Scarlet.

A color; a name; a title; an honor. Perhaps it was even a burden. It was an old name, so old that the roots of it were lost in the streams of time. The bearers of the Scarlet name were true lords of the night, a step above others of their kind. If there was such a thing as a vampire aristocracy, then surely the Scarlet family would have been at the head of it.

However, vampires weren't known for being able to play nice with others. Sharp tongues and easily wounded prides sparked feuds known to last centuries.

Once, vampires had ruled the world under the cloak of night.

Then, the Hunters came.

At first, they were few. Those vampires that did fall were known savages; lost to the hunger that ran deep in every bat-winged lord and lady, they were careless and without thought. But then their numbers began to dwindle and the Hunters grew. Their "service" to the vampire race soon turned to slaughter. Countless times, the vampires fought back.

They were beaten.

Those poor few fledglings that survived the massacres were almost always close to death. What information that was pulled from them was bits and pieces, mixed fragments of truth and terror-induced fiction.

Silver bullets falling from the moon itself, they said. Time slowing until it was still. A deck of cards, the queen of hearts piercing their necks. A figure in black; the witch, the witch!

But these were rumors and nothing more.

As a century passed, the vampire race was pushed to the very brink of extinction. What remained fled back to their home high in the Carpathian Mountains, where they could at least live in semi peace on the blood of livestock.

Or at least, most of them did.

Two families stayed in Europe; the powerful Scarlet family, and the less known and nearly invisible Le Mort line. They were neighbors, so to speak. Before the Lord Scarlet had sired his children, he had often visited the head of Le Mort. If there was a friendship, it was a brief and perhaps a virulent one.

However, once the children had been born, Lord Scarlet had turned away from Le Mort. It wasn't long until the Hunters found out about the birth of the two vampire children, and sent their best to exterminate them.

They succeeded in killing Lord Scarlet and clipping the wings of the youngest child. But the elder of the two, barely half a century old and still an infant by vampire standards, had awakened to a terrible power; the power to control the very threads of fate itself.

The Hunters stood little chance.

It was a defeat that stung. The Hunters, however prideful, were not foolish. Though they sent the occasional assassin after the Scarlet children, the elder sister wove her web carefully; it was fate that the Hunters battled and lost against.

The Scarlet Mansion was never again discovered, no matter how hard the Hunters searched. It was also rumored that the vampire had met a sorceress of immeasurable strength, and that she helped to further conceal the Mansion. But rumors are rumors, and what truth is there to be had with creatures of myth?

Unfortunately for the vampire children, Lord Scarlet's death and the decaying condition of the youngest Scarlet's mental state was troubling. Though Le Mort had never been sought out in over a century, the lord would have to be contacted. Whatever help he could provide was better than no help at all.

And as head of the once illustrious Scarlet family, it was a task the young Remilia Scarlet had been dreading for the last fifty years.

London, England

1889, April 15

She only vaguely remembered her father's tales of lord Le Mort. Her father's voice was but a whisper in her memory now, Remilia Scarlet noted sadly.

She shook her head and took a breath. She stepped onto the balcony, red eyes scanning the city bathed in the moonlight. Though London had been her home for one hundred and fifteen years, she'd never thought to explore it. It was likely that Le Mort could have long since moved and traveled to the Mountains to live in isolation with the other families after her father's death, but Remilia doubted it.

The reason?

The Whitechapel murders.

The mystery surrounding the murders was suspicious enough. The brutality and the fact that the perpetrator had never been caught heightened it. Had Le Mort been behind them? It was a possibility. It was also a possibility that the lord had never left England at all.

And the Mistress of Fate practically ran on possibilities.

–

When Remilia arrived in the alleys of Whitechapel, it was just as she thought. Though the blood and bodies had been cleaned and packed away, murder carried a stench that never quite faded. Remilia carefully visited each scene of the crime, and followed the dark stench.

It took at least two hours of skulking about, but she finally managed to track the stench down to small, yet appeasing little house quite a good distance out of Whitechapel. It had two stories, and looked inconspicuous enough. It was towered by grand trees—trees that would most likely provide excellent shade during the day.

It seemed like the perfect spot for a vampire.

As Remilia approached the large double doors, they swung open. She fought the urge to roll her eyes as a few bats screeched and flew out of the lair, disappearing into the night.

Definitely the dwelling of a vampire.

Remilia blinked and raised a brow in surprise as a human woman shuffled from the shadows. She had an unpleasant smell, and her blonde hair was unkempt and oily. She was dressed in a stained maid's uniform, and her movements were as jerky as a puppet in the hands of an amateur.

"The master will see you now," she rasped, murky blue eyes seeing something above and beyond Remilia's head.

The young vampire caped her wings. "Might I inquire your master's name?"

"The master will see you now." The maid gestured to the staircase with a swing of her arm, head lolling to the side. "This way."

There were two, infected wounds on the side of her neck, Remilia noticed. She dreaded what that meant.

Flexing her fists, Remilia stepped inside. The doors swung shut behind her, prompting a few more bats to escape from their roosts and cry out in indignity. Remilia took a glance behind her and saw two more maids, both in similar states.

Twins, she thought, and saw the matching bite marks on their necks. The blonde maid began to stumble to the stairs. The twin brunettes simply stood where they were, eerily silent. The same unpleasant odor that the blonde carried was shared by the twins, and so Remilia hurried after the blonde to try to escape the rankness of it.

She noticed that while the outside of the house was small and tidy, the inside was huge...and a shabby mess. What was the point in having maids, Remilia thought in disgust, if they couldn't do their job correctly? It seemed like all these odd humans could do was shuffle and bump into things.

It was appalling. And it made her wings itch.

Finally, the maid stopped before what looked like the entrance to a study. She pushed open the door and almost fell on her face.

"Well, well. If it isn't the head of the Scarlet family, come to pay me a visit."

Remilia hid her grimace at the voice. It was like a viper had spoken, if vipers could speak, and Remilia did not like it a single bit.

The owner of the voice, and the lord of the manor, was a tall, thin man. He was dressed rather simply, in a silk black shirt and black pants. His hair was of similar color, though it appeared to be in the same state as his maids'. If one were to ignore the pointed ears, the blood red eyes, and the threatening pair of wings that stretched languidly from his back, he could be easily mistaken as a lower-class noble.

"Lord Le Mort, I presume?" Remilia asked.

The vampire threw back his head and laughed. "Only a fraction of my age, and the little one dares to presume! A Scarlet to the letter, indeed!" He quirked his head to the side, giving a smile that sent a shiver of ice down her spine. "Yes, madame, I am Lord Le Mort."

Remilia straightened her back. And dipped into a courtesy, as was the protocol her father had drilled into her head. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord. I am-"

"Remilia Scarlet." He waved his hand. "Eldest child of his brood. Every vampire who was here a century ago knows your name."

This is for Flandre. This is for Flandre. This is for Flandre.

With the mantra in her mind, Remilia fought off the urge to snap at the elder and simply gave a strained smile. "I see," she said, with difficulty.

Le Mort noticed, though said nothing. He gestured to the seat across from him. "Please, my dear, have a seat. I am starved for company, and I would love to speak with my dear friend's beloved daughter."

Remilia did so, sitting primly.

"Would you like something to drink?" Le Mort raised a brow.

"Tea would be lovely, thank you."

"Tea? Oh, you poor thing." Le Mort clicked his tongue. "No, not tea. A drink fit only for lords of the night, such as ourselves. Do you prefer blondes or brunettes? I do believe I have a ginger, if you like a little spice."

"You mean..." Remilia quickly glanced at the blonde maid who stood listlessly at the door of the study. The sudden realization made her stomach clench in hunger and revulsion. "...I see. No, no thank you."

Le Mort flashed his fangs. "I assure you, my lady, I've sampled each of them. They are quite fit-"

"No thank you, Lord Le Mort. I am honored, but I must decline."

There was a beat of silence. Finally, Le Mort gave a nod and smirked. "As you wish." He turned to look at the maid and said, "Alberta, come here."

The maid stumbled over to him—Remilia smelled panic beneath the sour scent. Le Mort yanked the maid until she was sprawled across his lap. He bent his head and struck; the maid, Alberta, jerked in his grip and made a sound.

Remilia found, as the lord began to drink, that the maid seemed to find bliss. As if it were a release.

As if this end was what she needed.

Alberta looked at her, blue eyes gaining the barest glimmer of light. Was it an ironic spark of life showing itself before it was snuffed out completely? Or was it just a trick of the moonlight?

As the human died, Remilia found herself unable to answer.

Le Mort lifted his head with a pleased sigh, eyes glowing a dark red. He lifted up Alberta's limp arm and wiped his mouth with her sleeve, before letting the limb flop down.

"Are you sure you don't want a drink?" he drawled.

"Very sure," Remilia said in a thick voice.

Le Mort shrugged and smiled enigmatically, before calling in a few more maids to—as he put it- "take care of the mess".

The three who came in—all brunettes—didn't seem to concerned that they were carrying off a human corpse. In fact, they didn't seem to notice.

Remilia was greatly disturbed. And Le Mort knew it.

"Well, my lady, I must know; why are you here?" The vampire chuckled. "I suspect you want something from me?"

"Advice." Remilia swallowed. "And perhaps information."

"Usually such things would come at a hefty price. But for you, daughter of my beloved friend, I shall make a generous exception."

"You have my gratitude," said Remilia.

"That I do. Now what do you want to know?"

Remilia smoothed out her white dress. "Is there any way back from beyond the brink?"

Le Mort raised a brow. "Pardon?"

"The brink of the mind, and what lies beyond it. If one were to fall, could one come back?"

"You mean insanity," said Le Mort.

"Yes."

"Well. Well." Le Mort settled back against the cushion of his chair. His red eyes were troubled and intrigued. "I can't say that there is a way back. Then again, I would have to be insane and then sane again to know, wouldn't I? I haven't lived that long, my little lady."

"But do you know of anyone who has?" Remilia almost bit her tongue at the note of desperation that tinged her voice. She was not a child, dammit, she would not stoop to being one.

"It all depends on the definition of insanity. Is such a thing temporary? Can it come in fits and make us do wild things, or is it something that we never recover from?" These questions seemed to be directed at himself rather than at Remilia.

Then, Le Mort snapped his fingers. "Ah. I may know of someone."

Remilia's wings flared in unmasked delight. "May I have their name? Their location?"

"I'll do you one better, my dear," Le Mort said with a smile. "I'll bring her to you."

He snapped his fingers once. The air beside him seemed to shiver and ripple, like a pond, before it stopped. And yet another maid appeared beside him, as if she had been there all along and had just been hidden from Remilia's view.

Ice blue eyes glared hard at her, a hatred the likes of which the young vampire had never known burning in them. High cheekbones and an elegant face betrayed some form of noble blood; it was framed by hair as white as snow, falling straight down to just above her lower back. Her stiff shoulders warned Remilia of danger.

"How long have you been standing there hidden by time, my pet," said Le Mort fondly, reaching up to stroke the maid's arm.

The maid whirled and caught him right in the jaw with her fist, a snarl on her face. Remilia realized that the hatred from before was aimed at him and not at her. The maid's body quivered, muscles twitching as if they were receiving different messages. Le Mort rubbed his jaw, a grin twisting his face.

"Oho, my pretty, this is how you act in front of our guest?" Faster than even Remilia's eyes could see, Le Mort had backhanded the human girl and sent her flying to the other side of the room. "What a badly behaved dog you are."

The maid said not a word, not even the smallest whimper of pain. Her eyes, though, said everything Remilia needed to know.

"She is my most prized possession," Le Mort said. "My greatest conquest. The fabled slayer of demons, the thing that even those who call themselves vampires feared."

"She's a Hunter," Remilia said, more statement than question.

"Was a Hunter. Now? Nothing more than a lowly Thrall. She's not even my head maid." Le Mort laughed again. "Do you want to know something even better? This is the Time Witch herself, lady Scarlet. Look how low the mighty have fallen."

Remilia's blood had turned cold the moment Le Mort had mentioned Thrall. It was once a common thing among vampires, to have Thralls under their spell. Humans who had been bitten—drained to near death—and then given the blood of the vampire.

Little more than walking corpses, they were considered miserable souls that were less than human. The practice had been abandoned once the Hunters had began to pop up, and once vampires learned to use the art of seduction and simple wordplay to gain loyal human followers it had become unnecessary. Not frowned upon, per se, simply more convenient to ensure both safety and obscurity.

Remilia found herself disgusted by Le Mort, however. There was a spark of life in these poor humans—and as was the case with this captured Hunter, a full blown bonfire—that was being smothered without mercy.

"This is the person who may know a thing or two about insanity," said Le Mort. "Pet? You'll escort lady Scarlet around the estate, won't you? A quiet stroll amongst the roses and the moonlight you love so much."

The Hunter said not a word as her body moved towards the two vampires. Her movements were even more jerky and uncoordinated than the other Thralls that skulked about the mansion, though Remilia had to hazard a guess that it was due to the Hunter fighting against the pull. The human had will, an unbreakable will at that.

"While you two are out, do try to speak to the lady Scarlet," Le Mort said warmly. "She requires knowledge, and you shall give it to her." He waved them off. "Be back before dawn though, my little lady."

The Hunter curled her lip at the vampire for a moment, before turning to Remilia. She gestured, and together they walked out of the study. Remilia felt Le Mort's eyes on her back, and was unsettled. It was only when the human and the vampire had entered into the surprisingly well-maintained garden that Remilia felt at ease once more.

It seemed the human was far more relaxed here as well, for she collapsed upon a nearby stone bench, gasping for breath.

"If you," she began in a raspy, cracked voice that showed off how little it was used, "could give me but a moment, my lady."

Remilia grimaced, and turned her head up to the almost-full moon. Humans, she thought to herself.

"...It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Mm?" Remilia turned to see the human looking up at the moon with longing. The vampire tilted her head to the side. "It has its charm."

"They say that looking at the moon drives you insane."

"Pardon?"

"It's my first memory." The girl reached a hand up to the moon, making to cup it in her palm. Remilia noted that the infected bite marks were on her wrist, rather than her neck.

"I don't know where I was born, or when. I don't know who my mother was, or my father, or if I even had any. The clan, they found me in a field of red flowers and looking up at the moon. It was as if I were born from it. All I can remember is...the moon."

She turned to Remilia, and her eyes were flat.

"You could say that I'm insane. Or that I have a sort of lunacy about me, if you want to be humorous about it."

Remilia took a moment to think over her words.

"You have someone special to you who isn't all there," the human stated.

"That's uncomfortably close to the truth. Should I check my property for spies?"

"I don't know anyone who would travel to this place to speak to that creature, if they were doing it for an acquaintance."

Remilia closed her eyes. "It is my sister."

"Ah."

"She's five years younger than I. Fifty years ago, when those three bastards-" Remilia found that her throat closed of its own accord. She cleared it and continued, "-my sister has never been the same."

"I've heard of it. The Hunters' greatest victory and their second greatest loss." The Thrall gave a humorless chuckle. "I could only wonder at why we attacked your father in the first place. He had done nothing wrong."

"He was a vampire."

"And?"

"The Hunters made themselves our enemy on that basis alone. I hardly think that excluded-"

"You should have a grudge against people like me. But I don't see you lunging for my throat." The human returned her gaze to the moon as if it were a friend; almost in dismissal of the young vampire.

Remilia hissed and shot forward. She pinned the human to the bench, one small, pale hand grabbing the girl's chin and wrenching it up and revealing the vulnerable throat. Both knew that she could rip it out quite easily.

To the Thrall's credit, she was only mildly bemused. "Is this proving a point, my lady?"

Remilia curled her lips. "You aren't the one who killed my father."

"But I was apart of their organization."

"So blood begets blood, regardless of who shed it? Even vampires don't follow such a ridiculous creed." Remilia released the girl and stepped back.

The human sat up and straightened her skirts. The moon held her attention once more, and if she hadn't already claimed to be a victim of "lunacy" then surely she would have been driven mad by now.

Remilia cleared her throat again.

"My father once said you performed a service, before your mindless slaughtering. There were rabid dogs amongst our kind, just as there are rabid dogs amongst yours."

"Murder is murder, my lady, no matter what color you paint it. Black, white, or gray—the end will never justify the means."

"Is that experience speaking?"

The human was silent.

"You reek of it. This whole damn place reeks of it."

"What happened to your sister, my lady."

"They clipped her wings."

The human's eyes widened. She faced Remilia—and perhaps it was a trick of the moon again, but her eyes carried a glow that was inhuman. When she closed them, Remilia was startled to discover that she had been—perhaps-a little lost in them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For what it's worth."

"The ones who were responsible are dead. I have my satisfaction in that, if in nothing else." Remilia paused. "But thank you."

"Did they do anything else?"

"I can't say. They hit us midday. I was half asleep, and woke only when I heard my sister screaming." She looked at the flower buds. "The full extent of their actions are something only Flandre knows, and she's in no state to tell me."

"What is her state?"

"She likes to...break things. Anything. Toys, dolls; bones. Anything that can break will break when it meets her; and if it can't break she'll find a way to break it. She does nothing else."

The girl was silent, and when Remilia looked she was gazing at the moon again.

"I can't help you," the human murmured.

Remilia closed her eyes and bit her lips. She fought the urge to cry.

"Your sister is teetering. Close to falling, but not quite. She needs someone to hold her steady, to be a net. She's the only one who can pull herself away, but she needs to know that there will be someone who won't let her fall completely."

Remilia's eyes shot open. Her lashes were damp with tears.

The girl reached up to the moon again. When the light fell on her, it settled in her hair, glowed on her cheeks. She seemed to be an illusion or a ghost.

"I'm already too far gone. I can't help you."

"Who did you kill, Hunter?"

The girl's mouth curled into a chilling smile.

"Did? I still do. And the victim is whomever that bastard tells me to."

Her fist clenched hard around the moon to crush it.

"I am but a doll. Or perhaps a rabid dog that no one dares to come near."

The stench of murder and the smell all the Thralls carried about them became intolerable. Remilia breathed through her mouth and tried not to faint.

"Who are you?"

The human's arm lowered.

"My lady, surely you've nibbled on the breadcrumbs. You followed my scent here, didn't you?"

"The Ripper."

"Jack isn't my name, in case you're wondering. I don't have one."

"You're the Whitechapel Killer."

"Not of my own choosing. But yes. The creature wanted to see how well his new pet could carry out orders; so I went. You should know something of that beast, my lady.

"He intends to deliver upon you an ultimatum. You join him, give him the power your family name holds, or he pulls the strings of his clever killing doll and you die."

"I doubt it."

The human vanished as Remilia blinked. Not a second later, an arm slunk around her waist, pulled her against a warm body just as another went around her neck. Silver danced in the corner of her eyes, and the fear (fear!) of that metal made her twitch. The knife guided her gaze up to the moon, and beneath the dark scent of murder and the curse of the Thrall, Remilia could smell something else. Something entirely otherwordly. Something that made her stomach rumble and her fangs itch.

Above all things, the human was warm, and the warmth threatened to sink into her bones and lull her to sleep. It was odd.

After a moment of silence, Remilia let out a brief chuckle.

"Is this proving a point," the vampire asked dryly.

"That depends. Do you doubt me still," the human whispered in her ear, lips brushing over the little point, pressing the knife against the nape of her neck; the metal burned. "My lady?"

Remilia studied the craters of the moon, at the jeweled throne that it lounged in. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I have a death wish, simply put. I was hoping you'd be so kind as to put down this rabid dog."

Remilia felt a smile against her ear, and hid a shiver.

"You have no idea what it's like. To be on this verge between a Thrall and something else. Unlike the poor souls around me, who only know who they are upon death, I am fully aware. A will can only bend so far before it breaks. I'd rather die before I break."

The human released her and stepped back, the knife held casually between her fingers.

"Is that the fate you've assigned yourself?"

"Well, I don't know. Aren't you the Mistress of Fate? You tell me."

The wind blew and shifted. Remilia's eyes grew bright red as they sought to see what no other creature could see.

The human's fate was in tatters. The red threads had been severed and cut, and they flew limply in a wind Remilia could not feel. Black string wove itself tight around her neck; it was braided thick around her scarred wrist. They both led to the manor. It was wrong, a fate forced upon the girl. To Remilia, it was an insult.

"Well," asked the human. "What did you see?"

Remilia turned to look at the house.

"I'll be back tomorrow night," she said.

"What?"

"On the sixteenth night of April. When the moon is full, I'll sever that ugly thread around your throat."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"I'll grant you your wish."

The human chuckled. "My lady is a generous one."

"You do me a kindness by revealing this deceit. I am repaying it early."

–

"So? Did my pet give you the information you needed?"

"Your servant was a great help. I am grateful to have met her."

Le Mort looked pleased. "I am very glad to hear that, my dear." And just as Remilia had predicted to herself, the lord asked, "Now, if I may ask you something in return?"

"Of course."

"I know you are far too young to run an entire family line by yourself. You must feel pressured. I can help you, if you'd like. Take a burden off your shoulders." Le Mort smiled, though it was more of a showing off of fangs. "If you transferred the name to me, I could take on this tremendous responsibility. And when the glorious return of our race happens, you won't be put under such scrutiny. I shall take the brunt of their questions."

"If this is a marriage proposal—and if my lord will forgive my French-it's a rather shitty one."

The human's eyebrows raised in shock and Le Mort looked thoroughly put off balance. He cleared his throat and said, "No, no my lady. This is not a marriage proposal. Merely an offer to help the daughter of a beloved friend."

Remilia closed her eyes and pretended to think hard on it.

"I implore you, my lord, to give me this day's rest to think on it. Just this day's rest. Tomorrow night, I'll come with my answer." She made sure to make a show of biting her lip, showing a vulnerability that was not there.

Le Mort smiled. "Take as long as you need. This is rather sudden after all. Pet, you'll show our most honored guest to the door, won't you?"

April 16

The moon was fat and full when Remilia stepped through the threshold of the Le Mort manor. The Thralls were suspiciously absent—except one. It was one of the twins that had guarded the door.

The Thrall stood by the staircase. Her eyes were even more empty than last night, and her twin was nowhere to be seen. Remilia knew that Le Mort had fed, and that he was strong.

"The master...," began the surviving twin. She opened and closed her mouth, then seemed to find herself unable (unwilling) to finish.

Remilia knew what it was like to lose a sister.

"This ends tonight," she said.

The Thrall looked at her, and Remilia wondered if she had come across the awareness that only the Time Witch was in possession of. If so, did the poor creature know what she had become? Remilia would never know for sure. There was a spark that was there, however faint, and it was not a trick of the moonlight.

As Remilia began to ascend the stairs, she heard the barest whisper escape the girl's mouth.

"Thank you."

She continued on without a word. Lord Le Mort was lounging in his study, of course. The human, oddly enough, was by his side, setting down a cup of tea with trembling hands. Even now, Remilia thought, she continues the fight.

How strong was this human? Was she even human at all?

Remilia glanced over at the moon that peeked from the large window.

This is insane, her common sense whispered. She was about to kill the last known vampire lord in Europe. She was about to sever the last connection she would ever have to her race; and for what?

Remilia looked at the human girl, who resisted against the power of the vampire's blood. She thought of the Thrall below, only half of a whole.

Thank you.

"Ah, Lady Scarlet! How are you this fine night?" Lord Le Mont smiled with false warmth. "Did you catch a glimpse of my gardens? Those flowers are so very rare. They bloom only beneath a full moon, and wither when the dawn comes."

Remilia's face hardened. Silence throbbed between the vampires, cold and full of tension. Neither looked away from the other.

The Time Witch drew a breath and straightened her shoulders. Remilia saw her fists clench.

"How interesting," Le Mont finally said flatly. The first to break the silence always always lost in the end; that much Remilia knew. "I take it you're declining my offer?"

"Yes."

Le Mont sighed. "Oh, dear. How dreadful. And those eyes, such a cold gaze! You wound me with those eyes, Scarlet."

The human turned, as if instinctively, to look up at the full moon as it rose further into the sky.

"I don't recommend you try anything unwise," Le Mont rumbled. "You must know you're hideously outmatched."

"Am I?" Remilia looked at the human. "Do you plan to use your doll against me?"

Le Mort hissed. "The bitch has quite the tongue!" He whirled on the human, wings flared. "You speak so openly to a brat, but not to your mast-"

"You're not my master," the girl said in a calm voice. It was dreamlike, as if the girl was far away from the mansion and its inhabitants. As if she had gone to live on the moon that captivated her so.

Le Mort froze. Remilia's eyes widened when she smelt a trace of fear taint his scent.

The fabled slayer of demons, the thing that even those who call themselves vampires feared.

Had Le Mort been speaking from personal experience?

"I made a vow to myself," the human continued, "when you pulled that filthy trick of yours, all those years ago."

She turned to look at him. Her eyes carried the glow of the moon; the glow of a beaten dog finally rearing up to bite.

"You would never hear my voice. I intended to save my words for the night when your life finally came to an end." A chilling smile broke the calm mask of her face. "And here we are."

"F-Filthy mongrel!" Le Mort twitched. "You forget whose blood courses in your veins!"

"Considering the fact she can speak at all," Remilia finally spoke, "is but a testament to how pitifully weak that blood is."

"Watch your tongue, child!"

Remilia lifted off the floor with only the barest flap of her wings. She stared the elder vampire down, mouth twisting into a cruel smirk.

"You forget whose blood courses through my veins, Le Mort," she murmured. "I don't know why my father thought of dealing with the likes of you."

Le Mort screeched and his great wings flared open. But the fear never left his scent, and that in itself gave Remilia confidence.

"I'd wager that you, Le Mort," she began in a sickly sweet voice, putting a finger to her lips, "are not worth the dirt on your servants' shoes."

Instinct had her swooping down, wings beating the stagnant air as Le Mort flew to claw off her face. His form rippled about, changing before her very eyes. Instead of a human-shaped vampire, the lord had become a twisted mirror image of what he once was. Now he was more batlike, with beaded eyes that blazed red, a pointed snout and two sets of huge fangs. The silk shirt and pants were little more than rags that hung off his bony arms; gray, withered skin clung to them.

Le Mort had become one of Them—a vampire lost to the call of the hunger.

It was the power of illusions that he wielded, Remilia surmised. He could hide his true face and nature, but his scent had betrayed him.

The creature screeched at her, carrying the faintest of lisps; "I'll tear you apart!"

Le Mort lunged—and three knives flew through the air and sliced open the skin of his arms and the sensitive membrane of his wings. Remilia turned to look behind her.

The maid stood there, as still and poised as a stature; perhaps the Thrall's pull was relented as the lord lost his focus, or perhaps the human's will was just that strong. Regardless, Remilia found herself with an ally.

"You'll do no such thing," the human murmured softly. She turned her eyes, the blue of them as sharp as the weapons she carried, up to Remilia. "Are you injured, my lady?"

"Hmph," the vampire scoffed, floating back to the human as Le Mort struggled to his feet. "Not in the slightest."

"Bitch! You filthy little bitch!" Spittle flew from the batlike creature. "I'll tear out your fucking throat for this!"

"My, such language. How uncouth," Remilia drawled. She used the tip of her thumb's claw to prick at her own fingers, coating them with blood. "You're in the presence of ladies!"

With a flick of her wrist, she sent droplets of blood flying through the air and, filled with her power, they became small "bullets" of red light. Le Mort lunged out of the path of the bullets, but the small explosions they made as they collided with the wall of the study produced shrapnel that battered the creature's back.

Le Mort collapsed into a heap, foam bubbling at the corners of his lips. Then he threw his head back and let out a chilling call.

The human flinched as if she had been struck, her skin paling until it almost matched the color of her hair.

"Calling for help, are you," she said through grit teeth.

"He's summoning the Thralls, I take it," Remilia sighed, landing beside the taller, quivering girl.

Le Mort's call finished with a grating cough. The creature hissed at them, and threw a bit of rubble at the window, shattering it. He followed, fleeing the battle. It was a cowardly move that grated on Remilia's nerves; the damn thing didn't even have the courage to die with pride.

"He's turned the Thralls into Ghouls," said the maid, reaching into the sleeve of her uniform. From it, she extracted three more knives; the silver blades reflected the full moon's light. "That call was...the opening act."

"Are you included in this play, I wonder," Remilia asked as a chorus of groans pierced the air.

"I'd die first," the girl hissed. "I will not...continue to be his puppet!" As she spoke the words, the human's pain seemed to ebb; she stood up, straighter than before. "I sever those strings tonight."

"Well said, Hunter," Remilia praised. Finally, the first wave of transformed Thralls slunk in through the door of the study. Their once flat eyes were red, mouths open in a tormented scream. "Can you stand behind your words though?"

The human gave Remilia a smile.

"But of course, my lady."

"Very well." Remilia cracked her fingers. "I'll leave the Ghouls to you; if you are truly the Hunter that you claim to be, these will pose no threat to you."

"As you wish," said the human, calmly stepping forward to receive the horde. "I'll join you shortly, my lady."

Remilia turned to leave; she hesitated for a moment, looking over her shoulder at the human's back.

"Is that a promise, Hunter?"

The girl turned her head.

"If that is what my lady wishes."

Satisfied with the answer, Remilia took off after Le Mort.

–

Had she looked back, Remilia would have seen the human girl undergo a transformation of her own. Her mouth spread into a truly frightening grin; her eyes changed, red bleeding and consuming the blue until they matched the Ghouls'. However, there was no mindlessness in the human's eyes.

Simply pure, merciless cruelty.

She would have seen the human raise her other hand, three knives appearing between her fingers—the same that had wounded Le Mort.

She would have seen the flow of time slow until it halted altogether.

And she would have heard;

"Now...you're in my world."

–

However, Remilia did not look back. She did not have a reason to. The human wouldn't fail. She obviously wouldn't fall to a horde of Ghouls—no self-respecting Hunter would.

She wouldn't even entertain the thought of the human dying. Her will was far too strong—Remilia had a feeling that even if she was somehow struck down, Death himself would fail in reaping the girl's soul.

Remilia was pulled out of her thoughts as she saw Le Mort just ahead. His flight was erratic and choppy—no doubt in part to the silver blades from the hunter's earlier attack. Within mere moments, Remilia was well within range.

The creature flipped around, realizing it had no where to run.

"Why," he growled. "What do you obtain from this!"

"I've seen what you've done to that girl's fate." Remilia narrowed her eyes. "It's an insult to me; I don't take kindly to insults."

"She's a Hunter, Remilia! Have you forgotten what you are!"

"I have not."

"Then why! Why are you on her side!"

"Because my father would do the very same." With that, Remilia released another wave of bullets. Though injured, Le Mort proved to be quick in the air; he dodged the attack and flew at her, claws extended.

Thus began a dance.

Remilia was well aware of what she was up against. What Le Mort had become had forsaken the ability to control the power latent in his blood in favor of sheer brute strength. One swipe of his claws could tear her to pieces.

But Remilia was small, and quite compact if she had to admit. The long swipes of Le Mort were perilous, but as he continued to strike and miss, the elder became increasingly agitated. His attacks grew sloppy as frustration built; the more the frustration built, the more animal he became.

They had gotten closer to the ground, Remilia noticed, and almost had her face swiped off because of it. Beneath Le Mort's wild growls and snarls of outrage, she heard the distant shattering of glass. Le Mort noticed this too, and it brought him back to whatever sort of senses he had.

He managed to plant his foot into her stomach and kicked her down, crying out as he did so. As Remilia plummeted to the ground, Le Mort flew back to his manor, screaming all the while.

The impact and the wave of pain that followed robbed Remilia of breath and caused sparks of light to fly across her vision. For a moment, she was out of her body, a creature without shape and form, surrounded only by the light of the full moon. When the pain ebbed and Remilia was back inside of her own skin, she sat up gingerly, brushing off bits of mud and dirt from the white cotton of her dress.

With a bit of dark humor, she noticed the perfect crater her body had formed in the ground.

"My lady!"

Arms slid beneath her legs and wound around her torso as she was lifted from the crater and carried away.

It was the human.

"Well done," Remilia praised as Le Mort's clawed fist dug into the spot where she had sat not a moment ago. "You've kept your promi—my word you stink."

The human was streaked with blood—Le Mort's, by the smell of it, despite the vampire himself being unharmed. True to her claim as a Hunter, the human was unharmed and barely out of breath after her grizzly work. The Ghouls had been taken care of.

"My apologies," the human said, tightening her grip on Remilia. "I didn't have the time to freshen up, I'm afraid."

Remilia pinched her nose shut and slid an arm around the human's neck. "You're forgiven," she said, just a tad nasally. "Mind you, I won't stand for this again. My protocol is very different from our...host."

The human gave her a curious look. "Beg pardon?"

It was then that Le Mort surged for them again; though before Remilia's eyes, he seemed to slow down in midflight as if he had been plunged in water. The Hunter leaped back, landing with unnerving grace, an almost apathetic look on her face. Le Mort's flight resumed, though this time it was he who plunged into the ground. The human turned her shoulder, shielding Remilia from most of the rubble that flew up.

"What was that you were saying, my lady?"

"I believe we should save this for later," Remilia said. "Put me down now."

"Ah, of course." The human knelt, letting Remilia down from her arms. "My apologies, my lady."

Le Mort struggled up from ground, black blood dribbling from his mouth and face. Whatever fire that had been lit within him was gone. He lifted his head, trembling as he took in the sight of the Hunter and the younger vampire. Finally, he fell back to the ground.

"Spare me," he begged, covering his head with his battered hands. "I beg of you, lady Scarlet! Please!"

Remilia curled her lip. "I figured this would be your final tactic. Have you no shame, Le Mort?"

The vampire simply whimpered.

"You think petty groveling will spare you now?" Remilia waved a hand. "Stop your whimpering. It's become annoying."

The air was heavy with the smell of blood and fear. Had Remilia been any other sort of creature, the mixture would have catered to her very base instincts. But she had the proof of mindless, self-indulgence on his knees before her. In a secret place inside of her heart, it scared her to see how easily one would succumb.

"I'd like to say I'd be able to spare you, Le Mort." She glanced at the human. "Sadly, I don't think my friend will allow you to walk away. She has a promise to keep, after all."

The vampire sobbed before them...and then began to laugh. His chortles were wild, hysterical. Deranged, even. He was at the end of his rope.

And it was when vampires, those fearsome and wild creatures, were at their most deadly.

He swept his arm, flinging up dirt. Remilia turned her face...

...and felt the human's hands on her shoulders, shoving her away. In a blur of motion, Le Mort had lunged on final time, intent on Remilia. Instead, he had captured his Thrall. His claws had dug in and slashed through her torso like wet paper; his fangs sank deep into her shoulder, drawing a short, sharp scream from the victim of the attack.

Le Mort hissed into her flesh and flung the girl away. Remilia watched the thin body bounce along the ground, bones snapping at the force. Several yards away, she came to rest; blood pooled quickly. Though it was her own, it stank of Le Mort—as was the same with all Thralls and Ghouls.

Remilia gazed at the black-clothed form, numb. The human didn't move. Her wounds continued to weep.

My lady is a generous one.

"Hunter..."

"The bitch's helped you so far!" Le Mort spat out the blood in his mouth. "Wounding me, slowing down time. But now you're all alone, and now we'll see your true power, child!"

Remilia stood her her feet. Her eyes had narrowed to slits and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn't place why she felt so angry. She surmised that she never would. Before she could return to her senses, Remilia found that she had moved, and that her fist was connecting with Le Mort's jaw. She wasn't sure when she had gotten there, or how, only that she was in motion.

The elder vampire went flying back; the bones in Remilia's hand screamed in protest and she wondered faintly if she had broken it. The vampire crashed through the wall of his manor, stone and wood falling all around him.

This ends tonight.

With that, Remilia held up her right hand—the one not (potentially) broken.

"Divine lance..."

Red light sparked and crackled in her palm, each arc becoming wider in length until it was finally longer than she was tall. She widened her stance, drew back her arm...

"Gungnir!"

...and threw the shaft of red light with all of the strength in her small body. When Gungnir connected with the pile of rubble that housed Le Mort, there was a great explosion. The manor and all those within were incinerated—the manor itself was blown apart. Remilia watched the destruction, squinted against the brightness, taking satisfaction. Her eyes glowed red, and she saw what no other being in existence could see.

The black strings that connected Le Mort to the human snapped. The girl was free, and Le Mort was dead.

As the fire began to spread, sinking its teeth into the gardens, Remilia walked towards the human girl. Her keen airs detected a faint heartbeat and a ragged, unsteady beating.

She smelled blood; it was an unusual scent, like a rich spice she couldn't name. There was no trace of Le Mort's mark inside of her—the curse of the Thrall had been broken.

She knelt by the human, one finger brushing a lock out of the her eyes.

"Thank you," the Hunter croaked, blood trickling from her lips.

"...Hunter."

The girl grunted softly.

"Do you want to live?"

"I..." There was a pause. "I don't know. What...is there for me?"

"There are still vampires to hunt in this world."

"How can I raise my blade against one after meeting you, my lady?"

Remilia was caught off guard by the statement, and was silent. The human took this as a sign to continue.

"I lack a name, a purpose, and a future." Was the glossy sheen to her eyes tears, or the dancing fire light? "I am...nothing."

A zephyr danced around them, carrying the scent of smoke and burning papers. A single flower petal, a lone survivor of the gardens, rode the current of air before Remilia's eyes. It twirled there-as if to say here I am!-before it flew off into the night.

"It's cold."

Remilia looked at the human. The silver haired girl gave her a weak smile.

"I don't know...how much a rabid dog's gratitude is worth; but you have it, eternally if you wish." She chuckled, the sound ugly and wet in her throat. The human closed her eyes, breathing a soft sigh, a wistful smile on her bloodied lips.

"...Sakuya."

The human cracked open an eye. "Beg...pardon?"

"Sakuya." Remilia brushed back her own hair, and used a claw to write out the characters in the dirt. "See?"

"I...I don't follow."

"It's your name, silly girl. Flowering night—a tribute to the gardens that brought you joy."

"I don't..." The human's eyes were wide open now. "What are you..."

"Hm, you'll need a proper surname won't you? Very well...give me a moment to think." Remilia turned her eyes to the moon. A smirk wound its way on her lips. "Perfect."

"My lady, what's going on?"

"Izayoi." Remilia scratched the characters before the former, so that it read Izayoi Sakuya. "Sixteenth night—the night you became free."

The Hunter stared up at her, jaw slackened.

"Suitable, don't you think? It rolls off the tongue. Sakuya Izayoi."

The human shook. Tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, a rather pretty smile blossoming across her mouth. Her body wasn't wracked with sobs—it was too weary and broken for that—so she cried in a silence that seemed almost elegant.

"Sakuya," she murmured, testing the syllables out. "I never...thought I'd have a name. Now I do. Something to write on the tombstone..."

"Don't think about dying, Sakuya." Remilia gently tugged on a lock of long, silver hair. "Did you not say that I had your eternal gratitude?"

"Y-yes, my lady."

"From this night on, you'll become my servant. You'll work at my mansion, and you'll follow my orders. Protect me during the day, tend to me during the night. In return, you'll have a place to sleep, food, and," Remilia wrinkled her nose, "a bath."

The human—Sakuya-gazed up at her. There was warmth in that gaze; admiration, adoration and the stirrings of loyalty. Remilia liked those eyes.

"So, as I see it—I've given you a name. A purpose. A future."

"Yes," whispered Sakuya, unable to say anything else.

"You have quite the debt to repay, Sakuya Izayoi. Are you up to the task?"

And Sakuya reached up and took her hand. She brought it to her lips and gave it the ghost of a kiss.

"Of course, my lady."

The End

A/N: First of all: Hope you enjoyed the story! Second of all: oh, dear lord. This got ridiculously huge and exposition-y.

The final battle was anti-climactic as all hell, I know, but I couldn't determine what to do. I probably could have worked in the mentioned "power over illusions" to make either Remilia or Sakuya (or both?) hallucinate but meh, it didn't seem right. The guy was a pansy and he could only make himself ~beautiful, and I figured that would be the extent of it.

I do have a sequel sketched out for this—from Sakuya's point of view this time. And yes, I did my research: canon (?) states that Remi was born in 1503, so she would be around 114-15, give or take. The sequel shall deal with how the ever loving hell Sakuya stayed by her side 100+ years.

Moving on.

Disclaimerrrrr: I in no way claim to have ownership over Touhou blah blah blah, etc.