d like to see where you end up one day, kid.” And then, just as quick as she arrived, Bari left.

Don Quixote wasn’t the recipient of her statement? Why…? All she did was be protected by her father… “Haah…” The warm breath made the blonde girl freeze…

A sigh was quite unlike her father, so Sancho looked up, still trembling a little from that sword slash that nearly ended her life. “Father… is there anything I can do to alleviate your stress?” 

“Yes.” Don Quixote placed his hand on her head, “I’d like for you to leave and star—” Like lightning, her hand grabbed his wrist and pulled it up. 

“I will do no such thing, father!” Her voice echoed through the chamber, bouncing around the empty room until it entered Don Quixote’s head thrice. 

“Thou doth not know how to fight, dear Sancho,” the man spoke, cupping her chin as tears began to well within her eyes. “I wish for nothing but thy safety, so please… do not fight me upon this.” 

But Sancho would not leave her family behind… not when the second testament to his existence laid within the center of this park. “You will have to cripple me to take me away from here, father.” An impossible task… damnit.

“My daughter I am begging thee,” Don Quixote spoke, his voice wavering a little. “I do not wish to see thee hurt,” this was entirely because she still couldn’t manipulate blood, wasn’t it?

“Then I’ll ask Miss Outis to create me another weapon!” The tears fell, the bloody orbs hitting the ground as she expressed her anger. “I’ll even fight with that blunt weapon if I have to!” Her fists boiled with rage, the nails digging into her palms to draw even more blood from her body. “I will not leave here, father.” The determination on her face wasn’t something to be stopped, no. How could he stop her when she held the same ambition that he had when trying to create this family.

“Thou… art testing my patience,” Don Quixote spoke, the imposing voice trying to strike some sense into the daughter who never once deluded herself. Not even when it concerned Heathcliff… “so please, I wish not to force my hand.” Swirling around him, the faded golden locks became full once more as the rising glowing blood forced color into them. Like the heads of a hydra, which the hero had fought on a few occasions, the blood formed into several lances ‘ready’ to strike down his blonde daughter. “Leave, Sancho. I will not ask again.” The red glowing of his eyes struck fear into anyone and everyone that faced him, even some of his children before they were to witness his despairing. 

“I have said, and will continue to say,” Sancho stood firm, her courageous heart not allowing her to tremble within the presence of her father filled to the brim with delusional, fake threats. “Thou wilt hath to force mine hand.” Blonde hair began to rise, the thick strands standing with the pressure she exuded from below her hands.

Without another word, Don Quixote struck forth, the lances piercing through blood… But it wasn’t hers. No. They both knew full well that Don Quixote would never willingly bring harm unto his children, even if they clearly deserved punishment. Which was why, even when a few strands of her hair were sliced through, Sancho didn’t flinch. Why would she ever be afraid when she had something so near and dear to her heart to fight for?

“Thou wilt not leave?” 

“No. I would never dare turn tail and run away from my family,” Sancho’s red eyes sparkled, filling with the same look when she dreamed as a child. But no longer could she dream… not when they no longer existed for her… “Not from the one I considered as family and certainly not from the family who have treated me with nothing but kindness currently.” So…

“If that is what thou believeth… then I shan’t stop thee…” Don Quixote’s lances broke as he shut his eyes, returning to the ground to make the floor smooth. “However, thou shalt not stray from mine side when the day arriveth. Understood, dear Sancho?” As clear as the bond of blood between them was. “Very well… then I must ask thee one more thing…” He began to walk past Sancho until he reached the door, “all of thee.” Dissolving the crystallized door caused three distinct bloodfiends to fall forward. First Gregor, then Outis, and finally Rodya; “do not let this information spread beyond this room. No-one except us shalt know the reason for our shut down of La Manchaland until the night before. Understood?” As clear as the glasses that Gregor wore.

⛈️~~~~~~~~🎠

Today was the day… Today was the day that La Manchaland would be razed to the ground. The lives of every bloodfiend within these grounds would become a testament as to never defile humanity again as their corpses shimmered in the cold, pale moonlight. 

Today was the day… Today was the day that La Manchaland was supposed to be razed to the ground. The lives of every bloodfiend within these grounds would survive past today and live to see the moonlight in full glory tonight.

But for that to even happen… they’d need to kill every last monster on the opposing side.

“Father,” Sancho looked up, bracing the heavy lance created by him against the ground by its pommel, “must we stay all the way back here?” She had expected for them to be on the frontlines, fighting off the hunters near the gates since his might would utterly eviscerate them.

“Oi,” Heathcliff looked at the flowing black hair in front of him, the heavy bat braced against his shoulder, “why the ‘ell aren’t we going above the sidewalls?” Since they’d surveyed both the blueprints given to them through the Head and the land itself, they should’ve joined the rest of the hunters in scaling the walls.

“Isn’t it obvious, oh sweet child of mine?” Sancho glared at him for saying something as corny as that, “the strongest should always protect the weak.” Don Quixote was most certainly including her along with the numerous children he had deemed too weak to fight and thus were in the castle that was at their backs.

“Isn’t it obvious, oh dear Heath~” The brunet winced in discontent at him for saying something as weird as that, “the strongest should be the ones walking through their most guarded point.” Hong Lu most certainly expected their greatest point of resistance to be found right after they went through these turnstiles.

“Ah… I guess that makes sense…” Sancho and Heathcliff said at the same time, feeling shivers run down their spines as they did.

“Art thou scared?” Don Quixote’s red eyes looked her over, noticing the slight goosebumps coating her arms, “worry not, for thy father shan’t let a single foe come near thee!” His booming declaration was heard throughout the park, coming to rest upon the minds of his children that were sharing the same fear as Sancho. But she narrowed her eyes at Don Quixote.

“What? Feeling spooked by red-eyes, Heath?” Ishmael asked, shallowly and weakly jabbing him in the goosebump covered arm with her elbow.

“D.N.W,” Rysouhuu plucked the cigarette from her lips and tossed it to the wayside, hoping for the bloody gateway to catch fire. “Y.A.S.S, moron,” the man narrowed his eyes at Ishmael then Ryoushuu.

“That’s not it… I’m not scared… ” There that chill was again, sending sparks through each individual vertebrae. “I’m just… feeling weird, y’know?” It was odd… strange even. 

Why did she…

Why did he…

… feel this way when nothing was happening?

Was it a sense of impending, looming doom that struck fear into her?

Was it the feeling that things were just too simple and quiet that made him uneasy?

Or… was it something else…? 

Something… impossible to explain…?

“Oh? Is that all, Heath?~” Hong Lu asked, his cyan eye glimmering with hope and warmth, “then I’ll say this.” It wasn’t hard for him to tell, not when he knew all three of these people around him for at least nineteen years. “Each one of us feels just as weird as you do. Don’t you know that Shu would be smoking like crazy if she were confident? Or that Ishmael would berate you if she were calm?” He… was entirely right… these two had never once done this around him. Which was why his violet eye shot open, staring at the three’s insurmountable backs that didn’t buckle under the pressure they felt. 

“This is the single largest operation we’ve ever done,” Hong Lu jumped the turnstile, followed by Ishmael and Ryoushuu right after. “And I’m afraid that I might lose the ones I love,” he turned his back to stare at Heathcliff. “But I know that we’ll make it through this, just as we always have.” He held out his hand, waiting for the brunet to take it, “so come, Heath~ We cannot win without you~” 

“Verily?” Don Quixote asked, his fiery red eyes shining with worry and despair, “truth be told, all of us feel the same.” Even if he never truly knew his children he knew one thing. And that was they all were afraid of dying… and thus losing their dreams. “To lose hold of our dreams means the loss of ourselves… Rodion had once uttered unto me a wish where no-one would ever have to go as hungry as she had been when I met her. The same could be said for Gregor and Outis, where they wished to never forget those they loved in their lives before Rodya found them.” The three… all had dreams like she did…? Then… surely they all still had them… right…?

“These dreams…” Don Quixote’s saddened crimson eyes stared straight into the blotted blur of the sun in the murky gray sky. “But they hath assuredly been lost to time… And so they march forth… not knowing the purpose of why they were created.” A single tear fell from his eye as he recalled their sessions over the past few days. Another tear fell as his left palm opened, “and it is for that reason which I wish for them to live… So that I may attempt to once again reignite the dream that once burned so brightly in their hearts after this ordeal.” There was a staggeringly chilling inhale he took, “and I fear that may not be possible without thee, Sancho… For thy dream burns ever so bright within thy heart… that I believe it shall provide the light for them to return to their paths once more…”

Heathcliff reached forward, taking the hand that needed him for every step of the way.

Sancho stepped forth, grabbing the hand that couldn’t walk straight without her.

And for that, they both received a smile, one that sent a third shiver through their bodies… But it didn’t concern either of them any longer…

“Alright,” leaping over, Heathcliff’s boots landed within the grounds of La Manchaland, more than ready to exterminate every last bloodfiend within as Hong Lu let go, “I get it. I’m yer bloody good luck charm,” he looked around, his gut telling him that there were bloodfiends hiding on his right. But there was something else his gut was telling him too… Which was why he swung his bat overhead, setting off the tripwire that would’ve volleyed spears of blood through Ishmael’s body had she taken three steps more. “See? What’d I tell ya blokes?”

“I understand, father,” her hand squeezed his own, the strength that left her being rather surprising. “Which is why I still believe we should help them from the frontlines instead of being stuck here.” Her mind was certain of something that her father was seemingly oblivious to… “My brothers and sisters in there will be entirely capable of protecting themselves, father.” She pulled forward, hoping to bring her steadfast father along with her… but no. It was his eyes landing upon the walls of La Manchaland that made him move forward. For there were people up there, something he hadn’t taken into account with how high the walls were. “Father?” Sancho asked as she herself was pulled along, “where are…” She saw them too and gained the same idea he did. They were going to pincer their family that were clogged up at the entrance…  

————

With a swing of his bat, Heathcliff broke the arm. And with a pull of the trigger he sliced right through it, causing it and its filthy blood to jettison forward before he kicked its owner to the ground. Without a hint of remorse in his eyes for the fearful monster shedding crocodile tears, Heathcliff bashed his head in, crushing it under his bat. “Whew…” wiping his brow of blood mixed sweat, the brunet looked around, until he saw both a fire in the distance and a pack of bloodfiends overwhelming Ishmael. Rushing forward, Heathcliff would’ve had his bat crash into the man’s shoulder if a brunette woman hadn’t swung her parasol at him from outside his field of vision. A bloody crystal stabbed into his shoulder, breaking clean through the coat he wore. And it would’ve gone further had there not been a scabbard holding it back.

“S.F.M,” Ryoushuu’s red eyes glared into the brunette’s, shooting icy needles into her, “seven o’clock.” Really?

Pulling himself down, Heathcliff made blood gush out of his freed shoulder before twisting upon his heel. To his enjoyment, Ryoushuu was right, allowing his bat to scrape the ground as it rose towards the pair of scissors threatening to slice through them both. “Broken?” The bloodfiend spoke from behind the corvid mask, “such brute strength…” Heathcliff rushed forward as the subsuming blood took his own into its expanse before reforming into the scissor blade. But it was too late, Heathcliff was ready to crush her hea—

“Just in time,” a brown haired bloodfiend spoke as his bloody whip wrapped around Heathcliff’s bat and pulled it to the left, freeing him up to allow his bloodfiend friend to kill the man with a… violet eye…?  

But that wouldn’t stop him, nothing short of death would. Using the force pulling him left, Heathcliff forced his lower half into the air to kick the blade away once more. And, with a thrusting stomp down, he pushed the blade into its new spot, nearly breaking the blade as he landed on top of it. Pulling on his bat, Heathcliff exuded more strength than the other brunet, pulling the frail looking man towards him as he mindlessly held onto his whip. Reeling back, the violet-eyed man shot his left fist forward, “Hea—” Whatever it was the bloodfiend was about to say was cut off by Heathcliff destroying his jaw and easily knocking him out.

“Gregor!” The brunette cried out as she fought toe to toe with Ryoushuu, “do not let him be killed, Outis!” A command that she wasn’t certain she could follow when this cyan-eyed man looked Gregor dead on into his mask.

“Heath,” the two bloodfiends were stunned for a moment, knowing that was the name of the boy Sancho talked so dearly about. “Come with me,” Hong Lu rushed right past Outis, much more concerned with the fire raging in the distance. They’d been told specifically not to ruin the park, so what were these stupid hunters doing?! “Ish, cover him now!”

“With pleasure,” she said as she bashed the woman with a red streak in her hair in the shoulder using a shield she didn’t carry with her to the meeting. “Get going, R.E! Shu and I have this,” she thrust her spear forward, but clashed against the metal of her scissor blade. Right… as much as he didn’t want to, Heath had to follow Hong Lu’s order, which was why he ran.

They continued until they ran headfirst into a crowd of ten, “V.O, I.G.T.” Hong Lu spoke, picking from an extensive list of SANGRIA that Ryoushuu taught him and thus he taught to the rest. 

“You sure?” 

“Ah hah, are you doubting your mentor, Heath?” No… but it felt scummy to leave him like this, “now get going and put that fire out, alright?~” With a nod, the duo ran forward, their weapons poised to kill these monsters. However, with a flip, Hong Lu slammed the blunt side of his hammer into the base of Heathcliff’s raised foot and lifted him up… before swinging him upward.

Now in the air, the few bloodfiends that watched Heathcliff got their heads crushed by Hong Lu’s light hammer. Just as ordered, Heathcliff vaulted over the pack of ten because Hong Lu had this, and landed like a cat before continuing on his path. He’d have to put this damn fire out in order to make it up to Hong Lu… And so, he eventually stepped onto grass… for the fire was in a garden filled to the brim with flowers. A field of chrysanthemums, rows of poppies, even… a patch of violet heath… Good taste… albeit not the blood drenched part. 

He looked to a few of his fellow hunters, all of them impaled up—It was with a sickening crash of fluid, obviously being blood, that Heathcliff was forced to look towards with his weapon raised. It was in the middle of a field of smoking flowers that were once on fire and smothered by the blood from… the… bloodfiend… A bloodfiend with… the same blonde hair…

————

Sancho smelled something odd amidst this repugnant human blood her face and body were coated in. Something… like… char? She turned on her heel, knowing that her father would be more than capable of covering it against the thirty or so hunters trying to subdue them. Her crimson eyes widened with fear as she saw smoke arise from there. The garden… Flowers that had been delicately transplanted from behind La Manchaland and put into here so that Sancho herself may enjoy tending to it more easily alongside her family. 

“Sancho this is a battlefield,” Don Quixote’s lance easily pushed the whirring blade down, chipping it against the stone with the force behind him, “thou must concentrate lest thy life be taken!” But she wasn’t listening, not when it could’ve easily been that patch of heath that was burning. “Sancho! Pay atte—” She took off running, effortlessly bringing the lance with her as she sprinted. “Hey!” With his eyes focused on her, Don Quixote missed the halberd that swung into his shoulder. “Get back here, Sancho!” Blood tougher than steel rose from his wound, easily stopping and pushing the halberd out of himself before sending the shaft right back into the man’s head, crushing it.

But she wouldn’t listen… No… She’d rather commit an act of filial impiety before ever letting that patch of flowers she fell into as a child burn down. Which was why she hauled herself over there in seven minutes flat, rushing past every last hunter that got in her way. That was until she got to the garden. There, the ones who started the first fire had started several more, and were currently in the process of starting another… planning to burn that patch of heath. That violet heath.

“What is it you try to accomplish here?” Sancho asked, her eyes beaming with hatred and disgust at these monsters destroying her home… trampling her memories. “Is it the senseless destruction of life over a false accusation?” Her hair began to rise as the blood making up her lance began to undulate. “Or is it because you take pride and joy in decimating what the innocent have created?” 

“There’s nothing innocent about you bloodsucking monsters,” Sancho laughed at the man’s words as the bloody lance began to melt. 

“Funny. Because from where you stand—” she rose off the ground, the melted blood assisting her as more of it poured from her body. Standing upon a platform of bloody petals, Sancho waved her hand forward as the glow in her eyes subsumed all within its thirsting scarlet. From the base of her platform several vines burst out and ensnared the three hunters who burned down a lifetime of memories. “—you three are nothing more than filthy creatures undeserving of the world's glory.” The vines crept up, effortlessly piercing their legs before traveling into the bodies, turning their veins into crystals as they rose. Like stakes being forced through their bodies, several branches of blood spread out as the singular vine pierced through their brains and begun to flourish. 

The branches that spread out had become just like that patch of heath, sprouting heads of petals upon them as Sancho lowered herself to the ground. Her eyes stared in despair at the burning patch of roses, most of them being pink, in front of her. “Do not fret little ones… for thy spirits shall soon find their way into the warm bosom of the beyond.” Something that she herself wouldn’t find unless that was her fate for today. And so, with a swipe of her hand, the bloody platform washed forward, swamping the fire and putting it out. In its wake was left a field of bloody crystal roses with thorns to prevent others from picking them. 

She looked up, finding another field of flowers on fire… right beside the corpses of a few of her decapitated family members… Two tears fell, one for each brother and sister… “Your bodies… will become something beautiful, Alex, Yui.” With blood rising above her, she willed it to come crashing forward onto their corpses and the fire. Their blood was consumed reducing them to nothing but pure gray ash and beautiful crystallized xeranthemums to replace the field that was destroyed. She took a few steps forward but her eyes saw something through the smoke… something… violet… something… downhill… Something that… her heart fell for…

Chapter Text

There… within the colorless sky… marked by smoke… stood an angel… one with feathery wings made of shimmering light.

In front of me… standing upon the colorful violet petals below… hovered a ghost of my past… one with the intent to haunt me.

And the angel…

And the ghost…

Spoke to me…

“Su—Surely…” Sancho staggered downward, the platform of blood she rode upon breaking without her concentration to keep it up.

“Su—Surely…” Heathcliff’s legs felt like jelly as he stepped forward, the muscles within them wanting to break down as he continued to look.

“… I’m dreaming…?” They both asked, their voices filled with the same degree of absurdity as they looked at one another.

“Sancho…?” Heathcliff’s voice quivered along with his lips as he stared at the orange eyed blonde girl that died of starvation nineteen years ago.

“Heathcliff…?” Sancho’s voice trembled alongside her body as she stared into the violet eye brunet boy that died from a bear attack nineteen years ago.

“Ar—Are you real…?” They each stepped forward, coming to look at one another as they did on that night with a full moon… For their eyes reclaimed the very stars as they stared at one another.

But… such stars began to dim… for the facades of the children began to break away… dissolving into flowing water.

Heathcliff’s dark jacket coated in blood… his vicious bat already whetted with crimsons and scarlets… the numerous scars covering what little skin he showed…

Sancho’s dark-blue jacket was free of blood… her ruby-red lance chipped and stained with bright arterial blood… the red eyes that shone like bloody beacons within the dark nights…

“Yo—You…”

“You’re a damn bloodfiend…?!” He couldn’t believe it…

“You’re a nasty hunter…!?” She couldn’t understand it…

Sancho had become one of these disgusting bloodsuckers… with how innocent and naive she was…? Was she tricked into this life of filth…?

Heathcliff had become one of these murderous hunters… with how kind and comforting he was…? Was he forced into this life of evil…?

“Why? Why are you like this?!” Their weapons, both held tight in their white knuckles right fists, flashed out to the side, cutting the grass they stood upon.

“What in the bloody ‘ell happened to you, Sancho?!”

“What devil from hell has possessed you, Heathcliff?!”

She…

He…

… dared to ask such questions…? Really…?

How… how could she?

How… how could he?

“That blood on your lance…” Heathcliff couldn’t take his eye off of it the moment he noticed…

“That blood on your bat…” Sancho wasn’t able to take her eyes away the second she saw it…

“… it’s from my family… isn’t it…?” Their eyes opened wide, both of them disgusted by that word the other dared to use… Family…? They… replaced one another with a new family…?

How… ho—how could he…?

How… ho—how could she…?

“Sancho…” Heathcliff’s eye looked right into her own, the violet eye recognizing that this was the single girl he fell in love with…

“Heathcliff…” Sancho’s eyes looked right into the two eyes he had, the sangria eyes understanding that this was the only boy she fell in love with.

“… you’ve become a monster…” they were both drowning in the misery the other’s words brought… in the misery that they themselves carried… Misery that stabbed them through the throats… staking them in their place.

“I—I’ve become a monster…?” Heathcliff asked, stepping forward at her pitiful accusation. “Last I checked I don’t go around fuckin’ drinking human blood!”

“Dr—Drinking—The Manchegans haven’t done such a thing in a century!” Sancho shouted as she stepped forward. “Never have I even wanted to taste a single drop!”

Never… bu—but… “Don’t lie to me, Sancho!” Not one bloodfiend out of the hundreds could stave off their hunger for human blood. Never. Period.

“Why would I ever lie to you, Heathcliff!” She shouted back, her eyes too dry to fill with tears. How could he ever claim she was lying…? Did he really have zero trust in her…?

“Because that’s just what you’ve become, all damned bloodfiends lie!” She… she became a liar…? But how…? He hadn’t known her for nineteen years…

“You… you’re just evil…!” He… he was evil…? But how…? She knew nothing of what he’d done and experienced throughout these nineteen years…

“Then if I’m evil,” Heathcliff poked his chest with his left hand, “if I’m a monster… come on then,” he stepped forward, raising his bat, “kill me, Sancho!” She… what…?

She’d… she’d have to do what…? “Fine!” Sancho stepped forward, raising her lance, “I suppose I shall!” They both walked until they were within range… and when they were they swung their weapons at one another.

“Is that all you’ve got?!” A spot of dirt landed below his right eye…

“I could ask you the same thing!” A blade of grass found its way into her hair…

Whirring, the spikes upon his bat began to tear through the air…

Growing, the lance’s twin horns began to sharpen as it cut through the air…

… and then the duo swung at each other once more.

“You’re a pathetic excuse for a hunter, Heathcliff!” Dirt flew up behind the man she stabbed at…

“And you aren’t a horrible bloodsucking bastard, Sancho?!” Grass fluttered behind the woman he swung at…

They both stared into the other's shimmering eyes…

… and then they swung again…

“This is pointless…” Heathcliff’s shoulders were dusted with grass blades…

“I… could say the same…” Sancho’s hair was filled with smelly dirt…

And so… slamming the bat into the ground, Heathcliff…

And so… thrusting the lance through the ground, Sancho…

… stepped forward and punched the other…

“You…” Heathcliff looked down, not needing to see to know where her fist went…

“You…” Sancho looked up, the world around her point of focus being completely obscured to her…

“… you can’t do this at all, can you?” Their eyebrows furrowed as they heard the other’s same… exact… question.

“Sancho…” His violet eye began to see her as if she were drowning in water…

“Heathcliff…” Her red eyes began to see him as if he was being exsanguinated…

“I—” with his arms opened wide, Heathcliff bent down to her height and stepped forward…

“I—” with her arms opened wide, Sancho stepped forward…

“—missed you so much…!” Snapping shut, their arms wrapped around one another as they sobbed. Sancho’s around his neck, and Heathcliff’s around her back to better help in lifting her.

Their… cheeks were pressed together… allowing their eyes to look at one another and for their tears to mix… A union of blood and water… but which was thicker?

The answer… could not be spoken… For neither of them wanted to speak as they were reunited beside this patch of beautiful violet heath… for their foolish words would ruin this moment most enchanting.

Sancho tightened her arms around Heathcliff’s neck, nearly breaking it with how close she tried to pull him in.

Heathcliff squeezed his arms around Sancho’s back, almost shattering it with how much he wanted to hold her tight.

“Ya tryin’ to kill me, Sancho…?” Heathcliff couldn’t help but ask as a grin rose on his face, one filled with endless joy over her affection.

“And you, Heathcliff…? What, are you trying to break my spine?” Sancho laughed a little as her lips curled into a smile, one filled with flaming ardor for this boy… for Heathcliff.

“Heh… I’d never dream of it…” Even if doing this exact thing went against his very morals embedded into his mind and flesh over nineteen years, he didn’t care. Sancho was Sancho… bloodfiend or not she would always be the girl he loved… “even… though… uh…”

“Even though I’m a daughter of the Manchegans…?” Sancho filled in the blank that Heathcliff couldn’t, finding it just as awkward as he did considering what he now was… And that was someone who hunted her kind… her kin. “It must be… difficult…” Sancho looked down, her left eye staring at the watery blood. “… to be around me… you must be disgusted, ri—”

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter to me one bit, Sancho,” Heathcliff weakened his grip on her, making the hug less painful and so much warmer. “You could sink your teeth right into my damn neck right now and I wouldn’t give a shite.” She could do… what…? Why…? Wasn’t a hunter supposed to be disgusted by bloodfiends…?

“Can… you tell me why…?” Even though the hunters were always turned away intact, they never stopped looking at her family the way they did. “Why am I not… disgusting in your eyes…?” They said she was brainwashed, forced to believe a lie just like their loved ones. They said she was always thirsting, always ready to hurt someone’s loved one. They said she was just a monster pretending to be human, and that one day her skin would shed and she would harm everyone‘s loved ones… So why didn’t Heathcliff share these same ideas…?

“Why?” Adjusting his grip, Heathcliff held Sancho slightly out in front of him, so that her eyes… though the beautiful oranges they no longer were, could look into his violet right eye… and the somewhat off tone indigo left one. “You an’ I have been ‘dead’ for nineteen years… and that’s what you ask? Why I’m not disgusted by you…?” He smirked, his teeth glittering with happiness, “don’t you think it’s obvious, Sancho?” Well… now that she thought about it…

“Because you missed me…?” Heathcliff, though slightly disappointed, couldn’t help but smile at her mostly correct answer.

“Of course,” the violet eye gleamed with burning passion as he stared at Sancho, “you think I wouldn’t miss my family like crazy?” She was… Haah… at least that was one sentiment they shared… The other one was something she was scared to say though… The fear that she’d ruin everything gripping her tighter than any of her father’s hugs…

And, unsurprisingly, it was that same choking feeling in his throat from every one of Ishmael’s grapples that tightened his throat from letting these feelings flutter towards her. “Would… you mind telling me what happened…? B—Back then I mean…” It seemed like the worst place to ask, after all… there was a war going on as they spoke… a war towards killing her family…

Heathcliff blinked a few times, staring into the enchanting blood that ran through her pale cheeks to light them up. “I—I mean, only if you’ll tell me what you thought happened,” there was nothing funny about that, but Sancho still laughed. Did… he not care that Hong Lu could be dying right now?

They both knew of the war… yet they both knew their families could handle whatever was happening. Without a doubt. “That sounds like a wondrous plan, Heathcliff.” Never in his life did he actually expect to share his naivety with the actual Sancho again… in the blood and flesh…

Nor did Sancho ever expect to divulge her despair with the actual Heathcliff… in the flesh and blood… “Do you… wanna sit… or somethin’…?” She liked being held at his height… but carrying her, even though his muscles looked like they could handle it easily, couldn’t have been easy for him.

Just as her father would say, Sancho… “I have an ingenious idea, Heathcliff.” Oh…? What an… odd way to preface something. “Can we sit like we used to?” His eyebrows rose, but she didn’t guess the reason right. “O—Or I mean… we ca—”

“It’s fine, Sancho,” the brunet was just surprised for a moment… Besides her new existence, she was the exact same child he loved with his entire heart. “I’d actually… love it.” There was a slight tinge to his dark skin that was sorta like hers, though his was slightly more pink than red.

“O—Oh…?” There was no hiding the surprise in her voice, not when he said that word… That one word they obscured from one another. “We—Well… wouldn't you have to put me down first…?” Ah… he kinda didn’t want to let go, but yeah… When her feet touched the ground, Sancho immediately went back towards the heath where he stood beside a bit and faced away from him. She still trusted him despite the brunet being able to pick up his weapon… and walk up to her without a single bit of interference… “Did you need to bring that…?” Sancho asked as she looked over to the spiked bat that he laid down beside him before sitting at her side.

“Don’t… really feel safe without it…” Heathcliff’s mind was lagging behind for a moment. “A—And not ‘cause a you…!” Red eyes curiously stared at the man that was as nervous as he was when they were children… “I just… wanna be able to protect you if another hunter comes along…” A smile came from Sancho before she quickly pushed herself into his right side and leaned her head into his semi-bloody shoulder. It may have been… a little gross… but she didn’t mind it at all… Not when it was Heathcliff she was beside…

“I can protect myself, you know, Heath…” Sancho said with a pout… “especially from the hunters you call friends.” This was a lie. She herself could still not weave blood on command, with earlier being just a fluke of emotions. And that… simply made her the weakest child… “But… it’s lovely to hear your offer…” Her body barely grew from the last time he saw her. So her hands, which gripped his arm with love, were still as dainty as back then.

“A shorty like you can protect herself?” His right eye looked right back into her pout before he laughed, “sorry… So what, you’re a knight now?” Ah… no, absolutely not… all she did was play the role of a fallen one for her father… If anything he was the knight… and would always be a knight. Not hers though… that role was for the man she held onto…

“Well… not exactly,” Sancho’s red eyes ran towards the violet flowers, unable to stare into the violet eye looking right at her… The one that wished to peer into heart. “I’m more… like a squire…?” She had been called as such by her siblings since she was practically glued to their father’s hip whenever she wasn’t on the job of managing the park.

“Huh…” well… it was somewhat close to what she dreamed of before… so that was good… “And you’ve been eating…” he pressed his lips a little, knowing that every bloodfiend desired human blood above all else. “… well…?”

“Believe it or not, Heathcliff, but lamb blood is quite delicious.” Since a few bloodfiends began to cook for her when she was a child, they got pretty good at it, enough to ask their father to be able to cook for guests that entered their amusement park. And, though she couldn’t feel satisfied by it, the meals they cooked were still pretty good.

“So… yeah? You haven’t gone ‘ungry once?” There was no need to ask why he was so focused on this and it was obvious.

“Have you?” Sancho asked, knowing full well that she, despite being surrounded by people who were said to eat humans, had a much better life than he did because of his…

“A couple dozen times,” the man licked the inside of his cheek, tasting the blood that was wafting in the air from her flowers and his wound. “Always out of my own volition though… heh… So, before I could drink, I always starved myself for a week before having a large meal in your honor ‘round this time.” And then he’d be bailed out by either Shu, Ish, or Hong Lu since he’d blow through all or most of his cash every time without fail.

“You’re an idiot.” Sancho spared no feelings apparently… quite ruthless, but given her nature…

“I get that a ton,” the brunet laughed, his hand rubbing right into her surprisingly soft hair again.

“Then why do you keep being one?” Heathcliff pursed his lips as his left brow rose. “You… you should never have starved yourself for me, Heathcliff…”

“Hah,” he looked up at the murky sky, one that looked to have a bloody mist torn through it. “Yeah… but, once you’re stupid you'll always be stupid…” She looked up, her red eyes finding his eyes to be pointing towards the sky just like the statue in the center of the park. “Wanna know how my dumb self thought of that brilliant idea?” They were straying far from the real reason why they sat down. Although, neither of them cared… not when they were catching up. “Sure,” snaking down, her left hand grew ambitious… adventurous… and in doing so, she locked their fingers together, holding his hand with such a warm kindness in it.

Heathcliff’s face went red, the blood within it warming him up, “I figured that if I got hungry enough, I could eat for the both of us.” Stupid? That was just one step up the mountain that Heathcliff sat upon. Monumentally foolish was another, and childishly naive was the next. Just what awaited her at the top? “That way, you and I could be full for a damn while.”

Sancho rolled her eyes, something that she’d always do when her father suggested they do something just as foolish. “I thought you were supposed to be the rational one?” Well… love made him do stupid things… not that he ever thought anything he did was. “Why did you stop?”

“I thought you said it was stupid?” He raised his right hand, lifting their union close to their faces, his eyebrows knitting as he stared at her fingers.

“Oh it is,” Sancho wouldn’t deny that, which is why she wouldn’t spare any truth nor lie in the first place, “but it is quite endearing as well, Heathcliff.” Her eyes were filled with an unseen love, one that had gone unrequited for what felt like millenia… but maybe it could change soon… today even.

“Some bastard decided to wipe his arse and never washed ‘is fockin’ hand before servin’ me that steak.” Heathcliff grimaced for a moment, but Sancho’s touch made it melt as his eye settled upon it. “Right,” pulling his left hand out from the void, the brunet pointed right at the fingers locking his hand in place. “Mind tellin’ me what’s all this then?”

Her face exploded in brightness, embarrassment rising because clearly they didn’t share the same feelings about her holding him like this… This… attempt to never let him go again… “so—sorry, I just… I’ll stop. I’m sor—” The gentle scarred fingers locked as well, ensuring that Sancho wouldn’t be able to break out of their union.

“Why be sorry?” Heathcliff, having always been the stronger one, gently brought her hand up. “I never said I hated it…” the violet eye wandered away from her soft fingers, hoping for the red eyes to meet him. But no… they were focused on the way he was holding her… The comfort from back then welling up in the blood that wished to rush forth. “In fact…” his real intention stopped when he saw the coagulated crimson. He knew what this meant, after all he’d see so many crocodiles crying… “what’s wrong, Sancho?”

“I…” she staggered herself, the words not forming over a laugh, “I just never expected… this…” Her red eyes combed over every piece of his fingers. From the fingernails so stubbed, bloody, and cracked that it looked like he clawed his way out of a grave. To the scars that lined each joint, a sign of great damage and constant conflict… and yet… despite all of this pain that she could see… Heathcliff’s hand was the most tender thing she’d ever experienced. “Not after…” she trailed off when bloodied tears fell… tears that Heathcliff delicately wiped away.

The brunet sighed, the point going right over his head because he clearly couldn’t hear the silent words that were spoken. “I know… an’ I’m sorry for ever believing that sod…” His thumb ran along the knuckles of her own, the rough skin feeling like cotton to her…

If he were never naive… nor stupid… then he was sure their lives would’ve been different. Better? Maybe… Worse…? Also possible… But they would’ve gotten through it no matter what… just as they did back…

“That sod…?” Sancho… had no idea why he went out there other than to pick berries… A good idea back then, but in hindsight excruciatingly foolish… Not that he even knew about the wildlife within the forest in the first place.

“Yeah, old bastard told me where to find poisonous shite that woulda killed us both had a bear not so kindly stopped me…” Kindly? How would anything involving a bear be kind…?! It was a bear. Not a person, nor cat or dog… a bear… a kind bear. “What? You’re lookin’ at me as if I said something stupid,” Sancho’s eyes were filled with suspended disbelief even as tears swam down her cheeks. He didn’t see this as stupid…?

No… he wouldn’t… and he never would either…He’d… “I don’t like that… I don’t like how you’re saying death is fine as long as I’m alive.” Her bloody tears descended faster, trickling like rain upon a window.

He… thought that was something nice to say… “I still hold that same line of thought as back then, Sancho… I’d do anythin’ if it meant the people I loved were safe…” Sancho’s despair quickly faced him directly, her head completely coming off of his shoulder to look at him.

“In my life without you,” her red eyes glowed as she stared into his own… “I have wished for death more often than not. So that one day I could return to your arms Heathcliff.” The heart in his chest felt as if a stake made of blood pierced it before dragging it all the way into his stomach. “And now that I have you—” Her left hand rose, the dainty thumb not afraid of the salty tears pouring down his cheek as she cupped his face. “—the real Heathcliff… I don’t ever want to lose you again…” It was odd to see the left eye not move at all… especially since the right one she grew to love was shivering as a waterfall of despair poured from it. “So don’t… don’t talk like that… please, Heathcliff…” She… she didn’t know what would happen to her if he l—

With a hand guided by everyone who ever showed him an ounce of kindness, Heathcliff placed it on the back of Sancho’s head and brought her close. Those bloody tears were absorbed into a chest so rigid yet so inviting, like a pillow and bed after staying awake for three straight days. “I’m sorry… Sancho…” his violet eye wavered just as much as the heath beside them. “I’m sorry for leavin’ then… and I’m sorry for ruining your life…” This place may have been like paradise to them back then. But paradise alone… was nothing more than a personal hell. “But I’m not sorry now…” despite the twin waterfalls cascading onto her head, Sancho didn’t mind. Not when his tears were just one of the many indicators of love he had for her. “Because I’ll never leave you again… promise.” Certainty filled his tone… for he was sure of it. He wouldn’t die… he wo—

“Heathcliff…!” Sancho shouted, her voice stifled by his muscles as she tightened her right arm around his back. Squeezing him as much as possible along with forcing more tears from him. This man… hadn’t faltered in capturing her heart once again. For it was just as easy as he did nearly two decades ago. “Heathcliff—” she raised her chin a little so she could look at the brunet as she finally said what she was feeling. But the look that left him wasn’t remotely near her, no… how could it be when… “I lo—”

“Ah, Heathcliff?~ What are you doing?” A man with a cyan left eye stood on Sancho’s right… and he was absolutely doused in blood. Dark crimsons, bright scarlets… he had bloodlet a large amount of her kin… murdering them all. “Conversing with a bloodfiend? Holding her to your chest?” Heathcliff let go of Sancho… as if ashamed of her, but that wasn’t true… it just wasn’t. “Though you do have your weapon… Ah~ did I interrupt something?~ Were you going to trick her into safety then kill her as we practiced?~” As he wh—

“‘Ow about you shut your gob, yeah?” Heathcliff reached into the void, but his fingers effortlessly found the weapon that stuck by his side for at least a half of his life. “I’ll never kill Sancho,” one of his black eyebrows rose, “so consider this my damn resignation, Hong Lu.” Though it was bad news, the man with a large blood-soaked black ponytail treated it as if it was something he’d hear every day.

“Aaah, I see, I see… Have you forgotten?” He cocked his head to the side as he displayed his typical smile. “They’ll always lie to lower your guard.” He was calling Sancho a liar…? Like bloody hell she was. And even if she was trying to, he wouldn’t give a damn fuck. It was Sancho. If she were tricking him, then he’d willingly walk right into it because he loved her with his entire bleedin’ heart. “No? Hmm… are you delusional, Heath?~” The grip on his bat tightened even further, ready to bash in Hong Lu’s head. “Did the monster hit you on your head?~” Hong Lu gasped, thinking of another thing as he stepped closer, “or did she bite you?” He clicked his tongue as Heathcliff rose, the grip nearly making his knuckles bleed, “if that were the case then that wouldn’t be any good now, would it?~” This… jovial attitude… it was just sickening.

“Oi… Sancho,” transferring the grip, Heathcliff stood in front of her, though he didn’t trample the heath below. “Would ya mind goin’ back to wherever it is you were,” he cracked his neck, showing zero fear as Hong Lu approached. “I don’t want even the chance for you to get hurt,” the way his coat fluttered in the wind… made him look like the second hero to save her from despair.

“Are you intentionally stupid, Heath…?” She was in the process of standing up, “or are you just immediately forgetful…?” He laughed, smirking as he stood against Hong Lu… as he stood against the hand that fed him for nineteen years…

“Both.” With the head tapping against the dirt, Heathcliff suddenly swung his bat upwards, pushing the heath back. “But I don’t want you touchin’ this bloke, yeah?” He turned his head, the violet eye of his shimmering along with his grin. “Gotta settle this thing between my boss and I,” ‘and only us’ was what Sancho heard through his silent words.

“Aww, that’s all I am to you?” Hong Lu continued his approach, trailing with him blood that wasn’t his own. “Not a brother?~” The spikes on that hammer of his began to move up and down, a sign that he wasn’t going to give Heathcliff any sense of reprieve. “Nor even family?~”

Heathcliff scowled as he walked around the patch of flowers, “oh you are… you definitely are…” Same with Shu and Ish… these three were quite precious to him… But Sancho… Sancho would always be more than the three combined. “And I hate to do this…” then… then he should just turn around and kill the bloodfiend lying to him. “But it has always been my job to protect Sancho… and now isn’t any different.” Raising his right arm, the brunet pointed his bat at the man no more than ten feet away from him. “An’ I’ll protect ‘er ‘till the day…” he probably shouldn’t finish that. “Whateva, point is,” bringing the bat back towards his side, “I’m not lettin’ anyone or anythin’ get between Sancho and I… even if it’s you, Hong Lu.”

“So you’re willingly protecting a bloodfiend, huh…” there was a moment of disappointment on his face, but it went right back to that disconcerting smile. “Hmm, I suppose I might be able to convince you after I beat you senseless~ But I wonder if I can even break your spirit…” The black haired man hummed a tune to himself as he thought about various methods of torture that might work on him after betraying them like this. “Ah hah, perhaps a few volts will be enough after this~”

“I’m not returnin’ after I beat your ass, Hong Lu.” With it parallel to the ground, Heathcliff walked with his bat poised to swing up into his friend’s jaw.

“Hmm, I can’t seem to recall a single time where you’ve won in our sparring matches, Heath,” it was true. He had only ever won once against the three, and it was Ishmael who was still nursing a headache from drinking too much. They were simply more powerful than he was and by miles too… “So what makes you believe you’ll win now? Love?”

Heathcliff’s violet eye crackled with lightning, “because if I don’t, then I’ll lose the one person I’ve ever truly loved.” Sancho’s eyes sparkled with an orange glimmer as her mind echoed these words, her heart beating heavily within her chest. “And I’m not takin’ a single chance to lose ‘er again. So yeah,” Heathcliff pressed the toes in his right foot down, a sign he was about to rush forward, “it’s love that makes me do this!” Sancho’s throat shut as she stared at Heathcliff’s broad back. The back that had carried the weight of both of their dreams.

Just as expected Heathcliff leapt forward, running faster upon his toes until he was in range to swing at Hong Lu. “Hmm, then I suppose it’ll be love that allows me to forgive you,” raising the shaft of his hammer, the cyan-eyed man blocked the bat’s heavy swing with ease. If anything, there was maybe an inch or two of lost ground. “After all, you are family, Heath~” With a raise of the shaft he pushed the brunet’s weapon up before kicking him right in the stomach. “Though, family you may be—” there wasn’t a tell as Hong Lu rushed forward. Nor was there any lost power as he used only his right arm to lift the hammer up and slam it down right after. “—you have broken the one rule between us all.” The bat barely provided any sort of protection from the hammer that was more like a meat tenderizer, “which is why you deserve punishment!” With his left hand he was about to thrust the dagger within it into Heathcliff’s side. Yet surprisingly, especially to Hong Lu, the brunet backed off, letting the hammer rupture the ground after landing. Then, with the blunt top of his bat, he hit the cyan-eyed man’s jaw, launching him backwards.

“I don’t give a fuck!” Heathcliff roared, his inelegant speech making him seem less like a hero. “You could tear off my arms,” bringing the bat to rest on his shoulder, Heathcliff walked towards the man who was rubbing his chin. “You could make it impossible for me to ever walk again,” using his other hand, Heathcliff grabbed the bat tight and readied himself to slam Hong Lu’s face in. “Hell, you could make it so I can’t even fuckin’ think straight!” The lone, functioning cyan eye stared right into Heathcliff’s furious disgust, “and I would never regret pickin’ Sancho over you!”

Hong Lu had experienced plenty of betrayal in his life. Sometimes from his real family… and oftentimes from this family he culminated through a similar hatred of bloodfiends… But never did his heart sting like this… Was it because… he treated Heathcliff like a son…?

There was a shallow breath that left Hong Lu, “fine.” When the boy got close enough, Hong Lu unleashed the full depths of his abilities that he’d unleashed against Ryoushuu once before… he may have lost, yet it wasn’t by much. But it would be more than enough to put this temper-tantrum throwing child down for good… “have it your way.” Hooking a boot behind his left knee, Hong Lu pulled Heathcliff forward as well as himself. With a powerful strike, the boy’s right knee was shattered, the cap breaking to make him fall faster. Reaching up, he grabbed Heathcliff by the collar, “and I’ll have mine.” Though the bat did swing, Hong Lu took it on effortlessly with his left hand, causing the bones within it to break as it absorbed the entire impact.

Lifting the boy by the collar, Hong Lu brought Heathcliff overhead and slammed him down onto his upper spine, making it crunch. With an outward breath , he stood up, his body itself groaning a little. “You look furious,” in the time it took for him to incapacitate Heathcliff, this ‘Sancho’ had picked up her lance and began to advance towards him. “What is it I wonder~ Could it be because you know you’ll be added to the list of 19 monsters I’ve taken care of personally? Or is it that you no longer be able to feast from Heath?~” The monster’s eyebrows twitched, anger flowing through them and trailing up her forehead to reach her hair… Golden blonde hair that began to flow like water.

“You who claim to love Heathcliff like family—” Blood began to creep up her leg like a vine, thorns piercing through her pants to draw more of it from her body. Eventually it ran up her back and around her arm before blooming into a crown of heath that settled around the base of her lance. From there the blood flourished out, causing her weapon to grow in length and sharpness. “—have hurt him in ways I could never even dream of!” What was once about the length of her waist to her chin, the lance was now taller than she was, becoming a good four feet taller to impale this bastard with. “And for that my blood boils!”

“Boil as it may,” Hong Lu wiped his mouth for a moment as he grabbed his hammer, taking blood away with his clothbound wrist. “It will never truly burn as hot as my flaming disgust for you monsters.” For they took Xichun and turned her into a monster so despicable she hungered so viciously for the blood in his neck… And so he obliged her… allowing her to have one voracious sip before slicing her head off… No bloodfiend would ever be safe for what he was forced to do to his beloved sister… “I won’t let you ever take my family away again!” Rushing forward, Hong Lu’s footsteps were blindingly fast, letting him reach Sancho faster than she ever expected. Her speedy thrust was parried by a faster swing of his hammer, the spikes shearing off some of the blood when its vibrations made its form undulate and start to break away. With an overhead strike, Hong Lu tried to crush her skull with ease, but she broke the impact with the shaft of her lance, but couldn’t push the weapon itself away. No… how could she? How could she ever think of being on par with this man or Heathcliff. Two seasoned hunters grizzled through combat over time versus a Second Kindred who never faced real combat… She was practically destined to lose without Heathcliff’s protection…

But she couldn’t let him down. She needed to be able to stand beside him, letting her own strength prop herself up instead of leeching off of Heathcliff’s. Unbeknownst to her, the blood from the pommel on Sancho’s lance began to lose form for a moment before suddenly shooting out. Like a rope chain the blood lashed out, piercing through Hong Lu’s right shoulder just as easily as Rodya’s parasol went through Heathcliff’s left. The pain wasn’t anything new, which was why he didn’t let it interrupt him with his kick to her chest. There was a crack that sounded out as a few ribs of hers broke.

With the space gained, Hong Lu would have a phenomenal chance of landing the blow that would kill her. So, letting the back of his hammer reach the middle of his spine, Hong Lu prepared a reckless strike that slammed into… someone that took the blow for her.

The cyan eye widened, his pupil constricting as he realized what the black cloth belonged to.

Her red eyes widened, the pupils becoming razor thin as she saw the smile accompanying the smile.

For it was Heathcliff who took the blow… allowing his entire upper back to be destroyed for Sancho. His flexible spine… his infallible shoulders… his tough ribs… all shattered… Anything… for the woman he loved throughout the decades… anything for Sancho…

“Ha—” Sancho’s mouth widened in terror as his ruptured blood ran down her face like molasses. At her feet Heathcliff lay… completely still… entirely dead… “Hea—Heathcliff…?” She collapsed to her knees and then to her hands as she hovered over the brunet. Both his blood and her tears fell into the open wound that exposed the extremely faint beating of his heart… He… wasn’t dead…? No. No no no, not yet. He couldn’t leave so soon…! They just reunited! So please… “please…!” She cried, willing her blood to rush forth and repair his wound in full… But how could she…? How could that ever happen… when she was nothing but a pitiful child…?

Hong Lu’s eye never blinked… not when it looked between the blood on his hammer and the blood pouring out of Heathcliff. Such sticky fluid… such a bright scarlet… such a wound to despair over… The blood of his family was on his hands once more… but this wasn’t the blood of a monster he was soaked in. No… it was the blood of man… and he’d have to carry this heavy weight around his neck like a noose for the remainder of his life. He… he was a monster. One that wouldn’t stop at just Heathcliff either. So… raising his hammer once again, Hong Lu wanted to push its spikes through the blonde’s head… But there was a moment of hesitation… one that had never affected him before. Hesitation that he knew how to use properly. “Please… do tell Heath that I’m sorry on the other side…”

And so the hammer fell once more, hoping to crush Sancho’s skull into a paste that would meld with Heathcliff’s heart… So that her thoughts may dwell within his dying heart until it too failed… Yet a lance of blood struck the center of his hammer true, shattering the metal machine into fragments that rained down upon Sancho’s back and Heathcliff’s lower half. Sparks flew for a moment, igniting the oil and gasoline that ran through the mechanisms to push the spikes out. With a quick toss to the side that lit the patch of heath on fire, Hong Lu attempted to prepare himself for the fury of the man with fading golden hair, but was just too slow. Way too slow for the might of the First Kindred… the father of the Manchegans.

Don Quixote held Hong Lu by the throat, squeezing upon it to choke the life out of this sorry villain who tried to kill his sweet defenseless daughter. “Thou hath not been har—” his voice was soon overshadowed by Sancho’s own. A shout more akin to screeching left her…

“Father! Father please!” Looking up with a face coated in blood, Sancho inadvertently provided a ghastly sight for Don Quixote to witness. “Please save him…! Please—” His pale ears could barely believe the words she spoke. “—save Heathcliff…!” She… was mistaking this rotten hunter she knelt over for her long dead brother, of course.

Though, hunter he may have been, and coated in the blood of his children, this man was someone that Sancho begged for him to save. So how could he ever call himself a good father if he just denied his daughter’s wish. Which was why, with a toss that sent him flying into the gate at the start of the garden, Don Quixote launched Hong Lu away and immediately knelt before Heathcliff as well. “Very well, dear Sancho,” he couldn’t create any more children, for his limit had already been reached with his newest addition into his family… Yet there Sancho was… a daughter that could start a new chain in their family with this man beneath her. And so, as he weaved the blood around them, Don Quixote spoke, “thou knoweth of thy capabilities as a daughter of the noble Manchegans, yes, dear Sancho?” The blood began to come off of her face, slowly re-entering the man’s body while beginning to stitch it up slowly, starting with the veins first to staunch the rapid flow. “Thou can turn this man you appear to hold in high regards into thy kin,” such a matter would assist with healing him… and Sancho knew that too.

“Heathcliff…” her red eyes stared at his jugular, knowing that it would take only a bite to inject her blood directly into his veins. But… “he wouldn’t like that… and I certainly can’t do it without permission…” Every tale of transition into a bloodfiend that Don Quixote or any of her kin spoke of was always something done voluntarily… for it would be rotten to force this nature onto another like the other more brutish families. “I’m… sorry that I must ask you, father…” She was beating herself up for being this pathetic… and her father noticed.

“Thy weakness is not a fault, Sancho,” next, a network of crystal blood formed a protective layer over his exposed heart, acting as destroyed ribs for the makeshift flesh to graft onto. “Didst thou know it took Lady Rodion three decades before she could even will her blood to weave around her parasol?” He made this sewing and stitching look effortless, especially as he patched a hole in Heathcliff’s lung after picking the bone fragment out, “but thy lance…” There wasn’t a speck of attention paid to Heathcliff for a moment, “thou hath improved upon it tenfold… ‘tis truly impressive, mine child.” The compliment wasn’t even slightly hollow, but that’s all Sancho could glean from it…

Hong Lu ached all over, but this sight he bore witness to was the perfect chance to take down the father of this family. So pulling his battered body up, the man walked towards the duo of bloodfiends and grabbed Heathcliff’s bat along the way. Passing by the burning flowers, the cyan-eyed man lifted the bat up high and placed his finger in the trigger. Just one good swing would take this basta—“You… what are you doing to the corps—” blood shot out, taking hold of Sancho’s lance before using its crimson to encircle the bat and pin it to the ground before snuffing the flames.

“A corpse this man is not.” Then, running back, the blood grabbed Hong Lu by the waist, lifting him high up into the air to prevent any further attacks. “He breathes as of yet, and shalt continue to do so as per my daughter’s request. Be thankful of my daughter’s pity, knave, for without it, thou wouldst be losing thy foolish hunter.” Don Quixote and Sancho gave all their attention to Heathcliff, not watching as Hong Lu’s cyan eye gleamed as he looked upon them. For these two… were the only kind bloodfiends he had come across.

Reaching into his pocket, Hong Lu fished out a white whistle, one that would ring across this entire park with its shrill tone. Sancho’s ears were assaulted and she clearly found an issue with how sharp that whistle was. “What was that?! What did you just do?!”

Hong Lu laughed a little, the ribs in his back stinging just as much. “Have you never heard a whistle, girl?~” The dryness in her expression was one created from the dullness in his joke and the fact that Heathcliff was lying there dying. “If you must know, this will bring my remaining hunters here.” He’d backstab Heathcliff again?! How the hell did he have the audacity to say he was the brunet’s family?! “You do not understand… Sancho… I’m calling them off…” he knew a hunt lasted until every last bloodfiend was culled… he really did… But this family was different than any other they faced before. Where others would callously eat the corpses of fallen friends and hunters alike, these ones paid no mind to them… Heck, she didn’t even give a crap about the blood on her face. “You can…” he sighed, knowing that he’d miss his ‘son’ quite a lot, “even keep Heathcliff at your side… We won’t force him into this life anymore.” It wasn’t that they even did that in the first place. Heathcliff just felt indebted to them all which was why he stuck around and became a part of their large family. A debt Hong Lu always denied he owed when they were in that graveyard all seven years before this one.

“Ah, I must inquire,” Don Quixote let the bloody leash holding Hong Lu in the air dissolve, “doth thou believe thy forces will be able to quell their bloodthirst like thee?” Hmm…

“We’ll just have to see when they arrive, won’t we?~”

————

With the bat and his threats keeping the hunters at bay until all of them gathered, Hong Lu finally uttered unto the crowd what was within this bloody orb behind him. “An F.K and S.K?” Ryoushuu smirked, smoke coming out of an exhale, “how did you corner them?” There was a slice across her left arm, one that rendered it useless for the time being. She could tell that there was a certain boy not here, but before she could ask, there was a sudden sharp pain in her arm. “C.O.R.E, R.H.” The blade in her right hand was ready to slice through anything just about now… even Ishmael.

“Well I’m sorry that you’re just as reckless as that dumbass is.” Ishmael began to tie the ends together, knotting it so tight that the blood wouldn’t be able to breathe. “Speaking of him… why do you have his weapon? Did he…” she was about to ask the question sitting on all of their minds: ‘Did Heathcliff finally get himself killed?’

“No, and that’s because the father and his daughter are tending to the wounds I gave him.” There wasn’t a single drop in his somewhat cheery inflection, shocking everyone as they registered the words he spoke. Especially Ryoushuu, who’s cigarette dropped from her mouth. “Don’t worry, they won’t bite him, the—”

“How the fuck could you even trust them?!” Ishmael shouted, the voice of the second in command being the voice of the hunters. “They’re bloodfiends, Hong Lu! They’re monsters!!!” Lifting her spear, Ishmael was about to walk forward, but Ryoushuu stopped her. “Don’t st—”

“L.E, F.M.B… now.” To have one of their own be in blatant danger and do nothing was clear intent to kill them. Normally, though, Ryoushuu wouldn’t give a shit about anyone… Ishmael and Heathcliff were the two exceptions. Though, if it were the latter there would’ve been no words spoken… just veins slashed and blood sprayed.

“If you interrupt them he will die,” as he said this, which was what they discussed, the orb of blood fell from around them. With a clear line of sight, Ishmael and Ryoushuu, along with the two dozen or so hunters behind them, witnessed the exposed back of Heathcliff that was slowly getting replaced with crystallized blood. “So I order this: we are retreating from La Manchaland now! From this day forth Heathcliff is no longer a Blood Hunter! And we are leaving Heathcliff in the care of Sancho and the Manchegans!” This clearly upset some hunters, after all their prize of two million Ahn was never going to come to them if they left. It was even worse since at least 50 of their men would’ve been killed for no damn good reason.

“You can’t do this boss!” Yes he could, and the reason was literally just stated.

“Yeah, we need to bring their damn heads in for the cash!” They could kill other bloodfiends… but this family certainly didn’t deserve it.

“Don’t fuckin’ rob us all because of one idiot who went against you!” Did they really care more about money than their lives? Or did they just want to kill more…?

Ishmael’s eyes stared ahead at the spine that was intricately being created and designed by the man with faded golden hair. Whereas Ryoushuu’s red eyes went to the blonde girl’s face that had streaks of dried blood running down the mortified expression. “Oi, monster,” she pointed her blade at Sancho, who seemingly didn't pay her any mind. “R.E’s spine is F.U.B.A.R, isn’t it?” There had been a transformed hunter in the past who turned their ax against their forces, the shifting blade tearing right through the bones of seven separate hunters before she put an end to her. The pure destructive power would’ve mangled it up to the point he wouldn’t ever walk again… if not just destroy it entirely.

Sancho weakly nodded, the unpleasant information from her father scaring her into thinking Heathcliff would be crippled for life. “Tch,” with a click of her tongue, Ryoushuu sheathed her blade, “you get it too, right R.H?”

Ishmael nodded, the ponytail fluttering up and down, “get closer to L.E, Shu…” The whisper was heard through the crowd’s discontent, and so she traveled with Ishmael to stand beside their boss.

Hong Lu’s eye scanned the crowd of about a hundred in front of them, “this is not going to be pretty… shame~” Though he may not have used the bat personally, he still had a decent grasp from watching Heathcliff use it. “To those of you who still wish to claim this bounty on the Manchegans: you will have to go through us three to do so! But can you do it?~” Outnumbering them 97:3 were great odds, so absolutely. And so… the three stood against the horde of family that betrayed them… instead protecting that which saved their own brother… his own son.

As they focused on taking care of Heathcliff, neither Don Quixote nor Sancho stepped in. They both simply let the bloodbath play out… Why would they step into a conflict between humans? Such a fight wasn’t theirs in the first place. All that mattered was that this Heathcliff he was fixing up could walk… which was why he uttered silent prayers beside his daughter. He… really would do anything for Sancho, wouldn’t he…? Heh…

🎠~~~~~~~~⛈️

When Heathcliff’s eyes opened, they opened to a dark ceiling overhead, one that was illuminated by dimmed light bulbs. He… was alive…? But didn’t he… yeah… he took that massive blow for Sancho, the one that would’ve torn right through anyone’s head with ease. So why was he… here? Was this some sort of transition into the afterlife or something…? Was there even an afterlife…?

A breeze fluttered into the room, so he turned his head towards the open veranda window. It was night outside as he could tell by the lack of sunlight breaking through into the room. That and he could see traces of a moon through the dark curtains. There was… someone out there, but he couldn’t tell. But, judging from the room they were in he could’ve been in two places. One: Hong Lu’s ancestral home which he’d seen twice. Two: the castle that was in La Manchaland. That or this was some mixture between them both and served as a limbo for him to walk, so maybe three… What was with him? He’d never really think like that…

Carrying itself from outside, Heathcliff heard a rather loud sigh, “I… just wish to share one moon with Heathcliff again…” That… that was undeniably Sancho’s voice… “is that truly too much to ask?”

There were a few pats atop her head. “I get what you mean, kid.” And that was… Ishmael’s voice…? The hell…? “A beer or two between the four of us again would be pretty nice… Or… I guess… five if you drink…?”

“Not too often… but it would be quite nice…” her eyes went to the bright moon, the red no longer containing the same sparkle because he wasn’t there to witness it with her.

There was silence from the veranda for a moment, as if to solemnly think about the time’s that were missed. “Shit, sorry kid…” Ishmael sighed, her eyes settling upon the blood sitting upon the banister, “if it makes you feel any better, he’s definitely thinking about you right now.” The way he talked about her was the same way she’d talk about Queequeg or Ryoushuu for every word he spoke was filled with ardor for Sancho.

“Have… you ever been separated from someone you love, Miss Ishmael…?” It was the incident that got her into the business of killing monsters that truly masqueraded as humans… “How didst thou deal with it…?” Well…

“A method that wouldn’t work for you,” it barely even worked for her. “Kid, don’t look at me with those eyes, I’m not going to say a damn word about it.” She reached out, her hand ruffling the blonde strands of hair, “you wouldn’t like it anyway. Doesn’t even sit right with me sometimes.” Nightmares about turning into a bloodfiend and being killed by Queequeg still gripped her to this day. “Anyway, you’re gonna stay out here, yeah Sancho?” There must’ve been a nod, otherwise Ishmael wouldn’t have been alone.

There, laying in the bed trying to lift the blanket off of himself with a weak left arm was Heathcliff… an awake Heathcliff. Her eyes locked with his for a moment before she came right over to him. Grabbing the canteen of water beside his bed, she pressed it to his lips and began to pour it slowly into his mouth. “When I pull this away, you will stay quiet, got it?” With his eyes moving up and down, Heathcliff gulped down the water until the canteen was entirely emptied. Before she began to whisper more, Ishmael smirked and gently tapped the man on his shoulder, “welcome back, Heath.”

Smacking his lips a little to wet them, the brunet man frowned a bit, “‘ow long ‘ave I been out?” Judging by the lack of feeling in his legs, he had been out for a while just like back when he immediately lost to that bear.

“About three months,” her right hand was out of his sight, so he didn’t know what she was doing, “can you feel this at all?” The knuckles bashing against his kneecap elicited no reaction, which was a pretty bad sign, even more when he shook his head. “Okay… then do yourself a favor and don’t call out to Sancho,” before he could ask why, Ishmael finished the thought, “wouldn’t you want to surprise her with a hug?” She chuckled, “or maybe even a kiss?” There wasn’t a single person in this castle that hadn’t heard of the story of how Heathcliff stood up against Hong Lu and declared his love for her. However, everyone who heard it knew one thing: she clearly didn’t know he meant it literally. “I’ll be back in… well, hopefully five minutes,” tapping against his shoulder, Ishmael stood right up, “so sit still, yeah?” With a nod, the redhead walked towards the door and silently crept out of the room.

Heathcliff looked around, already wanting to find a way for himself to get to Sancho. But his body would hardly respond… which could’ve come from only one thing. So, painfully twisting his arm around, the brunet touched his upper back… finding the crystalline texture there to be… really odd. “Huh…” if he remembered properly, then Hong Lu decimated his spine… so what the hell was that? A weird prosthetic…?

“I wonder,” he heard Sancho’s voice as she watched over the amusement park, “do you like snow, Heathcliff…?” Even alone she thought about him… talked about him. Just what was it that made Sancho do these things? Was it because she was feeling guilty for this state he was in? Or was it because…

He was hoping it was the latter and not even remotely the former as he gripped the blanket and slowly pulled it off. His entire chest was exposed, showing off the lattices of scars that he’d accumulated throughout the years. Just how did Sancho react when she bore witness to the pain he suffered? How did she react when she found out his legs couldn’t work normally? How did she feel over these past three months as he withered away in a bed without being able to talk to him after such a bittersweet reunion? He was sure they ended in one or maybe both ways: in lone sadness and tears holding misery within them.

And so, with hands gripping the bed itself, Heathcliff pulled himself forward until there was no more forward. So, he chose down, falling off the bed with as light a thud as he possibly could make, hoping for Sancho to hear absolutely nothing out of that. With his dry hands, the brunet used them like suction cups to pull himself forward. He’d need to do exactly ten of these to reach the door to the veranda and presumably two more to reach the guardrail on the balcony. Then he could just pull himself up, sidle against it, and finally hold Sancho tight… giving her a hug that she more than certainly deserved…

There was a problem however… and that was when the door opened. There, Ishmael and that brown haired bloodfiend with a streak of red in her hair looked at him, the latter of which had a nice coat in hand. Contempt filled their gazes as he awkwardly smiled and waved at them. “Are you back, Miss Ishmael?” Before Sancho could turn around, the bloodfiend quickly got out of sight from the door by going to her left.

“Ah, yeah,” Ishmael hurried her way outside, “thought I left something behind.” Huh… but… she didn’t bring anything with her, did she…?

Walking over the bed, the bloodfiend continued until she was at Heathcliff’s side, “are you sure, Miss Ishmael? What could you ha—” Two arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, “a… hug?” Sancho was positively confused, after all there were only three people who gave her hugs like this: Don Quixote, Rodion, and obviously Heathcliff.

“I wondered just where that child’s foolishness came from,” the bloodfiend quietly spoke, her fingers weaving threads of blood to pierce the crystallized upper back. “But now I know it is both a product of our father and your own recklessness,” truly, her personality was an amalgam of the two morons… Though, she didn’t hold much love for this idiot in front of her, obviously… “Honestly… taking a blow that would eviscerate your spine for someone you thought died decades ago…” Her red eyes were filled with joyous jealousy since Sancho’s love still chose her even with such a large gap of time… “Amicable…” with a few connections here and a few more there, the bloodfiend finally got a reaction in his right leg. A single twitch… but a twitch was phenomenal.

“Yeah. And a little bit of encouragement,” Ishmael pat Sancho’s back for a moment, finding this one sided hug a tad awkward too. “Heath’s bounced back from all kinds of shitty things, some worse and longer than this,” yeah, that was true, like when his left femur poked through his skin after breaking four years ago. Ryoushuu made some jokes about shooting him in the forehead like a horse… and she was probably serious about that too seeing as Hong Lu had to say no to her. “So just give it time,” she let out a chuckle as she let go of the girl, “who knows, he might even wake up tomorrow.” Obviously that… was not the case. But Sancho didn’t need to know that… not yet at least.

“Do…” There was a dull hatred inhabiting the crimson as it met Ishmael’s hazel, “do not attempt to raise my hopes, Miss Ishmael…” Turning back to the moon, she found more comfort within it than she did the red-headed woman… “Because if the sun shall rise tomorrow and Heathcliff is still not awake… then I’ll wish to fall into dormancy until he opens his eyes…” Despite spending nineteen years apart, three months was just too long in comparison. And to spend any more time while hearing such shallow encouragement just made her want to quit…

The brunette taking care of his spine frowned a little… at least she wouldn’t have to suffer through their father’s ‘encouragement’ anymore. “Can you move your legs or not, boy?” With the thread woven, the new parts of Heathcliff’s spine should’ve been completely attached to the rest by now. He could definitely feel his feet now… that was nice. But moving them was… sort of out of the question. So the woman sighed before grabbing the heavy man and lifting him up, “get the hang of this soon, maggot, because I won’t hold you like this for long.” With her hands under his shoulders, the bloodfiend held him up like that to help him get going a little.

“Oh…” Ishmael frowned a little, “well, then I guess hoping is fine with you?” Wow… she was madly in love with Heathcliff. That was simply… something… Astounding? Maybe… Bleak? Yeah, absolutely…

“Hope is the only thing that can return Heathcliff to us sooner rather than later, so of course…” Sancho’s red eyes gazed at the moon, wondering the entire time if that was what he dreamt about… Was he watching the moon with her at his side? Was he… dreaming the same dream she did…?

And hope was the only thing that would get these crap legs of his movin’. Hope and hard fuckin’ work! He didn’t want anyone except himself to guide these worthless feet of his to Sancho’s side. “Hmm…” the bloodfiend’s eyes sparkled for a moment, her father’s fantasies running rampant in her mind for a moment. “You will owe me a great debt after this,” turning him around, the bloodfiend burrowed into his spine once again. Then the threads ran out, growing larger in size as they went down his back, “bite your tongue, soldier.” What did sh—

His flesh was drilled into at the waist before the blood ran down his pant legs. “Sonuva…” Heathcliff’s spine was tapped by the blood and so too were his thighs, knees, and calves before it encircled the three like a little rib made of blood. “I don’t know who the hell you are…” his legs were a lot more stable, and even became less shaky when a little sole of blood covered his foot. “But thank you…” the brunet could actually move his own legs… it just made him look a little like Frankenstein’s Monster though…

“I’ll go check on Heath then leave you alone for real now, okay?” Ishmael said as she re-entered the room, not waiting for Sancho’s answer. There, with his chest against the wall was the absolute moron who’s head she would punch. “I said to not do one thing you ass…!”

“You can’t stop me from tryin’ to see Sancho, you sailor bitch,” a second punch was entirely deserved, that’s what the bloodfiend thought.

“Do you hear this asshole, Miss Outis? This is what we had to deal with for nineteen entire years.” Ishmael bent over and picked up the coat from its hanger. It was made of cotton and dyed black, matching the same jacket that Sancho wore. Its sleeves were adorned with various buttons, one of them being the two letters of their group, another being that of a rose… and a third a ring of heath. All of these were intricately sewn into the buttons that would fasten the sleeve to his wrist depending on how loose it was. The same for the other sleeve too. The accent of silver bordering its lapels made for a perfect partner to Sancho’s gold. Though, unlike her coat, his coat didn’t have any sort of shoulder flair.

“Oh I do indeed,” she took the cloth from its hanger and let it sit on his shoulders. “I would’ve punished this petulant brat with a few snips here and there if u had to care for him.” Since he wasn’t a child, Heathcliff could get the sleeves on himself.

“Miss Ishmael?”

There was no need to continue; “he’s perfectly fine, Sancho. I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay?” The blonde girl nodded in time for Ishmael to see. And since she was still facing the moon this gave her and Outis the chance to leave undetected.

“Soldier. Do not make her sad, is this understood?” Didn’t even need to ask. Everything in his power would be done to dash any frown away. Which was why his silence served as the perfect answer to Outis. Saying yes would’ve been redundant and saying no would’ve made her tear the spine right out from his back. Though he didn’t need to know that latter part…

With a final thumbs up from Ishmael, she and Outis left the two alone. In about… an hour she’d tell everyone else that Heathcliff was awake, even the girl’s father. He was… rather interested in the brunet for some reason… And that reason was simple. For it was his indomitable spirit that would do anything for his daughter to be happy and safe. That was what interested Don Quixote most about Heathcliff.

And so, with that spirit most incorruptible, Heathcliff took really strained steps forward until he was in front of the veranda’s entrance. There… in the pale light of a moon filled with memories… was the most perfect woman he’d ever seen. From her flowing blonde hair to how short she was, everything about her just made his heart pound. And so, it was this pound that made him deaf to the steps he took, meaning he had to be ever more cautious.

“I can hear your heart, Miss Ishmael,” a tone as dry as a fire came from Sancho as she stared out at the snow from the second month coating the ground. “Did you seriously expect to be able to sneak up on me…?” How childish… and for one of the hunters they employed no less. “Why are you even still here?” There was just no reason for her to be here… nothing Sancho could think of.

Standing above her, Heathcliff raised his weak arms before placing them over her shoulders and letting them cross onto the guardrail beside her own delicate hands. “Another hug…? Are you serious, Miss…” her… fingers weren’t this scarred… nor dark…

“Miss Heathcliff?” The brunet asked, taking the moment to take a jab at Sancho. “I guess ‘at’s right since I’m the sleepin’ beauty o’ this sorry story, yeah?” Twice. Twice he’d fallen asleep to let Sancho despair alone. All alone…

“Heath—” Sancho turned her head, her red eyes sparkling with the stars from impossible dreams forming within the blood once more. “—cliff…?”

“One an’ only, Sancho,” his dull canines were exposed in a grin while her sharp fangs were exposed in utter disbelief. “I’d ask if ya missed me, but I already heard it all,” moving his right arm, Heathcliff brought his hand up to wipe her tears away. The smearing crimson a paint for her interminable despair to be reborn as something new… which was why he dragged it out into a heart. “So, there a cat in there that got your tongue, or are you tryin’ to think o’ the right thing to say?” His thumb tapped against her cheek, “‘cause I don’t give a shite.” His left hand moved up to her other cheek as well before pulling the corner of her lip up into a smile. “All I want is just to hear the beautiful voice of my Sancho.”

Hi—His Sancho…? Wasn’t that a bi—bit bold…! “I— how are you even standing…?” The logistics… The logistics to why he was even here was what she questioned. Not why he was practically copying her outfit. Nor why his chest was exposed to this absolutely freezing air. Or even why he was out of bed. No… she focused on the arguably most important detail… as she always did.

“Innit obvious?” She was surprisingly accepting as he tilted her head right while his went left. “It’s ’cause I love you, Sancho,” those four words should’ve left his mouth much sooner than tonight. Nineteen years sooner… that was when he should’ve said them… maybe then there wouldn’t have been so much missed.

Like the pattering rain Nelly would read stories to him in, Sancho’s tears fell, splattering against the ground. Was her love on the floor or her sorrow? “Then… if you love me…” she took a step closer and looked up. The purple eyes reflected the moon, for it was a witness to their kinship… a witness to them. “Will you…” Sancho had dreamt for nineteen years. Nineteen years she spent with Heathcliff… and each one was a year they were dating… then married… A union of joy forever engraved within the moon itself… that was what she had dreamt. “You will go ba—”

The flexible blood remained intact as Heathcliff bent down, allowing him just the perfect range to kiss Sancho on her lips. Remaining open, his right eye looked into the candy apples booming with thunder, for the lightning that struck within left them electrified… stunned… enamored…

The dream that she had decades ago began with those four words: ‘I love you, Sancho.’ And now they hadn’t left her head. Bouncing every which way until there was nothing more within except that. Because with those words came an image, an image she followed through with.

Grabbing both sides of his face, her hands were freezing as they copied his own. But Heathcliff didn’t so much as react to the touch that wanted to leave him frostbitten…for her touch was warmer than fire itself.

There was nothing more to see when Sancho shut those eyes capturing her endless dreams, so Heathcliff did the same. With her hands going behind his head, Sancho locked him into this kiss, one she dreamt would last for eternity.

But no… this kiss was what delivered her from eternity. Without it, she was sure to be lost in misery forever… Endlessly toiling away in a lone abyss where none could ever pull her from. None except her guiding star… for he was the only light within this dark world…

And right now her world was positively shining. From the sparkling gray-white snow that slowly drifted to the ground, to the black, that was just a very faint abyssal blue like the sea that housed the twinkling stars overhead, of their coats.

Everything was swimming with color… even the fake indigo that her right eye had stared into before it shut. She could see each individual stroke of paint upon the iris before the little layer of resin protected the uneven strokes forever. She wondered if he was the one who painted it since it seemed like something he’d personally want to do.

There was a tingle on her lips, like the storm within his eye was traveling through it to leave a bolt of lightning upon them. A bolt that she herself grounded, mooring them both within reality. A reality that was once nothing but an impossible dream for the duo. A dream they would’ve always shared, even if neither reunited like this…

A dream that should’ve by all means ended in misery… but fate just had something else in store for these lovers divided by time. When they opened their eyes, the two thought they saw a red thread between their lips after they pulled away from each other.

Sancho’s red eyes looked up, finding the sparkle within his right eye to be the most enchanting thing in the world. “Have you…

Heathcliff’s violet eye stared down, finding the twinkling within her eyes to be the most adorable thing ever created. “You’ve…”

“… felt like this since we were forced apart… right?” They… wow. They were really on the same wavelength, weren’t they?

“Did you have to copy me, Heathcliff?” The lips were curled into a smile as her hands moved towards his own. With two graceful grasps, she took his hands into her own and held them beside her head.

“That’s not an answer to the question, Sancho.” The brunet beamed just as much as she did, and for the first time in years he could hear his heart pounding.

“Then… we shall say it at the same time.” The blood on her pale cheeks glistened as snow fell upon it. “Is that alright with you, Heathcliff?” Shyness absorbed her body as she turned her head slightly.

“‘Right then,” he cracked an ethereal smile that relished in the moonlight. “On one?” A quick nod made her lovely hair sway in the wind as the brunet let her bloody tear run down the length of his thumb.

“Three,” Heathcliff held his breath for a moment, having already come to a conclusion in his head. “Two,” Sancho did the same, her mind already knowing the brunet’s answer to this question. “One.” There, they both copied one another again, for they both had always known what they wanted. Something they both believed could never be found again…

“Yes. My heart ached without you…”

“Sancho.” His eyelids fell a little as he narrowed his gaze at her once again.

“Heathcliff.” Her head tilted down a little as her left eyebrow rose inquisitively.

“You must reeeally love copyin’ me, don’t ya, Sancho?”

“Oh? I love copying you? I could’ve sworn it was the other way around.”

The two laughed at one another, enjoying how the other couldn’t help but share the same feelings as them. “Now, what say we return you to bed? Standing like that can’t possibly feel good, Heathcliff.” Oh, it didn’t. But he wasn’t going to. In fact, since it was for Sancho, he’d stand out here as long as possible so they could bathe in the beautiful moon overhead.

“We?” Heathcliff, however, couldn’t just gloss over that term, “what, are you going to lay with me?” That… sounded so wrong, hence his mortified blush that mimicked Sancho’s own.

“We—Well, I don’t want you to risk your ability to stand for me,” but he would do… Oh. Yeah she was probably a slight bit mad about the first incident, wasn’t she…? “So it’s either you go willingly, or I force you into bed, Heathcliff.”

That… second choice. As much as he didn’t want Sancho to do anything for him, he was intrigued. “Force me, huh… And how do you think you’ll force a hunter like me to do your bid— too much?” She shrugged, sort of finding his little monologue to be as fun as one of her father’s scripts while also a little out of taste because he was still injured.

“I can gladly show you what I mean Heath if walking is too much of a struggle,” Sancho smirked, picturing in her mind just how she’d do it.

“What, ya gonna swaddle me in some blood?” Please. As if she truly needed to do that. “Or are ya—” the surprise was already ruined since he knew her so well. Which was why Sancho did it before another word could leave his mouth. “—gonna…” He looked down into her red eyes as her small frame effortlessly supported both his weight and height within her small arms. With one at his back and the other at his knees, Sancho carried him like she did Royda whenever they were to escape a ‘typical’ climax in their story. It was—“I’m not a damn princess, you know that right, Sancho…?”

“Is your distaste because I am not carrying you comfortably, Heathcliff?” Sancho’s red eyes swirled with blood. Was she about to cry…?

“No, no, absolutely not, love,” even if she was, Heathcliff would never say so. It’d just be mean to point it out, especially if she did it out of the blue. “Just… uh…” he laughed awkwardly as she placed him down in the bed, “imagined I’d be the one carrying you…”

“And why would…” like a rising fire, the blood in her face filled out until it reached her ears, turning them both a bright scarlet-like pink. “Yo—You wish to—to mar—marry a mo—mo—monster like me…?!” Haah… there that word was again… “B—But you won’t be ab—” Her voice fell faster than a meteor if it were to crush them right now.

Willingly pulling on his collar, Heathcliff exposed his jugular for her to bite down on. “You’re not a damn monster… and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with you, Sancho.” Her red eyes squirmed as blood began to spring forth. “I want to spend eternity with you…” he didn’t even need to think about it… this was a no-brainer for him. “So I’m ready… whenever you are, Sancho.”

Sancho stared blankly for a few seconds as her blood stained the already dark bedsheet. “Very… well…” the heart within her chest pounded as she climbed onto the bed and then climbed onto Heathcliff. With her hands going to his shoulders to steady herself, Sancho opened her mouth and poised her fangs to sink into his neck. “You… will—” in a moment she closed her lips and pressed a kiss into his flesh instead, “—have to wait until that day, Heathcliff…” Settling there like a bird and her best, Sancho sat beside Heathcliff’s weak legs and hugged him, her blood smearing as it ran down his chest.

“Well…” his spread hand rose until it came to the back of her head. “Then I guess you an’ I will make a promise to not leave each other, yeah?” Sancho shook her head, “oh, then what do you suggest?”

“For you to abstain from doing anything stupid again…” that was too broad, and she herself realized. “I mean…” it was a struggle to find the proper words without sounding like a completely cynical ass…

“Nah I get it,” Heathcliff knew what she meant immediately, after all, he didn’t need to do anything stupid unless she was in trouble again… “Don’t try and get myself killed, simple as, yeah?” He laughed, and scratched at his chin, “though, it is me we’re talking about, so maybe a month at best.” Sancho flicked his nose for that one as she laughed.

“That does remind me…” she pulled back, letting her eyes meet Heathcliff’s. “We never did finish telling each other what happened that day.” Heh, they got so damn sidetracked… “What say you continue on?”

“Sure, but only if you come here.” Patting the bed on his right side, Sancho listened to his beckons and sat against the bed frame with him. “So, where was I? That kind bear, yeah?” Sancho leaned on his shoulder with a frowning pout.

“Bears cannot be kind if they separate us, Heathcliff…” Sancho’s left hand was found as she pulled the covers up with the other.

“Would you rather have died together in agony, Sancho?” Well… if it was with Heathcliff…

“N—No…” she was sure her spirit would’ve broken as she saw Heathcliff slowly die and choke with tears until he fi—The squeeze on her hand snapped her out of her thoughts. Coming closer, Sancho snuggled right beside Heathcliff. Hoping for his words to slowly etch that thought out of her mind.

“Exactly,” Heathcliff wouldn’t want to see her like that either, knowing exactly what went on in that pretty head of hers. “Anyway, you saw my large scar, yeah?” How could she not? Those claw marks we—

“You got mauled by the bear?!” She hadn’t connected the dots just yet, not like he sort of expected. Three months of time passed and he knew the girl was smart, damn smarter than he ever was.

“Not my finest hour,” there’d been more grievous wounds, but those ones he actually smiled over. After all, they would have returned him to Sancho’s side had they been grave… Guess he was wrong for the entirety of his career. “If it’s any consultation,” his thumb twiddled against hers, “I was thinkin’ about what you said before I left that night?”

“The thing about our dreams?” He hummed a loud ‘no,’ making her blonde brows furrow, “well then you’re simply mistaken, Heathcliff.”

“Nope. ‘Cause I remember it as clear as the sparkles in your beautiful eyes,” dirty. What a dirty trick to make her blush. “It was as you slept, you said love… Heath…” he even paused, adding more than a shitty falsetto to prove its authenticity.

“Wait…” she remembered that dream, “so did you say I love you, Sancho?” That was just a part of her—No?! “So then why ask your question if you already knew?”

“It was your question too, Sancho,” well… “‘ave you thought that I might’ve wanted to hear it again?” Her heart swelled as it thumped quietly.

“You’re a fool, Heathcliff.” Oh come on, he didn’t do anything… “Yet it’s that foolishness that helps create the man I love.” Sancho lifted her head to give her three-time savior a kiss on his cheek.

“Would you say you’re a fool for loving one?”

“Perhaps…” her words lingered on his skin, “or perhaps it’s that fools attract one another.”

“Maybe,” he chuckled, the beautiful laugh extending the flame in her heart. “So, the bear, yeah?” She nodded, “that… bastard boss o’ mine was the one who killed it. He, along with Ish and Shu, fixed me up… if not for them, I wouldn’t be ‘ere…” The more he thought about them, the weirder it was for Ishmael to be here… let alone with her normal eye color. “Say… before I continue, mind telling me why Ish is here… with bloodfiends…?” Her nature, along with any of the other hunters, would’ve made for a mixture of 100 proof whiskey and fire…

“Ah. It would make sense for you to be confused…” she didn’t know how to approach what she was about to say. “Do you prefer a blunt weapon or sharp one?” Huh…?

“Well… ya saw my bat… so blunt…?” Heathcliff scratched his head at this question, “the hell’s this gotta do with what I asked, though?”

“The question was for me more than anything.” Sancho cleared her throat, knowing that this was definitely the wrong way to go about this. “But, they’re here since they killed the remaining Blood Hunters because they attempted to take my father’s head as he was sewing your spine and body back together.” Oh. That uh… wow, they really teamed up with a bloodfiend for his sake…?

“By they, you mean Shu, Ish, and Hong Lu, yeah?” Sancho nodded, “well…” He was sort of excited to see the first two again, but that last one… he’d pay for what he tried to do. “So, those three that chose me over the life of bloodfiend hunting rescued me, and it wasn’t until a few months later that I woke up.” They… really just left his shirt behind like that? “Then I asked that bastard to help me find you… but obviously I couldn’t, otherwise…” He coughed, finding it a tad annoying she was just a single district away from where they grew up. “I uh… you might hate me, but I wanted to give up without you, love… like… rot away alone…” Huh…

Her red eyes looked toward the scarred hand that gripped her tight. There wasn’t a single ounce of pain as he squeezed her hand… no. “But I was convinced not to… I was convinced to live as a testament to you, Sancho.” For how could such a heartfelt touch ever be painful? “So I did… and then I waited until I was old enough to fight with ‘em.” He fought and fought, riskin’ his neck constantly for the people who saved him… “rest o’ the story’s the same. Went around killed some bloodfiends, got hurt here an’ there, recovered. Rinse, repeat and that’s damn near the story for the past 13 years…” Painful monotony that would change forever with Sancho…

… who now decided it would be best if she left his shoulder. “So then these wounds…” her hand slowly reached forth, passing by the silver lapels to touch these wounds. “Are you saying they weren’t as bad as being apart from me…?” Some of these were nasty looking, with the three gashes being what she focused on the most. But there were some noticeable ones. Such as the gigantic hole that looked like he’d been impaled by a spear. Or the three inch cut that dragged itself off from his navel and towards his back. And the fact that he had no nipple on his left pectoral… he’d been through much worse than simply losing Sancho.

So when he answered her, Sancho fell forward, “of course. Why wouldn’t losin’ the love of my life be the worst pain ever?” There was a sting as her head crashed into his chest, “could ya be any more rough?” His right eye looked at her scalp before her arms went around his coat to hug him, making sure not to hurt his spine any more than it already was.

“Sorry…” She wanted this hug, and any future ones, to erase the pain he was always feeling. Just as she was certain that hugging him like this would erase the pain she felt… pain significantly lesser than his own. “I just… needed to hug you…”

“So, is this to make up lost time or just ‘cause?”

Sancho nuzzled her head into his chest until her ear was pressed against it, allowing her to hear his lovely heartbeat. “Both.” Her eyes were shut, allowing Heathcliff to raise his hands and hold her tight. She didn’t think much of this until he began shuffling downwards, “are you tired, Heathcliff?” She looked up with concern, one of her red eyes catching his very soul to witness the galaxy within it.

Ah… maybe? “I just wanted to get us a little more comfortable,” his violet eye was just enamored with that pretty face of hers. “But if you’re tired, I could go for a little bit o’ sleep.”

“Even after how long you’ve already slept?” Sancho clearly didn’t get it otherwise she most likely would’ve been all for it after a considerable amount of time ticked away.

“I mean… wouldn’t it be different?” The brunet continued as her brow rose, “you’d be… we’d be sleepin’ beside each other just like then.” Oh… there was a little blush on her face, blush that he thought was cute but entirely out of place with the shyness in her expression. “Somethin’... to be embarrassed ‘bout, Sancho?”

“You… don’t mean the other thing… right…?” Confidence came with his shaking head, making the blonde breathe a sigh of relief that made her body heave.

“Weeeellll…” her red eye wandered away from him as it burned with dryness, “this is my bed…” Wait…

“Are you sayin’ that you’ve been sleepin’ beside me for three months?” Yes… but there was definitely more to it considering how the blood grew in color, becoming darker.

Sancho’s face burnt bright as she struggled to answer Heathcliff, “and I may… have… cuddled you…?” Heathcliff saw no downsides to this, which was why he found her bashfulness a bit odd.

“Sancho.” Heathcliff pulled her slightly up, letting her slide across his chest as she thought a bit of reprimand would head her way… But it certainly didn’t, “you are so damn cute, it’s bloody crazy.” A kiss pressed against the head that was resting against his neck now.

Could a hum… bloodfiend head randomly catch fire if it got too hot? Because that’s certainly what her head felt like. “Ar—Are you trying to make my heart explode?” It sure felt like it with how fast it beat against Heathcliff’s own rapid pulse.

“Obviously not,” the soft waves of her hair made Heathcliff’s somewhat numb fingers melt as he shut his eyes. “Say, Sancho,” twiddling endlessly would’ve helped him drift off sooner, but hearing her beautiful voice would’ve made it even faster. “How come you ‘aven’t said what happened when I left…?”

“Aaaaaaahhhhnnn~” Sancho produced the fakest yawn ever yawned in the world. “Well, I hath been awake since the sun rose yesterday.” She let her hands move upwards and had them level out with her face buried in his strong chest. “So goodnight my dear Heathcliff,” she wasn’t going to get out of this that easily. No sirree.

“Oh woe is me,” thank you Shu for showing him that stupid book, “thou hath shattered mine heart by hiding thine own.” It was a joke, obviously, but Sancho felt a little guilty because of it.

“You… didn’t have to say all of that…” even more so when it sounded like how her father spoke. “It’s just… my story is… worse…” Without Heathcliff, Sancho was certain that eventually, her story would’ve ended right in front of that statue, where she would kneel as she cried for eternity before it.

“Love, I’m right here. And there’ll be nothing that can ever change that,” these warm words took the shape of a horse as they galloped into Sancho’s ears. “So please, share all of your pain with me, Sancho…”

The blonde girl gulped, a tiny trickle of blood leaving her eyes as she let two tears fall. “Very well… if you insist… then do know I tried searching for you the moment I awoke. And as I traversed through the woods, I cried out for you… begging that you didn’t leave me…” Oh… oh no… She was right to keep this to herself if he was right. “It wasn’t long until I found your shirt… without you, Heath…” she crushed his lung as her head pushed into the warm embrace of his chest. “Without you I wanted to die… because I thought I was the one to blame…”

Immediately his arms latched onto her, letting the two scarred arms pull her close enough to crush his own organs themselves. “To—Too tight…” Sancho groaned out, wheezing a little towards the end since her own lungs were depressed.

“Sorry… it’s just…” his violet eye peered inquisitively into her scalp, going right through to her mind, “you know I’d never blame you for anything, right, Sancho…?” There wasn’t even a single hint of hesitation within her as her wavy hair tickled his chest.

“I do… but not back then…” the imprint of half a smile was embedded into his chest, “we were both fools and will always be fools, for nothing will change that… surely, Heathcliff?” Yep. No changing either of them. “I’m glad I get to be a fool beside you…” the blood holding his left leg up was shattered when her hug squeezed a little too tight… he probably didn’t need that anymore.

“Yeah,” just like the infinite stars in the sky, he was sure there was another world where there wouldn’t have to be any lost time or gathered pain between them. “Truly a wonder that two fools found one another twice…” quite strange… but quite lovely as well.

“Hmm…” Sancho hummed out, her tiny vibration making his heart tingle, “now… may I end my story there, Heathcliff…?”

“Y’know how you’re supposed to drain the venom out of a wound?”

Haah… “fine… I took your shirt and the little tab with me as I wandered, just as I had done until the day we met. I never stopped for food nor water… wishing for my body to just… crumple… And it did. My body failed to function allowing me to fall within a patch of violet heath,” was it… “the same flowers my father had to extinguish when they caught fire…” Ah, yeah his gut was right. “There… my father rescued me, and he quickly forced me to survive… before giving me my life’s purpose. A purpose that drove me further… and further into the darkest pits of despair that was of my own making: to be the sole deliverer of your memories throughout my life. I thought that such a noble task would’ve been an easy burden to carry… but as the years passed I began to realize nothing would change. You’d still be a corpse… and I’d be speaking to a statue as if it were the real you…”

There was a faint wish for him to be able to place his forehead against Sancho’s to stare into her lovely eyes as he spoke, but this was fine as is. “Heh, if it’s any consolation… I uh… I named my bat Sancho so that you’d always be beside me.”

Raising her head to stare at him with her wide doe eyes, Sancho let her chin burrow into his chest bone. “Would you be… upset… if I had a statue made of you…?” Was she talking about a future…

“I’m sorry, I thought it was a random statue,” Heathcliff shook his head a bit as he slowly blinked a bit, “y’know like an… angel or somethin’... But it’s of me, innit…?”

Sancho shook her head a little, “it’s a statue of us…” the smile she gave him was burning his heart with how precious it was. “Of the last memory we shared…” her cheeks brightened a little as she couldn’t meet Heathcliff’s gaze without burning with embarrassment.

He… got an idea most brilliant because of this, “what say that you an’ I have a picnic or somethin’ there when I can walk, yeah?” The red eyes lowered when her forehead pressed into his chest, “is ‘at a bad idea, Sancho?”

“Not at all… I just don’t see when we can have that…” wait… was he going to be unable to walk forever? “The park is full of patrons every single day so we can’t have a picnic in the day… and there are certainly going to be members of my family watching us like creeps if we do it at night…” Sancho was thinking heavily about this, seeing absolutely no chance for them to have that picnic… wait… She knew one thing, and that was for the park to be devoid of any family members between 03:00 and 06:00 because that was when she did rounds with her father to ensure everything was in working order. She could definitely sneak out during it… though it wouldn’t be too lovely of a picnic seeing as it would be cold and dark out…

“Anytime is fine with me, Sancho.” He rubbed her scalp, his dull fingers scratching her head a little, “just don’t stress yourself out about it, yeah?” The ability to use his own legs just fine were needed in the first place, and who knows how long that could take.

“Ah… well, until then,” Sancho would be foolish to miss out on a single meal with Heathcliff between these two dates. “I suppose we can eat together in here… if you are alright with that…”

‘Course he’d be fine with that, he’d be fine with eating beside a dumpster just as long as Sancho was okay with it. “Whatever you want, love,” his eyes closed once more to allow him to see the void of twinkling stars. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Oh, so are you saying—” Sancho didn’t open her eyes as she spoke with her cheek against his chest. “—that you don’t want to eat with me?” She just wanted to hear him say what he wanted instead of that… it just made it sound like he was forced to do it.

“No. I absolutely want to eat with you,” the brunet had a vein bulge in his forehead for a moment. “Because that’s something I don’t want to miss out on at all.” Haah… they really always thought the same, didn’t they…

“Well…” Sancho tilted her head to kiss him before letting it fall back to where it was, “then I suppose this is good night, Heathcliff?” Just being within his warm grasp made her tired.

“I s’pose it is,” the brunet felt the same, finding her somewhat cold body to be quite comforting. “Goodnight, Sancho,” if he could, he would kiss her right now. But then that’d just disturb her.

… the utter fools… that’s what the two were. Utter fools that fell for one another decades ago… and were reunited by the same fate that tore them apart. Truly… they were made for one another.

————

“Ooooh—” A boot quickly kicked the handle, breaking through the little latch that held the door shut. “—Heeeeaathcliiifff~” The voice belonged to none other than the boss of the Blood Hunters as he walked into the room. Behind him a red eyed woman was drawing her blade to bash the back of the foolish L.E’s head for being an absolute menace. And behind her was a redhead, who was holding the tip of the odachi’s sheath to prevent the red-eyed woman from doing anything stupid.

“Can you not be a nuisance, Hong Lu?” Ishmael asked, her tone dry as she held her head in complete embarrassment since their boss was just sooo unprofessional.

“Q.U.E.E.N.S,” Ryoushuu spoke, wanting to give the two who were finally reunited after decades apart the chance that she couldn’t exactly have with Yuzuki.

“Hmm~ I suppose I shouldn’t have shouted…” There, peacefully sleeping in the bed with the blonde girl on top, were Heathcliff and Sancho. Not disturbed in the slightest by the words coming from any of the Blood Hunters, “sorry Heath, sorry Sancho~” Stepping backwards, the man with a cyan left eye ushered the two back through the door to allow the duo to dream some beautiful, unending dreams…

For that was what they deserved after what he almost did… to have phenomenal dreams with one another at the helms of them.

Chapter Text

⛈️~~~~~~~~🎠

A dark silence enshrouded the room. Six of them stood, while one of them sat… his legs crossed as he looked at the ceiling. Going over the armrest, the man bounced his feet as his neck laid within the other one. “I suppose none of thee knoweth wherefore those two are…?” His red eyes were excruciatingly bored, showing off as a dull crimson as he tried to drum up a semblance of energy.

“No,” Outis began, her hands held behind her back as she scowled a little. This made it the… sixteenth time now? “If I may make a suggestion, father,” especially to her it was annoying, since it reminded her of the soldiers that fell out of line. When his hand waved to hear such an idea, Outis smirked. “I say we ground those two from leaving the grounds of the park for sixteen months.” There were a few glares from down the line, including one from Rodya, the only non-human to do so.

“Absolutely not,” Don Quixote responded, shutting down her cruel punishment immediately. “Though,” the man with dull gold hair twisted in his throne until his feet graced the ground below him with their presence. “I believeth they art in need of an awakening towards this issue they saddle upon us all.” Pointing right at Gregor, the owner of La Mancha Land asked him a question. “What is a fitting punishment for those two?”

A question that would go down the line to hear everyone’s ideas. “Well… maybe having them help out around the park for a month would be good?” Gregor himself wasn’t even confident in his idea, especially since they already did work. But Don Quixote spun the idea around a little bit, turning it into one where they’d have to work one hundred extra hours without any sort of payment. But that was an… iffy idea.

So he pointed his finger, but not exactly at the next down the line. “Ah, me?” Ishmael’s somewhat tanned finger pointed towards her hazel eyes before she received a nod from the father of the Manchegans. “Well then I’d personally drag Heath by the hair from here to wherever they are after this meeting.” She scoffed and cracked a smirk since she felt Ryoushuu do the same, “and I’d do it every other time he does this.” Sancho however… she didn’t really have an idea for her since she considered that this would make her feel just as much pain as Heathcliff did.

Next was the end of the line, going right to Ryoushuu, who grinned like a maniac. “Murder.” The one word answer wasn’t SANGRIA. It was her suggestion. Her bloody suggestion. What, did she want to slice his head off? Perhaps take Sancho’s heart?

“You…” Don Quixote should’ve been used to this woman’s murderous mind, but no. Not even with a few years of being around her lying underneath his cloak could he stop from being slightly perturbed by her. “We shalt move on,” Ryoushuu glared with a scowl, her red eyes glowing a little. How could he flat out deny her idea and not the others’ mostly shitty ones? It was just plain rude…

“Ah hah, I suppose I do have quite an idea~” Hong Lu’s eye met Don Quixote’s eyes, “my mother quite liked this: take the scalding bottom of a boiling kettle and place it at the base of their spines every time they do this.” Everyone except Ryoushuu, who expected no less, was entirely appalled by what he said. “Jia Huan has a few scars from her method~”

In silence, the finger turned to the last one in the room, “finally, the most important idea for last.” Rodya’s words were met with a snicker from Ishmael and a scowl from Outis. “Why not disband these weekly meetings?”

And for that one her father smiled, “are you dense in the head?” Outis poked out from the line to stare at Rodya, “that could cause harm to both the park and the family, you senseless woman.” Hey! How rude…

“I never said to end them, Outie,” Rodya returned the glare, their red eyes shooting a spark between them. Gregor, who was in the middle, took a step back to let them go at it fully.

“Perhaps you’re suggesting a weekly meeting that isn’t scheduled every Sunday night?” Hong Lu thought out loud, making Rodya snap and point her arm towards him.

“Exactly~” Rodya certainly didn’t like that an hour or two was taken from her free Sunday night to give a report upon the park and the areas they were designated to. Her and Hong Lu in area one, Ryoushuu and Gregor in area two, Ishmael with Outis in Area three, and the two bozos who weren’t here were to be around wherever, same as Don Quixote. All of that to ensure the children of the Manchegans were safe and well cared for so none would ever think of drinking blood. Especially since a few even confessed to it before tonight; “it doesn’t matter if it’s ten days or five, we should have at least four per month, just not only on Sunday.”

“A lack of discipline from us could also harm the park!” Outis raised her voice before breaking the glare to look at their father. “I detest this pathetic idea, fa—”

His hand rose, the gentle palm a signal they established as a way to stop. “I understand thy woes and worries, dear Outis,” laziness was an insidious killer of discipline after all. “But thou mustn’t devolve into insulting words towards thy family. ‘Tis rude and unbecoming…” Outis looked down towards her feet, the red blade of her hair dangling in front of her red eyes, feeling no better even as Greg pat her on the shoulder. “If it does anything to please thee, then I hath made an incredible solution to such a situation.” Don Quixote’s feet squared against the ground, laying flat upon it. “‘Tis not a matter of when, but I must receive a report once from thine areas every five to eight days.” Ishmael was the only one that didn’t really like this idea, speaking entirely from a logistical standpoint.

“You understand the entire reason for these meetings is to relay information between us all, right…?” Over the course of their ‘contract,’ everyone of the remaining Blood Hunters, the four, learned how foolish the father of the Manchegans truly was.

“Yes.” That answer made her left eye twitch.

“So then… what?” Her hazel eyes were filled with a sour look, one more sour than milk left out on the counter for a week during a heat wave. “You will constantly relay the information to all of us?” It was clear that there hadn’t been much thought to this considering the facade of a content expression written upon Don Quixote’s face. “Haah… you need to stop jumping into things sometimes, boss…” Was she talking to their red-eyed boss, or Hong Lu?

“Ah, but jumping into things is what makes life interesting, dear Ishmael,” Don Quixote retorted, earning a resounding approval from only one person. Which, of course, had to be Hong Lu, earning a sigh out of Ishmael as he clapped twice.

“I.S.H.M.A.E.L,” Ryoushuu said as she freed her lighter from her pocket, earning Ishmael’s entirely stunned gaze with her word. “Not you, Redhead,” this made her a tad sad, but rather interested since that was a SANGRIA made from her name.

“Are you really gonna smoke, Shu?” Rodya asked, not exactly enthused for the scent of her acrid smoke to soak into her clothing.

The absolutely bland look that she received while Ryoushuu pulled out a cigarette was her answer. “W.B.O, B.G?” She had caught his gaze, knowing that a priest such as he was practically fiending for some nicotine without the ire-filled gaze from some of his children around.

“Maybe later,” Rodya certainly wouldn’t want to be assaulted on both sides from cigarettes. That, and he could feel Outis’ gaze burn through his head and right towards Ryoushuu. “But uh, father, have you come to a conclusion yet?” That was odd. Usually Gregor was one to stay quiet during these meetings, same with Shu. So everyone set their eyes on him in surprise when he took the initiative to ask their father his opinion. “Wow uh… don’t all look at once, I guess…” so many eyes… it just felt strange enough for him to look down…

“Well, I certainly have not, herr Gregor,” Don Quixote smirked with that one since one of his children recently brought a way to address Gregor up to him. “Are you asking because thou hath thought of something?”

“Maybe?” Well? Spit it out, B.G. “Perhaps we should just let them be?” That was the absolutely no fun answer as could be told from half of the room… the lesser half, but half nonetheless. “I mean, the two buds were separated for decades… I’d let ‘em catch up as much as possible…” The only one who scoffed out of that half was Ryoushuu. The others simply sighed… and the reason was obvious: As much as they wanted to punish the two, they couldn’t help but root for them and their flourishing romance. What was nothing more than a planted seed twenty-one years ago was now a fully flourished, and still growing, rose bush. One bearing roses of wuthering violets, carmine reds, and dreaming oranges. Those two just… they really loved one another. Just as much as Outis loved Penelope, or as much as Ishmael loved Queequeg and Ryoushuu…

“You wish to exonerate thy fellows of all blame?” Don Quixote reiterated with a smile on his face, “‘tis rather hilarious since that was my same belief.” If that was his idea from the start, then why continue this trend…? “Well, I suppose if thou art in favor raise thy hand,” after five seconds, all caused by Ryoushuu’s slight reluctance, the motion was passed without a single hand down. “Very well,” raising his left leg, Don Quixote folded it over the other knee. “I must ask, thou both knew of their whereabouts, certainly Sir Lu, dear Rodya?” They both nodded, their respectively long hair bouncing up and down, “then why didst thou hold thy tongues?”

“I supposed this would be rather fun to see how everyone else thought about those two~” Hong Lu said, hiding his other reason behind Rodya since he knew she’d point it out.

“You received an answer from only Outie, father,” she grinned as Don Quixote thought back to a couple minutes ago. “Not from anyone else. Who knows, maybe Shu knew too,” she didn’t since the respective two came to them each.

“Then wouldst thou wish to go get them? Or perhaps say where or what they art doing?” They both had a three word answer.

“That’s a secret~” it truly was, especially since everyone would be happy for them.

His dull golden eyebrows pressed towards the center for a moment, but then the fold dissolved, “very well.” Outis displayed a momentary dislike for letting both her mother and that Blood Hunter boss off of the hook. “Then shalt we continue with the meeting in the meantime or reconvene when those two return with ardor upon their backs?”

“Definitely pick that second one guys,” Rodya said, her words affirmed by Hong Lu’s nod. Those two… despite it being past 23:00… would take a loooong time. Neither of them even expected them to be back until tomorrow…

🎠~~~~~~~~⛈️

With the burden on his shoulders, Heathcliff walked through the sunny streets. “Are you sure you’re alright, Heathcliff…?”

The man with two purple eyes that had separate shades looked up into the two red eyes and a flushed face. She was hunched over, her spine bent at an entirely unnatural angle. “Of course not, love,” the brunet stopped in place before tilting his head slightly up.

“Then please let me down…” Sancho whined a little. She was wearing a beautiful pink dress that Outis had made her. While she did prefer the boyish clothing she had always worn, she figured, as always, it would be best to show herself off for Heathcliff on their dates. Around her collar, which was slightly open, were tiny ridges that looked like alternating rose petals. In fact, every opening was lined with these petals, especially the leg parts since those petals were large and separated into three layers that went slightly below her knees. If there weren’t spats underneath her dress’ skirt, then she was sure to die of utter embarrassment with how much her dress hiked up right now.

“You an’ I both know that’s not what I meant Sancho,” people passed them by, wondering just why this man with dark skin had a girlfriend with shut eyes riding upon his shoulders.

“Then I clearly don’t know what you mean, Heath…” Haah… why lie…? They both clearly knew it since he could clearly see her eyes move through the eyelids.

“Uh huh,” he knew why she was doing this. But he didn’t feel bad in the slightest. “Sancho, what exactly does my face look like right now?”

Oh? “Incredibly handsome for the fool I love,” awww, he loved the flattery… the whole diverting from the question though…? Yeah, no.

“Yup, mmhmm,” Heathcliff pressed his lips tight in discontent, “Sancho.” Reaching towards the hands on his shoulders, the brunet gently ran his thumb over her ring and pinky knuckles. “Can you please stop hiding yourself for me?” Her cheeks rose in color with his gentle squeeze.

“Bu—But Heath…” she lowered herself more and whispered, “my eyes will scare others…” That was certainly true since one of their dates ended up with the duo having to evade some hunters called to kill them both. He still enjoyed that part, especially having to use a blade blossomed forth from her blood to kill the three inexperienced twats.

“And?” Sancho squeezed his hand once more… an attempt to beg him to stop… “I don’t give a shite what happens, Sancho. I want the world to see ‘ow beautiful the prettiest gal alive is.” Her face was now steeped in a brighter shade of crimson embarrassment. One that made a weak fist strike Heath’s shoulder, “ow, love, ‘at ‘urt.” There was a chuckle from him before that jollyness faded, “but please, Sancho? Can ya do it for your fool?” She was squealing inside, for that unfolded heart of hers was set right onto a pan with his scorching feelings for her underneath.

“Heathcliff… I don’t want you to get cut again…” her fingers went to his nose without an issue, gently tracing the scar lining the bridge. “So I’m begging you…” there was a frown as she bit her lip, bloody tears forming upon her closed eyelids. “Let me stay like this…” She remembered how much blood was trailing down both his face and side despite how much he smiled… It was clear that he wanted her to remember that day as a happy one, but that was simply impossible…

“Sancho…” blood plipped down onto his cheek, the crimson washing his expression anew. “Haah…” maybe he shouldn’t have nicked those contacts o’ hers. He thought they could’ve had a good time together without any issues… but he was wrong… “Hold on, love… I’ll find you a bathroom…”

“Wha—why…?” His statement just seemed so out of place…

“‘Cause I’m a fockin’ arse…” if she weren’t on top of his shoulders, then he would’ve pulled the damn case out to show her.

————

Emerging from the public bathroom, Sancho held a frown as she stared at Heathcliff with orange eyes. Shame was written upon his face as his purple eyes stared into the pebbles embedded into the ground. “Did you really have to steal my contacts?” Heathcliff shook his head in shame…

“I just wanted to see you in all your beauty today… bloody honest, Sancho…” She pouted for a moment before realizing his heart was drenched in blood.

“Do you… really like my new eyes over these old ones, Heath?” He hated the world for how it made the most important woman in it feel. For she felt utterly disgusted in her eyes whenever they were outside of their home district…

His hands reached forward to wrap around her own, “of course I do, Sancho.” With their fingers intertwined, Heathcliff continued, making Sancho’s eyes sparkle with adoration towards her fool. “What you were is what you’ve been, but what you are is what you’ll be. And I’ll always love what you are.” There hadn’t been any sort of rehearsal in his head, no, what he just said came straight from the heart, implanting a stake within her own heart.

“So… you’ll always love my red eyes?” He nodded, “a—and you’ll love me even if I were to bite you…?” No hesitation was present as his hair bobbed up and down. “So… you’ll love me no matter what I look like… or what I do?”

“That’s the point I’m tryna make, love,” he loved how her eyes looked in the past, but that was the past. Couldn’t relive it now, could they? “I’d rather you spend this date as you naturally are instead of havin’ to hide in fear. I want you—” Heathcliff gently pulled her closer and held her right hand out while keeping her left arm close to her hip. “—the Sancho my heart burns for, to not fear anythin’ because o’ your body.” To all the passersby, they looked as if they were tangled in the romantic start of a dance.

Behind the orange contacts, Heathcliff could see the blood within her eyes rise, making the shade of the iris darker and causing it to look much like a blood orange. Pressing her forehead into his chest, Sancho continued, “I’m sorry, Heath… but I just can’t see you hurt again…” She would be crying right now if her heart weren’t burning from the ardor filled fuel Heathcliff drenched it in. “But I swear, next time… next time will be different…” If he didn’t care… then neither would she… But today? Today was a day where she couldn’t risk either of them getting hurt… but she was still more worried about Heath than herself.

And the reason for both of their desires was obvious… What with the… hidden rings they both had. Rings that wouldn’t exactly come out until later… during the near-apex of their date.

But for now, they had an entirely separate amusement park to attend to. One neither of them had to take care of… which was why Heathcliff returned to carrying her.

“Hey, Heath?” Sancho began when they were about halfway there. “Thank you…”

“Don’t thank me for lovin’ you, Sancho,” the brunet said with his eyebrows furrowed, “I’ve always loved you, no matter what. An’ nothin’ woulda ever changed that,” his left index finger tapped against his temple, “not even this barmy brain o’ mine.” Her short and wavy hair fluttered in the breeze for a moment, the cold autumn wind doing nothing to faze her as she stared down at the spectacle of the man whose shoulders she rode.

“I’m really glad we met that night, Heath~” she sang out, her gentle voice as beautiful as ever. “You’re truly—” she leaned over, throwing his step off balance for a split-moment. “—the greatest person alive.” Befuddled. That’s what his expression read as he continued his stride.

“Well uh… I wouldn’t say all ‘at since you’re right here,” his hand went to her left knee as he blushed, “but thanks love, really.” Heathcliff couldn’t wait until they were back home, that way… he could do what he’s wanted to do for the past two years.

“I’m glad you’re so happy, my dear Heathcliff,” stopping in his tracks, the brunet looked up to a confused expression. That voice clearly wasn’t Sancho’s so he looked around, finding no-one behind them close enough to them to have said something like that. It was… odd.

“Is something the matter, Heathcliff?” Sancho asked, trying to see if there was someone he was looking at or something. But then she spotted… something, she guessed. “Do you know that woman with chestnut hair or something?”

He… “no…” He was sure the only time he’d seen that hair color was on patrons he didn’t even interact with as Sancho taught him all sorts of things about the park. But… there was something familiar… something he thought he forgot? But how? Nobody that he’d ever known, which his guess at the moment was Nelly, looked like that or was that short. “Yeah yeah yeah, not at all,” he shook his head, his mind feeling like thick molasses with how confused he felt. “I think I just got like a… sense o’ deja vu or somethin’.”

“Well are you alright?” Sancho was concerned, wondering just what could’ve forced the brunet so far out of his own head.

“Uh…” it was weird that he had to even question himself… But with a shake of his head the last bit of syrup poured from his ears, “yeah… sorry ‘bout all that, Sancho.” She wasn’t so easily dissuaded however. That woman seemed really weird to her as well… like she may have known her in another life…

“Are you entirely sure, Heathcliff?” The way she asked wasn’t accusatory or intrusive, she simply cared about him.

“Yeah,” he nodded before turning back around, “why ask again? Somethin’ not sittin’ right with you?” Well… a little. “Wanna talk about it… or no…?” The reluctance on her face made him deviate to that other path.

“I suppose… that if you are fine…” Sancho’s red eyes were trying to wrap her head around if she’d ever seen that woman, “then I am as well…” That wasn’t how this worked in the slightest.

“Sancho, if somethin’s really buggin’ ya, then go on an’ tell me,” she looked stout in her ways, unable to change her mind in spite of his words, “please?”

The static in her head was discharged by his question, “sorry, just the thoughts of a fool, I suppose.” She beamed a smile down upon him, acting as a second sun with the radiance she exudes. “Let’s just have a great date, yeah?” He nodded in agreement… and off they went…

Neither of the two bothered to even sneak a look back at the woman whose gentle smile engraved itself into their backs… before she disappeared.

⛈️~~~~~~~~🎠

When they arrived at the amusement park in District 8, the two immediately began to enjoy themselves. One of the later things they did was go to a shooting gallery. There was a little competition between the two, seeing which of them could score more points. The margin was small, but Sancho won it since his eyes weren’t as good as her own. If only he hadn’t missed that golden target worth 50 points, then he would’ve been right on par with her. Regardless, they both simultaneously requested that rabbit, but only Sancho got the big ticket item… Which was why Heath got the unicorn instead…

“Oh come on, you can’t say it doesn’t look like you, Heathcliff.” She pushed the rabbit closer to his face, its angry expression as it nibbled on a carrot mimicking his pretty well.

His eyes looked over to the red eyes surrounded by dark brown fur. “Yeah no, can’t see it at all, Sancho,” aww… if only there was a mirror around here for him to look through… Huh, well, there definitely was, so she took his hand and dragged him off into his blind spot. “A ‘ouse of mirrors?”

He looked ahead at her bobbing hair, “yeah, so you can see just how much…” She paused for a moment, stopping in her tracks as she placed a finger upon her lips. “Hareton looks like you.” A thin haired brow rose at her ingenuity.

“Did’ya really come up with that on the spot, Sancho?” She triumphantly nodded, proud of her name for the plushy she would put in their bed. “Then what’s the name for this unicorn?” Without a line in the way since it was sort of an unpopular attraction, the lovers made their way into the house of mirrors.

“Hmmm…” Sancho’s orange eyes wandered the darkened halls of the corridor as she tried to come up with something for the unicorn. Its chiral horn was a light blue, though if it were red it would look partially like one of her or her father’s lances. Its eyes were purple and surrounded in pure white fur, much like the moon that would be in full visibility tonight. “Perhaps…” the duo stopped in front of a mirror that made them both taller, “Rocinante?”

“After that horse Don Quixote made…” its crimson eyes made of blood still pierced into his soul to this day, and that horse’s face sometimes found its way into his nightmares, waking him up near immediately. “Really…?”

“Is there something wrong with the name, Heath?” Her hands were planted on her hips as she looked up at the brunet.

No. Not at all; “only thing I hate is the horse, love. Can’t stand that thing in the slightest…” and she knew that quite well. Perhaps that was why she wanted to name the unicorn after Rocinante, so that his memories would be slowly overridden by the unicorn that would watch over them.

“Good,” she looked back to the mirror, watching in it as Heathcliff’s distorted arm moved behind her back and placed Rocinante atop her head… which fit surprisingly well there. “Rocinante, what do you think you’re doing up there?” A hearty laugh was shared as they both found it cute and endearing. Afterwards, her orange eyes wandered up, meeting Heathcliff’s reflection halfway. And then her neck followed suit, imitating Heathcliff once more. Rocinante looked towards his hairline while the lovers’ eyes met. Pulling each other in, they shared a brief kiss, “hmm… I think Rocinante is asking for a kiss as well.” She snickered a little, finding even further joy in the tiny things.

“I’m not kissin’ a plush that’s been who knows where, love,” Heathcliff said, leading to her pout that was pushed left. “You can bite me arse and I still wouldn’t, Sancho,” taking the unicorn from her tamed hair, the brunet returned to their path.

“After Rocinante is washed then?” She asked as they became shorter, pitting them both at a height equal with Heath’s real knees. She was just so short in real life that the mirror couldn’t go any shorter.

“Why do you want me to kiss Rocinante anyway?” He stared at the goofy looking plush as the two became thinner than angel hair.

“I just think it would be cute…” Sancho frowned for a moment, upset that these mirrors were worse than the ones at home. “Especially since it looks like me.” Well… then the same could be said about most plushies smiling.

“Why not ’ave Hareton and Rocinante kiss?” The brunet thought that was the more than logical conclusion since they themselves could kiss one another.

Sancho did plan that, so it was nice to hear he hadn’t lost his ability to read her mind at all as their faces distorted. “They’re going to do that anyway, Heath…” all she needed was a good place. Just where on Heathcliff’s unused side would it go?

“So then that leaves you and I open…” their legs grew ten times while their chests shrank like peas. “Ta kiss, yeah?”

“But that’s not special…” Heathcliff’s eyebrow furrowed as his chest was accentuated along with her own. His was gigantic though, “I mean… well you know what I mean, Heath.” Yeah, of course he did. Wouldn’t really be this deep in love with her if he didn’t understand her.

“So what?” They passed right by the one that made them wide and short. “Me kissin’ a horse is more special than kissing you?” The blood rose into her face as she felt slightly embarrassed.

“Well… no…” Sancho pursed her lips as they passed into the final mirror, “that’s not what I meant and you know it.” She looked at their foreheads as they dominated the mirror, making them both actually stand there to look at it. “I just thought it would be special as in ‘funny’ special.” Just like these mirrors.

He rubbed at his chin like it were a genie’s lamp answering her wish, “I s’pose it would.” Though, if he were being honest, it would be ‘funniest,’ and utterly traumatizing, to kiss the real Rocinante. Hopefully Sancho didn’t get that idea at all, otherwise he’d have to live with her having thought of it at all.

“Do you think it would be a good idea to get one of these for our house of mirrors?” Sancho asked, having broken the cardinal rule of their dates. Which was why he pressed his lips as he deadpanned at her, “oh come, it’s just once, Heath.”

Tell that to the 73 other mentions during their dates… “Haah…” And the 73 times he broke down and gave her an answer… well, 74 now. “Probably not,” his eyes ran up and down the length of the forehead that was as tall as he was. “It’s hardly eye catchin’ y’know? Only reason we stopped was ‘cause it was out of our ordinary,” true. So completely true… but he was missing out on something else.

“That… aaand,” Sancho quickly turned on her heel to stand on her toes and kiss Heathcliff. With her arm wrapping around him, she pulled him deep into it, making the ten second kiss the end to this rather short corridor of mirrors. “There’s that too.”

Heathcliff cracked a smirk, “can’t really put a kiss in a mirror…” His canines were gleaming with enthrallment in the dim light. “I mean you can, but the sweetness of it won’t be there,” Sancho continued forth, pulling them out of the structure. “That’s just simply impossible for a mirror to reflect.”

“Oh? But it looked quite like you were enjoying it, your reflection too.” Sancho pointed out, poking a hole right into his logic.

“A reflection is only a glimpse into the expression, not the heart, Sancho,” did… someone teach him something this poetic? Perhaps Miss Outis…? “An’ I’ll tell ya what, my heart is filled with love,” love only for her obviously.

“That’s rather beautiful, Heath,” closing the gap between their shoulders, Sancho came close enough to lean on him for a moment.

He’d have to take a moment to thank Don Quixote later for the spontaneous idea. That whole little conversation about reflections the other month was something he quite liked. Even if the conversation was with someone so eccentric that he sounded particularly insane sometimes, especially concerning the tales of the 12-armed bloodfiends, Heathcliff didn’t dislike them. “Is it?” He asked, as if he already hadn’t reached that conclusion.

“Of course, it makes you sound like a romantic fool,” his expression froze before a vein could bulge out of his forehead. “You don’t like being my fool?” Sancho asked with a pout, the cuteness of her expression making his heart beat a pace or three faster.

Heathcliff wished he could stare into her beautiful red eyes, but those orange ones would have to make do until tonight. “Well, I don’t mind it,” he playfully said, his tone betraying what he actually thought in order to tease her.

“Oh? So you hate being my fool, Heath…?” Her eyes were filled with a fake sorrow, “I see how it is…” The rabbit crossed over, coming near their hands that were still held, “then I suppose I hate being yours as well.” Her head looked away from him as she continued to hold his hand.

“Really?” The violet ran down after he leaned forward a little to see shut eyelids, “you hate being my fool, Sancho?” Looking back, Sancho’s orange eyes looked up into his eyes with a fake, frozen contempt. “Well, then I suppose this rela—” with the rabbit in hand, Sancho forcibly yanked him down by the collar, absorbing his lips in a fiery kiss for a moment.

“Never. Not even as a joke,” sweet oranges met his gaze as he took in the details of her flushed expression and the lips curled somewhat downward.

“You know I’d never say that, Sancho,” Heathcliff furrowed his eyebrows a little. “I was just about to say ‘this relationship built upon fools is less of a joke now.’” Narrowing, the tunnels of orange backed in red stared right through his soul, “was ‘at a bad joke, love?”

“A little…” her lips pressed together for a moment before her wondering mind spoke aloud. “Say, Heathcliff? You don’t… really think that, right…?” Did she?

“‘Course not,” Heathcliff reassured, gently leading her on the path towards their final destination before dinner. “I’d ‘ave ta be the most rotten prick ever born to truly think our love’s a joke.” The scarred fingers squeezed, and through it his resounding pulse beating with love entered her hand. “There’s absolutely nothing that I even remotely dislike about you, Sancho,” and that wasn’t an overstatement. He truly felt that way.

“Nothing?” Sancho’s orange eyes rose, the red behind them as bright as the scarlet blood running through his arteries. “Not even when I talk for hours on end?” Why would he hate the passion in each individual word that left her mouth. Even if sometimes it left him exhausted in the morning, he loved it. He just couldn’t say that was something to ever dislike. “Or even when I drink blood?” Everyone needed to eat, even bloodfiends. Plus, whenever she drank he found it somewhat cute since it was stored in a little bag. Even more when she drank too eagerly since a bit would always drip down her lips and he’d wipe it off for her. So, yet again, he didn’t dislike it. “Not… not even when I hit you in my sleep…?” Though it hurt from time to time since her strength was barely held back, Heathcliff still found it adorable. Besides, it wasn’t as if she tried to hurt him, it was just accident after accident. She even tried to apologize about it… huh… that was the only thing he could say he disliked actually. Only the needless apology since she never meant to ‘urt ‘im.

“Sancho. When I say nothin’,” the two stopped in front of the house of horrors without a line, “I really mean nothin’.” The downcast within her eyes truly let the blood shine through. Boiling with love, the crimson gaze made her orange eyes darken, becoming much like the sky during a sunrise.

The pale cheeks danced with firelight as her blood shimmered like the sun overhead. “You…” Blood formed on the edges of her eyelids, which Heathcliff quickly dabbed away with a handkerchief he grabbed from his pocket. “You always know what to say to make me feel amazing, Heath…” He smiled at that as she began to pull him forward. This just made her want to get through their date sooner… That way she could get to the best part.

But a haunted house? That was perfect for right now, so she didn’t mind it much. “Hmm…” he scratched at his chin with the unicorn’s horn, the rough horn proving to do quite well. “This is shite, innit?”

“Yes…” Sancho looked at the crappy cardboard ghost which just popped out from a spring in the wall. “This is nowhere near how scary Mister Gregor’s attraction is…” Even though she barely got scared since she’d come to understand how her kin hid, she could still say they were good at it. Especially since they made Heathcliff jump once after erupting from a coffin… Jack actually got his fang knocked out from that incident… “Though, going through it with you makes it fine… I guess…”

“You guess?” Heathcliff looked over at her as she held an annoyed frown.

“Well this absolutely horrid mess is only semi-traversable because I have you at my side, Heath. Without you, I wouldn’t even want to be one hundred—” They turned the corner and crossed through a path lined with coffins as she spoke. “—steps inside of this dump. It truly is ho—” the four coffins burst open. Proving to the poor workers who were forced to hear her words… that she was right. This place was a dump if they could hardly spook a couple going through it.

“Wow…” Heathcliff had never seen four ‘zombies’ so dejected. “Maybe a tad too harsh?”

“No,” Sancho continued without a stop in her step, pulling her boyfriend right along with her. “But if you wish to make it better, then improve both your costumes and your element of surprise. Make it unpredictable where you will come from,” that… was an apology he guessed…?

“You don’t mind the competition?” Sancho shook her head, already knowing that there wouldn’t be any good sort of competition to arise. Not when Gregor’s domain always had at least 500 new visitors a month and 2000 or so total. The only times it ever got slow were when there was a ton of snow. That would lead to Rodya and Outis’ areas having a gigantic influx of patrons.

“Heavens no,” Sancho said as they passed by a mirror, “it would be ni—” somehow, they ended up scaring the employees since one of the three women zombies screamed a shrill scream. Their ears rang for a moment before Heathcliff turned to learn just why sh—

“Uh… where are you?” In the mirror, which he turned Sancho towards, neither of them could see anything but her clothing and her contacts. No skin, no hair, and certainly no red eyes. It was strange since neither of them had seen this before.

“Wow…” she reached out after accidentally dropping the rabbit in surprise. “You really can’t see my kind in silver…” her frigid fingers touched the equally cold glass. Sancho could see the imprints of her prints but not her actual fingers in the glass. It was… rather odd to be able to see the inner side of her dress’ shoulder through the sleeve…

“Guess not,” he looked over at two fainted zombies and one completely missing. “Oi, you,” Heath addressed the one tending to the other two, “mind not callin’ some foolish hunters over my girl? We could do without the annoyances,” bending over, the brunet collected the rabbit from the ground. And when he rose the disgust in his expression clearly told him his answer. “‘Right fine, be a bloody prat,” tugging on Sancho's hand, the brunet tried to take her attention away from the mirror. “‘Ey, Sa—Sally…” using her real name would probably not be a good idea. “Come on, we gotta bounce,” her orange contacts drifted leftward to land on his hand. She could see each individual scar upon his gentle digits… but not even her own nails appeared in the flesh she gripped… “Love…?” It was only when blood spilled from his torn skin that Sancho snapped out of her trance-like state.

“So—Sorry…” her fingers were steeped in his crimson blood, “I—I have to…” she couldn’t leave without him and he made it rather obvious since he forcibly grabbed her by the shoulder after she tried to run.

“Love, I need to know whatever’s eating you,” Heathcliff said with resolve. “Otherwise we’re waitin’ here for me to kill all the hunters ‘at show up.” Tyat was a promise.

Sancho stared at the ground, “I’m just a monster, Heath…” From the blood, to the dull pain in the sun, and finally this? How could she be anything more… “A monster like me doesn’t deserve anything but scorn…” A storm arose in his right eye, the rain coming down less like water and more like lightning. “So why do you lo—”

Pulled tight into a kiss that shut those nonsense spouting lips of hers, Heathcliff lifted Sancho into his broad arms. Her hands pushed against his chest to pry herself away… for a monster didn’t deserve love. But he saw things differently, which was why he spoke after breaking the kiss. “I love you for you, and nothing will ever change that. Certainly not you being a bloodfiend, love,” Heathcliff continued down the path as Sancho failed to push him away. “You can cut me, drain me, kill me… but the only thing that’ll ever make me stop lovin’ you…” a few tears fell from his left eye as it stared coldly at her. “Is if you don’t want my love anymore…” her heart, as monstrous as it was… could never stop yearning for Heathcliff…

“But I’m a monster…” Sancho wept, blood falling down her cheeks as she looked at Heathcliff. “How can you fall in lo—”

“You being a monster has no merit, love,” Heathcliff let his knuckles gently run through the river of blood going down her cheek as he pushed his back into the exit door. “Not inside or outside,” his missing eye disgusted everyone but Ryoushuu and Hong Lu as a child leading some to even call him a freak. If not for the prosthetic from Hong Lu, then he was certain it would continue. “And even if you were the monster you think you are,” his fake eye began to stare at her with ardor, the iris coming to life the longer she stared. “I’d love you no matter what…”

“Heath…” Sancho’s lip wobbled as it wandered downward, “you’re… you’re just saying that…” Yet, no matter how much proof, she couldn’t accept it. No… she wanted to live in a world of delusions instead of dreams… “No-one could truly lo—”

His hand fell, the knuckle of his index and highest joint in it pressing against the fangs to stifle her speech. “You can turn me right now and I’d never have a single complaint about it, Sancho. And that’s because I know I’ll get to live eternity out with the love of my life.” Like a lighthouse’s beacon, her crimson eyes glowing from underneath the orange contacts.

“She—Sherioushly…?” Sancho asked, too out of her own head to care about how she questioned Heath.

“Sherioushly,” he responded, copying her with a voice filled with a gentle breeze that would blow through the trees without malice. “And nothing could change that… Shancho.”

Blood rained from her eyes as she laughed. The first two were mixed with sad sobs, and the rest were buried in joyful sobs as she buried herself in his chest. “Heathcliff…!” She should’ve known for the past two years… but her self doubts got in the way of her biggest fan’s ceaseless cheers… And for that she’d never doubt again… for Heathcliff was both her hero and greatest fan.

🎠~~~~~~~~⛈️

“Ya still upset about earlier, Sancho?” Heathcliff asked while staring down at the untouched plate of her favorite meal that wasn’t blood. It was a juicy rare steak without a single bit of char, “Sancho~ Heath to Sancho~” his hand had to wave in front of her face to even catch her attention. “What’re you thinking’ about in this noggin o’ yours?” His knuckles gently wrapped against it since she decided to sit beside him instead of across.

Sancho hadn’t been able to stop kicking her feet. Her heart hadn’t been able to stop fluttering in her chest. And those eyes of hers hadn’t been able to go to the left… “I’m thinking… about things…”

Heathcliff let an exasperated sigh run free in his mind, “well if it’s ’bout negative shite, tell me ‘n’ I’ll listen.” His left hand dragged the fork up, and with a mouthful of chicken he continued. “An’ if it’sh nishe, I shtill wanta know,” chewing a bit, the brunet swallowed it down without issue.

Sancho looked over at him for the first time since they arrived for their reservation at HamHamPangPang. “You wish to know what I’m thinking?” He nodded, looking into her beautiful scarlet eyes the entire time. “I’m thinking about how horrid my existence without you would have been…” Sancho answered truthfully, though she didn’t bring down the mood of their dinner. “I’m thinking about just how lucky I am to have both met you and to find you once more…” Her lips, try as they might, couldn’t fall as blood sprang forth into her eyes. “I’m thinking about how my absurd dream was requited in spite of how long we’ve been apart…” Her eyes were sparkling with crimson stars as they stared at her beloved. “And I’m thinking about how much you truly love me… Heathcliff…”

Hmm… “d’ya really not know how much I loved you before today, Sancho?” She shook her head, causing a little strand to pop out near the top of her scalp.

“No, I did… but I let my doubts blind me…” Sancho gripped the part of her dress that covered the spats she wore tight, sure enough to break her skin if she weren’t wearing two layers of clothing.

Reaching over, the brunet took her hand, “it’s alright, Sancho. I don’t mind,” rubbing over the finger he stole a measurement from, Heathcliff reassured her with the love stemming from it. “I just kinda wish you told me about how you’ve been feeling, y’know?”

Sancho solemnly nodded, “yeah… I’m sorry, Heath…”

“No need ta be sorry, love,” the brunet grinned, the scar on his lips contorting with his smile. “I’m just glad ya got it off your chest.” She nodded again before turning towards her plate after Heathcliff let go… and then she fell onto his shoulder, her left arm wrapping around him. “Are ya not hungry or somethin’ love?”

“You know this won’t fill me…” Sancho was still definitely going to eat it… “but I just want to be right here for a bit, Heath…”

“Alright,” the warmth of her cold body piercing his heart, letting it carry a burning pulse through his bones. “Stay there as long as ya… well, for at most the next hour and fifteen.” With how busy this specific one was, two hours was as long as they could stay before being politely asked to leave.

“We can’t walk home like this?” Sancho asked, already knowing Heath’s answer to the question.

“Nope. ‘Cause I wanna carry ya all the way,” taking a few chips, Heathcliff stuffed them in his mouth. “Shomethin’ wrong with ‘at?”

Sancho nuzzled her way further into his arm, “as long as I’m beside you?” Pulling him closer, the blonde girl shut her eyes as she listened to his distant heartbeat, “no.” Just a few more hours… then she could bring out the surprise that had all worries about it dissolved… just a little bit longer…

“Wanna bite o’ my nosh?” Her eyes did wander towards the plate.

“If you don’t mind…” picking the fork up with a bit of chicken and rice on it, Heathcliff carried it over to her open mouth. Despite the taste being somewhat muted since her tastebuds weren’t too good, Sancho still liked the spicy taste… Wait, spicy? “Since when did you like spicy food?”

“Since just now,” the brunet answered, taking another bite from his plate. “Don’t like it, love?” She shook her head, actually finding the heat that crept onto her tongue to be just a little bit less enticing than blood. “Huh…” he stared at the sparkling in her eyes as she mentally drooled over his food, “would you… rather have my dinner?”

“Wha—no! I’m perfectly content with…” she didn’t even bother to make a fuss when Heathcliff picked her plate up while sliding his towards her. “Ar—Are you sure, Heath?”

“‘Course, anythin’ to make you happy,” he shrugged, “‘sides, it’s just f—” Her quick kiss upon his cheek left him blushing like crazy as she hugged him. Though her left arm was over his crystal spine, she made sure not to crush it. “Come on, love, it’s only dinner…”

“Not to me it isn’t,” Sancho grinned happily as her feet kicked just as joyously in the air below the table. “It’s just another one of your tiny acts of love that made fall for you in the first place, Heathcliff~”

Such a drastic turn from earlier before they fled from District 8… And he for sure loved it. Loved it just as much as she was certain to love her ring… Just a little while longer and to pick up a little thing from Hong Lu… that was all that stood in their way… A task soo easy… but only he could do it.

————

And so, with their return to La Mancha Land, the two held one another’s hands as they slowly wandered through the dark park. Since it had gotten cold, Heathcliff offered unto her his dark blue jacket, which settled on her shoulders to block the frigid night out. “Are you sure you’re not cold?”

“Yep,” the brunet replied without anything to guard his absolutely frozen through forearms except Sancho’s slight lean towards him. “It’s actually pretty nice out,” Sancho’s red eyes stared blankly at his red face that was clearly not caused by his embarrassment. “Don’t believe me, eh love?”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe you when you’re suppressing a shiver?” There had been a tiny rattle here and there, a result of the chill night phasing through this beloved fool she held onto and stuck close to.

“Sure bloody ‘ell ‘oped so,” there was a snicker within the violet lull of his eyes. They’d been wandering aimlessly for the past hour or so, just enjoying the quiet beauty of the park created with blood. “Man, today was a great date, wasn’t it?” No longer would they wander, no. How could they when he was gently guiding them towards the garden with the start of a new chapter in their lives?

“Of course, just as every date is,” Sancho replied, her entire body huddling against his right arm. “But I’m q—” a fake yawn erupted from the depths of her body, signaling to Heathcliff that she was tired as they walked towards the garden. She hoped that this would get her closer to her destination, so that she may procure that ring and begin the greatest chapter within her life with Heathcliff. Such confidence that he would say yes boiled her flesh with the energy enveloping her.

“Tired eh?” Heathcliff remarked, looking down at the single tear that trailed down her face, “don’t worry, we’ll be back home soon enough, Sancho.” Just one quick stop, that was all.

“I can’t wait to sleep with you, Heath~” Sancho could only imagine sleeping on that comfy chest of his. Melting right on top of it like butter since he was both warmer than fire and better than any pillow with how safe she felt. “Today has been… somewhat fatiguing after all…”

“You can say that again…” that scarred chin took a rub or three, “did you really not know you couldn’t be seen in silver?” He looked down at her red eyes that were shut by brows dug into deep trenches.

“I thought it was simply a lie… or maybe a joke…” she sighed, her breath visible under the light of the full moon unabated by clouds… One that was directly over their heads, casting a halo of light over Heathcliff’s head and giving Sancho a beautiful, ethereal glow. “But I suppose it wasn’t…”

“I guess not…” They were about to walk past their destination, “say, mind if we make the trip a bit longer?” He nodded his head towards the garden, causing Sancho to shake her head, allowing them both to further their schemes.

Finally… here they were. ‘Under the rose bush right across from the replanted heath,’ that was where he told Hong Lu to plant their future after the park closed today. “Ya think Don Quixote will get angry for picking one of his roses?”

He wanted to pick a rose? Right across from the heath… where she told Rodya to plant that little black box containing billions of dreams? Strange… “I do not think so… and even if he does, I’m sure he won’t miss one rose out of the hundreds…” A bead of sweat ran down her forehead for a moment, “hopefully…” Sancho squeaked as they approached the gorgeous flowers that were slowly losing life in favor of hibernating for the winter that was soon approaching.

Letting go of her hand, Heathcliff crouched in front of the rose bush, hoping that his body was large enough to obscure his hand that was pricked by a few thorns before it reached a brown wooden box. “Sancho…”

When her hand was let go, Sancho quickly scrambled towards the patch of heath and got onto her knees, a black box in a shadowy spot was rather difficult to find, but she did find it quick enough. “Heathcliff…”

They both stood up like rockets firing into the sky, their backs turned on one another. But that quickly changed when they both shot around and kneeled. “Will you marry m—” Between their three eyes, all three of them were shocked at the other’s pose and what they held. “Wha—but—why are you proposing?!” They both had the audacity to shout… simultaneously as well.

“Because I love you? Is that supposed to be a real question, Sancho?” Heathcliff asked, absolutely confused that she had coincidentally done this tonight of all nights…

“Because you’re my everything? Do you honestly have to ask that, Heathcliff?” Sancho asked, utterly baffled that he was going to propose on the night of her idea…

“Hold on, love…” the brunet’s eyes narrowed, a thought of why this extremely rare thing occurred. “Did Rodya ever… tell you to do something like this…?” Hong Lu was the only person who knew of his idea, and he knew that he and Rodya became buddy-buddy rather quickly.

“That’s preposterous. There hasn’t been a single moment of influence from her,” not even for the date idea she herself suggested. “The only role she had was to place the box under our heath,” Sancho stared into Heathcliff’s violet eye as he stood up.

“So then you’re sayin’…” he stopped just in front of her and knelt right there, “is that we both thought o’ this? At the same time…?”

“I… suppose we did…” Sancho couldn’t believe it herself, especially since she thought he wanted to do it a few years down the line. “Honestly… if not for what you said to me at the carnival, I wouldn’t have done this tonight…” She just didn’t have the confidence he did.

“Well… it’s ’cause o’ that that I wanted to do this even more,” Heathcliff chuckled as he looked away from her for a moment. “I would’ve definitely choked up a little if I didn’t think of how much you’ve loved me today, Sancho.”

“Same… same here, Heathcliff…” her red eyes stared at a spot exactly opposite to his own. They were utterly at a loss of words… the ability to speak having been robbed by such an absurd coincidence.

“So…” the beam of crimson began stirring, blasting right by those frozen arms.

“So…” the line of violet began moving, sweeping past her frigid legs.

“… what is your answer…?” There they went again, copying one another…

And they copied one another yet again when they held up three fingers with their right hands. A grand smile was split between the two as they slowly counted down to zero. “Of course I will. I wouldn’t say anything otherwise.” Haah… they would always be in sync, wouldn’t they?

Their faces sparkled in the moonlight. Her pale skin gleaming with adoration. His darker flesh glowing with endearment. Their eyes, however, held the same thing… and that was a conflagration of love for one another. “So… what say we see the rings?”

“That’s… probably a good idea…” if not for his words, Sancho would’ve sat there until the sun rose just staring at Heathcliff. His beauty was just… simply astounding tonight… just as it was every other moment of every other day. “Once more on three?”

Heathcliff grinned, his other hand pressing right against the lid of the box. “One…”

Sancho followed suit, her hand gently coming to rest on the lid of her own box. “Two…”

“Three!” They both exclaimed, their respective rings gleaming in the moonlight. In the black box was a silver ring that was far from anything simple. With gleaming metal, the perfectly polished ring reflected the moonlight perfectly, allowing the little strokes of violet to shimmer. Wrapping around the entirety of the ring was a vine of heath, its violet going every which way until it wrapped around and sprouted two things at the apex of it. The letters ‘H’ and ‘S…’ the letters intertwined with one another as they too were written in the same violet ink.

The band in the brown box was a slightly dim rose gold that shone in the moonlight. However, the polish allowed it to capture the full moon itself, letting it glimmer within the pale light. Oh… wait, that wasn’t the moon above. There was a moon within the band itself, one bordered by pink roses and violet heath. In the moon itself, which was rather detailed with how the craters were painted on, were two names with a red stringed heart between. ‘Sancho’ and ‘Heathcliff,’ both having their own little flair since the ‘t’ had heath growing from it and the ‘o’ was as detailed as her eye.

Crimson streaks ran down, the red strokes filled with a heart-choking love…

Watery tears streamed down, the translucent rivers drowning in a heart-wrenching adoration…

“Sancho…”

“Heathcliff…”

They looked into each other’s eyes, watching their beloved cry with a smile so enchanting their hearts pounded as a result. “It’s absolutely beautiful…!”

They both absolutely adored the rings they were meant to wear forever… a simple testament to their love… Though, even without them, they were certain to love one another for eternity. “Do you mind if I put it on for you…?” Sancho shook her head, allowing her beloved fool to take the box from her hands and gently set it on the ground beside her ankle. Taking her left hand into his, the brunet slipped the metal band effortlessly onto her ring finger.

Sancho raised her hand, letting her glowing scarlet eyes look at the ring in closer, fuller detail. “It fits perfectly… how did you do it, Heath?” She asked while rotating her hand.

“Took some thread from Outis’ little workshop and measured you while you were knackered two months back,” the stern talking to he received was more than worth it though. Especially with how much she loved the ring, “how about you?”

Sancho’s eyes went from focusing on the ring to focusing on her beloved, “I asked to borrow Miss Outis’ measuring thread a month and a half ago.” Taking his right hand, Sancho picked up the ring and positioned it towards his ring finger, “you were just so cute when you were snoring that I nearly forgot to measure your finger, Heath~” He blushed a little as she slipped the ring on, finding it a perfect fit, “are you embarrassed by how cute I find you?”

“Embarrassed? Nah, love,” taking her hands into his, Heathcliff squeezed them gently, “why would I ever be embarrassed of how the prettiest gal in the world thinks of me?” Now it was her turn, the crimson in her cheeks dancing brightly with the glow of the moon taking its hands to do a beautiful tango with it. “So, any reason you picked my right hand, Sancho?” He had an idea, one that was entirely right.

“Because I wanted to keep your ring close whenever we hold hands, Heath… same as you, I suppose?” He nodded, making Sancho’s heart swell, “you’re the best Heathcliff…”

“You’re a liar, love,” Heathcliff smiled as he moved closer to the blonde across from him.

“And why is that?” Sancho asked as she moved closer to the brunet kneeling in front of her.

“Because I can’t be the best if you’re in front o’ me,” Sancho giggled as the man with violet eyes stopped just half a foot shy from her face.

“Can’t we share that title?” Heathcliff laughed a little as the girl with red eyes approached, and within moments their lips met. Just like the kiss from then, this short kiss was just as stunning, shocking them both as the wuthering violet was grounded within the dreaming scarlet.

“I love you.” They both said when they pulled out from the kiss, “I love you so much.” Sharing another one that lasted a lifetime, the two could barely delve deep into the extent of their love for each other… Was there even an end to their love? Were their lakes of love simply bottomless…?

Such a question… couldn’t even be answered… even when they had an eternity to answer it.

⛈️~~~~~~~~🎠

They returned to their room within the downsized castle, holding one another the entire way from the garden to there. Opening the door for her, Heathcliff bowed a little, “after you, my dear Sancho.” He smirked, one of his canines exposed as he looked up at the girl who sighed.

“Thank you… my dear Heathcliff,” she wasn’t as into his little joke as he was. But still, she stepped right into their room, “o—oh…” She stood in the middle of it, surprised by…something, something which Heathcliff soon walked into.

Did… he know Heathcliff picked a rose to place behind Sancho’s ear, was that why he was here? “There thou are,” Don Quixote proclaimed as he sat in the front of their bed upon a throne of blood. “I worried that the reports of a bloodfiend being hunted in district 17 were true and that thou were rendered into the ground, dear Sancho.”

The man smiled, his eyes landing upon the rings his child and her lover wore, “so thou both said yes?” He rose to his feet and walked towards Sancho after his meaningless question, “how beautiful!” Don Quixote exclaimed with his arms wide open, the limbs threatening to crush Sancho in half as they enveloped her in a large bear hug. “Thy pure love hath caused mine heart to beat in suspension wondering when thou wouldst make the steps towards cementing thy future together!” His red eyes stared at Heathcliff who was standing a bit away from them… but was suddenly pulled by a harness of blood that wrapped around his chest, allowing Don Quixote to crush them both in this hug filled with centuries of joy.

There they were for a while, unable to say a single word with how he forced the air from their lungs. It wasn’t until he let go, and they fell down, that the father of the Manchegans spoke up again. “Do not worry my future son, I shalt handle thy eternity with my daughter,” what did… he mean by that…? “Ah, thou art confused, ‘tis only reasonable after all,” Don Quixote held his chin as he looked up to the ceiling. “How am I to… Ah,” he bent down, coming to crouch right beside the two, “if thou were to bite him my dear Sancho, then thou wouldst have a son instead of the husband that thou wish for. Therefore, thy father shalt find a family who wilt accept thee, dear Heathcliff. Only then can thou truly spend eternity with my dear Sancho. ‘Tis an acceptable wait, correct?” The two nodded… but they never expected a year’s wait.

There wasn’t a family willing to accept the invitation of the Manchegans to create a pact between their families… All except one… haah… Elena. It would be a nightmare if she entered their park, which was why Don Quixote, Heathcliff and Sancho ventured to the depths of District 25 to find her… and it was there that Heathcliff was turned… Transformed into a Second Kindred, one on par with his beloved Sancho. All for the price of assistance if she were to ever call for it…

And luckily she didn’t, so he never had to deal with that issue… The actual issue was his thirst… a thirst that was still unquenchable… insatiable was his appetite. Ever-hungering, ever-starving. This was how everyone felt all the time…? This was how Sancho felt as well?

If she could suffer with this curse then he could as well… otherwise…

And so, as his thrust landed, piercing through the heart of the duelist from the South, Heathcliff thought nothing of the blood that spewed blood like a geyser. For if he even thought of taking a sip, let alone a taste, then he’d forever be unworthy of Sancho’s love.

“Haah,” Heathcliff sighed, having ended this pathetic duel in one blow. “Why even ask for a fight to the death with a Grade 1 when you don’t even have the skills of a Grade 4…?” He wasn’t so much winded in the body as he was winded in the mind.

His red eye stared down at the fool in the same blue getup he wore. The off color indigo of his left eye hadn’t changed in the slightest since he preferred it compared to this… new tech junk… Although his spine had a replacement or two, never did he even think to stray away from the hardblood crystal that made it up. Especially when this latest one, along with the nerves that spread through to his legs, was created by his beautiful wife.

“Whatever,” Heathcliff yawned as he turned his back, his lined cape twirling as he sheathed his epee. “Not my problem that you have an issue with someone who doesn’t drink human blood.” The bit of crimson that had landed on his face was wiped off with a glove, one that gestured to inject the fool with one of K Corp’s weird ass serum thingies that the fool somehow got access to. “Haah…” this job of his was absolutely boring. Even though he enjoyed it, even more since he’d gotten the hang of fencing and dueling compared to just swinging a sword and whatnot, the duty of being a member of the Cinq Association, especially from the North Section 2 was grueling… especially without Sancho…

She’d been gone an entire week to the West with Don Quixote. And it would take two more for her to get back from the request to subdue the Wallachian family of District 24 with her father and a few other Grade 1 Fixers. Something he should’ve been a part of… but he was tasked with being the Director in Don Quixote’s stead. Haah… he really didn’t envy the man, especially when he had to deal with such idiotic Fixers that barely thought about their own lives. “Sancho… I really hope you're safe…” he muttered as that foolish corpse was slowly coming back from death.

Going past the other Fixers, some of whom even handed him paperwork from Öufi contracts for scheduled duels, Heathcliff made his way back to Don Quixote’s office. There were countless times he enjoyed being in here… but now it was simply a prison without joy. “Man, I don’t fockin’ get ‘ow you do ‘is borin’ shite all the time, Quixote… It’s insane ‘ow much paperwork you get…” Besides the three duels, Heathcliff had to solely deal with the piled up paperwork this past week… he really needed a damn secretary. There was a thought or two: did Don Quixote just completely neglect this paperwork all the time…?

Yes, yes, yes, he’d need to send this back since the duelist just died… dueling a Syndicate no less, no, she was out for the month so there’d need to be a reschedule, he was… free tonight if he decided to neglect La Mancha Land, and yes.

Haah… a fourth duel didn’t seem bad, he just wondered why it was by the gigantic Christmas tree in their District…

Before the day ended, Heathcliff instructed a training exercise: To hit him three times, with the entire power of Section 2 against him, with their choice of blade was how they’d win. How he needed to win was to strike each of them three times to ‘kill’ them with a blunted epee. Out of the 26 Fixers currently willing to fight… Heathcliff got all of them before he even took one strike. It was rather annoying some of these blokes thought they could kill him with ease. Heath was sure that if they were born in this day and age he would be just as strong since he would’ve had Sancho to impress.

With his disappointment guiding the day to an end, one that led to his promise of helping them fix their forms tomorrow, Heathcliff made his way to the tree. He needed a bloody good duel to cure this boredom. And this D.S certainly made him think it was a possibility… huh… if only they’d show.

“Where the bloody ‘ell is this bastard,” Heathcliff muttered, his large hat brim covering his face as he leaned against a pillar. He was going to wait five more minutes until whoever it was showed… and if they didn’t then they could go fuck ‘emselve’s. “Ya wanted a duel, so why the fock are you taking so long…” And why the hell did it need to be right in front of the lit up tree he wanted to see with Sancho for another year in a row?

One minute was annoying. Two was just boring. Three was a bit maddening. Four made him want to break the lethality clause. And the fifth was the last straw. So, getting up from the pillar, Heathcliff made his way towards La Mancha Land, hoping to at least see someone he enjoyed being around, maybe Hong Lu? Hopefully he wasn’t on yet another bloodfiend hunt… or gearing up to go on another one for that matter… Maybe Rodya was up and not preparing for a show with Outis and Gregor…? Or maybe stop by and give Shu and Ish some strawberry sake as he said hello to their well-tended graves…? Or… would he just go home, lay in their bed to wallow in despair, and rub his ring more until he needed to put a protective coat over it…?

God… he just needed something other than crappy duels and boring paperwork to keep his boredom in check. And he needed it n—“Thou art the Cinq member I hired to duel?” Haah… of course this foolish… wait, there was no way a teenager hired the Cinq to duel him.

“Sure, I guess so,” Heathcliff turned around, the brim of his hat still blocking the foolish teenager. “So, who am I…” His red eye took in the dark blue of the pants they wore, the same blue that made their coats and shirts, and the dark furred cloaks that were accompanied by the same hat he wore. And then it came to the shoulder-blade length blonde hair he grew to love…

“Did you—” the one speaking quickly took the tool that changed her voice away from her throat, letting her normal voice shine through. “Did you forget who y—”

“Sancho!” Heathcliff shot forward, ignoring Don Quixote who was just as happy to see him. And the reason was obvious: he wanted to hug his beloved wife and lift her into the air, that’s why. “God I missed the ‘ell outta you!” He threw her from side to side, her legs flying behind her as their cheeks were pressed against one another. The brims of their hats pushed against one another, nearly forcing them off

“But it’s only been a week…” Sancho muttered, feeling just how loved she was by Heathcliff. “Do you really have nothing better to do than be with your wife?”

“Absolutely!” Sancho was his damn everything, especially when she brought the light into his life with those smiles of hers. “You really think I‘ve got much better to do than be around you, Sancho?”

“Yes.” She bluntly stated as her cheeks caught fire, “you can duel, talk to Miss Rodya or anyone else in our family, heck, you can even go on a hunt with Hong Lu!” But none of those compared to this hug.

“Haha!” Don Quixote smiled brilliantly at the two children who’d joined him in this Fixer endeavor that Bari got him into. “Thy love truly makes my heart fill,” he wiped a bloody tear from his eye with his glove, “because thou art quite cute together.”

Heathcliff and Sancho immediately looked at the foolish father with dull golden hair. “Sh—Shut up…!” They both shouted, making the man laugh even louder with enjoyment.

“‘Twas just stating fact, no need to get so upset dear Sancho, dear Heathcliff.” Don Quixote laughed to himself as he continued to look at the two. “Doth thou remember why we slew the Wallachians as fast as we did, dear Sancho?” Why they…

“Oh right!” She leaned back in towards the confused brunet before giving him a long kiss on his cheek. If this was anything like last year’s, then she’d be going for eleven minutes.

“You’re tellin’ me,” his right eye looked at Don Quixote and then back to Sancho, “you two risked your necks just to be here for our anniversary…?” Well, two days late, but he didn’t give a fuck about that. No, why the hell would he care about a few days lost?! “That was such a stupid idea…” his glaring red eye pierced Don Quixote’s head, staking it through with a bloody cross.

“‘Twas not mine thought, dear Heathcliff,” their director spoke, causing the piercing crimson to settle back onto Sancho, who began to awkwardly smile after breaking her kiss. “‘Twas the idea of thy wife corrupted by mine own foolish ideas.” That certainly wasn’t true, but that’s what other Fixers said.

His eyes narrowed at Sancho, “love, would you rather we celebrate a 647th anniversary next year or one of us mourn the start of a one year anniversary when 971 comes?” Well the answer was obvious, even to Don Quixote… which was why he put forward 130% of his effort… which was hardly a change from his normal. What was a change was Sancho’s clear 200% effort towards the eradication of the Wallachians… and all because of what they feasted upon. That was a large part of why they came back earlier than expected.

“The former…” Sancho quietly spoke, about to say something else but stopped when Heathcliff kissed her.

“Then don’t risk your arse like ‘at again, ok?” There was no reason to be angry at his wife, nor at Don Quixote. Not when they were both alive… and presumably without any wounds. “‘Cause I wanna be with you until time itself stands still, Sancho. And I don’t want some arseholes ruinin’ our happiness,” if he had worn his capa carmesí, then he would’ve been noticed much sooner as the Crimson Duelist… so he was lucky to not have been noticed until now. So Don Quixote silently slipped away, allowing the two lovers some peace as he greeted a few fans of his, including a blue haired teen who really adored him.

“You aren’t mad?” Sancho’s brows were furrowed as she stared into the mismatched eyes of her handsome lover.

“‘Ow could I be?” Heathcliff asked, besides, he’d never never gotten mad at Sancho, or any of his family, except for Hong Lu, Ish, and Shu from time to time… It was just simply impossible, “you came back to me, didn’t ya?” All he wished for, something that clearly didn’t happen, was that she didn’t do something reckless.

Sancho’s lip wobbled as Heath walked towards a bench overlooking the gigantic tree that had… S Corp. technology to help it grow? He didn’t really know…

“I love you, Heath…” Sancho buried her face into his neck, savoring the warmth that came from his body on this cold winter night… where the full moon beamed down upon them. Sometimes, she felt that she didn’t deserve his infinite love towards her, but then she was reminded that it would always find its way to her… no matter what.

He kissed her cold ear before whispering into it, “and I love my little Chiquita.” Sitting down on a free bench, Heathcliff closed his eyes as he faced the tree, “what are the chances you’ll get off of me so we can see the tree together?”

“None at all.” Sancho responded, wanting to stick this close to Heathcliff since cold beds and freezing blood were what she had to stick around for the past week. The warm radiance from her father did something to combat the frigidity she felt, “but we can certainly look on three, Heath.” He always loved doing that, it was pretty much their lucky number at that point.

“‘Course,” Heathcliff felt her turn around in his lap, “one…”

“Two…” Sancho loved this part of every year, especially when the branches were coated in beautiful shimmering snow.

“Three!” If not for the brim of her hat, then Heath would’ve been able to see more than half of it. But the bottom half? Man, was it absolutely beautiful. The twinkling lights that were like stars, the jolly ornaments of reindeers, candy canes, snowmen, and a myriad of other things, and the snow… the crisp crisp snow… Everything just made this beautiful tree amazing to witness with Sancho every year. For it was simply a beautiful sight to see for their anniversary… the lit up ferris wheel at La Mancha Land was another. But this tree was special since one of their first investigations under the Seven Association, which was roughly 200 years ago, ended with the murderer of an important CEO’s son coming here to escape them.

“Is that an ornament of my father…?” A bead of sweat ran down Sancho’s forehead as she saw a chibi version of Don Quixote hanging upon one of the branches… which made Heathcliff chuckle a little.

“Oh, hey,” he looked a bit below, seeing a bloody epee and a bloody sabre… their weapons when they took a duel seriously, which was only against another Grade 1 or even a Color Fixer. “We have one of our own now,” pointing forward, Sancho followed it until she came to the weapons, which made her squeal in joy. “I didn’t think people even knew of us…” he didn’t mind being in Don Quixote’s shadow much as a Fixer, not with how warm the darkness felt. But when he wasn’t a Fixer, he was both the Prince in Rodya’s parade and the Prince in the little shows they did every week. Same with Sancho… and sometimes, very rarely, Don Quixote when he wasn’t busy.

“Are you being intentionally dense, Heathcliff?” He shrugged, hiding the ‘yes’ behind his fake uncertainty, “liar.” Her beautiful crimson eyes peered into his soul as she knew what he really meant.

Reaching up, Heathcliff tapped her on the nose and pressed the button that was reminiscent of Hareton’s. Making her blush, the brunet smirked, showing off his sharpened fang-like canines. “So, wanna tell me about your adventure in District 24?” She had been dying to tell him… not literally at least…

“Do you remember those two hunts you did in District 25 and our trip up there?” He’d never forget those Winters that lasted until the end of the fifth month before starting back up on the third day of the seventh ninth. Plus, they were brutal enough to nearly get a few of his digits amputated. “Well, it’s just as cold as up there,” they’d been all around the City in these past six centuries on little vacations, minus District 25 for the whole, and entirely agreed upon, Winter issue. “So for the entire week, I was freezing my butt off as we fought those vile fiends.” She’d gone on a bloodfiend hunt once three centuries ago with him and Hong Lu… but even then she didn’t say such things.

“What’d they do ta piss you off so much, love?” Well, maybe if he let her finish the story…

“Well, on the first day, we had found the location of their infestation…” Such a… strong word. “And in doing so, we stumbled into their prison… and they held children within it.” Ah… yep, that completely made sense. Sancho absolutely hated children suffering… which was why she dropped whatever she was doing to help a lost or weeping child in La Mancha Land. She didn’t want anyone to suffer like she or Heathcliff did… “And so, when one of the Third Kindred’s of the family mocked me, I tore his head off.”

Heathcliff’s eyes opened wide for a moment, “so visceral.”

“Would you expect any less of me?” Heathcliff shook his head, knowing his wife would’ve done much more if children weren’t watching, “good… But there were so many bloodfiends to kill… and none of them seemed truly repentant for what they’d done and the children they killed…” She truly understood why Hong Ali wanted to become Heath’s kindred, so that he may continue his vindicated hunts for eternity. Because some families didn’t deserve to live… and the Wallachians were one of them.

“Musta been fockin’ horrible…” she shook her head, making his brow rise. “Then you felt good ‘cause you got to save some little tykes?”

She smiled, “verily!” That shout made Don Quixote’s smirk grow as he autographed someone’s forehead… “They said so many nice things as father evacuated them and I defended him…” Oh he absolutely wanted to hear these. “I was called the nice blonde lady, the friendly monster, and…” he was going to laugh a little at this one since that kid clearly had a taste, “an angel.” For it was synonymous with his own for her.

“You think being called a monster is nice?”

It was clearly meant to tease her, but Sancho took this as a mark of pride. “When they say it so endearingly, of course,” her brilliant smile was what he wanted to kiss right now. “Anyway, father and I carved through bloodfiends and bloodbags alike…” The pause made Heathcliff furrow his brows and press his lips together. “And it was only us that fought…”

“Sancho… really…?” She felt somewhat ashamed, but the reasoning behind it was something he wouldn’t get upset at.

“We were working with some Zwei and a few Seven Association members… so we wanted them to guard the victims and investigate them for signs of bite marks… Especially the children…” Sancho explained, “in the first place, we did not need any other Fixers to assist us.” Yeah… made a lot of sense actually. But still… “yes yes, I understand, don’t be reckless in the future…”

“Glad ya get it, love,” the scar on his lips curled inward with his smile. “So, ‘ave you two been up the entire week?”

“Ah hah, so you noticed.” Under her eyes were bags so dark they’d be mistaken for a businessman’s briefcases. “I have abused so many stimulants…” Over the course of the week she’d used an injector sold by K Corp. that promised two days of energy, the amount of caffeine in an entire coffee pot stored in a piece of gum but she actually swallowed an entire pack, seven energy drinks stored in one four fluid ounce can, and seven entire little gummy shots of adrenaline got her through the week. “My mind wants to crash so much, but I still have half a day of energy left in me…”

Heathcliff looked at her with pity, “want me to order you something to kick your addiction?” Sancho’s red eyes were begging for help.

“Please. My teeth are buzzing and my mouth is just full of cotton…” K Corp. was their savior during these types of Fixer requests. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to sleep after T Corp’s time injector wears off.” That, and the amount of caffeine running in her blood from P Corp’s food would definitely make her shake like a leaf… irrationally irritable too.

Heathcliff took a deep breath and sighed before lifting his hand to grab her cheek. “I’m sorry, Sancho… I wish I could’ve been there to help you.” His assistance would’ve definitely finished the job faster… plus, he’d rather suffer with her than have her technically suffer alone.

“Right… So how were things as the Director?”

He rolled his eyes, “absolutely fuckin’ borin’ compared to what you two did.” There was almost nothing to note compared to her. “So no point in askin’,” since most of his time was spent wanting to see Sancho again, there would be no point in talking about it. Not right now at least, “want me to carry you while we head home?”

Sancho nodded, “I really wish to go home now… I can practically hear our bed singing for me to return…” With his hand going under her thighs, Heathcliff lifted Sancho up as she fell into his neck. There was a kiss or several planted into the crook of it which made him giggle a little since it was tickling him.

“Oi, D.Q,” his voice got right through to the father of the Manchegans despite the crowd in front of him, “we’re heading home, you coming?!” The nuzzling in his neck did quite a lot to discharge the depression that had settled in his skin.

“Doth thou hath enough strength to carry two, dear Heathcliff?” Well, considering he’d done almost nothing this week, yeah.

“Come on an’ climb on,” even if Don Quixote didn’t protect Sancho, which would never happen ever, then he would still help the man. After all, he was the reason they were even able to live this long.

“Mine apologies my beloved fans, but I must depart,” Don Quixote parted through the crowd with ease. “But thy love for me is greatly appreciated,” after ten seconds he got to Heathcliff who leaned forward for the taller man to fall onto. “Ahhh… thou art quite a savior, dear Heathcliff.”

“Can’t really say I’m much o’ that,” this was a thankless task, especially since he loved the family that took him and Sancho in.

Don Quixote hummed as if in disapproval, “ah, didst thou hear the noble exploits of the Charles’ Office Fixers?” That up and coming group of Grade 1 Fixers Sancho began yappin’ about because of Don Quixote? Obviously not. “They hath taken down a Star of The City known as The Blood-Red Night!” Ok…

And…?

“That is your mother, Heathcliff,” Sancho filled in the lack of knowledge that he had.

“So that putrid arse is dead?” To owe that one woman family a debt was rather annoying, so he was glad that wouldn’t be the case anymore. “Good riddance I say,” if he could, then he would spit on her grave for how she disgusted both Don Quixote and Sancho that day they met.

“‘Tis thy mother, dear Heathcliff,” Don Quixote remarked, wondering just how he thought of that cur.

“So? For all I care, I just randomly became a bloodfiend like the lot o’ ya,” only one woman deserved that title of mother, and he visited her grave along with Shu‘s and Ish’s every two months… He didn’t even hold it against those two for not wanting to become bloodfiends like he and Hong Lu did, but he sure as shite missed all three o’ those broads.

“Good answer, Heath,” Sancho muttered into his neck, truly perturbed by Elena’s rampant thirst. “That woman was evil incarnate… I just wish we could meet Miss Angelica and Sir Roland.” Those two took care o’ h—Two only?! Against a First Kindred…???

Don Quixote… who had already passed out on Heath’s other shoulder, had a dream most ingenious as a result of his daughter’s wish. One that would hopefully not be crushed in a month's time.

But for now, Heathcliff had a few conversations with his wife who wished for her mental anguish to end as he walked them back to La Mancha Land. Although it was past closing time, he effortlessly created some stairs to climb the walls and down them on the other side.

He yawned randomly, finding this a bit slower than his normal pace, “how are you the one tired?” Sancho asked, her voice filled with envy.

“Dunno, but I wish I could give it to you, love,” he had a thought of taking a detour into the little gardens on their right, but his mind stopped him with worries about the weight on his back.

“Father!” That voice, the priest. Heh, he sounded rather excited for Don Quixote to be back.

“Few others too, Greg,” Heath called back as a few too many footsteps ran across the brick ground. Turning slightly, his red eye widened in surprise when he saw the four of them… odd, they didn’t have a blue eyed sibling. “You’re here, Bari? What, d’ya know the fool was coming back?” Of course she did, that blue haired woman was probably the one who filed that request with the Cinq. “D.S: Don ‘n’ Sancho, innit?”

“It’s because of those tiny deductive capabilities that you should have stuck with the Seven, Mister Heathcliff.” Bari said, disappointment hanging on her tongue as she led the pack of bloodfiends behind her to greet their father.

“You’ve already heard my reasoning at least 50 times by now.” ‘I go wherever my wife goes, doesn’t matter a lick o’ shite to me where.’ And since she followed her father, he did the same… he just wondered if Sancho would ever want to step out from his shadow or not. “Bet ya didn’t expect the big lug to be passed out, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Rodya held her chin with grace as she looked at their foolish father, “would you mind if we took him, Heath?~” He definitely didn’t mind freeing up one of his shoulders…

“Nah, I’m fine like this,” it… actually felt nice to be swaddled in two warm hugs. “Actually kinda needed it too…” he whispered to himself, though Sancho definitely heard it considering she kissed his neck again… That or she was doing it in her sleep… which was just plain precious.

Though he may have been walking with seven members of his close family, they were missing the eighth… “By the way;” man, both eternal youth and the ability to read minds? How strange this blue haired woman was… “Do you want to know why I’m here?” Bari asked, having not even told her reasoning to the three bloodfiends she felt no animosity from.

“I believed you said you would reveal the reason when father returned,” Outis began, her red eyes staring at the back of Bari’s head.

“I did.” Bari casually stated with her hands in her pocket, not caring for the glare from just another kitten.

“But father’s asleep…” Outis rebutted, her eyes clearly not working.

“Not from where I’m standing,” her blue eyes stared right through the tiny shadow of Heath’s neck, coming to stare right into an open red eye that belonged to the foolish pretender. “Would you mind waking up from your dream, foolish Quixote?” Nine red eyes glared at her, six of which no longer focused on Heath.

“I suppose it hath come time for me to rise from my feigned slumber,” Don Quixote actually dropped off of Heathcliff’s back after destroying the hardblood harness. With a stretch and a shake of his head, the man with dull golden hair forced the built up snow from his hat, “I appreciate thine assistance, dear Heathcliff.” Looking over at Bari the man smiled, “thine own as well, dearest Bari.” Dearest…?

“Father…” Rodya thought she had seen something sparkling on a chain near Bari’s chest earlier. “Are you… by any chance…” Bari began to reach for the locket hidden by her collar, but that didn’t answer Rodya’s stifled question that skirted around reality in the first place.

“Here to give your father an exam to retain his Color title?” That was clearly not why… and they all knew it… but the official Hana emblem was the proof.

“‘Ey, Bari,” Heathcliff nudged his head in her direction, “what’s up with that other chain?” His red eye practically zoomed in on the raised part right around the base of her neck. Something no-one else saw… at least… no-one willing to speak.

“I have no clue what you’re referring to,” Bari casually stated, not dropping that poker face in the slightest. “There’s only one chain,” she exposed her neck to show off only one, just as she said. “Or perhaps you asked me to expose my neck for another sharper purpose?” Ah…

“No ma’am,” Heathcliff quickly spoke, not wanting the blue glow of her weapon to face him again. He could hardly win against her when he undertook that Grade 1 exam five decades ago, and he’d barely changed since then… At least, to himself. Everyone else, especially Sancho and Don Quixote, praised him for being as strong as he was with even a few comparing him to the director he worked under. “I’d rather keep my head intact for Sancho,” he turned his head back around as he got a brilliant idea. “D.Q.B… rather odd co—” The sound of shifting blood and charging energy behind him made Heathcliff break into a fast sprint. Breaking around a corner, the brunet narrowly dodged the arrow and lance heading for him and Sancho, “OI! Don’t hate me for speakin’ the bloody truth, ya prudes!” He shouted as he sprinted further away and towards the statue in the middle of the park.

Sancho began to snicker at her husband as he ran her off to safety, “hey, Heath?” A grunt was her cue to continue as he ducked under an arrow. Clearly he was renewing his Fixer license right now… perhaps he should get an invitation to the Zwei for his capabilities as well. “Must you antagonize my father and Miss Bari?” She smirked within the crook of his neck.

“Absolutely,” he slid to a stop and faced the two chasing him, “‘cause love shouldn’t be secretive!!!” Bari pulled her bowstring back even further and the lance began to fly into the sky just as Don Quixote did.

“Haah…” Sancho sighed, “you are truly a fool, Heathcliff…” Her father had rubbed off on him too much…

“I’m your fool, though,” the brunet charged off just in time to escape the combined attack that would’ve taken them both out of this life. “And that’s just what you love,” the pitch or two his voice rose in was too gravely to mock her own as he ran towards the castle.

“Yeah,” Sancho muttered into his neck as her ruby red eyes gleamed with affection towards Heathcliff… she really was the luckiest woman in this City… Especially since she got to spend over six centuries with a man who never stopped loving her…

“I love my fool~”

And he certainly loved his fool too… which was why he gave her a quick kiss before a lance tore through the brick behind him.

Truly… they loved this life they lived… together.

🎠~~~~~~~~⛈️