Prompt: Elliot, Leo; french lavender twists & jade extract; I'm deliciously bent.

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Pandora Hearts © Jun Mochizuki

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Eliot swore with all the hatred he could muster as his face was violently pressed against a dingy alley wall. From behind him, a strong hand gripped a tangled fistful of his hair while another mercilessly twisted his arm behind his back; Eliot saw stars enough to think it was already midnight instead of early evening. His opponent, the infamous Headhunter, leaned in close from behind, careful to keep the last true Nightray in a secure hold; the Headhunter's hot breath ghosted over Eliot's ear, making his skin crawl in disgust.

"You should have stayed home, where you were safe," the voice whispered. "But, no, you had to play hero and come after me yourself."

"You killed my family!" Eliot roared, tears of rage blinding him.

There was a chuckle: dark, dry, and humorless. "They died proud, like all Nightrays; too stubborn to even beg."

Eliot twisted to the side, desperately trying to throw his captor off-balance. The sudden movement only served to give the Headhunter more leverage on the arm pinned between their bodies. Eliot was stuck.

Suddenly, Eliot glimpsed a sheen of white, and the severity of the situation finally dawned in his rage-filled mind. "You're a vampire!" Eliot accused, looking at the Headhunter's glistening fangs in horror.

"No," came the soft reply. "I am a demon. There is a difference."

As twin fangs sank into Eliot's exposed neck, Eliot heard a rush of white noise whistle through his mind: the voices of his family. He heard wails and shouts and screams, not for mercy, but for one another. He heard voices loud with terror as they understood this would not be the last kill, that their beloved siblings would come next. That the cycle of killing would perpetuate until the Nightray House was bloodily smeared out of existence, and not even sweet little Eliot would survive. The scent of jade trees filled his memory then, and it soothed away the screams, replacing them with a sense of warmth and serenity. Of peace. It was a smell of comfort; the smell of their home.

Jade.

The flower of prosperity.

...Fred, Claude, Ernest, Vanessa...

But, as Eliot remembered his deceased siblings, the screams came back in roiling waves. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block them out, trying to ignore them, and that's when he heard a nearer voice. A softer voice. A familiar voice that began emitting great peals of hysterical laughter as a woman's song flourished in accompaniment.

"And the Queen said: Off with his head, off with his head~!"

...and now me.

As Eliot's tired eyes began to close, the Headhunter stepped back and let his barely conscious prey fall to the ground. Wiping blood from his chin, he looked to the sky and attempted to discern how much time he had before Eliot's body was discovered. The moon had just begun to rise, and as it illuminated the streets below, its pale light reflected eerily off a formerly white, blood-and-battle-smeared suit; a pair of mirrored lenses; and a sharp, toothy grin so wide it was utterly mad.

Leo effortlessly raised his scythe above his head, but, before delivering its lethal strike, abruptly changed his mind. Chances were in his favor: Eliot was unlikely to survive from their battle. There was no need for a beheading. Lowering the scythe to his side, Leo collected his Chain and artfully hid her within the shadows, preparing his Queen of Hearts for an ambush on the Pandora agents who would flock to the scene of the latest Nightray victim. Before leaving, however, Leo made sure to toss a single sprig of twisted lavender onto his master's pale, shivering body.

Lavender.

The flower of devotion.

The flower of distrust.