"You can't be serious can you; there is no way that I'm doing that!"

Arthur Kirkland wanted absolutely nothing to do with those little runts called children. Watching them play across the yard made him shudder, their talking made him cringe, while their laughter made all the hairs on his body prick up.

So it wasn't much of a surprise that fine autumn day when the Englishman was practically clutching the table for support in front of the smiling Frenchman. The person came from the society of education for children, claiming to be for the greater good and blah, blah, blah. "Let's just get this over with."

"Come on Arthur. It's for a good cause; think of all the wonderful things that could come from it! Think about the homeless, poor children that you'll make happy!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. Once again that French idiot had decided to pay a visit to his manor, trying to persuade him to use up his hard earned house for a bunch of brats. Exactly how long would it be until Francis got it through his head that he wouldn't trade up anything for them? Especially not this house.

"Francis, if not a thousand, I've told you a hundred times that there is no way I'm having children running around this place. What if they break something priceless?"

"You don't have to give the whole house, just a small porti-"

"My decision is final." interrupted Arthur. "If that's all you have to say, then leave now."

The Frenchman's smile was replaced with a frown; the look of disappointment in his eyes.

"No, no that is not all I have to say. How could you, a gentleman, stand there and watch while kids all over London suffer from lack of education? What's even worse is that you stand by and watch all these illiterate people work in those crowded factories with no chance of ever having something more. Your father was the richest and kindest person my family served. If you had half the heart he did…"

"What my father did is and will never be any of your business, Francis." said Arthur coldly. "All he did was help children, and look where it got him; buried six feet under. Do me a favor frog; since you have your own house and wealth, leave me alone. You can have this house long after I'm dead."

"Fine mon cher, but let me remind you, things happen to spoiled brats like you." And with that, the Frenchman turned on his heels and left.

The Briton rubbed his temples. The French Bonnefoy family had been serving under the house of the Kirklands for years without question, and then this man comes along and wants to question every single little step Arthur makes. Even though they've known each other since birth, Arthur had barely seen him. As a child, Arthur had been sheltered under his mother away from the other children. Francis on the other hand, got to go everywhere and see everything. In truth, Arthur was as isolated as the country he lived on; hardened by all the loneliness.

He looked towards the plate of scones he was supposed to eat. Might as well, it would calm him down just a little bit.

Crack!

The man had barely taken a bite before a ball went through his window, making a huge gaping hole. The ball landed near his foot along with fragmented pieces of the glass.

"What the hell?"

Looking down from the gap, he saw two guilty looking boys staring up at the broken window who didn't hesitate to run after they'd caught one glimpse of Arthur's enraged face.

"Bloody kids!" he bellowed with fury. "This is why I hate children!" Honestly, Francis wanted to turn this place into a school?

Arthur inspected the hole. The damage was so great it was big enough for him to fall through and would most likely take months, (and hundreds of pounds) to fix the stupid thing. Brilliant. For now, he might as well cover it up with a cloth of some sort. As he did that, he suddenly lost his balance and came tumbling out of the window. Arthur screamed, managing to grab hold of one of the poles the stuck out from the window of the house.

Snap!

The pole under so much pressure broke, sending the Englishman tumbling down the three story window. Everything went black before the sharp end of the pole jabbed into his neck, and the grass made red.

The front door opened. Heavy shoes clunked throughout the hallway while the confused emerald eyes searched the darkened manor. He didn't remember waking up, and he certainly didn't remember how he got from the front yard back into the house again. The Brit made his way carefully throughout the hall, barely making a sound. He touched his neck and winced with pain. It felt as if someone had drilled something into it, yet no blood was on his fingertips. This was strange; where there should have been a bloody gash, there was perfectly flawless skin. He'd fallen from a great height, there had to at least have been some blood or something had to be broken. Something wasn't right…

He turned on the light. The entire room had been draped in completely in black. His royal blue curtains had been replaced by ebony ones. Arthur's expression grimaced. The ones that I used when I hosted the funeral for my little brother…

His attention was drawn to a dim light coming from the study room. Arthur walked towards it and opened the door. Nothing could prepare him for what he saw.

Gathered around the room were at least 30 people. They too, dressed in black looking mournfully at the coffin before them. Among the people were his older brothers and…

"Francis?"

The Frenchman came up to the coffin, placing a red rose onto its lid. All the laughter was gone from those blue eyes.

"Rest in peace, Arthur." he whispered softly before kissing the top.

"Rest in peace, what the bloody hell are you talking about?" yelled Arthur, moving towards Francis. He extended a hand out to slap some sense into the man, but when the fingers touched his face, the hand phased right on through.

Suddenly, it all made sense; no blood, no cracked skull, no broken limbs. It was all because his body was not attached to him anymore. He was a spirit, a soul departed from his shell.

In other words, he was dead. He didn't survive that fall.

"N-no! It can't be; I refuse to believe! That can't be me, I can't be dead!"

Pushing a bystander roughly away, he opened the lid of the coffin. Dressed in his best clothes was the corpse of Arthur. The undertaker managed to get most of the pole from his neck, only a sliver of it remained. All the blood that may have been still in his body was gone; making him like deathly pale. The sickening feeling of truth clawed its way into the pit of his stomach. That wasn't him anymore; it was just a shell. That strong and proud Arthur was gone, he died with his body. This was the new him, a ghost lost with the years of the past.

"Francis, please answer!" he bellowed, looking desperately into the eyes of the Frenchman. In response, the man started crying.

Blood streamed down his face, staining his collar and fine jacket. Pools of red appeared by his side. Horrified, Arthur saw it was coming from Francis' sleeves, he watched as him and all the other guests melted into their own blood, leaving only crimson behind.

The body of Arthur sprang from its coffin, grasping the ghost's neck with its blood speckled hands. Even its blond hair was now caked with the foul smelling stuff. Arthur cringed in fear. This was probably what he looked like when he was discovered on the front lawn. Eyes rolled back into its head, it said to the frightened spirit;

"Welcome to death Kirkland."

The thing threw him across the room.

Scrambling to his feet, he ran away from his body and out the front door. Anywhere was better than there; he needed answers and quick.

"Bloody kids! This is why I hate children!"

The Briton looked around; he was back in the house. The third floor to be exact.

"Wh-how?"

There was another Arthur in the room, busy inspecting the hole. A maid went straight through ghost Arthur quietly, but quickly. What was she…

The woman gave a sharp push on Arthur's back, sending him through the window. It was like reliving his death all over again.

"I was…murdered?"

Without giving the Briton more time to think, the scene changed to a new one. On the velvet couch laid the girl and….Francis. With a smirk on her face, she pulled him close.

"Death is pretty cruel to love, oui?" and then their lips met.

A hole formed in Arthur's chest as watched in pain. A hole that would never be repaired. He never realized that he actually cared for the Frenchman until now. Until he was dead….

The room changed back to normal, leaving a broken hearted man.

Eventually the time moved on and everyone forgot about the wealthy Arthur Kirkland and his big mansion. The house had been completely stripped bare of its furnishings except for the upper top floor where Arthur dwelled, moping about. Every day, he would close his eyes, half expecting this entire thing to be just a bad dream. Each time, he failed miserably. There was no escaping his reality.

And no escaping the house either. Every time he tried, he found himself back on the third floor, reliving his death each time; seeing the same things that lead to his death.

The only thing that kept him busy was the diary he had kept. He would spend hours writing in it, wishing someone would take him away from this place.

90 years passed before the Englishman set eyes on another living being again. The car pulled up to the long forgotten manor silently. Out stepped 3 people. By the looks of them from the window; two were kids much to Arthur's dismay and the other was an adult.

"Is this the house grand pere Francis?" squeaked the first child. Arthur's ears perked up.

"Francis?"

"Oui, this is it."

"Francis, it has to be him…" heart skipping beats, Arthur floated down the stairs and towards the door as it opened. "Oh, thank god I-"

He stopped dead cold. The Francis he knew from long ago wasn't there. Where flowing blond hair should have been was replaced with brittle gray fallout hair. His once flawless skin was littered with wrinkles and liver spots. His tidy beard was now shaggy and longer. The most shocking thing was his eyes; nothing was in there anymore. They were dull and grey.

Arthur hadn't changed a bit, but the Frenchman before him had. He watched in horror as the old man stumbled across the dusty floor boards.

"Matthew, Alfred, you must be my eyes." he whispered to the children present. They both nodded, taking his rough hands.

Arthur could've cringed at the sight of 3 year olds in his house if he wasn't too distracted by Francis' ghastly appearance. What had happened to his love?

The lingered together for a moment before the old man sudden said,

"I want to have a moment, run along." The two boys nodded, heading up the grand stairway.

The Frenchman blindly traced a finger on the railing of the stairs.

"Ah Arthur, it's been so long, and there's been so many memories of us together. I just wish our last one didn't have to be…." he turned away from the bare railing. "That maid told me everything eventually; confessed to killing you….I'm so sorry mon cher; if I hadn't left you alone, you would still be here. And then perhaps…"

He stopped to wipe a tear from his eye. "I'm an old man; I can't keep this house from realtors forever. So that's why I've sold it."

"No….no you wouldn't…."

"If you can hear from up there Arthur, please don't be angry with me. I did it for your father…." He turned his attention the sound of children upstairs. Francis gave a smile. "How'd you enjoy looking into your new school?"

"Do we really have to go here?" complained Alfred. "I wanna go back home!"

"This is your home now-or at least it will be within a few months. You won't even recognize it when we return. The dust will be gone, the bugs and rodents will be eliminated. Come, let's leave." They started towards the door.

Arthur's heart rose up and down in rapid motion. No….he couldn't let him leave. Not yet. The Briton without thinking pulled him into a hug.

"Oh darling, oh god! Please don't go!" he busted out into tears. "I love you; I've always loved you!"

Matthew tugged on Francis' shirt. "Are we leaving?" The Frenchman nodded.

"Oui, let's go."

The Frenchman went right through his lover's arms.

"Damn!" Arthur instantly collapsed to the floor. "Francis, don't leave me!" His tears glistened down his cheeks, his eyes red from crying. "I'll do anything, I swear; just see me! Acknowledge that I'm here!"

The little small boy turned around.

"Why is there a man on the floor? Why is he crying?"

"Don't be silly Alfred, there's no one there." Matthew said back.

"But he's right there!" the boy protested, pointing in Arthur's direction.

The child could see him…he could see the dead…

"Please…" Arthur called out weakly. "…please…"

Regardless of his begs the three left, leaving Arthur alone once more in a pool in his own sorrow.

Hi!

So that's the prologue, of the story. Kinda strange isn't it? Oh, and the beginning isn't supposed to make any sense. ^^ It will later be explained in other chapters.

Review! (As always)