I own nothing besides Mercy.

1871-Paris, France

Mercy lay on her bed as her daughter and grand-daughter sat beside her. She was dying. She played through the memories of her life as she began to grow tired.

Her grandson entered the room bringing his mother a damp cloth to place over Mercy's forehead.

The life was leaving her as she looked upon the faces of her beloved family. She wished she didn't have to leave them so soon. Mercy wished she could live to see her grandchildren have their own children but knew that time was escaping her; a single tear trailed down her face. Mercy closed her eyes.

She opened them. She felt life and rejuvenation return to her as she looked down at herself. It was as if she had not aged a day since the June Rebellion. Her youth had been restored. She knew she was either dead or dreaming.

Her eyes looked up landing on a figure adorned in a red coat. Mercy's heart stopped as she took in his appearance. He looked just as she remembered him.

He walked closer to her, "Red, I feel my soul on fire. Black, my world if you're not there. Red, the color of desire. Black, the color of despair." He stopped in front of her, "I have always loved you."

Mercy beamed up at him through steady tears of joy. Her heart swelled as they embraced. She never wanted him to let her go. And he didn't. A radiant light enveloped them entirely. Once it had faded they were gone.