A/N: Alright, so I'm in a terrible mood, and I needed a way to vent, so writing was the answer. I didn't want to work on Rehabilitation right now, I felt like whatever I did would be sad, so I didn't want to write anything I'd regret later in the story. So here's my "I feel like shit, so let's write a sad piece" story. Enjoy.

Still don't own anything

*Slightly edited in case you're wondering about the changes

Your name is Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, and at this moment, your life is amazing. You have the freedom of the sea, a loyal crew, more riches than you know what to do with, and a whole slew of slaves that are ready to please you in whatever way you deem necessary.

Of course, lately there is the one slave that keeps invading your think pan more than is appropriate. Her tall and slender frame, luscious, yet short mane of dark tresses, kind eyes, fangs that barely poke out over plump black lips…

And there you go again. You should be worried; after all, attachments are weaknesses, and the great Pirate Queen Mindfang is anything but weak. But try as you might, you can't bring yourself to detach yourself from this particular slave.

This Dolorosa, this strange Jade-Blood that was thrust into slavery after The Sufferer was executed, and his followers scattered, was too much of an enigma to you. At least, that's how you've made the entire situation acceptable in your head; she was simply a puzzle, and solving puzzles was your forte, especially if it meant gaining treasure.

Not to mention, the woman had very skilled hands, and possibly an even more skilled tongue. Of course, as of late your encounters have become more than you controlling her to pleasure yourself. No, now The Dolorosa will do everything of her own free will, and you've even allowed her to gain pleasure out of your meetings, which had grown in frequency to become almost nightly. Hell, you've even taken to keeping her in your personal sleeping chambers, because you can't bring yourself to force her to stay in the cells nestled in the deepest parts of your ship anymore.

That was a new experience; you've never cared about your slaves before, and you don't give a damn whether or not they enjoyed themselves. However, you've found that you very much enjoy the look on The Dolorosa's face when she reaches her climax; you enjoy it to the point where you resolved to see that beautiful look in every "meeting".

You suppose your relationship has started to progress towards the flushed quadrant, it's the only explanation that doesn't have you wondering if you've gone crazy. You want to be concerned about this new development; not scared though, Mindfang was never scared, but you simply aren't. You really, truly cannot force yourself away from her. You're drawn to her like a pathetic Fairy-Bull Lusus to a flame, and she surprisingly doesn't despise you, though you can't fathom why not, but you guess that is a step in the right direction.

You're sitting in the Captain's Quarters, taking time to contemplate all this when a strange sensation runs through you. It's akin to a pain ripping through your chest, and it causes you to shoot up out of your chair and race to the deck of your ship. Once outside, you see that it is almost daybreak, and all your crew is probably asleep, even the watch is slumped against the wall of the crow's nest. You make a note to verbally rip him apart tonight for being so careless, but quickly attempt to figure out where the sensation came from. The light comes from the two moons hanging in the sky, mixed with the beginnings of the deep red sun on the horizon.

That's when you see the figure stumbling up from the stairs leading to below deck. Enraged, and yet confused at your emotions, you begin moving towards him, about to rip him a new windhole for being so drunk at this late hour. He's just drunk, it's not like everyone on the ship hasn't been like this before, but even with that though your rage bubbles like molten lava about to break the surface.

That's when you notice the teal blood seeping from several scratches all over his face and arms. Once of his eyes is swollen shut, a large bruise beginning to form over it. They're not wounds that anyone should bear on this ship. They're wounds that one usually gets from an unarmed woman fighting for… her life. But you refuse to dwell on that gut-wrenching thought and look closer at the man.

You notice two things next. One, this man is not part of your crew; he's dressed in rags, and the odor of cheap alcohol and waste wafts off him. And two, he's holding a medium sized sword, not the shorter nautical swords of your crew, dripping with a sickingly familiar jade substance.

That color has become as familiar to you as your own blood color. It's the color of her eyes, as they gaze up at you through bashful lashes. It's the more concentrated color of her tears when she broke down and told you all about her time tending to the mother grub, followed by leaving to care for the small grub who would later become The Sufferer. It's a color that you have begun to associate with your happiness.

But there it was, dripping off this fucker's sword, painting your deck in some sick accent to all the imperfections of the wood of your ship. Releasing a roar that sounded like it belonged to some wild beast, filled with so much pure rage it had the drunk looking up in pure terror, you unsheathe your sword and charge towards the man. He barely has time to raise his sword before two feet of cold cerulean steel is buried in his abdomen, all the way up to the barbed hilt. You rip the sword out of him, feeling a sick satisfaction when the barb on the end pulls and rips as it exits. The body fell to the floor with a sick thump, but you don't stay to revel in the familiar warmth bloodshed brings you. Instead you turn and run to your sleeping quarters, throwing the door open and stepping inside.

You see her right away, sprawled on the floor, a river of jade pouring from her stomach, carving a path down her body to your carpet. A choked, strangled sob breaks out of your throat as you run to her body and collapse onto your knees next to her. Gingerly you pick up her body and hold it to your chest, not bating an eye at the blood now spreading all over your shirt and skin. A fresh wave of sobs tears its way out of your chest as you realize how familiar this position is for the two of you, along with the realization that this will be the last time you hold her like this. Her cold skin touches yours, making the situation so much worse, as you know her skin should be much warmer thanks to her blood color, a trait you always loved about her.

Confessions of your feelings for her pour from you as you sob into her hair and hold her tightly. Everything you wish you had told her from the start; how beautiful she is, how you loved that she could calm the storm of your emotions with no effort, how much she truly meant to you. You let it all pour from you, wishing more than anything that your words of love could save her.

Of course, this was no fairytale. Love wouldn't save the dying woman in your arms. There wasn't some magic spell to bring her back to you. True love's kiss was just some joke they told wrigglers, only to crush all their dreams once they came into the real world. No, this was real life, and you knew that tomorrow, no matter what you did, you'd wake up to a cold and empty bed.

Shaking from the force of your sobs, you almost missed the whispered words, clogged with blood, in your ear. You then realized that you had reached The Dolorosa before she had left you. That she had heard all you just confessed to her. You beg her to repeat herself, a little frightened at what those words were. After a pained swallow, she repeated herself, her eyes gazing up at you with a warmth you knew no one else would ever look at you with.

Immediately after, her eyes slowly closed, and with one final shudder, The Dolorosa's body went slack. You sat there the entire day, sobs continuing to wrack your body, your tears running into the blood staining your face, cerulean mixed with jade. If your crew saw you, they had the intelligence to never once bother you. They had enough respect for you to let you morn in peace.

And as you sat there with her corpse in your arms you sobbed for all that the both of you had lost. You sobbed for bringing this on her, and for not protecting her as you should have been. And you sobbed for her last words to you, the words that simultaneously lifted your heart, and shattered it into millions of tiny pieces.

"I love you."