A/N: This is the summarized end of a story I wrote that was kind of just venting. It was a bit of a crap-shot, but I liked the end. For those of you who actually read what I put up of the story (I think it was 40 some pages out of 62, longest thing I've ever written personally, believe it or not) I thank you. For those of you who didn't read it, well, you didn't miss much.

Aidan is dead. Beautifully, silently, wonderfully dead. The fact of this has not yet settled on Gray. He sits beside her on the sofa, playing with her scarlet hair. Blood is staining her hair, her dress, her bosom, his fingers. So what? What does it matter now? She is silent and beautiful.

She can't speak now. That's fine. He didn't like it when she spoke anyway. She had a head so full of ideas that she was always speaking, save for when she slept. When he wasn't around, she called herself Persephone and pretended that it was only three more months before she was free. She wanted so badly to be free from her Prince of the Underworld with his heart of stone and his eyes a shade of blue so dull they were clear.

Love, love, love. He loves her... Loved her. There wouldn't be much left to love now, had he loved her as a human loves a human. But that sort of love was never given to Gray, and he never learned how to give it. He loved the idea of her.

The idea... Mischa always said it was a stupid thing to love. Aidan wasn't make-believe, she was a human girl. But the human girl was far less interesting to Gray than the concept of what he could do with it. He did not love her, he loved the thought of her. The thought that somebody loved him irrevocably. Of course, that was only in thought.

He shouldn't have beat her, he shouldn't have insulted her, he shouldn't have crippled her, he shouldn't have killed her. To be honest, he shouldn't have ever met her. That was the greatest mistake. That was Mischa's mistake. Without Mischa, Gray would have gone quietly crazy, locked in a room full of books and mirrors. He would have killed himself. Instead, he killed the innocnet.

Mischa is dead, too. Burned to death under a collapsed pillar in a theater in London that is no more than ashes since 1912. How innocnet was Mischa, really? Who knows. There's too much mystery surrounding the charlatan. He was rich, but how? No clues. No matter. He left in his will, three-fourths of his fortune to 'whatever assistant(s) I may have at the time.'

Aidan's blood is drying slowly as it stops its flow. Gray's hands are covered in it, the way they had been covered in Ichiro's. Ichiro... What did he ever do? Gray can't even remember anymore. Certainly, the young, Asian boy did something, right? Oh, it's too hard to remember.

He's loosing it. Slowly, but surely. The reality of the situation, the fact that he has stabbed Aidan in the throat so roughly and at such an angle that the knife gleams in the back of her mouth, is dissapearing into a mist of euphoria. This is all he ever wanted! Total, unquestioned, absolute control of a person that he was sure loved him.

Part of him remembers that when she smiled at other men, he would die a bit inside. His blood would boil and his heart would break. It hurt to breathe, he was so broken from jealousy. He broke her down to bring her to his level. She was crippled outwardly, and he inwardly. The world had been cruel to his vanity, making him lonely.

All he wants to do is sleep, to revel in this control.

The morning comes. There is a knocking on the door, and Gray does not bother to answer it. A moment of silence. The door creaks open. A boy comes in. Tall, lanky, messy hair, dark eyes... Gray's mind screams, trying to remember this boy's name.

"Mr. Gray?" The boy is staring stupidly at him, and Aidan's corpse. "Is... everything alright?" Silly questions from a silly boy.

Gray looks up, "You... God damn... What is your name again? I can never remember... Albert! Yes! Yes, you're Albert, aren't you! You bastard. She didn't love you..."

"Mr. Gray... I'm Calvin. I live next door... What..? What happened here?"

"Calvin?"

"Yes. Calvin Nikolai. I'm a student. You know me, Mr. Gray! We have tea together, with Aidan. What happened to Aidan?"

Gray looks at the boy for a moment. "Oh! Calvin. Calvin!" He begins to laugh, and the laughter spirals into hysteria, "Oh, Calvin! You did this to her, you know. Isn't that odd? You were with her when I was at the Opera, and I had the most god-awful headache, and I knew. I knew!" He stands up now, gently laying Aidan's head against the arm of the sofa. "I said to myself 'no, she won't betray me. She's a good girl.' I suppose I didn't really know her."

"Mr. Gray..." Calvin takes a step back, his dark eyes wide, "Mr. Gray... you... Aidan..."

"Aidan? Oh, don't mind her, Calvin. She's just a little bit dead. Nothing we can't fix, right, Sire?"

"Sire?"

"Silly me. Sire is dead. I'll see him in hell. That's where people like us go, Calvin, my boy. People who use dark magic... Charlatans like us, who are less than human... More than human... We go to hell! Isn't that odd?" He laughs so hard that his chest hurts, he gasps for air, and falls forward awkwardly, coughing.

Calvin calls the police, stunned.

Everything is black and cold for a while.

Gray sits through his trial quietly, speaking only once or twice. "Take me home to hang me. I killed her. I loved her. Take me home to hang me. I'll pay, just take me home to hang me."

There is some conflict with his request, paperwork must be filled out, bribes must be paid. But it is done.

As they lead him up the stairs to the shoddy gallows, his good eye focuses on his old house, and the moors beyond it. This is the prettiest place in the whole world. Why did he even want to leave? What was he running away from? He can't remember. The rope feels almost familiar around his neck.

There is no time to feel fear, the world has opened up, the floor falls away, and all his cares go with it.