Author's Note: This is what happens when I listen to "My Eyes" on repeat for a few days to learn the words, and then get a musical prompt. Written for the prompt "discordance," for the livejournal community tamingthemuse. I've echoed some of the lyrical phrasing of Dr. Horrible's Singalong Blog, particularly "My Eyes," lyrics by Maurissa Tancharoen, Jed Whedon, and Joss Whedon. No copyright infringement is intended, only the greatest of admiration and enthusiasm.

To the Evil League of Evil, his grief was incomprehensible.

Penny was a plebeian, a do-gooder who should be beneath his notice. He was an arch-villain, and her death opened the stall door to Bad Horse's stable. The others lifted drinks to him, toasting their newest member. They wanted to celebrate.

He did not.

Penny was his leitmotif. He relived her death with every breath. His heart shattered apart when life faded from her eyes. She died, still believing, and he became a requiem. He would tear down the world that had betrayed her. With each institution that went crashing to the ground, he would remember.

They'd have been in perfect harmony. Not the common chord of boy meet girl picket fence, but harmony nevertheless. Her signatures were not so different from his heists, after all. The world needed change; they did their part. Two melodies, same theme.

Where others heard discordance, he heard possibility. Penny saw the world in a different key, but the rhythm of it was the same. He would conquer the world and shape it for her. On the blank slate of his new order, she could impress her dreams. Her world would layer over his own, beautifully.

Now, there would be no beautiful future.

He reached for his lab coat, and for the first time, knew it was wrong. It was white: the color of an elegant plan where innocents didn't die. But she was gone, and with her, the light. Only the dark remained. With these hands, he built the instrument of her death. He'd directed, planned for murder. Though he'd never wanted what happened, it did not change his intentions. His heart was black; his hands should be too. His beautiful new world, stained red by her blood.

He would wear his guilt forever.