It was getting dark. Quin had left the palace amidst the commotion and was walking alone down the streets of Milos with nothing but the gentle hum of noise from the ballroom floating to his ears in the wind. It was calm out here. He liked calm.
When he was a child, his parents always used to take him and his brother for late night walks in the winter. They would rug up in warm clothes and skip their way through the city without a care in the world. Kaylan and Quin would run up ahead and race each other, to see who was faster. Kaylan was always faster, and Quin knew this, but still he raced. Still he tried, because above all else, he wanted to be just like his brother. He wanted to be just as tall and handsome when he grew up, and he wanted to be just as talented and skilled. He wanted to be able to charm anyone and everyone he met, just like his older brother. Kaylan was his idol, his reason for being. It was because of Kaylan, that Quin had become what he was. A murderer.
"Kaylan!" he called from the end of the bridge. His brother was almost on the other side, still going.
"Be careful Quin, my love," he heard his mother call from behind him. "Am quo pik howk-"
"Gu ruk fuwwq, yukhiw," he called back as he started to give chase to his brother, shooting a grin over his shoulder. His grey eyes glistened beneath the moon as they landed on his parents. "A fann leklh os ku Kaylan!" So he ran, ignoring his mother's concern for him as he gained speed across the stone bridge.
"I will always beat you, Quin!" his brother shouted from out of sight. He grit his teeth and kept running.
Quin's feet dragged beneath him as he walked. He didn't know where his coat had gone; he was sure he'd abandoned it when he left the palace, but he couldn't be too sure. He didn't really need it, honestly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really been cold. He always remembered being hot, because it was always after he'd killed someone that he started sweating. Not from the shock of taking their life, no. But from the thrill of it. The effort it takes to end someone's life, to stop their hearts from beating and their brains from thinking. The first few times were difficult. But they paved the way, and it was through that experience that he took care of his first real threat.
His legs were dangling off the balcony, where he sat on the railing. It was quiet out there, as if the whole of Milos was holding its breath. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the inevitable. He scanned his bright grey eyes across the horizon as the sun set in the sky, and he pondered what he was about to do. Was it the right thing to do, he wondered? He had killed before. No one knew what had happened to that lovely couple next door, thanks to his special talent in convincing people to do his bidding. No one even thought about him as a suspect, because he didn't want them to. Everything was in place. All he had to do was keep killing.
"Yq nuxi, luong quo luyi hiwi snieci?" his mother called from the other room, and he tilted his head sideways, his eyes narrowing into pale grey slits. Slowly, he leant back on the balcony and swung his legs off the side, dropping onto the platform before poking his head into the house. His mother was standing in the kitchen, his father at the table. His brother was gone, staying at a friend's house for the night. But he knew full well whose house his brother was really staying at. He didn't mind. He would prefer his brother not to see this.
"Ah, khiwi quo ewi," his mother sighed, turning with a beautiful smile as her son entered the room. In her arms was a baby, a small thing with big grey eyes and small, playful hands. The baby giggled when it saw him, who smiled back and twinkled his fingers. He kept his left hand behind his back, hidden by the fabric of his white shirt. His father looked up from the book he was reading, smiling when he saw the interaction between his two children. He was ignored as his son held his arm out to his mother, who passed over the baby with a gentle smile.
"Lewimon ruf," she murmured as she took her arm back to tap the baby on the nose. "Your sister is fragile."
He sighed. "A ckann gu ruk orgiwckerg English, yukhiw," he reminded her as he bounced his little sister gently on his hip. She was going to have the same white hair as he did. She was going to grow up to be just like him. He smiled at the thought.
"All the more reason to learn it, Quinton," his mother replied smoothly, turning back to the bench before her. She was cutting carrots and potatoes. The knife in her hand was large, and shone beneath the candelabra that hung above them. He avoided its gaze. If she used it on him, he would be outmatched. He had to be smart.
"It will serve you well if you decide to join the soldiers one day," his father continued, and Quin raised his eyebrow. He didn't understand the language his father was using, but he understood perfectly well what he was saying. All his father ever talked about was his son serving in the King's army when he grew older. He was only eighteen; what good were those thoughts going to do for him in the long run? He was good at killing people, he knew this. But he wasn't like those assassins that lived in Long Island, in Rathnos. He didn't do it for the money. He did it because he enjoyed it.
"Cak ckann," he murmured to his father. He didn't take his eyes off of his sister, who was throwing her arms around her as she looked around. She was too young to know what was going on. She would understand one day. He would make her see.
"Kwq ruk ku yuxi," he continued, pulling his left arm from out of his shirt. He held it out. The baby tried to reach out and touch it. His parents were suddenly very, very still.
"I'm going to get Asher," she murmured, and he narrowed his eyes at the use of the English. He had been stupid not to learn the language; his mother had been prepared. She had been expecting this moment for a while. She knew him better than he thought she did. "Do not worry, love, I will get you out of-"
"A fann jann quo tukh." His words silenced them. Although he spoke no English, he understood the word 'love' as clearly as if it was in his own language. His mother said 'my love' all the time, but always when she referred to him. No one else. She said these words to no one else. Not even her husband. He had to avert his gaze to the child in his arms before he got mad enough to kill them immediately. She had gone still after his words, mumbling gibberish under her breath. She was staring at him, her eyes full of wonder and awe. She had so much to learn.
"Oh, Nalena," his mother whispered, tears in her eyes. Her gaze never left the baby. "Please, Nalena, do not take her yet. Do not take her from this world. Take me instead, I beg of you."
"Rose!" his father hissed. "I will not let you die!"
"Not for our daughter, Cole?" his mother shot back. "I will do anything for that child, as will you. That is the only thing we have against him."
"Then Nalena will have to take us both," his father muttered, gaze fixed on the child. The fact that neither of them made eye contact with him made him angry.
"Nuuj ek ye," he demanded, and they both looked up, meeting his cold eyes. His mother flinched upon contact, and seemed to retract from him although movements were actually made. He set his sister on the table behind him and approached his father, steadying the knife in his hand. He stabbed it right into his father's heart, watching the light die in his eyes. He yanked it out and let the cold, lifeless corpse fall to the floor at his feet. The baby cried.
"Oh, huriq," he murmured, scooping her back into his arms. "Oh, huriq, a iy cu cuwwq." He continued to coo her into calming down, and heard his mother sobbing hysterically behind him, unable to rush to her husband's side. He turned around, his sister curled up in his right arm and gestured to the knife in his hand, holding it out to his mother. "Keji ak," he said, and his mother took the knife from him, still looking him in the eyes. They were so full of hate. So full of rage. "Cket quowcinm."
Before he could pull away, his mother quickly drove the blade into her stomach and gasped loudly as she pulled it out, hands shaking. Blood was splattered all over his white shirt. It was going to take a lot to clean.
"Epear."
The knife went in again, following a grunt as her body stood rigid. She was trying not to move, just like he'd told her. His gift was working beautifully.
"Urli yuwi."
The kitchen knife jabbed into her chest for the last time, her strength clearly waning from the last slow, weak infiltration into her gut. She dropped to her knees, the knife falling to the floor as her fingers opened involuntarily. He stepped towards her, his sister in his arms, and leant forward, picking up the knife.
"Neck fuwgc?" he asked as he held it over her heart, and she breathed out heavily, eyes docile and calm. She looked at him, and her expression held nothing. No emotion at all. Finally, they drifted down to the child in his arms and a relieved smile found its way to her lips. She breathed out a sigh of what looked like her last breath of air, and parted her lips to speak.
"Yq nuxi," she breathed, and he faltered. He looked down at her, at the child in his arms as his mother collapsed before him, and he held his breath steady.
That was his name.
He arrived at the abandoned building his second soul had made as a home for itself over the past five years and walked in, looking around. It was quiet now that no one was around. The last time Quin remembered being here was when he had slit the grey elf's throat and ran away. The thought of that girl, the bald one, made him mad. She was supposed to be dead. And she'd escaped death, as if it were under her control. It made him angry. In fact, all her friends made him angry as well; all the friends that his second soul had made over time.
Above all, it was the blonde elf he was concerned about. She had presented him with a problem, one that couldn't really be solved now. He wouldn't have minded killing her originally, but now she was Queen, and had the whole of Adrana at her back. In fact, she had the whole of Reichon at her back. And a spirit right by her side. She was practically untouchable. So now, he was presented with a problem that couldn't be solved. If she lived, then his second soul was going to win. He was going to take over, and he would be the unwanted 'parasite' in the body of another person. And he couldn't allow that to happen.
So now, he was presented with a solution.
He crossed the room silently, his movements slow and deliberate. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, scanning it for imperfections. Finally, he found one. A long, thick cable that had broken out of the concrete roof when the building had broken down, and it was curled up towards the ceiling, making a dip. He glanced down at the ground, his eyes dragging along to the curtain separating outside from inside. He found a coil of rope lying to the right. He narrowed his eyes at it, and drifted his gaze back to the roof.
It would hold.
He was, after all, the Crazy.