Chapter Five - The Killer

Her limbs were pinned down, but not by any visible restraints; her muscles were like ice, frozen; her blood in her veins like lead; her chest compressed, her throat tight. She couldn't move, but everything else her senses could take in were amplified: Grandmother's distracted chuckles, her certain and firm steps, the sound of the knife as Grandmother let the tip scrape against the surface of the table.

Maka had made a mistake and now she was going to pay for it. She had been expecting a man to be the murderer, someone of tall stature, someone strong and well-muscled. She had been so focused on one certain type of killer that she had completely forgone alternatives. She was a sorceress, someone of sound judgment, someone who was supposed to make proper deductions, yet she hadn't seriously assumed a woman powerful enough to be doing such horrible things- least of all such a small, seemingly frail one.

Grandmother was anything but frail. The old woman sighed, looking almost sad with her slumped stature, her unsquared shoulders. "What a waste," she whispered, coming close to loom over Maka. "The tea has gotten cold. You naughty child- picked such a bad time to find my toys."

Where was Soul? Maybe...maybe Soul would find her. Her guts churned and twisted, abject terror shooting up into Maka's heart as Grandmother held up a sleek, small knife, smiling brightly as if she was about to feed a starving child.

"This one is my favorite," she said, a thin finger stroking the polished blade, the light of the oil lamp giving it a sinister glint. Maka tried to squirm, to move, to kick, to cry and scream- just anything to get out of here. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't even blink, her eyes dry and parched and stinging with the light. "Ah, you silly child. Don't even try it, you won't be able to move. I am very proud of that one actually, I just never had the opportunity to use that serum. I spent years on the formula," she explained happily. "I never realized that adding a little bit of vampire bat saliva would do the trick."

Grandmother lit a candle and placed it on the table next to where Maka lay, still motionless.

"You must have had a good teacher, child, but your ability of the soul could be better. It was easy-" she placed the small knife down, only to pick up a bigger one- its blade was jagged, the handle larger. "-it was easy to manipulate you. I had hoped the afreet would rip you apart, ah, but no, I'm lying now. I had hoped since you first set foot into my house I could do this with you."

"No shame, no shame." She shook her head, quietly arranging her knives. Her pale eyes glinted eerily, not steel grey, but like maroon or the color of chestnut, dull and dry like old blood. "They never had any shame. I told them to stop, you know. Especially, poor Mary. She was so young; I gave her money, but she spent it on drinking and then she'd open her legs like the others if she needed more." The nerve of the old hag to blame the poor women she left mutilated on the streets for their doom!

"They wanted to show their bodies," Grandmother spat bitterly, gritting her teeth. "They'd wear those ugly dresses. I'd tell them not to do it, that it is not proper, that they should think of their children, or at least think of the dangerous attention they were getting. But do you think they ever listened to me?!" She chuckled mirthlessly, wrinkly face twisting into an ugly sneer. "No, no of course not. They wanted to display their bodies like the undignified wenches they were." Maka's breath hitched as Grandmother disdainfully tugged at the black frills of her skirt with a sniff. "And I helped them, I helped them to display their bodies in the end- how to do it right. I cut them open and took out their pretty bloody organs. If I hadn't done that, they would have never learned their lesson, you see?"

A few grey wisps of white had fallen out of her strict bun as she threw her head back and laughed softly and patted Maka's shin gently. "Don't worry, Child," she said, her voice a low warm timbre as her lips curled into a motherly smile. "I will help you, too." Her smile widened, her eyes lit up gleefully as she averted her gaze to the small table with her knives. Maka couldn't see what the old woman was doing, only able to listen to her tinkering with the knives. A prickling chill ran down her arms as Grandmother held up one of the smaller knives close to Maka's face.

"You have such pretty eyes," she mumbled absentmindedly, "I think I will keep them!" The point of the blade was right above her face, descending slowly and closing in on her right eyeball. Maka's mouth wouldn't move, wouldn't part to scream, to curse the witch to hell and back. Her skin prickled, bile and terror churning in her belly. But before the knife could cut into her eye, Grandmother pulled it back swiftly, frowning heavily.

"I am not sure if I should start with your eyes. I think it is going to be more enjoyable if you still have them when I cut you open." She made a grab for a different knife- a cleaver, large and menacing- and she tapped against Maka's knee with the broad side of it. "Should I hack your legs off first, my dear?"

Maka's heart leapt into her throat- the urge to scream and punch and yell was overwhelming- but her body remained glued down, even as the cold steel of the cleaver touched lightly against her chilled skin.

"Or should I cut your stomach open first?"

A small knife, this time a tiny scalpel, pressed against her abdomen, making her breath hitch and her eyes water. There was another one, oddly shaped with a curved blade, that was pressed against her neck. Grandmother never drew blood, never broke into her skin, just let the blades tap against Maka's skin with the barest hint of pressure, but it was enough to drive her insane, eliciting raspy pleased cackles from the old woman.

Perhaps it was a good thing she couldn't move her mouth- perhaps it was the only thing that kept Maka from sobbing like a child and begging for mercy or for a quick kill, at least. Grandmother's lips curved into a smile that was jarring in its blatant cruelty, her cold grey eyes appearing to shine, giddy and happy as her shoulders shook with her heaving breaths.

This was it.

She was going to die.

The blade broke into the soft, vulnerable skin of her thigh as Maka lay there, unbudging. It sliced slowly, a raw burn spreading in her leg, gnawing at muscle and sinew. She would have hissed if she could, but all she could register was the realization that she was not going to die yet- that she was going to be cut up like the poor women before her. This was her end: her first mission by herself a massive failure. She should have said properly goodbye to her friends and family, maybe not have haughtily expected to come back unscathed.

She had refused her father's hug and had, instead, turned her head away like the arrogant child she was. She shouldn't have punched Black*Star for being such an obnoxious person. And sweet, gentle Tsubaki- Maka hadn't even managed to see her before she left for England. And Soul… hopefully he was going to be safe; she couldn't live with the burden of putting him in harm's way like this.

Be good he had told her, but she was just a stupid girl who had overestimated her skills and powers. The blood trickling down the curve of her thigh was scalding, bright crimson dropping languidly down, drenching the wood of the floor.

The fingers of her right hand twitched, and she thought she was hearing scratching noises coming from somewhere.

The knife was pulled out of her leg in a second, Grandmother muttering quietly to herself. She was too proper to curse, but the venom in her voice was sharp and acidic for having her favorite pastime disturbed. Maka wanted to feel relieved, hoping help was on its way, but Grandmother hid her knife behind her back as she approached the door. She couldn't even use her soul perception to see who it was, if it was human or afreet…or wolf.

Soul!

The old door creaking open was drowned out by the powerful growl and Grandmother's shrill shrieks. The sound of flesh tearing apart reached Maka's ears, of sharp canines biting into old wrinkly skin; it was as satisfying as it was gruesome, and she wished she could see Soul tearing the old woman apart. The pain in her leg spread through her whole body, making her brain hazy, the corner of her mouth twitching upward in a weak imitation of smile. She could move her fingers, but only those of her right hand.

Panic and hope alike flooded her veins as she tried regain the ability to move. It was only small twitch here and a jerk there- her left leg surged as if it were to corrode, her blood like burning poison, eating through her flesh, or perhaps it was the serum in her arteries or Grandmother's knives that had sliced into her. A heaving breath shook her shoulders, her heart clenching with hope. She had to move, she had to grab a knife, she had to kill this witch or whatever spawn of hell she was.

She aimlessly kicked her heel up, accidentally knocking the small table with Grandmother's knives down. They clattered noisily, but not noisy enough to overpower Soul's growls and the old woman's frantic screams as she struggled for her life. Maka's lips parted, but she didn't cry out for Soul; she kept her mouth shut, suppressing a whimper at the pain in her leg with tightly shut eyes and sweat beading on her forehead.

Soul's rumbling barks were cut off and morphed into pained whines as his body hit the ground with a loud thud, bones cracking and snapping. Her breath hitched and she halted her squirming for a second to listen. Grandmother's staggering steps and Soul's raspy intakes of breath were painful to her ears, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise.

"Ah, you're the boy. I knew there was something wrong with your soul when I first saw you, young man. Now I must kill you, too," Grandmother whispered, sounding nearly remorseful. Maka gritted her teeth forcefully, willed her neck to move, her eyes to look into the right direction. It was a slow process; her muscles were rigid and stiff, her bones palsied like the creaky joints of a broken doll. She managed to turn her head right when Grandmother's gnarly hand took a hold of Soul by his neck. He was still in his wolf form, smaller than she remembered him to be- much smaller- but the shrinking potion was definitely wearing off. Maka almost burst out laughing at Grandmother's state: half her face was only pink skin, bloodied and mutilated by Soul's sharp canines, claw marks stretched across her face, and blood dripped steadily down her limp arm. But Maka's delirious glee was short lived the moment she saw Soul, gasping quietly.

A butcher's knife was firmly clutched by Grandmother's good hand, Soul's eyes narrowing into tiny, tired slits.

"You just shouldn't have come here to save the harlot in red. Such a respectable gentleman like you should mingle with his own." Grandmother raised her knife a little. The smile on her face was deceptively warm. "I will kill you and keep your fur and make a nice rug out of it, my dear."

With a sudden jerk of her knees, Maka shakily planted her feet on the wooden floor. The room spun; textures, furniture, light, Grandmother, and Soul ceased to be for the briefest moment as everything swirled into a big mass of mismatched colours before her view cleared and she shook her head slowly. She would not let Soul die because of her mistakes. She was going to make sure that he, at least, was going to live. She staggered forward, her back and shoulder slouched, as she took one of Grandmother's knives that had fallen and rushed towards her.

The old woman turned around, unperturbed and prepared as she easily parried Maka's clumsy attack and hit the knife out of her hand. Grandmother was not afraid of her, or of Soul for that matter, her demeanour serene, her eyes calm even if she could only see through one eye at the moment. Her thin lips moved, but Maka couldn't make out her words- could only detect the bloodlust in her gaze, the casual tilt of her head, and Soul's broken form on the ground.

Her blood roared loudly in her veins, her heartbeat a thundering noise as everything seemed to slow down and Grandmother's cruel words registered only as garbled vowels and sounds in Maka's ears.

Maka took a deep breath and sluggishly evaded Grandmother's attack, but she had no time to recover, because the old woman immediately charged towards her again, but she only sliced through thin air once more. Maka took out the knife hidden in her bodice, but she wasn't fast enough, not precise enough, not strong enough, and Grandmother's pleased, confident smile felt like the final nail was being hammered on her coffin. The old woman was swift and relentless, never aiming for anything but what would cause the highest lethality. Maka was pushed back, barely able to defend her neck, her jugular, against the onslaught of Grandmother's attacks. But before the blade could pierce Maka's throat, Soul's jaw clamped around the old woman's shin, making her drop her weapon with a sharp clatter of steel and a high-pitched scream.

"I will cut you open!" the old woman screeched, trying to kick Soul away feebly. "I will kill you! Both of you, and feed the harlot's entrails to─"

Green eyes locked with hazy red for a brief second before Maka clutched her own dagger and, despite her drug-filled mind and body, moved with newly gathered fluidity.

The poor victims' faces and mutilated bodies flashed before her eyes, the terror-stricken expressions of other Whitechapel residents, Soul's trembling wolf-body, and the thinly veiled jeers of fellow sorcerers and sorceresses as they looked upon her haughtily.

She had made a mistake, but Maka learned from her mistakes. Grandmother's pale grey eye was almost beckoning her as Maka rammed her dagger with a smooth thrust of her forearm into the witch's eye-socket. Grandmother didn't have any time to cry out, her jaw threatening to unhinge as her mouth tore open in a silent scream, toppling down into her own pool of scalding blood.

There was a degree of twisted gratification weighing in Maka's heart to see such a small, seemingly frail but powerful and insane woman bleed to her death right in front of her blood soaked shoes, but there was no twinge of regret- just the sick feeling that the witch's blood was staining her hands right now like the victims' blood might have stained the old woman's. She waited until Grandmother's soul wavelength ceased to flicker, the violent red colour of it now unmasked and visible with each sadistic tendril within it. Maka's shoulders slumped, and she sighed when the witch took her last breath. She dropped onto her knees, her arms winding around Soul's neck impulsively.

Her shoulders shook, her breath hitched, but she wasn't crying. She barely noticed Soul's transformation, but the fur making way for tan, smooth skin was difficult to ignore. She pulled back slightly, choking back a hysteric sob as she tentatively grazed the wound on his temple with a fingertip.

"You-you're hurt," she said thickly as the blood rushed down her body, her head feeling light and dizzy.

"I'm fine," he wheezed out, his arms trembling around her waist as he asked her with a soft voice if she was injured and if she was able to stand, his gaze regretfully flitting down to her thigh. No further words were exchanged as they held each other tightly, almost eliciting a wave of crazed laughter from her, but all she did was to bury her face against his neck with a quivering sigh. Here she was having barely survived her first solo mission, all bloodied and taking comfort in the arms of a man she barely knew. However, she only squeezed him more tightly and closed her eyes, allowing herself these few minutes of warmth.

It had taken him too long to find a track, but the moment he realized whom the familiar smell belonged to, he had made his way to Grandmother's house. Soul looked guilty when he told her this as if he was to be faulted for her injuries. It had been a messy affair to explain to Scotland Yard what exactly had occurred: why an old woman was the killer, why said woman had been disposed of via a dagger through her eye, why Maka had been hugging a naked man while there was blood everywhere, why a naked man was there in the first place.

It was hours later that Maka was able to relay everything to Lord Death, who looked eerily pensive despite his unchanging mask. She had chosen a mirror in one of the guest rooms that was far from where Soul was recuperating; she didn't want to disturb him, nor did she want to explain to him why she was having a conversation with an inanimate object.

"You're saying that this witch, this Grandmother, could conceal the true shape of her soul?" Lord Death asked lightly, but Maka knew that in spite of his jolly demeanour, he had to be fretting inside, because these were alarming tidings. Soul protect was one thing- the total disappearance of a soul- but this soul masking was not to be taken lightly. It had put her into a dire situation which she had only escaped by luck.

Maka nodded in response, wishing nothing more than to fall into her temporary bed and sleep, but she would never be so disrespectful towards her superior and cut their conversation short. She pushed a few blond bangs behind her ear and ran her hand through her hair, disheveling it even more as she bit back a tired sigh. Lord Death studied her for a moment before he nodded.

"Alright. I think this will be enough, Maka. Thank you for your hard work. Go get some rest now- you have more than earned it." She could hear the smile in his voice, but it didn't make her feel particularly better. She bid him goodbye before the big mirror became a normal mirror again. Her shoulders dropped and all pretenses of a professional appearance vanished in a second.

Having killed that witch did not feel like a victory at all, even though she had freed the world of a dangerous threat. Yet as she opened the door to her bedroom only to find Soul sprawled out on her bed, she couldn't help but smile a little. His sleep had to have been rather light, because he startled awake the moment she closed the door behind her, his eyes growing wide as he gasped, aghast and mortified, wiping a thin trickle of drool from the corner of his mouth.

"M-maka! I-I─" he stammered, uneasily rubbing the back of his neck.

She shook her head and giggled quietly into her palm, too fatigued and amused to be incensed at his indecency of falling asleep on her bed. He kept stuttering his apologies until she assured him, with a pat on his head, that she wasn't angry at him. He looked more like a little deer at the moment, and even though the bitter weight of failure made her want to dissolve into thin air, she was grateful for his company, at least. She seated herself next to him on the bed, but, of course, a well-mannered man like Soul would not sit there, making her roll her eyes and keep him seated with her hand pressing gently against his wrist.

After all that had happened, he was still clinging to silly concepts of propriety? She inhaled deeply, the pungent stench of blood still firmly embedded in her imagination; she was clean, as was Soul, and her bedroom had always been immaculately neat, yet she still wanted to take another bath and rub her skin raw. She didn't remove her hand from his, feeling like she needed this- the subtle warmth, the affirmation that they were both alive and well and breathing.

"I want to thank you, Soul. Without you...I would have-I would have─" she squeezed his wrist tightly, her bones trembling, wracking her body with a shudder.

"Don't mention it. I couldn't do much aside from getting myself nearly killed. If anything, I am the one who should be thanking you," he said resolutely, patting her knuckles lightly. Perhaps it was this tender gesture or the slight waver in his voice that forced her to notice the trepidation oozing out of him, making her realize he had been afraid, too.

The dam in her broke, together with her ability to keep her mouth shut.

"No, no, no." She shook her head and bit her lip. "I-I should have never let it come this far. I should have been able to handle this by myself, but I was careless and dragged you into such a dangerous situation, too. I am a failure." Her breath hitched as she blinked quickly, appalled at the tears in her eyes. "The others told me I wouldn't be able to handle it, but I was stubborn and wanted to prove them wrong- wanted to laugh at their faces when I came back!" she spat hurriedly, clenching her free hand into a fist. "I can't even claim that my main priority was justice. I...I wanted them to stop underestimating me, and look what I did?!" She laughed bitterly, eyes dull. "I just affirmed their points. My skills don't live up to my family name."

Soul parted his lips, but no words would come out; he did this a few times until he decided to keep his mouth shut and let the heavy silence drift between them. It didn't last for long, but it was enough for Maka to realize what she had admitted in his presence. She was dreading his judgment, yet it made the knot in her chest loosen. She was a hypocrite, claiming to want justice, but in the end she had been mostly motivated by personal gain in this mission: respect, recognition, and pride.

"I do not know what kind of people live in this Death City you have mentioned," he finally said, his voice a soothing lull that made her ease a little more into the mattress, her shoulder propped against the bedpost. "But...I think you are amazing at what you do." He became quieter and quieter with each word, and while she was touched, her cynicism overruled any warm and fuzzy feelings that were going haywire in her mind and making her stomach flutter.

She snorted loudly, jerking her chin up, mocking. "Of course, you would say that. You haven't seen other practitioners of magic─"

"Maybe so, but still."

The slight hunch of his shoulders told her that he was unsatisfied with his rebuttal. His pouty lower lip made her almost giggle, but she was far too bitter- the sour traces of abject dread still had her atremble. The flash of a closet full of polished knives made her thigh tingle, her throat raw and tight in memory of the smile on Grandmother's face, the delight in her eyes at the prospect of cutting her open from head to toe.

She tightly clenched her eyes shut, ramming and rubbing the heels of her hands against her eyelids, willing for the images to go away. But the only thing that vaguely comforted her and eased her heart was Grandmother's unmoving body on the ground and her blood on Maka's hands. Her breath hitched, her eyes opened, and her hands were red- red and dirty and filthy. Her thigh hurt with a pain that stretched down her entire leg, shooting up to her hip, and the pictures of the victims' mutilated bodies were before her again: intestines cut out of their bellies, limbs and fingers removed, necks cleanly sliced. She had nearly become one of them, nothing more but dead skin and dried blood on concrete and cobblestones.

Maka had seen those pictures often enough, and while she had been disturbed, the images had never affected her to this degree. It didn't register in her mind that the quilt was pulled from beneath her until it was securely wrapped around her shivering shoulders. She perked up with a gasp as the world before her eyes realigned itself; Soul's hand remained on her shoulder for a second, long enough to catch her vacant gaze.

"You never dragged me into this, Maka," he said, removing his hand from the quilt, casting his eyes down with a sigh. "I must make an admission, too. While I joined you willingly because I wanted to help you, I was selfish, because mostly I did not want to be alone after all these years of solitude. I will not judge you for why you came here, but I know for certain that you are a good person and...you are strong. That is all I need to know and...and I am not sure if it is right of you to beat yourself up over what happened."

She buried her chin in the quilt, trying to hide a smile...or a frown- she wasn't sure. This man certainly thought very highly of her for reasons she couldn't entirely grasp, but she couldn't say she didn't appreciate his attempts at cheering her up. Or, perhaps, he was saying these sweet words because she was the first woman he had come across in hundred years.

Her heartbeat slowed down from its frenzied thudding even though her arms were shuddering underneath the blanket, her skin erupting into goose bumps, and she felt vaguely at ease as the bloodcurdling images vanished and her thoughts strayed away from the disturbing killer. It was an unconscious move on her part- at least, she hadn't meant to scoot this much closer to him- but he was warm and she was glad that she wasn't alone right now. Her shoulder bumped against his as she cushioned her head against it.

His muscles tensed up as he sucked in a surprised breath, his head craning to look at her nearly dozing off against him. A strong arm tentatively wrapped around her waist, making her smile against him and snuggle close, closing her eyes and relishing in his smell- like the forest where she first found him: wet leaves and moss-covered soil. She savored his warmth, the comfort of his touch, and no words were exchanged as her own arm found its way across his torso, her fingers splaying over his shoulder. He jumped a little, a strangled sound escaping from the back of his throat, but only pulled her closer, making her sit almost on his lap.

Maka couldn't exactly tell how much of a conscious decision it was of hers to shift in place that caused him to squirm, or how much she had intended to lie down on the soft feather bed and pull him closer still with a hand clasping around his wrist. Soul gasped out her name, and she decided that she liked that sound, liked how his chest pressed lightly against hers- not enough to smother her, but enough for her to take note of how broad his shoulders were, how hard his chest was, how strong his arms were.

Her breath hitched and her fingers flexed against his upper arm. His gaze grew wider with each passing second only for his eyes to narrow as he drank in the sight of her dishevelled appearance: of her nightgown's sleeve that was askew and baring her shoulder, of her exposed thighs as the fabric had ridden almost up to her crotch.

There was a faint voice within her that admonished her, and the more she listened to it, the more reasonable it sounded. She barely knew this man- she was not a woman who'd let a stranger bed her- but she had gone through many things with him most strangers didn't find themselves going through. Her skin was still crawling with the chill that Grandmother's knife had left behind, her thigh tingling uncomfortably at the memory. Soul's touch was warm, heating her skin and making her breaths short and flat, and she arched her back as he caressed her hips, running his hand through her hair, over her cheek, her neck, her collarbones.

She felt him hard against her leg and she shifted a little, so he could settle between her thighs more comfortably. Yes, this was nice- warm and comforting. His touch would dispel the ice in her heart, even if it was only for a night. Just this once.

Maka licked her lips and pulled him closer.

The next morning, Soul was woken by the sun shining into his eyes and the noisy clucking of the neighbour's chicken, which promptly made his stomach growl. He let out a muffled groan and sluggishly buried his face into a pillow, unconsciously inhaling Maka' scent.

As if on cue, Maka's quiet voice drifted towards him, much farther than he had anticipated, and as he opened an eye, he realized that she wasn't lying next to him.

"Good Morning," she said, dressed already in red again, of course, but the dress was longer, less frilly and sewn with lighter material, making it more practical. He was a little disappointed as his mind flashed back to last night- how he had almost stripped her out of that flimsy nightgown of hers, how he had touched her breasts, how she had let him nestle between her legs before she decided otherwise. He had understood, of course. As much as he craved her skin, he'd accept her boundaries likewise, and it had been comforting when she had asked him to stay after their almost-tryst.

"Good Morning," he replied gruffly, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He blinked. Her eyes were guarded, her hands clasped together behind her back. Ah, she was certainly regretting what she did last night with him, even if it did not result in sex. He shouldn't feel disappointed at the prospect he should have expected it, but his heart clenched painfully as he disentangled himself from the quilt to stand up.

"I have to leave in an hour or I won't make it in time to my ship," she said hastily and it took him a few seconds to take in her words with all their meanings and implications. His body staggered at the thought of being left alone, of going back into that wretched forest.

Big red eyes locked with her face, helpless. Soul clenched his fists. "But...why?" he asked meekly, aware of her reasons, aware of the fact that he was acting like a child. A bitter knot was etched in his throat, making it hard for him to breathe as he resisted every urge in his body to take her by the arms and press her against his chest until she changed her decision.

"I have to go home, Soul. Back to Death City." She sounded somewhat regretful, her voice solemn as she avoided to look at him, but instead watched her shoes intently as she shifted from foot to foot.

He wanted to protest, but he'd rather choke on the words than beg her to stay. She wouldn't, he knew. She had friends and family and teachers to go back to- a life of her own- in a different house, in a different country, and a wholly different world from his.

"O-of course, I-I understand," he choked out, willing his hands to stop trembling. "I will...I will just...have to go back to the forest." He smiled brokenly, taking in a shuddery breath through clenched teeth. "I will just go back. I couldn't possibly live in London. I have...nothing left. I will...I will go back. Yes."

The last thing he wanted was that. Not after a small taste of humanity, not after her company, not after everything that had happened. He gulped shakily, ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the bed again. He didn't think he'd be able to stand without plummeting through the floor with this crushing wave of despair pressing down on him.

"You could come with me?" Maka asked timidly, uncertainly, her brows furrowed. Soul's head snapped up.

"What?"

She straightened her stance and said, more resolutely this time, "Come with me, Soul." Her smile made his heart ache. Could he allow himself to hope that she wanted him? He had not misheard? "Think about it, Soul. In Death City, you will meet people that are like you. You won't be alone anymore if you come with me. I am sure Lord Death will be delighted- he won't mind, and the people there are all very kind if somewhat odd."

It was pathetic how briefly he mulled the idea over before he replied, voice thick, "Yes, I would love to come with you."

A/N: I might have put this story on complete, but I really like this universe I have created and want to do more for it, incorporate different arcs and such and include the other Soul Eater characters as well. I can't tell you when more will be added to this, but be on the lookout ;) I really hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.