A/N: So hey. I'm not dead. Yeah. So... uh...this was edited pretty recently. So for those of you just coming in, this might be a bit awkward because the next chapters might not be as 'in-sync'. The plot will be comprehensible, it's just that you'll feel a bit of dissonance I guess because some wording changed. I'll be slowly re-writing chapters. So for new people, this might be a bit strange, but it'll make sense. To older readers, yeah, it shouldn't be too much of a hassle. I'll write new chapters while editing.

But anyways, cool. I hope you like this. And I hope if you're new and just happened to stumble on this that you'll stick around.

Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own. APH. Nope.

Witch of Sicily

Prologue

...

Three travelers, on their way to the seaside city of Trapani, decide to stop for the night at the edge of the Nadirean Forest. A motley group, they sit underneath a fair willow tree, branches leaning over them and creating a lovely curtain of green. They decide to set camp, ignoring the unnatural chill of the forest ground. They go about their regular duties, cleaning themselves and setting down their bags.

Before long, they are sitting on the forest floor, using makeshift seats of stones and fallen logs. A small fire sits in the center of camp. All three travelers sit around it, keeping themselves warm and eating soup. They're all fairly young, no doubt going to the wealthy city of Trapani in order to make their fortune.

The youngest of them all, a fair lass with messy brown locks, leans forward and whispers. "Hey, have you heard the rumors about this place?"

The eldest, rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we've heard 'em all. Something 'bout a witch right?"

The middle child hears the word and widens his eyes. He shivers and stammers. "W-w-w-w-witches…?"

The youngest smiles vindictively whilst the eldest rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "That's right. Legend has it, there's a witch that hides in these very woods…." She makes several childish gestures. Illuminated by the firelight, her expressions do appear garish. Add to that the ominous dark forest and the occasional snap of a twig branch. Terrifying.

"Stop with the games, Katerina, he's scared shitless already. Leave him be!" The eldest raps the girl sharply on the forehead.

Katerina frowns, crossing her arms. "Hmph, and why shouldn't I tell him? It's not like it's false!" Her eyes flicker to the quivering child. "Besides, Marcello has to man up somehow."

"Marcello is perfectly fine and doesn't need any of your meddling." The eldest sits up and stretches. "I'm done eating so I'm going to sleep first. We want to get going to Trapani first crack of dawn so when you're done, go straight to sleep." He narrows his eyes at them. "Make sure you clean up your plates, Katerina, Marcello. I will not be cleaning up after you. I'm not your ma."

The two repeat the proper response, "Yes, Giacomo…" They watch as the eldest heads to the far side of the camp, resting his head against his pack and wrapping a blanket around himself. Just before he settles properly into place, he uses his fingers to point at them, and then at his own eyes.

"No scary stories. capiche?" Katerina groans. Marcello nods. "Kay. Night." He turns around, away from the fire. His snores can be heard a few minutes later.

Marcello returns to his soup, looking at as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. Katerina slides next to him. Ignoring the bright blush spreading across the bridge of his nose, she whispers to him. "So…Do you want to hear it or not?"

"U-um…b-b-but your brother said-"

"To hell with what he said. He's not the boss of me!" The nervous young man looks back at the sleeping man with apprehensive eyes. When he sees that Giacomo has not stirred he sighs. Katerina looks at him expectantly. Biting his lip, he gives in. "O-ok…b-but only a little bit!"

The girl grins. "Don't be so scared. After all, it's good to know what happened in these woods, how can you ever be prepared for the journey otherwise?" She gets up and sits across from him and near the fire, just for dramatic lighting. "Many, many years ago…there was a little cottage that sat at the edge of the woods…"

A man leaves the house, carrying a hefty bag on his back as he enters town. He's a kind-looking fellow, with bright amber eyes and a warm smile.

"Where there lived a medicine man, his wife and two children. They were a lovely family…except for…"

The man turns around and is greeted by his lovely wife and a young boy no taller than her hip. The boy, with soft eyes like his father's, hugs his father. The wife, with a beauty comparable to the angels, kisses her husband. He waves them goodbye, but his eyes narrow. He re-enters the cottage and calls out for someone.

"You see, the two children were twins. Two boys. One as pure and sweet as a lamb. And the other, while pleasant of face, was cruel and black of heart."

The man ducks into the backyard, where the rhubarb and mint are. There is even a tree, imported from a faraway land as a present from a grateful foreigner. Underneath that tree is a young boy. When he looks up, bitter gold eyes bleed into warm hazel. The man calls out again, his arms outstretched. The boy stabs the ground with his spade and runs over, throwing himself into the other's arms.

"The first child was beloved by all. He was kind-hearted and such a peaceful spirit. All those who set eyes on him loved him. He was showered with kindness and affection. On the other hand, the second child was cold and mean-spirited, cursing all those who passed him. It wasn't long before he was set apart from the rest, outcast and alone. Some say the family was cursed, having conceived such horrible offspring."

The boy clings to his father tightly, tears rolling down his cheeks and his head shaking as he refuses to let his father leave. The man sighs, patting him on the head and kneeling down to meet the boy's eyes. He reaches into his shirt, pulling out a blue-beaded rosary. He places the rosary into the child's hands, patting the boy's cheek. He mouths a goodbye before tapping his forehead against his son's. The boy puffs up his cheeks, rubbing away stray tears to smack his father on the forehead back. The man rubs his head before throwing back his head to laugh.

"The village well…the village was a fisherman's village, sitting right on the seashore. They relied on the mercy of the tides more than the kisses of the land. They hoped…that with time they would grow. That they would be more than just a cluster of docks and homes, that they'd be great. But…there were days when the harvest just wasn't enough, days where the traders just didn't come. It wasn't enough. And it wasn't long before a time came where the haul was bad, the harvest…paltry.

"Times were hard. Harder than they had ever been before. Fewer and fewer people entered to do trade. And those that did, were refugees or pirates. Many people died, including the kind medicine man and his wife. The children, both of them unfortunately, survived. They clung to life with the medicine man's father, their grandfather. A few more months of this haggard lifestyle, the people grew even more angry, more bitter. They began to say that the war was not the only reason the town suffered."

A boy sits at the edge of the forest, whispering special things, special blessings and special prayers. He holds in his lap a leather-bound book. It looks battered and torn in some places, but the boy handles it with the utmost care. At the corner of the book, the name, Gabriella, is written in beautiful script. The boy hugs it to his chest and smiles to himself. He looks at the ground. The rose bush, previously wilting, lifts its heads off of the ground, curling up towards him. He smiles.

A sound catches his attention and the smile disappears, replaced by his customary frown. He sees a pair of boys. Their faces are grim, accusing. They are lean from hunger, but they are taller than he is, and stronger. They walk over and push him. From the mouths spew poison and they kick him and beat him. The battered book falls to the ground and falls apart, pages flying away.

The boy clenches his teeth, clutching blue beads wrapped around his hand. They help fracture his wrist when the tall boy steps on him.

"And the boy…well…it didn't take long for the villagers to realize what was the cause of their misfortunes. Or whom. That boy…he spoke to strange things, whispered awful secrets. They say he made deals with the devil and learned secrets and words he never should have known. There were rumors…rumors that the medicine man and his wife never did listen to those accusations because the child had overpowered them with the force of his mind. That he kept them all in a spell."

An old man sits at a table, sighing and praying to a picture of two young people, holding hands and smiling. With him sits a young boy, praying dutifully beside him. The door slams open and the boy enters, his face dark with tears and bruises. He holds a book, badly held together by roots and vines. He does not answer his grandfather's questioning gaze, only running to his room without another word. The old man follows, but no matter how much he moves his lips, the door does not open.

"But as they had no proof, the priests refused to call for an exorcist or a hunter to extract the boy. And it went on for some time. The villagers were suspicious yes, but they wouldn't dare go against the word from a man of God. So they waited, biding their time.

"The moment came when a young missionary, fresh from the Vatican, arrived to that small, seaside town. And this young man, they say, was none other than the great Light of the South, Nunzio, himself. As the great Father Nunzio entered the village, he heard of the rumors and decided to investigate the allegations of witchcraft and devilry."

A young man, no older than twenty-three, walked along the edges of the forest. He peers through the bushes, eventually reaching a small opening in the forest. There in the center, is the young boy he was searching for. Watching from afar, the priest sees little of the horrible child the village describes.

But the devil wears many faces. He steels himself, before hesitantly entering the circle. In that moment, however, he sees it.

The flowers surrounding the boy begin to tilt and shake. Then…voices. Low and tired. So soft that he cannot understand the words. The flowers that lay in this grove begin to burn, from which their withered corpses produce a foul smelling liquid.

The boy turned, his eyes shifting from hazel to an unnatural gold.

"After meeting the boy, he instantly recognized the signs of witchcraft and called for a hunt. Soon enough, the people took to their torches, desperate. They cut down whatever they could, picking down even their own homes, to create a massive bonfire in the middle of the town's square. From there, they hunted down the young boy. The old man and the young boy, who had been beguiled by the witch's spells, were set aside, as the witch was taken to the square.

"They carried out all the ceremonial rites, cleansed the cottage and the town of blood and purified it. Then…then they prepared to destroy the witch, to burn him at the stake when…"

The people are running about, frenzied. There is a huge crowd surrounding a large pile of wood. A wooden cross sits in the middle of it all. At the edge of the circle is a filthy cage, small and cramped. Two men, dressed in heavy clothing, are led by a young priest. He leads them to the cage, carrying his bible and reciting verses. The people make crosses over themselves. Their eyes are hungry.

The two men reach in, dragging out a thin, limp figure. He is unrecognizable under the blood. The boy can barely lift his head and is hardly conscious. His wrists are bound, so the men carry him roughly by the shoulders. The boy cannot stand, so they drag him through the crowd, his feet leaving bloody trails in the dirt.

The people part easily. They hiss and curse. They spit and scream. They begin to stomp. They begin to chant. The boy lifts up his head. His eyes are charged with panic. The fear in his eyes drives the clamor. They begin to throw whatever is on hand, rocks, dirt, anything. They tie him to the stake. The priest takes out a torch. He drops it. The fire spreads quickly and the boy screams.

Then all sound disappears. The town is completely silent — as if some strange power had stolen all of their voices.

Just as the fire touches the child's toes, a loud, inhuman cry resounded from the forest. Trees bent back, ripping through straight through the middle. The sound, that awful sound… grew in intensity, as if the very forest was opening its mouths to scream.

The stake's fire blows out. It seems that the stars and moon have disappeared. The town has entered a period of complete and utter darkness.

"Then, the great Nunzio prayed. The light from his prayers pierced the darkness, and let shine the moon and stars. But in the end, even with Father Nunzio's help, the villagers couldn't find the witch. He disappeared. Many men ventured through the forest, but none have prevailed. In the end, they either lost their minds…or never returned. Even now, the church continues to hunt him — the bounty rising every year…or so they say.

"Meanwhile, the village enjoyed many years of prosperity. It was almost as if they could pretend that crises had never existed. The town became a great city, almost like a seaside utopia. But to this day, the forest is a place many fear to tread and is treated almost like sacred ground.

"None but fools enter the witch's domain….But…they say if you sit at the edge of the forest — like we are now — you can hear the cry of the trees, and see the Witch of Sicily himself, watching and waiting for foolish humans to enter so he can take his revenge…" Then all of a sudden, the fire blew out. Marcello looks ready to scream his head off and jumps over to Katerina, clinging to her arm. "T-That's not funny, Kat!" he whispers sharply, his eyes searching for witches to jump out from the dark.

"Hah, you're such a baby!" The girl laughs loudly. "Jesus, I didn't think you'd get that riled up, you should have seen your face!" She clutches her sides and then stands up, pushing more dirt over the fire pit.

"Bu-but…Wh-what if the story's true?"

She scoffs. "God, you're such a baby. Of course there's no such thing. It's just a legend. Obviously. Trapani had a pretty shady past, everybody knows that. People just like to make up that kind of fancy-schmancy history to build hype. People love a good ghost story after all." She throws out a blanket, then lays down, absolutely content. "It was just a story idiot, just go to sleep."

"A-Are you sure?" Hesitant, the boy lays down beside her. At a respectful distance of course. If never were to wake up curled next to Katerina, Giacomo would kill him…He shivered.

"Yes!" she groaned, "It's just a load of bullshit I heard from the last town. Now lemme sleep…" Marcello stays silent, listening in the dark as his companion's breathing begins to slow and relax. Before long, she begins to snore softly. The story, while kinda of scary…saddens him. A child, being burnt at the stake… What an awful way to die…

He is about to fall asleep when he hears it. His eyes flick open and automatically, he grabs Katerina's arm tightly. The girl wakes up, "Ow…what's going on?"

"Shhhh!" he whispers furiously. The girl furrows her brow, but turns white when she too begins to hear it. The tortured, piercing cry of something not altogether human. It's quiet, nearly inaudible, but now it has risen, growing so loudly it is as if whatever it is…it's right behind them…

Giacomo wakes up. "Alright what are you idiots up to-"

"Shhhhh!" The two younger children use their hands to clamp the man's mouth and they wait. The cry becomes louder and louder. A great crack behind them makes them turn. The middle of the tree that they took shelter under, begins to form cracks. It leans back. And it screams.

They scream. In a few moments, the three travelers are gone, screaming as they run as far as their legs can take them.

As they disappear, the tree stops. It stiffens and pulls itself back together, sewing the hole in its trunk neatly with invisible stitches.

From the darkness, enters a dark figure. The stranger threw back his hood, revealing striking hazel eyes.

"Stupid bitches."

So sayeth the legendary Witch of Sicily.

…

…

Chapter 1

Lovino Vargas woke up sweating. Shit… He looked down at his hands. Still there. Still okay. His legs. Not black. Still flesh. He's alive. It's fine. He's okay. Everything is fine.

It's okay. It's okay.

It's not my fault. It's not my fault.

His trembling hands searched desperately for it. Patting the side-table a few times, he managed to come across a broken, blue-beaded rosary. He wrapped it around his hand, not bothering to look at the pinprick scars on his skin, as he held it close and prayed. To who he didn't know. It wasn't to God that's for sure. Just…just to somebody, you know? Somebody…anybody…

A few minutes of this and he dropped his clasped hands. This was stupid. He was being stupid. He dropped back against the bed, curling up beneath the sheets. He didn't want to get up. Was there even a point? He was just going to do the same thing over and over again…

"Cici!"

Step One: Wake up and water the flowers.

"Cici, baby please come out here!"

Against his body's protests, he dragged himself out of bed. Of course she had to use that tone with him. He was pretty sure that if she could convince people she was human, she could probably become dictator of the world. Or something something. Not bothering to get dressed properly, he walked with nothing on but that oversized tunic. Damn did he hate this thing.

It took him a moment to orient himself, rubbing his eyes to get used to the fact that yes, this was his kitchen and no, that was not his watering can. As usual, he stubbed his toe on that stupid plank. He hopped around angrily before cursing the ground and feebly smacking it. It popped into place but he knew sooner or later it would pop out again. Damn it he needed to fix it. But of course he knew he would forget about it until it was already tomorrow. When he stubbed his toe again.

He pulled himself outside, shivering at the chill. "It's not even dawn yet, stupid bastards!" he yelled.

"Just hurry up Cici! Time is money you know!"

Lovino scowled. "Shut the fuck up already!" Hefting his watering can over his shoulder, he filled it up from the stream surrounding the clearing. He walked to the back of the cottage, reaching a large plot of aconite growing angrily next to a patch of cheery chrysanthemums. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the sun slowly creeping up behind him. "God the things I do for you guys…"

"We'll appreciate it every single time you do it, darling." Chrysanthemums laid themselves on his back, petals kissing his neck. Soon enough, buds transformed into fingers, roots into legs. A pretty woman dressed in a simple green frock and wearing a pretty red ribbon in her hair stood before him, a delicate hand placed on his shoulder. "Sweetheart, are you doing okay today?" Her voice was soft, crooning. When he was younger, he always loved that voice. But nowadays, it made him feel rather frustrated with the coddling sprite.

He swatted the hand away. "I'm doing fucking amazing. Now scoot so I can get the smoker bastard." She frowned when he cursed but leaned over him, hugging his arm as she cooed over how he cute he looked with a watering can. Like he had fucking jumped over the moon really.

This time water poured onto purple aconite buds. From there, the flowers grew into a man, taller than Lovino (goddammit) and wearing simple villager's outfit, coat and all. The only thing remarkable about him was the blonde hair that stuck up (fucking weird ass bastard) and a blue and white striped scarf. "Next time, put your can at a different angle. The can is heavy so blah blah blah blah…."

Lovino tuned out as Abel the Bastard began his lecture. Like hell he was listening to the logistics of how to draw water and drop it again. Anri, however, was completely engrossed in the conversation, adding in her own two cents about what she thought of proper watering technique.

Step two. Be lectured.

"And that's how you talk to begonias…Cici, are you even listening?" Lovino, still in a sort of sleepy daze, didn't respond until the bastard blew a smoke ring into his face.

The young human coughed, waving away the smoke. "That fucking stinks…Damn it, don't blow that shit in front of me!" Abel looked at him with a vaguely amused expression.

"What? Smoking is the mark of a real man. And it's not like it's bothering anyone that matters." The Italian twitched, and made a move to kick the smirking sprite in the shins. But the chrysanthemums beat him to it.

"Brother!" Anri smacked him on the back of the head, "Don't be mean!" Then she tugged his scarf close, whispering, "Don't you know children take after their parents actions?"

"Che…And you're the model mother —ow, ow! Guh, I'm stopping, I'm stopping already!" It wasn't any use. The sprite had entered 'mother hen' mode and was currently slapping the man relentlessly. The female sprite's sharp green eyes landed on the wooden pipe in her brother's hands.

"And who did you get that pipe from?" She ripped out of his grasp. "Don't you know you shouldn't be doing things like this? It's bad for you — I thought I raised you better!"

The aconite groaned, "Not this again…Look, I'm not a damn pansy…And I'm the older one, idiot—ow, damn it stop hitting me —- shit, put that spade down…"

"You jerk-!" Abel's eyes widened. He grabbed his pipe back, shoving it into his pocket before making a run for it. Soon enough, Anri was chasing her so-called 'little' brother around the garden. "You're such a meanie you…you…jerk!"

"Shit, stop! Cici, help!" He put his hands up, narrowly dodging a shoe aimed for his head. And before you say anything, like a shoe doesn't hurt that much, the shoe hit a tree and left a dent. A motherfucking dent. So obviously, Lovino did the only logical thing. He stood up, took his water ing can, and walked away. "Hey, don't just leave—shit!" The Italian promptly ignored the ensuing cries. He threw his watering can onto the ground, letting it sink a bit into the mud. He considered breaking routine for a bit…

Step Three, Change into actual clothes.

He picked at the end of his nightshirt. He really ought to wear something a bit warmer when he went to sleep. Even if the sun was coming up, it was still really, really cold in just this stupid shirt and shorts. Stupid Nonno, can't even get a shirt that fits him right. And as much as he wanted to say otherwise, he definitely was not going to grow beyond this.

If you ever attempt to make him repeat this, you will get a punch to the throat.

Really.

He went back into his room, carefully stepping over the piles of books and papers left on the ground, before picking out his usual clothes. They were all shoved into a dresser in the corner, most of them untouched. Hell, he didn't know why Nonno delivered these kinds of things to him. He definitely was not that big. Or that tall. Or…just —- just shut up and stop laughing okay?

Aside from his simple outfits, he didn't understand why his old man brought over all this…nice stuff. It wasn't like he was going to have a tea party or some stupid shit like that. The only thing he really cared to wear from that pile of expensive stuff was the dark blue coat, the only reason because it seemed…witch-ish. Suited his purposes just fine.

Speaking of purposes… Lovino got out of his room, his eyes dropping to the two packs he uh…borrowed from those idiots sitting at the edge of the forest. They never seemed to learn. All the better for him though. It shortened the amount of trips the old man and his doppelgänger had to make to get over here. They all seemed to think that they could get him to come out if they asked nicely. And then when he did show up, they were scared shitless an ran off, conveniently leaving all their stuff behind too. Meh. Losing all their shit was a lot better than what would happen if they went any deeper…

He was too nice to those bastards. Fucking villagers. Idiots. All of them. They didn't deserve a single thing. Let 'em burn in hell for all he cared!

Step Four, Scavenge

He walked out, back into the main room and picked up the two bags set in the corner. He dumped whatever was inside, taking inventory. Needle and thread. Rations of jerky and dried fruit. An old diary (Jesus, did this guy think about anything besides this Katerina girl? Talk about creepy…). Some clothes (They were actually too small for him). A box of matches (Score!) And…

"What the…" He picked out an old letter.

Dear Giacomo,

Of course you should come! We need plenty of work for you here now that the Festival of Miracles is coming up. It's coming up in a month. Crazy right? But it's fun, I swear! You remember the festival right? They have a whole bunch of lights set up and the town is all decorated in pretty lights and ribbons… They're also starting a huge bonfire set up at the end of the day this time and it's going to be absolutely gorgeous! So look forward to it. Moving is a good thing! And hey, if you make a good impression, maybe my dad will let you guys stick around at our place.

Until then,

Elena

What the fuck was this? How long…? Lovino stood up. He didn't care how scarce matches were. He struck one and threw it into the fireplace. His hand quivered a bit, but he crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the fireplace.

Fucking village. Fucking Trapani. Fuck all of them. "Why do I even bother…? You know what? Fuck this, I'm not going to do any of their shit for them!" he ranted. He picked up his notes.

Small pox had been getting troublesome and his dipshit of a brother wanted him to come up with an ointment and be good and nice and shit. People were starting to get sick from some of the travelers dropping in so often. Well…served them right. A fucking bonfire now too? Didn't they get the point across already? With the fucking burning dolls and all the offerings to Signore Vargas and the Lamb of Trapani?

He crumpled the notes, ripping them out one-by-one from his notebook and letting them pile up on the ground. "Bastards…bastards! Take this, you stupid fucking…"

There was a knock at the door. Lovino looked up. Speak of the fucking devil (or was it angel?), guess who it was standing out there? He didn't even need to look outside to know who it was. And sure enough, letting himself in — because whoop-dee-doo who gives a fuck about privacy? — was Feliciano. Anri and Abel peered in from behind him.

"F-fratello? U-um…" The idiot was wearing something simple, old. If anything, it looked similar to Lovino's. Just the eyes. If they could just switch eyes then maybe…

"You fucking idiots, what did I tell you about knocking?!" He stood up, stomping over and just ready to scream in that idiot's face about privacy and learning.

Feliciano's face crumpled and little tears began to appear at the corner of his eyes. He pulled up his basket, as if to protect his face. "I-I…I brought you some pasta?…I-It's your favorite…" He sniffled. "I'm sorry for being late! I-If that's why you're angry, then I'm sorry for leaving you alone!"

Lovino deflated and in the end, he gave in to the impending hug of doom. The moment he relaxed, the dope dropped the basket and latched onto him. Like a leech really. "Jesus! You saw me last…last…"

"It's been a month!" he wailed. "It's been a month since I've seen you fratellooooo! I missed you so, so much! Did you miss me, ve~? Did you? Everyone's starting that horrible party thing again and I…I…It's so horrible!"

"Damn it, Feli, I just cleaned this shirt!" Oh god, he could feel the snot pouring on. Ugh. Like hell he was going to wear this for the rest of the day. He needed a bath. He could feel his brother blow on his shirt. A long, long bath.

"Oh Cici…is this what you were upset about?" Anri shook her head and spread out her arms. Lovino tried to resist, pulling away. Her eyes grew watery. "My poor baby!"

"Oh no…hey, I'm fine-!" Too late. Anri jumped him, crushing him and Feliciano in one nice sandwich. And now…now this was officially the hug of doom. He could feel his ribs breaking. "B-Bastard, do something!" he gasped. But the aconite just shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the doorframe.

"Not my problem." He puffed out a ring of smoke while Lovino let out a string of curses.

"Fuck you bastard! I'm going to fucking kill you-!" Okay. Maybe he wouldn't kill him. But he'd leave him outside and not water him for a while. Hell, he wouldn't even pluck his weeds. Take that — stupid bastard!

…No he wasn't scared! He…he could totally kick this guy's ass if he wanted to. If he could just…breathe for a second…

"Oh darling…it's okay! We're here for you!" Anri cried, somehow crushing him even more. Was that a snap? Shit were those his ribs?

"Alright…alright…just let me the fuck go!" How was Feliciano perfectly fine? She was practically suffocating him! Both of them!

But the stupid idiot just shook his head. "But we're not done with hug therapy yet, ve~!"

Step Five, Be crushed by hugging trauma

And that…that was a day in the life of a badass witch.

Really. He shouldn't have gotten up this morning.

...

...

Lovino dropped down onto the beach in a huff. Okay, maybe it wasn't so much of a beach as it was a little cave kind of thing with a teensy weeny strip of sand. It was the only place he could go to to get away from…well…everything. The forest especially.

Not like he had anything against the forest. But…he just…just needed to be away from there. From her.

If he squinted, he could just see the edge of the town, little lights from the docks twinkling in the distance. Maybe a few ships if they were big enough. But right now, he was hardly interested in the trash that wandered in this shithole of a town. Seaside utopia his ass. More like oceanside nightmare.

Sometimes, he could pretend that he wasn't here. That he wasn't trapped in some cesspool of a forest that ate whatever came by. He was sailing away from this place…to somewhere far, far away.

Yeah right. Keep dreaming.

The pasta Feliciano served was amazing. As usual. The kid was probably the best chef in all of Italy. Any other cook seemed to pale in comparison. It was sad that the idiot went into priesthood instead of cooking, because he was sure that the guy would be a lot more successful that way. But of course, the little dumbass was as idealistic as every other Vargas family member.

Things can change! I-If I join the church then maybe someday…you can go outside again…

Idiot.

After Feliciano was done cooking and eating up his very precious spare time (yes, he was very much busy ranting and raving about idiots), he left —taking the finished medicine with him. His brother's visits seemed to be getting shorter and shorter.

Not like he cared or anything.

He threw himself on his back, watching angry grey clouds drift in and out. It was probably gonna rain soon. He closed his eyes. He'd have loved to just sleep out here, where there wasn't any of the kind of shit waiting for him back home. Sucks that he couldn't.

Last time he actually spent the night here, Abel and Anri grounded him. Literally. Their roots latched onto his ankles and he wasn't able to leave the cottage grounds for weeks. Even when he was an adult now, the two sprites seemed to think he was still a kid. A-and it wasn't like he was scared of them or anything! But, seeing as he was up against old sprite guys with superpowers, it 's probably smart thinking to not get beaten to a pulp and just do what they said. Practicality bitches, deal with it.

So he sat there, trying not to nod off and watch the stars —- when he heard something.

It rolled and smacked against the shore. The waves were pushing it in. Heavy and wet. Lovino, at first, waved it off as driftwood and continued to ignore it. But it kept on going and going and going and… "Damn it, what the fuck?" He sat up, scowling at the beach as he scanned the sand. On the shore was a dark figure, lying near the waves and covered in some odd slimy substance. It didn't move, didn't make a sound.

Immediately his mind went to some sea monster abomination, but quickly put it out. He was not going to lose his shit over some pansy ass seaweed monster. Who could be five times bigger than him. And have claws. And teeth. He shook his head and inched towards the lump. It was probably dead. And if anything, he could scream in run into the forest and he'd be safe. Gingerly, he picked up a piece of driftwood lying haphazardly in the sand and poked the thing.

A few good jabs said — yeah dude, it's dead and it's cool to approach.

Which was when he realized 'it' was not an 'it' but a 'he'. And somehow, against all odds, he was alive.

Sorta.

Bullet wounds in the right shoulder and left leg. Matching cuts passing through his chest. Damn. Open wounds on salty, salty ocean? Shit must have hurt like a bitch. He leaned in closer patting the man's face. Clammy. Feverish. And … ugh…sticky from drying salt. He'd seen a few corpses run up shore before. But none had ever made it…well…alive.

This was going to be a problem. That person would no doubt know of a new person coming into the forest. And even if she didn't immediately and easily, she would rip down his cottage and squeeze the answers out of him. He shivered. No. No, it was okay. They made a pact after all. He left her alone and offered sacrifices that he chose, she left him alone and kept the barrier strong. As he dragged the man higher upshore, his eyes adjusted more and he noticed the man was wearing a…

"Pirate's coat…" he snarled. Of course. Of course a bastard like that would survive this kind of thing. Goddamned cockroaches. Just as bad as the church frankly. He didn't know why-

Medical neutrality. It's our duty to help people whoever they are, whenever we can in the best way possible.

Bullshit. Sounds like a one way ticket to heaven if you asked him.

We're healers Lovino, not gods. We do what we can for everyone, then hope for the best.

Well fuck you voice! "His kind's the reason you're fucking dead!" He dropped the body and walked towards the tree line. "It's all his fault, all their fault!" He smashed through the underbrush, ignoring the wooden fingers clinging to his coat, begging. "Don't touch me…Don't tell me that it's fine…"

I don't regret what I did….

"Well…well I do! I fucking…I'm the reason…" He shook his head and laughed bitterly. He looked up at the old trees. They loomed over him, concerned. "Yeah…yeah I've gone nuts haven't I? Talking to old and broken things…" He sat down, curling up his legs and burying his face in his lap.

Please? For me?

…

…

He was sweating buckets. Damn the forest. Damn the road. Damn himself for being such a fucking idiot. It felt like years had passed. It took all he could to keep walking with this son-of-a-bitch on his back. When he finally reached the edge of his own cottage clearing, he thought he was going to cry. He ignored his garden's questions, only focusing on getting to at least the tree near his cottage before anything else. At its base, swinging his pipe around grumpily, was Abel. The aconite sprite looked pretty pissed. Or as pissed as flowers could seem. Without a spray of sunlight or Verle water, Abel returned to his flora form.

Even without a face, Lovino could see he was pretty pissed. "Cici, who the hell is that?" The herbalist came over, placing the load as gently as he could on the ground. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead.

"This guy's…my new patient."

...

...

A/N: I hope this is cleaner. And nicer. And stuff... MEH Please leave a review. Or a favorite. Or follower thing. Or all of the above. Just a suggestion yo. But I appreciate you dropping by and managing to get this far. You awesome reader you.