Hikaru: Another version of "To Kill." Own Tales of the Abyss I do not.
The plan was finally set in motion.
The Duke and Duchess were gone, summoned to the castle by his friend, the very same princess Natalia. The maids and other servants were all on leave, and the guards attended their master and mistress at the castle, the young master of the house protected in capable hands.
In all practicality, the manor was empty, save for its young master and his faithful servant.
The young teenager was bowled over by a flash of red, knocked to the floor of the entrance hall. Tiny arms had wired themselves around his neck, and the child buried his face in Guy's chest. The tiny body the young Fabre possessed was racked with sobs.
"I thought I was all alone! I can't find Mother, Father, or anybody!"
"Shh," Guy shushed the young child while he cried, all the while tightly holding onto his servant as if he'd never let go.
"Don't worry, Luke." The small child looked up, emerald eyes bright with tears, cheeks stained red. Guy absently returned the frightened child's hug as he talked, to help the poor kid to just calm down.
"There was a time long ago, when I was all alone."
"Really?" Luke still sniffled, still shocked with the idea of abandonment.
"Yep. My parents, my friends, my other family . . . all gone."
As he spoke, he tried not to see the scared child before him, clinging to him for dear life. Guy finally closed his eyes, slowly drew his sword. Luke still tightly clung to Guy, oblivious. Why did it have to be a small child first? Should it not be the servants, then the wife, and finally the child? To see for himself the kind of grief he put Guy through?
Guy shook his head; he had to steel himself, to be strong. The memory of his parents—of Mary—depended upon him for it.
Guy stood, picking Luke up as well. He smiled at the child.
"You won't have to be alone, Luke. Your parents and servants and guards—they're going with you."
At once the young master brightened. Guy's flawless grin faltered here.
No, he has to do it.
With one deft motion of his blade, Gailardia Galan ran the small child through.
"G-Guy . . ." Blood gushed from Luke's mouth, his tiny child fingers wrapped about the blade, running red.
Yanking his sword out, Guy caught Luke as he fell, sheathed his sword.
When His Grace returned, his mortally bled son would greet him.
Sorry, Luke. Nothing personal.