Disclaimer: I'm a witty disclaimer. And I like saying things like "I don't own Soul Calibur" because it's a really really fun thing to do.


You are such a foolish girl.

Day and night you traipse through the lonely halls of my castle, searching for me. When we meet, a smile creeps up on your face and you, impatiently, tug on my sleeve and lead me to your room. There we talk – about nothing in particular. The color of roses. The sloping hills of the Romanian countryside. The quiescence of this dark world. My world. We talk, and I humor you by purposefully mocking your mediocre French, by contradicting your every word. And you like that. Arguments. Just to remind you again and again that you're here for business and that you will never like me. Want me, yes, when the candle burns low and the chill hand of night touches your pale cheek. But like me? Genuinely like me for who I am? Something so alien from the light of your world?

Preposterous.

We continue our small chat, but I see an almost imperceptible change in your face. A small flicker of hope, perhaps. My eyes twitch at the sight, but you barely notice, laughing at some joke I said about the farmers and giving me a disapproving shake of the head.

"Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you." You sigh before bidding me goodnight.

Walking back to the library, I curse under my breath. So why do you, Cassandra? Why do you put up with me?

Because I know that you are better than this.

Better than this? Better than what I've become? What I want to be? You make me sick. Who do you think you are? A messiah? The savior of my putrid soul? But what if I don't want to be saved, Cassandra? What if I'd rather burn?

Then I'll stop you. I'll save you. And I can see that sad smile on your golden face and your arms warm and welcoming but it breaks me. The light is blinding and the warmth burns my skin no matter how much I want to touch you. No matter how much I want to be there with you.

Because everything I touch will change into a cold, cold void. Like Midas, everything I touch will die.

So don't you dare save me, Cassandra.

Don't you fucking dare.


A/N: Experimenting with the voice of SC's resident psycho heartthrob. Complete with contradicting statements and a very twisted conscience. I think. Ah. Review? Thank you.