Author's Note: I don't normally write ficlets, but I had to write this to get it out of my system. The first part was revamped slightly. Parts 2 and 3 are new additions.

Wear your Rue with a Difference

Wenn du lange in einen Abgrund blickst, blickt der Abgrund auch in dich hinein.

If you look for too long into the abyss, the abyss also stares back.

(Friedrich Nietzsche)

He sits huddled in a corner. Pathetic. Weak. Broken. Pretending he can't hear me. But I know he can. Oh yes.

He's muttering. "Amare. Amo, amas, amat…"

Like Latin's gonna help. It's driving me nuts though, so I give him a vicious push. His head is propelled backwards and hits the wall with a satisfying sound. Plaster crumbles from cracks in the wall.

Come on. Get up you spineless git! Look at you, snivelling like a girl.

"Amare. Amo, amas, amat, amamus…" On and on and on. Like a bloody litany.

Shut the hell up!

I hit him again and the scent of his blood mingles with the moldy smells of damp wood, rust, floor polish and drying paint, but he just laughs.

It's her. You think she was real, don't you? Well, let me tell you this: deep down, we both know it wasn't her.

He's not laughing anymore. Good.

She'd never ever allow you to touch her. Not in a million years, mate. Not after what happened. She'd rip your soddin' arms out and pummel you to a pulp, then stake you. You're just a thing. Remember? Disgusting. Loathsome. Beneath her. And that's all you'll ever be.

He shakes his head wildly, then buries it in his arms, trying to block out my voice. Won't work, mate.

Besides, She doesn't belong here. What you saw? Just an apparition, a figment of your imagination. Or maybe it was that other one. You know he's got plans for us.

"No!" He wraps his arms around himself.

What? 'No' as in 'not an apparition?' Or 'no' as in 'no plans?'

"No. I am not going back to that," he mutters. "I can learn. I know I can. I will prove it to you. I learnt it all by heart. I haven't forgotten."

Tosser! Sounds like he's about to cry. Makes me wanna grab his head and bash it against the wall. Again and again. Till there's nothing left. What good is a face like his if you can't use it to lure and hunt? What good is all that strength if you can't use it to do or take whatever you want?

"Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres…"

For God's sake! What's with the bloody Latin? I think he's doin' this to spite me. Well, I'm not having any of this!

Now, where's that knife gone?