The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the halls creating a pleasant aroma throughout the castle. Cooks could be seen chopping up what must have been three tons of vegetables: purple carrots, green potatoes, orange celery stalks, and blue peppers. Butchers were busy peeling and skinning, chopping and deboning what vaguely resembled some sort of hog. There were dozens of the slaughtered beasts hanging on hooks, there blood dripping down to the floor; staining the bricks that had been stained a million times before.

Only this wasn't the same cuisine that was often prepared for Yuri. No this was a just loaf upon loaf, pot upon pot, and bowl upon bowl of Army rations. A score of divisions had been given the opportunity to dine with the King as a morale booster for the upcoming hunt. They were going after crime lords in the mountains. They were being deployed to the tall, rugged, jagged, icy mountains. The frost would crunch beneath their boots and freeze their toes. The fire demons would come down with pneumonia, and the camps would remain chilly and cold; like living in the arctic, with just a thin tent and your own body heat for comfort. The soldiers knew that too. They knew that soon they'd be trudging through piles of slushy snow, their horses feet would grow blisters and ice over in the cold, slip and fall. They'd be issued hardtack, and jerky; unpalatable cheese and pickled vegetables liable to make one vomit. The juice the pink cabbages and brown beets were pickled in would become a giant ice cube. Their bread bags would be full of stale loaves baked weeks before if there was anything at all inside, and their tins of dried tea leaves would always remain half full or empty. That wouldn't matter because starting a fire to warm up some water in a kettle would be tantamount to treason; giving away their location for miles around. The cigar, jam, oil, and sausage rations that managed to make it to camp would fly away in a single day, and any fresh fruit or unsalted meat would become a luxury. The only thing that could warm their bones at all would be wine and booze, but the officers would hoard it claiming it for themselves. After all, too much liquor might cause a ruckus amongst the enlisted men.

Yuri knew this extremely well, having heard some of the horror stories Wolfram would once in a blue moon tell. You're enemy wasn't always your worst enemy. Sometimes your enemy was the supply headquarters or officers or those that seemed to purposefully want to make your life hell. Sometimes it was even nature itself—the weather, the earth, the bone chilling water.

The double black knew this all too well.

He just didn't know what to say. His mind was in too much turmoil to come up with anything besides nonsensical mutters. He was supposed to write an awe inspiring speech, yet his mind was a worthless pile of gelatin. His body a vessel carrying and empty void. He was dead, at least on the inside.

His speech was most likely the biggest flop of the century, or perhaps it was the biggest success. Yuri really wasn't paying attention. It seemed to him that he had stood up at the podium, and then sat down. He couldn't recall what he had said or how or why. He just spoke, letting the words flow from his lifeless body. He wondered if the Maoh had spoken for him.

And then he was eating; forcing food into his gullet if only to appease his fiancé. Wolfram and his troop sat next to him slurping up food a mile a second. Some of the soldiers were admiring him, asking about x or x between gargantuan bites. He didn't pay any attention however. He simply dipped his spork into his soup and ate. Only there was no taste to his food. Nothing. His soup was sand, his bread was sand, and the oil he dipped his bread in was sand. The milk in his glass was sand, and the cake was sand. He was willing to bet that if he were to drink the cognac and rum they were serving, it would be sand too. The entire meal was nothing but a mouthful of sand—thick and heavy, hard to swallow, and without much of a taste at all. Somehow he wasn't hungry.

He vaguely recognized Wolfram hands creep into his own, sometime during dessert, squeezing him reassuringly, as he tried to preoccupy himself by playing with his food. He couldn't eat. All he could do was move bits and pieces of meat around with his spork. Maybe Wolfram was letting him know that he was there to talk. Or perhaps it was just Wolfram's way of identifying his property and telling the other men to back off. Whatever it was, it felt nice. At least something hadn't changed. Yuri's entire world had been flipped upside down and shaken like a cheap maraca; at least something was the same.

And the king relaxed, if only a bit, begrudgingly sitting through the remainder of the meal. He wanted nothing more than to find a closet to wedge himself into—maybe even locking the door and melting down the key behind him so he could never be disturbed. Secluded in the dark, maybe then he'd be content. Maybe then he'd wake up from this nightmare.

He had retired to his quarters after lunch. It was only 1:00pm yet he already felt exhausted beyond belief. He didn't know how long he could keep up his front. Maybe, maybe the only way to reverse this dream was to sleep? Only he couldn't. Wolfram was there beside him , worry etched all over his face.

"Yuri I…"

"Don't" the double black could only sigh, throwing himself on top of the bed, "I just—" his voice slowly died down into nothingness.

"Yuri, you need to talk"

"Says who? I'm not crazy Wolf, I just, I'm sleeping right now, I think. It's all just a dream. I could probably jump out that window and fly away—"

"WHAT!" Wolfram screeched out alarmed, "Stupid customs, stupid humans, stupid stupid. There's no way I will allow my fiancé and soon to be husband commit suicide! I Wolfram Von Bielefeld swear to that!..." Only Yuri couldn't stand to listen to anymore of the rant. He muffled the racket with a pillow, burrowing himself farther into the bedspread to block out the irritating voice. He was only dreaming and he could prove it. Nothing this bad could ever happen in real life. He may have done some awful things growing up but nothing to make karma bite his ass this hard.

It was only a dream. His mind was foggy and he couldn't think straight. It was just a damn dream! Only his eyes teared up anyway.

"DORKUS DORKUS" shouts could be heard down the hall, "Ah there you are." Wolfram spoke rather loudly, his voice bouncing off the bricks and echoing across the castle, "See to it that all second story or higher windows in the palace are barred with metal rods. All weapons should be periodically cataloged and kept out of the hands of our king. He is not well."

"Y-YES SIR!"

"Great, just great" Yuri grumbled under his breath, pulling himself from out under his pillow wiping the moisture away from his orbs, "Won't even let me die in peace. This is some odd nightmare. How else can I snap out of it" he paused rubbing his chin trying to force himself out of his depression, cracking a smile, or rather forcing himself to. "So x out falling, x out death, x out kissing Wolfram… oh I know. I just need to show up to class without any clothes on!" Yuri chuckled to himself darkly, trying to create humor out of ruin, "I guess running through the castle butt naked will have to do."

He was half way through stripping off his clothes when Wolfram returned, beat red upon noticing the king was unbuttoning his trousers.

"I uh" Wolfram stuttered at a loss for words, "I'll just—"

"You can stay if you want." Yuri spoke offhandedly, bitterly almost, tossing off his black slacks with ease, and working on his underwear, "I'm going on a walk."

"A walk?" Wolfram asked inquisitively, "You need to change your clothes for a walk?"

"Who said anything about changing" Yuri smiled, almost insanely, "Well time to go" he beamed inches away from opening the door in his birthday suit.

"ARE – ARE YOU MAD!" Wolfram shouted pointing his fingers at the king before stomping over grabbing and grabbing Yuri's arm so he couldn't escape. "I'm not going to let the whole world see what is mine."

"But Wolf—"

"No buts" Wolfram hushed dragging the king back to where he had tossed his clothes and forcing them onto his fiancé.

"Change"

"But I don't wanna"

"Change!"

"Okay sheesh" Yuri grumbled, he'd have to x out streaking as well then. How else to wake up?

It was nightfall. His feet slowly crept into the carriage, his mind someplace else, as it had been for a good part of the day. The scenery blurry, surreal, not even there. He could sense Wolfram sitting next to him, the radiant warmth of the fire demon could be felt a mile away. Yet everything felt wrong. A date. A date. Why the hell was he on a date when everything was so wrong?

They were dead. THEY WERE DEAD! He wanted to scream into the night sky, howl sadly like a wolf to the moon, grab a rope and end it all.

What had he done in his past life to deserve such a fate. What had he done?

OMG IM SO SORRY! I thought I out this out like three weeks ago, and Lo and Behold it was on my computer, but not on FF! ='( IM SORRY!And this is such a short chapter too...

College is making me to scatter brained...