She’s being lifted up and then she’s spinning. Spinning, spinning.  Strong hands hold her waist and they swing her over and over and childish laughter tears itself out of her mouth.  She catches glimpses of blue sky, green grass, countless colorful flowers, and she’s back in their garden in the Pass.  White hair flies around her, both hers and her father’s, and they’re spinning and spinning and all she can hear is her laugh, her father’s deeper rumble, and even her mom’s ever ladylike giggle.  She’s six and all is right in the world because she has her mom, her dad.  And then the hands leave her as she is tossed up.. up.. up..<br/><br/>into the sky! She’s flying!  Wind rushes through her hair and pulls her grin back even further because lights above, she’s flying!  Though she can’t see it, she can feel them right behind her.  Six swords crafted of her own magic holding her aloft in this ever blue sky.  She’s flying free, limitless, nothing can hold her--<br/><br/>and then something shatters.  She doesn’t know what it is, only feels a sudden burst of dread and she’s falling.  Mangled swords, black lightning crawling over them, tumble uselessly above her and she’s screaming because she’s falling, she’s falling and somehow she doesn’t think this will end well.<br/><br/>A splash! And she’s being pulled underwater.  Countless hands grab at her.  “Save me!” they scream.  “Save me! Why did you forsake me!  What did I do? I was innocent! I didn’t mean to! Why didn’t you save her? My daughter/son/aunt/uncle..!” The words blur all around her and she can’t breathe!  She’s drowning and though she’s trying to reach for the light far above, all these hands keep pulling at her, yanking her further into these dark blue depths.  Her flesh hurts from these bruising grips and her struggles are becoming weaker when she hears it:<span style="color: red"> Kill them.  Kill them and they’ll leave you alone.  You could live!</span>The words freeze her and she’s drowning…<br/><br/>until she’s not.  Her feet somehow find purchase under her and she’s walking in what looks like a long hallway.  Is she under water still?  Has she gone somewhere else?  She looks outside the arches and all she sees is pitch black.  She can breathe, so maybe she’s not underwater, but how did she get here?  Her heels clack loudly against the marble floor but she has nowhere to go but forward.  She passes through an archway and she’s in a gallery.  There are countless pictures of people she doesn’t know, all staring at her.  She pauses at the weight of so much attention and hesitantly walks to one side.  Somehow, it seems like the stares are all following her.  She peers at one of the pictures.  It’s of a little boy.  The boy grins at her and to her surprise, he’s suddenly running and the picture seems to be getting larger..<br/><br/>Where is she?  The gallery has vanished and she’s.. “Jon!”  A young boy, the one in the picture!, runs by her to a smiling man.  “Papa! Papa!”  The man is wearing the gray armor she’d seen on Luciano’s National forces but his smile is bright and he’s hugging the little boy with golden blonde hair that reminds her of Leon.  Suddenly it’s night and they’re sitting on the balcony.  The father is pointing out various constellations and the boy is begging for their stories! their stories!  And it’s a touching scene until there’s a scream from far away.  All three turn to look but it’s only white.  White light is blowing past them and there’s screaming all around her and--<br/><br/>she falls onto her butt, eyes wide as she stares at the grinning little boy in the picture.  She’s back in the gallery and there are countless stares pressing against her but she can’t move, her eyes are stuck on that little boy who.. who…<br/><br/>“I guess you realized it.”  The voice is much too chipper for what she’s just realized and though she’s lifting her hands to cover her ears, she knows the words that will come next.  “You killed him.  Him and every other person in this room.”  Her hands drop uselessly to her side.  She slowly turns around, already knowing what will be behind her.  But it’s not.  There’s no grey blue dress, no black swords or red lips.  Ten year old her, wearing the pink dress she’d given Emily all those years ago, stares back at her from under a black travelling cloak.  Younger her takes a seat on the ground next to her and stares at the many, many,<span style="font-style: italic">why are there so many?!</span>, pictures.  “Wow.. we really killed a lot of people, huh?”<br/><br/>She can’t say anything.  She wants to cover her eyes but she remembers.  She can’t hide anymore.  She can’t escape.  She cannot close her eyes to the truth.  Younger her doesn’t seem to realize her distress as she continues, “So we ran away from mommy just to kill all these people.”  The whistle that leaves the younger her’s mouth is impressed and she just wants to look away.  No, she hadn’t meant to, she wants to protest.  But she had.  She had heard them screaming and she’d kept channeling the divine magic because.. because she hadn’t cared.<br/><br/>“I guess we really do live up to our name.”  The younger her muses, dropping back to lie out on this too cold floor and stare at the too tall walls that loom above them, filled with the pictures of every person she’s killed.  Every person she’s failed.  And the word slowly, reluctantly drops from her lips:<span style="color: silver">“Invidia.”</span><br/><br/>“Yeah.”  Younger her sighs.  “Envy.  We keep taking, keep destroying, because we envy others don’t we?  Why else would we..”  Younger her points at a picture and she can’t keep herself from following the finger to see.. Soft topaz eyes gleaming with happiness, pale blue hair spilling around a glowing face that blend into the woman’s white dress.  A wedding dress.  And she can see dark blue hair in the background, a black tuxedo.  She says nothing.  Refuses to look away, when Guilford walks up, takes Brynhildr’s hand with clear love, and the two walk away towards a church, rings glinting on their intertwined fingers.  She had destroyed that.  Had it been envy?<br/><span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: silver">“I don’t think marriage is in my future.. or a guy.. or love,”</span></span>Had that been envy as well?  She finally lets her gaze drift away from that damning picture towards.. they’re all damning her.  Accusing her.<br/>Fidelius: her first vice captain.<span style="font-style: italic">Why did they heal you and not me?</span><br/>Victorie: Eyes twisted in hatred.<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: turquoise">Little liar! After all I did for you!</span></span><br/>Eiji: her first squad member to die.<span style="font-style: italic">Captain..</span>She still remembers those blue eyes that stared up at her in fear, in desperation,<span style="font-style: italic">I.. I don’t want to die. I don’t</span>His last words and she can still remember that wide eyed look through the tears that had covered her vision.<br/>So many eyes she recognize and so many she don’t.  They’re all staring down at her and she’s cold.  She’s cold.  She can’t feel the ground she’s lying on, and when had she laid down on her back as well?  Arm held out as if she’ll be crucified.  She’s so cold.  There’s a burning warmth by her side and then it stirs.  Younger her smiles back at her from under that too heavy cloak, the one she’d worn to her own funeral nineteen years ago (<span style="font-style: italic">when she should have died.  She should have stayed dead. Then all these people..</span>), but her eyes are white.  Sinner white.  “It’s okay.”  Younger her reassures, enveloping her in a hug that tries to<span style="font-style: italic">consume</span>her.  “Invidia will always love you.”<br/><div style="text-align: center;">~~~</div><br/>The room is quiet.  The body in the bed doesn’t stir.  It’s night seven now and still she lies there motionless.  The dreams, or are they nightmares?, don’t reflect on her face.  She’s as quiet as a corpse, although her chest still moves up and down with each silent breath.  She looks peaceful.  There’s a blue-haired woman sleeping in a chaise lounge in the corner, pale face drawn with worry and exhaustion.  It’s a quiet night in Gless.