A very big thank you to SephirothOWAxCloudStrife, Sirdimsum, Mirrored Sounds, ayumi9696 and x Nori Tsuki-Hime! You've kept me from lagging! And of course, Akaito is still narrating.

" 'Now the story continues in a Grecian temple-like church. In the heart of its garden, healthy honeysuckle blooms and fat azaleas trawled across the wet, lush ground of greener-than-green grass. They stretched themselves across the walls. Tiny butterflies with myriads of jewel tones painted onto their wings that had a glassy shine, flitted and twirled in and out of the marigold bushes.

Glossy lurid red, fruits swayed on their stems up high in the branches of the many trees with sweeping tendrils.

Next to this huge, sprawling garden with acres of fertile land, was a huge building. Its strong marble pillars held up a high, arching ceiling of a hall shaped like a dome, complete with sweeping buttresses and gliding balconies.

It was complete with a chandelier dripping generously with jewels that sparkled in the sun hanging from the center. Wooden benches lined in neat rows across a cobblestoned floor in the hall, fit for seating hundreds and thousands of people for Sunday's Masses. An altar with rich, thick, faded drapings, candles and offerings, stood at the front of the hall. The air was thick with incense drifting in streams from hanging sachets.

Sunlight spiraled down in merry, slanting shafts from the grimy stained glass windows, above the porcelain head of an artistically chipped Roman statue. A rather bosomy lady, in fact.

The statue was an unspoiled alabaster white, the blank eyes on its upturned face forever watching the blue skies. A petite bluebird swooped in and perched primly on the lady's nose. It chirped. Another high-pitched chirp. Then it burst into trilling song, a pleasant rendition of Amazing Grace it had heard every Sunday's Prayers. It wriggled its little tail on its tiny rump, which was not more than a clump of feathers.

Heck of a smart bird, that was what.

A-a-ma-maa-z-ziiing Gra-aa-accce, how s-ss-weee-eeet t-the- s-sso—ound-

"SHUT UP!"

The bird broke off, frightened by the sudden violent outburst from out of nowhere. It was accompanied by a sharp yip.

It fluttered its wings in a panic, and its wings turned to a sharp blur of baby blue. It took off into the sky, leaving its comfortable spot on the statue's nose and turned into an undistinguishable speck in the sky.

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU! BLITHERING IDIOOOOOT!"

The unmistakable sound of flesh against flesh. A howl of pain. An excited bark from a dog.

"I don't believe you! Impossible!"

"But s-sire! Tis' true!"

A flabby, burly man who seemed like he had a permanent scowl stuck on his face since the day he was born, stomped into the garden from an adjoining corridor, his thick, woolen friar robes in shades of tartan green swishing like liquid around his ankles.

He was red in the face, the colour contrasting horribly against his robes, and he looked ready to punch someone. His eyes were all narrowed. If you looked at him closely, you'd get a feeling of unease, as if you just found out he was your long-lost brother you never wanted to have.

("WAAAAAAHHHHH! I DON"T WANNA HAVE A BROTHER HE'S SO SCAAAARY!" "What the hell, Akaito-anikisan! Don't scare Mekaito like that! Calm down now, Mekaito… "(Mekaito sniffles) "My apologies! Won't happen again. Hey! Mekaito! Remember Shel Silverstein? The man on the back cover of your favourite book? There! There he is! That's the man in the story! Your long-lost brother! Yay!" "NOOOOOO I DON"T WANNNAAAAA WAAAAAHHH! "£!$%^&*$£ Akaito!")

And something shocking, was the fact that he cradled a miniscule dog in his clothed arms. Its fur was a creamy white, and its neck bent from the weight of a ornate, heavy gold chain twisted around its neck. Its head was shrunken, its tiny body frail and shivering. Its eyes and tail were droopy, and the dip of his oversized ears was a little grotesque.

Grass snapped under the man's heavy feet, and he spat and slapped at a wasp that buzzed annoyingly around his face. Immediately, the wasp dropped down dead on the floor where he smashed it into the soft soil with another step, the soft, creamy insides spilling out of its sharp, crunchy and brittle exoskeleton, like scoops of pumpkin flesh.

Scurrying behind him was a scrawny man, hunched over in fear. His face was a pallid yellow. Oras was his name.

As far as Oras himself could remember, he himself was a huge coward. And always bullied. Bullied by his wife. His mother. His sister. His father. His grandmother. The tiny dog that resided in the friar's arms. He was scared all the time. Scared of anything. Scared of crying babies too. But now, he didn't remember anything else more frightening than the man in front of him- The church's friar. Friar Jeeves, he liked to be called.

"And I'll dare you to say it again." Friar Jeeves' lips were twisted into a snarl. It was ugly. And it reminded Oras of the church gargoyles that leered down from their pedestals. He inched back instinctively. Sweat ran down his face in steady streams.

Jeeves saw the fear in Oras' eyes and he coughed, tossing his head in the other direction. "And tell the truth now. I don't like liars… Don't make it hard for yourself." He scratched the whimpering dog in between the ears. Its eyes rolled back in pleasure, and it collapsed into the rough fabric, its tongue lolling out.

"Uh…Uh… I…" Oras swallowed hopefully. He twisted the frayed hem of his shirt. "Em… I…"

He willed his hand not to leap to the smarting, bright red spot on his left cheek. It blazed. So painfully. So hot. Like a breath.

"Spit it out, boy! Don't be a coward. Some apprentice you are," Jeeves said. He twiddled with the dog's ears absentmindedly. He swung out lazily, and Oras yelped. He ducked, and Jeeves pulled his hand back to the dog's ears.

"!" Oras screamed.

There. He had said it. Jeeves had no reason. To hit him.

He was safe. "The entire truth, Friar Jeeves… I know, I'm sure…"

Silence. He looked up.

Jeeves' face was stone cold. Every part of him had stopped moving. His arms dropped and the dog leaped to the floor and raced away, yipping.

Then, Jeeves smiled- smiled- and looked deep into his eyes, as if scrutinising him close up. It was as if Oras had something that Jeeves had never seen before. Then he smiled toothily, his teeth gleaming menacingly in the sunlight.

He leaned closer, and closer, until Oras could smell his putrid breath. Jeeves gripped his chin tight.

"There," Jeeves breathed. "You said it."

His eyes glinted and he swung his hand down onto Oras' right cheek.

Oras merely felt the impact. No pain yet.

And then, the burn surged up to his cheek. He tried not to cry as it literally tore his nerves.

He collapsed and curled up into a ball on the wet grass, waiting for the next blows to be rained down on him.

They never came.

Instead, he heard the rustling of grass and the familiar swishing of robes. Jeeves was leaving? Really?

No, wait, Jeeves had stopped. He felt a shadow over him, and he knew that it was Jeeves. He dared not open his eyes, even a tiny inch.

"Make sure the prince is found. Heck of a brat. I knew that he never wanted to be king, but actually hiding…" Jeeves paused. "Find him, or else."

And then he was gone.

You know who Kyle is, right?