With Sao and Alexander gone to discuss business, Akuma scoots up the broad staircase of red velvet iced on brown oak. Each step gives him a more complete view of the family portrait at the top. It is an empty one, a father and a baby girl in his arms. The baby cries endlessly in this painting, unable to be heard; the father's stern look directs itself at the painter, or maybe to Akuma.
Once reaching the second floor, an option of left and right presents itself with all its expectedness. Life is always left, right, maybe straight, but that option never lasts. One which always does is backwards, an option indiscriminate against character. Akuma turns the right-way down a long corridor. Greeted by many butlers and maids, living in black and white, during his travels, ignoring most of the doors, he focuses on the window at the end – a breath-taking view surely to appear. His attention diverts. A slight gap in one of the doors allows the muttering of words to be heard. Akuma presses his ear closer to the door, a mumbling can now be heard but not understood. He pushes the tiniest bit closer, a miniscule distance in the eyes of adventurers such as himself. This adventure was to be replaced for a new one as the door gives way.
The floor Akuma collapses onto his soft, warm and comforting, more welcoming than the sun. His head rising reveals the carpet of purple rose petals sprawled along with a red background, interrupted by wooden chair legs with a polished overlay, masked by the delicate legs appearing to hover over the carpet.
'May I help you, wanderer?' The cotton voice calls, in the way you would imagine beauty to speak.
A girl, dressed in a pearly white dress, frilled at the bottom like the feathers of a female peacock. The top striped by a fur jacket extracted from many a precious animal to produce an ever more precious garment.
'My name is Rose; it would be a pleasure to learn of yours.'
Rose's face is lean, yet full. Her nose is narrow, and her eyes glow a blue that captures all the oceans, a compliment to her hair which falls like a golden waterfall to her waist, a fringe swaying to the left, mark of beauty upon her cheekbone.
'Excuse me, good sir. Are you alright?'
'I-I-I'm A-Akuma.' Responds Akuma – eyes forced shut, head kneeled – reaching out his right hand for acceptance with his right knee pushing in the carpet.
'Oh, please do drop the formality. You must be the one working for my Father.'
Rose reaches out her hand and lightly tugs on Akuma's outstretched arm, bringing him to speak eye to eye. She seats him down, at her desk, on a spare chair of gifted unicorn fur. Like Jesus to his disciples, she tells him of many journeys to royal castles, balls, and trips to each corner of this world. Akuma tried, but he was always caught off guard with each occurring story. He paid great attention to every movement of her petal lips; his ears slept, drained of their energy in favour of the soul's windows.
'-then once we arrived – blablablabla – and then my Father – blablablabla – I love my Father I do, but sometimes I question that.'
'What?! How could you not? I'd love my Father.'
'You would 'love one'? Do you not already have one? You look to be of my age, you cannot have travelled with just your person.'
'Well I… uh… I didn't come alone. I came with a man who I work with. I wouldn't call him my father.'
Rose tilts her head slightly, 'Not your father, you say. Biologically I suppose.'
Sitting dumbfounded, Akuma searches his internal dictionary, but it seems to be in impoverishment, so he nods to hide his debt.
'So, would you call him your father-by-law?' She wonders, resting her left index and thumb atop her upper lip, cradled under her nose.
''Father-by-law? Biologically? What language is she speaking?' Um… yeah, I-I guess you could call him that. 'Does that mean Yuda's my mom?'' Akuma shivers at the thought.
"Oh, are you cold? It is freezing this time of year. I will acquire a hot beverage and coat for you. Would you mind staying here until I return?"
"Y-yeah, of c-course. Tha- 'and she's gone. This is cold to her? I could cook fish out there.''
With that, Akuma is once again left alone. He stays seated, shivering, but resisting the temptations to stoop around for secrets. He does, however, switch his attentions to and from a notebook-of-sorts that has been abandoned on her desk. His hand tries to pry itself free from his brain's autonomy, edging closer and closer to the papers of unrevealed mementoes. He and he alone will bear witness to these artworks, literary masterpieces, musical marvels, putting Picasso, Leo Tolstoy, Beethoven, and the like. On its cover are sketches of stickmen, one man and one woman. They occupied their halves of the cover, neither took occupation of the back, content to own their own sides; if only Akuma could see, he could gain something that, to him, only he should be allowed to want.
The door's sweeping over the carpet threads scream in Akuma's ears.
'Sorry for making you wait,' Rose enters, bringing a mug steaming sugary tea and a snow fox furred blanket into her room as the one with power should. 'Oh, I see my childish habits have caught your attention.'
'Oh, no, I…uh…I-'
'Do not work yourself so worried. I understand what travellers like you are in nature. Your noses for secrets get you into more danger than the Demons would place one in. If you were not adventurous, you would not be here now. Here is your tea and sugar, and here, wrap this around you; it will keep you warm. All the more necessary in a world so cold.'
'Cold, are you insane!'
She takes ballet steps behind Akuma, wrapping him in her blanket.
'Th-thanks.'
'Please do not thank me for such common courtesy,' she replies with her voice – far more warming than the blanket or tea could ever be – sitting beside him on her own lava-red wood chair; two snakes spiral each other, forming a two headed leviathan for the chair's back. 'I just wish I could do this for those outside these walls. Father does not let me travel with free will no longer. Unless I am in an escort, or within the fences of my home, I cannot act upon my wishes. Do you understand what I mean?'
'Yes, I do. I really do. That is why we are here, to help those people outside of these walls, to help you. You can join us if you want, leave your father and this place and help-'
'Please stop. I do not want to leave my father; I do not even wish to think of it. I apologize for being rude, but I do not know you very well. I cannot defy my father, my family, I must not; not for a boy I do not know. Please understand that."
'But what about yourself, your goals. You can't put them to risk for hi-.'
'I think that is enough. You talk like you control your mission; remember who it is you are working for. Where are they? I suppose discussing your true intent behind closed doors. Please leave. Please.'
Akuma's lips and fingers quiver with understanding; he pushed too far. Everyone has their limits: their reasons, their loves. Making his way back to Sao – gently folding the blanket he was given, lying it upon his stall, and not allowing a ripple while placing down his near full tea on the desk, under a spare hand towel he had on his person – he closes the door slowly; looking back through the shrinking crack, to retrieve any acceptance that may still exist from her spell-casting pupils, until the crack sealed with a click.
In the village harbouring its namesake from Lacus Dei, a store's doors open, exiting Yuda and Hannah to return to their inn. Yuda is unchanged in appearance, hiding his face under the shadow of his hoodie; adversely, Hannah has adopted a new look. She now wears the same office glasses her captor once wore, except hers are the colour of quartz. Yuda stares into his wallet as a fly makes its retreat.
'Why did I try and work down the price? The price went up, if anything. I'm down for the next few months. I should've accepted the listed price. Sao better get our cheque. Anyway, Hannah, how are the glasses? Are you seeing clearer?'
Hannah explores the new world; she inspects a rose from one of the numerous flowerpots either side of the benches birdwatching over the great lake. The passionate red, the energetic yellow, the jovial green, all discovered in their full definition. Looking closer, the curves defined by the brightening and darkening of the visual emotions. How intriguing to her; closer she looked and looked, looked as close as her new eyes could. What did she find? Aphids feasting on the natural artwork, ladybirds devouring the aphids. All this warfare on one rose in their brown pots; the untrimmed thorns are blatant, look deeper and the beauty fades. The sheep clouds and the innocent blue sky, but what if you look deeper? The people in all their resolute figure, unscarred, washed in wealth, but what if you look deeper? 'They are… perfect, Yuda. Thank y-'
Boom. In the distance a blood flame erupts from within a nearby house; a gas explosion, or worse. Out of the fire emerges the cinders. The soot of the chimney, the ash of the bodies, 'it'. It appeared without warning. Not even God's domain is safe.
'That's what you've been up to.'
People are in a panic, screaming to allow their souls to escape while their bodies cannot; their cries block out the thuds of 'its' steps, even the roar of the flame it rose from. Revived like a phoenix, or never revived, just returned like a missing person found.
Yuda takes a few steps forward, pushing Hannah back with gusts of wind. The ground rises around 'its' legs, constricting like pythons; the air pushes down like a hydraulic press. Yuda strolls closer. From his right hand: a syringe; with a swift stab, 'it' disappears piece by piece, dissolving into the syringe.
'Well, that's been dealt with. Let's go.'
'Akuma. Did you hear me? It's time to go,' calls Sao from the entrance. Pulling himself up from the bannister at the top of the stairs, arched back and with limbs of jelly, Akuma mopes down the stairs.
Sao laughs, if only a little, at the calmed Akuma he had asked for the entire journey.
'Hey, cheer up. What happened? A girl reject you, or something? You're acting strange; for once I miss your enthusiasm.'