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Red Like The String of Fate

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Cold; It was the overall feeling that soared through Allen's frail and small body. No other word can describe what he felt at this moment.

The cold hard ground sent shivers to his body but it was not the main source of the overall feeling. Cold winter air blew harshly at Allen's scruff red hair, forcing its temperature on his nape, but it is still not the source. 

With cloudy eyes and numb heart, he lifts his small undistorted right hand and slowly caresses the cold gravestone in front of him, like he had for how many countless times before that. Every single time it worked like a depressing charm, every caress he gave sent pricks in his small beating heart, causing tears to form at the edge of his eyes flowing once again at the same river way that his tears from before had ran through. Allen traced the name carved in the granite, over and over as he still come to terms of the death of his father.

Mana Walker, His adopted father. The one who loved him. The only one who had not flinched at disgust and ran away from him. The only one who held his hand as if he were his son.

Gone. Taken away by the God that he loved and hated. 

A chocked cry escapes from his lips, as he reminds himself once again that his only parental figure will never be there to guide him. 

"Mana.." He sobbed, he knew that no matter how much he cried, his father would never come back. Dark thoughts crept into Allen's mind; Is he fated to be always abandoned? To be thrown away because of his undesirable left arm, to be founded by someone who had not cared about his flaws but in the end have them taken away by God?

Was he fated to be... unwanted?

Time went on and Allen has lost track of it, he didn't know how long he stayed by Mana's grave but sooner or later his exhaustion was bound to catch up to him. With a heavy heart, the mourning boy lost consciousness beside his father.


Angelina Durless Barnett, known as "Madam Red", woke up startled from the sudden movement emitted by the carriage. The woman clad in red sat still for a few seconds to confirm the motion as a one time moment. She sighed in relief and pursed her lips in displeasure at the split memory that she would rather forget. Though she had asked specifically of the coachman to ride by the safest route possible it was still partially her fault for always renting carriages instead of decking out her manor with trained servants and having her own personal coachman.

Madam attempted to roll back her shoulders to appease her thoughts and overworked body. Her occupation as a doctor demanded most of her time and energy, but the little upside of being able to control her work schedule makes it worth while for the Baroness. Although that was not the reason for her tiredness, rather, from the lavish party she had just attended and was on her way home.

Drawing back the curtains covering the windows, Madam leans in to change the view as she grew tired of seeing the empty seat across from her. She checks her location resulting to her shivering from the site of the cemetery taking up the view.

'How unsettling...' She thought with a slight grim expression. Despite feeling put off, Madam continued to stare off into the grounds of the cemetery.

And then she saw red.

She blinked. As far as she could remember, Cemeteries were monochrome at best and had no other color. She squinted her eyes and pressed herself against the window of the carriage. And she saw it again.

Red beside a common gravestone.

It was not the only the color by itself. It was the color of a child's hair and the coat he is wearing, who was leaning on the very same gravestone.

From the stillness of the child's form, Madam assumed that the child is unconscious.

"STOP THE CARRIAGE!" She shouted as loud as she can to enable the coachman to hear.

"M-Madam? What is wrong?" he replied, confused and surprised from her frantic command.

"I said Stop the carriage!" the coachman, out of confusion, stopped the horses from going any further. The Baroness hastily opens the door and recklessly jumps off before the coachman could even leave his post to assist her.

"M-Madam! Madam Red! Where are you going?!"

"Stay there!" the woman in red replied running off inside the cemetery.

Despite of how her feet screamed in pain, tired from dancing the whole night, she continues to trudge her way towards the hill where the unconscious child laid. She crouches down in front of the boy and lift her hands to touch his pale cheeks. Even through her gloves she felt the icy temperature that the child emitted and it was not to her liking; She checks for his pulse and breathing pattern, thankfully still there, but both had felt and sounded too shallow.

Hastily, she removes her velvet coat and carefully wraps it around the child's body. Lifting him up to her chest, she notices his unnatural light weight.

'This is unhealthy for a boy his age, what is he? 9? 10?' She thought to herself, as she made her way back to the awaiting carriage. The coachman's face lit up as if it were Christmas and she were Santa approaching him.

'Although, it IS Christmas.' she thought humorously. Soon, the uplifting smile in the coachman's face turned into surprise.

"Madam, who is that child you are carrying?" he asked innocently. Madam gazes down at the child's sleeping face and replies carefully,

"....He is my son. It seems.. he ran off to visit my late husband's grave." 

The coachman's widened eyes gave enough proof to Madam that he would not continue to ask more question, for his status was not at the same level as hers. He escorts her back inside the carriage, and closed the door firmly before returning to the front. With a steady signal for the horses to ride off, Madam gives one last look at the cemetery and reunites the curtains.

A very odd looking gargantuan man appears on the hill, where the two redheads had just been, and looks around. The cold winter wind blows once again, and the man shrugs. It seems the one mourning here has left. He leaves for another target and the cemetery was back in its gloomy state.