Today, as well, he sat by the window, gazing out while blankly scratching his hollow eye socket. The blood blotched the white bandages with crimson and trickled down his arm.

"Kevin?" Shelly's voice came from outside the door, "I'm coming in."

She no longer flinched at the sight of half his face being covered in blood, it was already the sixth or seventh time that week, she only let out a displeased sigh.

"Leave me alone," he growled.

"I would have, if you had just stopped hurting yourself," Shelly approached him cautiously, as if he was a frightened squirrel that would run and hide any moment, "I brought new bandages this time. I came prepared."

He backed up further against the wall, and inwardly cursed himself for forgetting to devise an escape plan.

"Stay away," he uttered in defence, his posture tensed.

He intended to leap out of the window, but as soon as she laid her hand on his bloodstained one, he stopped, and he cursed himself for that too.

He did not resist when she removed his hand from his face, but he turned away, as if merely looking at her was unbefitting a vile lowlife such as himself.

"It's okay," she reassured him, "Let me see."

She did away with the drenched bandages whether he liked it or not, exposing his missing eye.

He recoiled, hiding it with his other hand, "Don't...!"

"It's okay," she repeated, "You need not hide."

She removed his hand again and began trying to staunch the blood flow, he closed his other eye reflexively. His posture relaxed.

He murmured almost accusingly, questioning why she had not been disgusted by the presence of a bloodied stranger in her mansion, questioning why she had chose to supply him with a shelter, questioning why she was standing in front of him herself instead of leaving all the dirty work to her private doctors.

He simply could not comprehend why anyone would involve themselves with a spectre like him.

"Kevin," she whispered gently, placing her hand on his left chest. He almost thought she found out about his incuse. "The doctors had tended to your wounds, but they won't try to heal your heart."

"I can tell, you know?" she started applying the bandages, "I can tell that you were tormented in much, much more painful ways. Whatever you've been put through, it made you blame yourself for it. That's... very sad, beating yourself up over and over again for something that you couldn't have known."

"How could you assume that I was not to blame?" he retorted, "How could you say such a thing? Why do you think you have the right to tell me what to do?!"

"..."

"Stop being involved with me!" he pushed her hand away from the mostly finished bandages and opened his other eye, "You don't know anything about my past! You don't know what pains me so much! Stop acting like you can make everything right! Stop acting like you understand!"

He saw her ever-smiling visage morph into one of hurt for a moment, a sight which briefly made him wish both of his eyes were stripped from him.

"I'm... sorry..." he muttered, "Ah, I mean, my humblest apologi—"

"Hey, Kevin," she grinned, "Do you wish to die?"

It was an abrupt question, but one he had the answer for. Even so, the word 'yes' lingered at the tip of his tongue and refused to be voiced.

"You wish to die so that you don't need to suffer anymore. You simply want to save yourself," she stated victoriously, "Wasn't that your attitude all along?"

He was rendered speechless by that perfect deduction.

"Then why haven't you done it?" she continued, "You have a dagger with you, right? Why haven't you killed yourself with it?" She proceeded to answer her own question without waiting for his response, "It's because you know you still have something to live for, deep down in the depths of your heart. And yet, you also feel like you don't deserve to be a part of this world. Thus, every day, you simply stare at the world, too bright for you to survive in, while hurting yourself. Am I right?"

"That is..." he stammered, "How come...?"

Shelly realised that she might have gone a bit far, so she softened her tone, "To be frank, it was Sharon who first noticed."

Kevin refused to believe that an eight-year-old was capable of comprehending such profound ideas.

"Sharon... she came to me in sobs, and asked me if saving you was a bad thing to do," she explained sadly, "She asked me why you weren't enjoying your time with us, and why you keep hurting yourself. She asked me if you were upset with her for saving you."

"No!" he denied at once, "Absolutely not! Lady Sharon did nothing wrong, I... I must be thankful to you and her both, even if I never wished to be saved."

He couldn't stand the thought of him making a young girl cry again. The last time this happened, he never got to see the girl ever again.

"Thankful, huh?" Shelly pondered, "Will you do me a favour then?"

"...at your command."

"Give me your time," she declared boldly, "I will show you there are better ways to be saved than laying down your life."

"But...!" he argued, "I... I do not deserve to be cared for. My past—"

"I don't know anything about your past, but!" she stepped up to him, cupping his skinny cheek to make him look at her, "But that doesn't matter, Kevin. I stand here, in your present. Try as you might, but you will never find a future in the past."

She knelt down and grasped his hands, "Just take my hand, I will create a future for you."

He did not reciprocate the gesture.

He tried to talk her out of it several times afterwards, with several different methods, to no avail. Shelly had the vitality of a child but the stubbornness of an elderly.

His ultimate trump card was revealing his past. Surely everyone would shy away from a murderer of 116 plus 1...

...he couldn't tell her.

Day after day, he stayed silent. He told himself he would indulge in their kindness for one more day, even if he did not deserve it.

Because when she had promised him a future, he was sure she was shining, like the sun he wouldn't dare allow himself to bask in. He felt warmth, and hope.

His mind may deceive him, but the heart never lies. He had fallen into an intoxicating utopia.

It was a utopia that binds you, a utopia that steers you away from rationality. He allowed himself to cast aside his past and escaped his freezing cage, just to convince himself that he was worthy of this utopia — worthy of her.

And he never wanted to leave.

He was such a sinner indeed.

---

5 years later

Break stood before Shelly's quarters, she had summoned him after Sharon.

This had always been a warm haven, now it was but a dreaded destination none of them ever wanted to reach.

Taking a deep breath that didn't help at all, he convinced himself to stay strong and suppressed the searing sensation in his remaining eye — a sensation he hadn't feel in years.

For he did not deserve so much as to cry for her.

"Good day... Xerxes," Shelly smiled feebly as he entered the room.

"How may I be of service, Shelly-sama?" he bowed slightly.

"Loosen up, we're alone..." she giggled languidly.

"I beg your pardon... I mean, I'm sorry. We haven't spoken like this for quite some time, I've gotten used to the formal language." As a servant speaking to his mistress, he should, by all means, speak with utmost respect. However, Shelly and Sharon had long since regarded him as someone as dear as family, and insisted that he should ignore his position when in private. (And he had come to realised that when a Rainsworth 'insist' on something, it was best not to do otherwise.)

"Come... closer..." she said, "I can't... speak that loud..."

"Ah... sure," he felt strange seeing her in this state. Though she was always sickly, her liveliness was still contagious to all those around her. It was strange to see her so deprived of energy.

"I want you to listen to me calmly, Xerxes," her smile vanished, "I... I don't think I can make it through the day..."

He felt as though Albus shoved his gigantic broadsword into his heart and wrenched it into minced meat.

Grunting, she admitted to him, and him alone, that she was afraid. A pathetic sentiment for a duchess-to-be, but she was afraid of dying indeed.

Her hand scoured for his on the side of the bed. She grabbed onto his hand with such force, and yet, she was trembling so.

He held her hand tenderly in return, not knowing any words that would comfort her. His skin was already pale, but hers was in a dull pallor that made even him flinch in fear.

"Thank you..." she said, "Your hand... feels very warm right now... It soothes me... even for a little..."

"That's not true," he did his best to give her a smile, "My hand has long since been stained with blood. It was your warm hands that guided me here, it was you who saved me, the ruthless Red-eyed Spectre."

"Don't make it sound... so praiseworthy... You have... never been a heartless specter... in my eyes... You are... alive. You suffer... and struggle and... make mistakes like all of us... But you were broken... and hurt, and couldn't move forward... on your own. So I simply... gave you a little push."

"You saved a lowlife from despair. That's sufficiently praiseworthy—" he paraphrased, then abruptly paused as he felt a lump in his throat.

"...? Xerxes...?"

"So please, don't leave me...!" he begged, squeezing her hand, "You know I can't live without you! If I hadn't met you, I would've... I would've been satisfied with starving myself to death in the Sinclair's graveyard!"

She shook her head weakly, "You won't... do that anymore... From now on... you must create... your own future... You already have... reasons to live on, don't you...? Tell me... is there nothing... you would regret... if your life were to... end right here...?"

"..." he contemplated, feeling obliged to answer truthfully, "I suppose I do." Memories of the Intention of the Abyss crossed his mind briefly, memories of a desperate wish, spoken to him in sobs, "There's... a wish I must grant, someone once placed all their hope in me. It was the main reason why I must find out more about the Tragedy of Sablier."

She moved her hand to his cheek — its warmth slipping away by the second — as she commanded him to hold onto that wish. She made him promise to keep living with all his might, to keep struggling to survive, because someday he would surely encounter someone's thoughts that only he could comprehend.

He nodded, placing his hand over hers, wanting her to keep it there.

"And if... you find that... forgiving yourself is... difficult..." she continued, "Then live... for someone else's sake... I'm sure... there's someone... out there... Someone who... needs you... someone... who trusts you... to protect them..."

"If there is such a someone, then I promise you," he nodded once more.

For a few fleeting moments, they only stared into each other's eyes. Him into her lovely, half-closed, cranberry-coloured jewels. And her into his remaining sorrowful, blood-red one.

"Ahh... my time... is almost here..." she rasped ruefully.

While desperately holding back his tears, he asked, "What about you, Shelly-sama? Anything you still want to do? Any messages you want me to pass on? Whatever you desire... I'll see to it that it will be granted."

"How... kind of you..." she smiled, then stared at the canopy of her bed blankly as if reminiscing, "I do regret... not being able...to watch Sharon grow into... an adult... So, Xerxes... watch over my child... in my stead... love her as I would... and... protect her as I would..."

"Of course," he promised, "I won't disappoint you."

"Oh... and... one more thing... I must ask of you..."

"Yes?"

"Tell me... the truth..."

"The truth? What do you—"

She shifted her thumb to his lips to prevent him from speaking, "I could tell... when you lie... you know? So tell me... what exactly... am I to you...?"

He remained silent.

"Will you not... give me an... honest answer... even now...?"

"But I... I mustn't."

She smiled kindly, "I don't mind... Please... I don't have... much time..."

"No, I can't."

Her thumb now brushed against his tightly closed left eyelid, "I'll... accept it... Please... I need to... hear it... I need... confirmation..."

"I..." he bit his lower lip, and in a moment of shameful weakness, still entranced by her beauty, he allowed those words to slip out, "I love you."

He averted his gaze instantly, the knowledge of how unworthy he was to speak of those three captivating words haunted him, "I know this isn't right, I know my feelings will never be reciprocated... There was no need to tell you!"

"But... I thank you... for telling me... I'm delighted to—"

"...!?"

Her hand dropped lifelessly onto the bed, void of any warmth by now, slipping from his gentle grasp, leaving him to wonder what she had wanted to say for all eternity.

"Shelly...?" he gazed at her tranquil, smiling visage, waiting for her to open her eyes again and surprise him.

"Shelly-sama... please..." he pleaded.

"Shelly-sama...!" he called out.

"Shelly-sama!" he screamed, every time more urgent than the previous, "Shelly-sama! SHELLY-SAMA!"

The burning colours of the sunset seeped in, illuminating her freezing corpse, keeping her warm as he kept on screaming and screaming and screaming.

The doctors probably heard him, they bursted into the room soon and ushered him outside.

He dragged himself back to his quarters, and collapsed as soon as he closed the door.

It hurt. It hurt so much. It hurt far, far more than having his eye yanked out from his skull. Ah, maybe it wouldn't have hurt if the Intention of the Abyss had robbed him of his heart instead.

Shelly was never a woman of good health. So what did he expect? That she wouldn't depart so soon? That by some miracle, she would recover?

No. He had always known that wouldn't happen, and he had always been prepared to witness her passing.

And yet, now he punched the floor in extreme frustration, questioning himself. Incapable as he was to save her, incapable as he was to save anyone, was there no other choice but to carry on living like this? Unable to do anything as those he held dear leave him again, and again, and again?

It was so unfair. The heaven always bestowed upon him people who brought kindness a scum like him never deserved.

The heaven would then give him time to bond with such people, the master and mistress he had grown to adore, the little lady he had grown to care for, and Shelly, whom he grew to love.

But at last, the heaven would always, always, remind him of how he deserved none of their kindness. These people he treasured far beyond his own life were always ripped from his embrace and brought back to heaven, somewhere he would never reach.

Why must he suffer this way? Because he was a Child of Ill Omen? Because of the crimes he perpetrated as the Red-eyed Spectre? Because he tried to mess with the natural flow of time?

Then why bestow such luxury upon him on purpose? If he was damned to be hated by all, feared by all, despised by all, then just let him live and die alone! Why torture him this way? Why show him glimmers of hope and then tear them from him just when he learns to cherish them?

"Do you wish to die? You wish to die so that you don't need to suffer anymore. You simply want to save yourself."

Her voice still echoed in his head.

Yes, he did. Whatever it takes, he just wanted to be saved from this agony.

"From now on... you must create... your own future..."

She did say so. But it was so much easier said than done. For the last 5 years, she was here by his side, caressing his wounded eye with her warm hand and leading him out of the darkness step by step. Now that she was gone, who would do that for him?

Was there even a being capable of alleviating his pain over losing someone he loved so much to begin with?

In his grief-stricken trance, he reached for his sword, gripping onto it as if it were a lifeline.

Maybe he didn't deserve a future after all. Maybe he didn't deserve to live on, if people around him were destined to lose their lives as his punishment, then maybe...

Maybe he should just...

Knock knock.

"Break? May I come in?"

"S-Sharon...?" he muttered, then realised that he was in no proper state to greet his lady, "Please wait." He put down his sword and dried his tears with his sleeves roughly, then opened the door, "Do you need something, my lady?"

For a moment, both of them simply stared at each other, taking in each other's feigned calmness and bloodshot eye(s), knowing that each other was on the verge of falling apart.

"Do you need something, my lady?" he repeated.

"Ah, yes..." she looked at her feet as if embarrassed by something, "Can I... cry here...?"

"Eh?" he blinked, "Does your own room not suffice?"

"It would not do... to let the maids see me crying... if they come check on me," she explained, "It's okay...! I'll just sit in a corner and cry by myself... I won't bother you, I promise... you needn't pay me any mind at all..."

He stepped to the side and let her in. But despite her request, he was quick to take her into a comforting hug.
She was but a young girl, barely thirteen years of age. She had already lost her father years ago, and now, her mother as well.

Her tears overflowed instantly. She clutched at his arm and buried her head in his chest, screams muffled by his shirt.

"Mother... Mother! Mother!" she cried out repeatedly, desperately, as if a loud enough yell would bring her back. (It wouldn't, because he tried)

He hadn't the slightest idea of what to do with a bawling child in his arms, but he had to do something.

But minutes passed, and instead of being a dependable big brother when she needed one most, Break eventually couldn't help but weep along.

She might've lost her dear mother, but he had loved Shelly just as much, and he felt just as much pain, if not more so.

"So...rry..." he choked on his own breath, "I'm so sorry... my lady... I should be offering you... support and consolation... right now... But I..."

"It's fine...!" she shouted, "You don't... have to do... anything...! I just... need you to be here... next to me..."

"Sharon..."

"Now that mother... is gone... I only have... you and grandmother... left... So...!" She asked pressingly, "Xerx-niisan...! You're... not going anywhere... right? You're going... to be here... with me... right...!?"

Break was taken aback by the use of 'Xerx-niisan', she had dropped that childish address more than three years ago.

"Then live... for someone else's sake... someone who... needs you..."

Sharon didn't feel so right about his silence, "Why... are you... not answering me...?"

He glanced at his sword, and back at her. Then shuddered at the thought of this child being involved in his 'punishment' as well.

No, he could not possibly take that risk. Someone like him must not...

"Xerx-niisan...!"

"...someone... who trusts you... to protect them..."

"That's right..." he grinned kindly, "I'm not going anywhere without you... Sharon."

She heaved a sigh of relief, "I am... very glad... to hear you say that..."

They talked for a long time after that. They talked about Shelly, about good memories and bad memories. There were several occasions where Sharon bursted out crying again, but he (and sometimes Emily) managed to soothe her ultimately.

Seeing that she had finally calmed down enough to catch her breath properly, he offered to go grab her a towel and a glass of warm water.

He came back to find her placidly asleep.

"Oh dear, exhausted from all the crying perhaps?" he commented in a hushed voice.

He carefully carried her back to her room and tucked her in bed.

A hearty smile danced its way to his features as he gazed at the girl. Closing his eyes, he recalled what had happened five years ago, when Shelly held his hands and promised him a future.

He scours for an appropriate response, while gazing at the lady before him, taking in her kind, cranberry-coloured eyes and her lovely, confident grin, searching for even a hint of hypocrisy or insincerity in her countenance.

They are interrupted by the rapid pattering of a pair of tiny feet and a high-pitched, elated, panting voice calling out "Kevin-niisan!"

He snaps his head up to look at the doorway. A small girl rushes in, nodding to her mother, then makes a beeline for him.

"I gathered some flowers for you!" she ushers the little bouquet at him, "You see, everyone here is really nice, like mother! So please, stop sitting in here all the time and come get along with everyone. I, for one, would love to get along with you better!"

He reaches out to the flowers hesitantly, afraid that his bloodied hands would soil them, afraid that he would soil her.

Her lips spread into the widest smile he has ever seen when he finally allows himself to accept the gift.

Her mother walks away quietly.

"...watch over my child... in my stead... love her as I would... and... protect her as I would..."

"Not to worry, Shelly-sama, I swear it on my life," Break whispered inaudibly, "So rest in peace, my beloved."

In truth, he was merely giving himself excuses to stay. It was a selfish desire. He was risking everybody's lives just by being near them, but he swore to protect them, as if he had not failed miserably the last time.

He was such a sinner indeed.

---

The End