Christmas soon.

  Fucking bullshit.

  Christmas was a stupid holiday, the woman thought, as she splashed warm water against her face. Looking up, she gazed into her own eyes, watching the red swirl and shimmer like garnet.

  It was just some excuse for people to buy more shit, to give to others, to say to them, "Hey - here's your shit. I sort of thought of you this year." As corporate a holiday as they came... She knew it firsthand, of course. She worked for one of those corporations that profited off of others' supposed 'generosity'; hell, she worked for the corporation. She'd had a hand in raising toy prices a month early, then pretending to slash them just in time for suckers to eat it up and clear the shelves.

  Judas Alighieri blinked away her bitterness, straightening up as she reached for a towel. Her manse was quiet this evening - it was one of her days off, taken without warning and without issue. The only person who could tell her not to take a day off was too busy talking to the Devil and reaping souls, as far as she figured - and she had been stressed as of late. More stressed than usual, at least.

  Outside, in the hall, a knock was delivered to the bathroom's locked door. A feminine voice, ragged from weeping and only recently returning, warbled from she who knocked.

  "M-Miss, ah... Miss Alighieri? I... I have your dinner. Should I-" The voice trembled as it relayed its message, and Judas found herself cynically cheered by the whole of it. The lingering hoarseness and the quiver of fear? Delicious, as always. The trepidation - the hesitance to interrupt whatever Judas may have been doing? Exquisite. The sweetness of it, and the novelty of its use? Luxurious as warm syrup on pancakes.

  "Should you put it in my room? Hardly. Vivica, you should know at this point, I take my dinner in the dining room when I have the evening free. Deliver it to my seat; do not make me instruct you further." Her orders lingered like a piano in a children's cartoon, hoisted by rope far too thin to test, precariously dangled above their recipient's head. One wrong move, and a deadly impact would be delivered - though, in humorous similarity to childrens' cartoons, even such a would-be-lethal blow couldn't kill Vivica forever. Hell, maybe she and Judas would have a laugh about it.

  Doubtful.

  Vivica squeaked like a chew-toy, frozen in place simply by the implication of punishment. Judas was, without any exaggeration, a monster - the sort of monster that made bogeymen and closet-haunts seem like teddy bears and friendly pets. Perhaps it would have been apt for the children of Vitus to be afraid that Judas would be under their bed come the daybreak.

  Yet, this time? No further blow found itself coming. Rather, Judas found herself laughing - laughing at herself, at Vivica's fear, at the second-lives they had respectively found themselves living.

  "No, no, Vivica... You aren't in trouble. Go get Jack, would you? I assume his dinner is ready, too - let's, uh. Let's all eat, er, together for once, yeah? We've... Got time. Tonight, we do." The words came on their own, forced up and out without any impetus from Judas's waking mind. Her tongue spoke of its own volition, connected directly to her subconscious; the lungs pushed the requisite air devoid of any permission to do so. Even as she finished speaking, she turned to look at herself in the mirror once again - locking eyes with the woman looking back at her, the her-not-her that lived in a silvered pane.

  Silence was her response. Stunned, terrified, amazed, delighted, repulsed, furious... Judas could only guess at Vivica's reaction. No response ever came, of course - just the silent shuffle of feet, creaking the floorboards as they went, after a handful of moments. Judas sighed, wondering what came over herself - what possibly could have compelled her to say something so foul, so utterly offensive.

  It was not, in its own right, cruel to suggest. The three of them were the manse's denizens - and in the basement, a second Tybalt grew in warped, nightmarish flesh. Perhaps a cat would help set Vivica at ease. As the inhabitants of this prison mansion, it was only right that they should... should exist near one another, wasn't it? Share their meals, share their time, share their... Their...

  A crack appeared in Judas's visage.

  She stared, unable to even consider averting her gaze, as the Judas in the mirror began to peel. A shard of meat porcelain opened like a door, revealing her cheekbone and her inner mouth - and after hanging by a thread, it fell, leaving Judas staring at her own exposed musculature. Her ivories. Her gullet.

  More and more, her skin shattered and dropped like a smashed windowpane. The silence in her ears was deafening - she had turned the fan off when first she had exited the shower, and the sink had been shut for some time. Even breaths came slow, and muffled; her ears were filled with the cacophony of her own rushing blood, thundering like the war drums of some infernal army. Her heart began to beat faster, faster, faster, the reflection beginning to smile even as the original could only frown.

  From her left ear, a knock. From her right ear, a woman crying - Vivica, by the sound of it, but then her mother... then, her first love (the one Judas had [ NO ]), and then, subordinates... Secretaries, security personnel, staffers and servants, eventually strangers... A curse of the revival. A curse of the cold-womb. A curse of the black blood.

  She could never forget. Never forget their faces [ STOP ], their meat [ PLEASE ], their screams and pleas for life [ NO MORE ] - she had gone in for procedure after procedure, doing everything that could medically be done short of a lobotomy. Never forget the way it had made her feel - in the moment, and in the afterglow. Her nostrils filled with the repulsive scent of rot, so sweet and pungent, sickly and vile - a scent she had beheld many a time during her tenure with Tsang. A perfume she had worn herself more than once, splattered with the blood of another.

  The din grew - now, accompanied by laughter. Male laughter at first... Alex, that blessed fool. He had seen an out and taken it - had lived as much of a second-live as he could, and when the reaper came knocking, he answered with a ball of flame. He was lucky. He wouldn't get to see what was coming - he had never had to see the torture final product of Tsang's machinations. He was free.

  Then, Zichen. Dark and potent, like some shadowy envoy of Satan; his laughter rang out despite its gentle nature. He needed no force in anything he did, anyways - laughter was for his own benefit, and yet it still struck Judas like a judge's gavel. The laughter mingled with the screams, and the tears, and her thrumming heart; it was an orchestra for one, and the music it played was what Judas could only imagine Hell was like. A final voice joined the chorus.

  Her own.

  If Hell was real? She was living there. If Hell was real? She deserved it. She was an awful woman. She couldn't stop herself from being an awful woman, no matter how hard she tried - no matter how many chunks she cut free, no matter what pills she swallowed or books she read or therapists she saw. It was fucking meaningless. The mirror-Judas began to rot before her very eyes, maggots crawling free of the flesh, muscle warping and peeling and swiftly taken with mold. Everything was so loud. So very, very loud - and still, Judas could do nothing to shake herself free from her position. She was a statue. She was mute, motionless, condemned to face every awful memory though the voices of those she had afflicted, and those who knew better. Only the eyes of her mirrored self remained unblemished, still staring back cheerily as she decomposed. It opened its mouth, and when it spoke, it did so with a voice she had been hoping not to hear.

  "Judas?", the ghoul whispered.

  Snap. Judas's eyes re-focused, no longer held beneath the waves of delusion. She was normal again, and the voices - the awful, taunting, horrid voices - were nowhere to be heard. Her nude body was dappled with profuse sweat, as though she had been thrown in an oven with the door locked behind her. Her hair was bedraggled from motions unseen and unfelt, though the soreness of her neck told her they had happened.

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  At her throat, tip tickling damp flesh with a sizzle and burn, was a silver knife. Hers were the hands that held the handle; hers were the arms that had raised the way out knife. She was not smiling, though she was not frowning. Rather, her expression was blank as a canvas, eyes holding the hollowness that she never showed to others. Business as usual.

  She dropped the knife - its home was her medicine cabinet, as a hidden option against intruders whom she couldn't or wouldn't deign fit to see her combative state. She would have Jack or Viv pick it up, later; she didn't... didn't trust herself around it. Not now. Not for a long while, she figured.

  A knock came from the door, reminding her that someone was out there. The voice was male, and comforting - masculine but youthful, a man in his mid twenties at most, and one who was confident in his purpose. There was concern there, too - that nearly made Judas laugh, if only for the ridiculousness that someone might be concerned for her.

  "Y... Yes... Yes, Jack?" Jack. Blackjack, once - his call sign long forgotten in favor of his real name, and the comfort such familiarity provided. It was the same as why Vivica now spoke, why she now was allowed more freedoms, more... dignity. Not much, of course, but... It was better than it had been. Both of them were treated... better, Judas figured.

  Better would have to be enough.

  "Vivica said you wanted us to, aha... Said you wanted us to have family dinner, yeah? But, that was... Well, close to an hour ago. Your meat's getting warm, Judas. She sent me to come check on you." That was a hammer blow in its own right. Vivica had sent Jack of her own volition to go check on Judas?

  Fuck, it had been an hour? Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh, fuck. It was getting worse. She was getting worse.

  It was something that... Something that they had theorized, back when the cold-wombs were only prototypes and even zombies and vampires were in the testing phases. A life too long, much longer than the human body is designed to live? It might wear away at itself. Even with their advancements in staving off cell oxidation, and ensuring that protein generation continued at youthful, stable levels... there had always been a risk discussed. The risk, of course, of psyche degeneration.

  Fuck, she was getting worse. She had been in the bathroom for a whole hour after speaking with Viv. Her beef sashimi was probably warm and the blood had probably dried. And, the knife on the floor-

  "I'll... Jack, come in. Please. I... Don't know if I can get to the door. I'm s... Stunned. Help." Scared. She had almost said scared. She wasn't ever scared. It seemed like a joke - some childish aspect to attribute to a formidable figure. 'Judas Alighieri is big and strong, and doesn't afraid of anything!' But, it was all part of the facade - all part of who she was, who she presented herself as, all to ensure the respect of others. All to tell herself she was okay.

  Jack was silent. Then, the jingling of a key-ring - he had been given keys to the manse, of course, just in case of emergencies - and the rattling of the doorknob. The door was swung open, cautiously but without delay, and Jack revealed himself just as Judas was revealed to him.

  The same man as always - though compared to Judas, he was a boy - had come to Judas's rescue. He wore his uniform even now, the hard black plating and kevlar underweave like a void in the glaring light of the bathroom. No helmet, though - and his piercing blues affixed themselves to Judas with a tinge of something nearly sadness.

  "Judas... I'm here. I'm here. You're okay. Let's... Let's get you to the dining room. Viv and I haven't started eating yet, we've been happy to wait... Don't even worry about dressing, we've, aha, we've both seen you naked more than enough to not be shocked..." As he spoke he approached, gaze flicking to the silver on the floor. With a subtle nudge of his foot, he kicked it to the side - it clattered to a darkened corner, out of sight and out of mind. For now, at least.

  Blackjack's arms went around Judas, hands holding her tightly in a tense embrace laden with muted sorrow. Judas wasn't stupid, she thought - she knew he would have done more, said more, held her more emphatically if... If things had been different. If he wasn't afraid of her. Afraid of what she could, or would, do - afraid of a single misstep meaning that his first life would end, and the potential that she would deny him his second.

  Judas didn't even realize she was crying until she saw the wetness shine upon Jack's shoulder pad. He had managed her out into the hallway, disregarding the knife and her bareness just as he had said he would. Distantly, the sound of a bottle being uncorked rang out.

  Jack tensed; he looked to Judas out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to address the offending noise directly. A smile came over Judas's lips, and she returned Blackjack's lingering embrace with renewed vigor.

  Vivica... was drinking? Pouring herself some champagne? Fuck it, Judas had plenty - it was better, she figured, to know that the girl she had so thoroughly broken had pieced herself together enough to take that sort of liberty. Instantly, cruel machinations flooded Judas's forebrain: to force her to drink the entire thing without stopping, to break the bottle over her head and scold her, to do worse and more humiliating acts... And she bit down, fangs piercing her sucked-in cheek, pain forcing these intrusive ideas from her.

  Vivica could have her drink. She could drink as much as she wanted - fuck it, it might be nice for all of them to have a drink. A nice drink or five, some delicious steak, maybe... Maybe she'd order them to watch a movie with her. Have a cozy night in together - at the end of a gun, of course. They'd never agree otherwise. Jack, maybe - Vivica, certainly not.

  The dining room. They had made it to the dining room. Judas swallowed down the blood filling her mouth, blinking once, twice, five times to try and focus on reality. There, all near one another, sat three plates - each made up nearly identically, save for one which was a portion more than the other two. This one, as well, had the fullest glass of champagne; each setting, however, seemed to be prepped the same.

  Vivica, dressed in a frilly costume befitting a burlesque maid, couldn't suppress a gasp at Jack and Judas's state. She set down the half-full champagne bottle and rushed over, heels click-clack-clicking upon the hardwood floor. When she got within reach of the other two, however, she began to reach for them - and quickly righted this error, snapping her hands back to her side. Instead, a brief, sharp bow was given, Vivica's whole body straight as a rail once complete.

  "Hello, Miss Alighieri - your dinner is served. I have taken the liberty of pouring some champagne to accompany it; I-I, ah, I do hope this was not overstepping my bounds. I... S-Simply, er, observed that you... T-Tend to enjoy a drink with dinner." She rattled off the businesslike address with a confidence that wore away like a cliff face near the sea, beginning to strong and ending with her eyes downcast and shoulders a-tremble.

  Judas, now in control enough to stand unassisted, turned from the seat Jack had placed her at. She beckoned Vivica over with a single finger, silent as the grave, face placid and jaw set. Blackjack re-tensed, his eyes flitting between Vivica and Judas in grim anticipation; he knew what was coming next, it seemed, and he dreaded it, though he was not allowed to avert his gaze.

  Vivica's eyes became like saucers - she seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Jack, though there was the resignation of familiarity with her abuse that kept her nerves from being as sharp as his. She approached without delay but also without haste, lingering as much as she could without being tardy to acquiesce. Once before Judas, she waited for a single breath; receiving no immediate punishment or scolding, her mind leapt to the next possible conclusion. Using the table to steady herself, she began to lower herself to a kneel.

  "No."

  Vivica stopped. Blackjack stopped. The clock over the dining room's fireplace may well have stopped. The air itself seemed to hang like a picture, caught forever in time, never able to escape the ties which bound it. Judas's expression began to melt, gradually at first yet picking up pace as the smile formed and the eyes softened.

  "Vivica... Good girl. Good girl. Th-... Thank you for pouring the champagne, and sending Jack to find me. Let's... Let's have dinner. Please."

  Please.

  Vivica and Jack were shocked, nearly too shocked to move and comply. However, they both nodded their response, going to take respective seats on either side of Judas's own - Vivica on the left, Jack on the right. Judas looked down at the meat on her plate - A1 Kobe, flash-seared on a skillet so hot it would have done permanent damage to a second-living. Jack's plate had some pan-fried greens, it seemed, but Judas and Vivica had been served more beef - the king's ransom of it going to Judas, of course.

  She took her gilt fork in hand and stabbed into one of the pre-cut slices, raising it to her mouth. Before she could take a bite, however, she was interrupted - Vivica's voice, unbidden, rose up above the sound of shuffling cloth and silverware and crackling wood in the fireplace.

  "Th-Thank you, Miss Alighieri. I, uh... I'm glad you're happy with it." Judas turned her head to look at Viv, straining not to show how stunned she was. Sure, Vivica was probably just appeasing her - frankly, she doubted Vivica could or would ever see Judas as anything other than the monster she was. She shouldn't, if she did. And yet... when Judas looked to her, Vivica had put on the biggest smile Judas had ever seen her bear. Even though it was wobbly, and seemed an unfamiliar expression to her... she was smiling.

  Judas could taste her own tears as they ran to her lips.