She stood before the house for a long time, gazing at it with her head cocked to the side in curiosity.

The moment she had passed by it her headache had cleared. It must have meant something.

She crept, spider-like, up the back of the tidy looking white house, stopping as her hand came to one of the windows. “Hm?”

It was too dark to see inside the room.

Surrian frowned and bit her finger, letting the blood seep in between the glass plates. It spread and coagulated, churning and writhing until the glass splinted and shattered.

Her feet came to a rest on very soft carpet. She blinked as her vision focused, making everything appear in infrared. “Ooh.”

As Vincent slumped inside the doorway he raised his tired eyes, knowing Monika would catch him.

She had been his lover ever since Surrian’s death. She waited for him as faithfully and as patiently as a shadow each night he would come home and lost it, seeing his baby lying there dead over and over.

Tonight, there was no love in her eyes. Only terror.

“Liebe,” he whispered, focusing through his migraine on her, “what’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to as a loud thud came from upstairs.

He went blank momentarily, than reached for her.

Monika slid down into a sitting position against the door, trying to be as calm as he appeared.

Blest grasped his rifle, quietly making certain it was loaded before slowly approaching the stairs.

As Surrian sat on the bed, looking around the room, odd feelings began to come to her.

She felt a pain at the back of her eyes as she felt the coolness of the sheets beneath her fingers. The pain intensified, swelling from her eyes to her chest.

“Fuck that,” she groaned, jumping from the bed, hoping the pain would fade. Laying her hand down on the dresser, she frowned down, wondering what she was even doing there.

A picture caught her eye. It was framed in a small, circular music box. She picked up the music box, feeling the pain lash at her heart again as she gazed down at a man holding a small girl in his arms.

The girl couldn’t have been more than five years old. The man looked young as well, in his twenties at best. He was handsome, with white hair that didn’t suit his young face and laughing blue eyes behind half moon spectacles.

She knew him. “…Vincent Blest…”

Her eyes narrowed. The name sounded familiar and it pissed her off that she couldn’t remember this man. He was important enough to remember an hour ago.

Surrian huffed and tucked the music box into a pocket she had found conveniently in whatever was clinging to her skin.

“You can’t have that,” a voice roared behind her.

She raised an eyebrow as the gun went off, taking half of her skull with it.

Turning, she caught sight of the infamous Vincent Blest holding a rifle on her.

The man slowly lowered the gun, looking stunned, “Surrian…?”

Is that my name?

She turned fully than as her head stitched itself back together. “Who are you.”? It was blunt, demanding.

He kept the gun raised, “No one you would care to know.”

There was an innate sadness in his statement and in his handsome face.

“Than why do I know you,” she hissed, stepping closer to him, “Who the hell are you, Vincent Blest?”

Blest gave her silence, not knowing what to say. He wanted with everything in him to take her in his arms until demons dragged him down to hell.

“Please, get out,” he asked softly, lifting the gun again.

Surrian looked around the room again, from the pretty little bed to the walls with it’s mural of lavender and bloodstains. For a long moment she was lost.

“You get out,” Blest roared again, “your not welcome here!”

She turned her unbearable lavender eyes to him than down to the gun. “In a moment.”

He watched incredulously as she walked to the closet and pulled out an old, black jacket that looked like a dress on her as she slipped it on. She reached in farther, pulling out a set of boots that went up to her knees as she slipped them on. The last things she grabbed were a dark red scarf, which she promptly wrapped around her lips and nose, and a top hat.

“I know these things are mine, even though I don’t know why.” She smirked as he gave no argument.

“Goodbye, mysterious Vincent Blest,” she said softly, still smiling as she leaped out the window, taking off into the night sky.

He waited a long time before lowering the gun. As he sank into her old bed, he looked around the room, realizing he hadn’t been in it since Surrian had died.

Blest put one hand over his face, wishing more than anything he could reach out and feel her small body curled underneath the comforter again.