She doesn't deserve him... He doesn't deserve her... She's too good for him... He's too disgusting to deserve her...

Mark's eyes blinked open before closing again, and he groaned, shifting about. There was something strange and sticky under his hands, and his head felt like he'd banged it on something, hard. He made a small noise of discomfort as he sat up, hand absentmindedly going to his stomach. He flinched as his hands brushed against something hard laying across himself, and his eyes cracked open.

He jolted up when he saw the handle of a knife, glad said knife didn't stab him as he sat up, and instead just fell to the floor. He frowned at feeling something sticky beneath his fingers, his eyes blinking to adjust to the darkness he was still in. He was glad the house was still dark, which meant it was still night. He didn't want to be bothered by questions or have Zadomin freak out over a knife being on the floor next to him.

He brought his sticky hand up to his face, eyes blinking more to try and see what was coating his fingers. His eyes stared at his hands for a while, confused as to why his fingers and part of his palm looked so much darker than the rest of his hand and arm. Then he jerked and nearly screamed.

Blood.

That's what covered his hands. Blood, red, sticky, and more horrifyingly, still warm. He swallowed and breathed in sharply as his hand immediately went towards the knife in front of him, his eyes adjusting quickly in his time of need. He nearly cried out when he saw the blade was also covered, and his eyes traveled across the floor.

In his panic of What the hell happened? What did I do? Why can't I remember?! he had a minor bout of confusion when he could find no dead body, just copious amounts of blood surrounding his own. He turned to see if perhaps the corpse was behind him, but there was none. This only served to make him more on edge though, because he couldn't find the source of all the blood. His hand went to his stomach and he flinched at the sticky feeling, his head darting down to stare in horror.

His hand was covered with a fresh-ish layer of blood. It was only now he realized how uncomfortable his robe felt, sticking to his skin. He stood shakily, his hand pressed against his stomach, and he shuffled his way over to the bathroom, conveniently around the corner of the kitchen. He stepped in and turned the light on, before hesitating. He wanted to look in the mirror, he wanted to see but... he was scared about what he would find.

He swallowed and turned towards the mirror, nearly fainting at the sight. There was a surprisingly large hole in the fabric around his stomach. Blood was everywhere, and there was a thin scar about the size of the large knife he'd found at his feet. He whimpered quietly as he pressed a hand to his bloody robe, before practically throwing the garment off himself, leaving him standing in his bathroom with only his boxers.

He panted, grabbing his dirty robe and hopping in the shower, not caring how frigid the water was when he first entered. He began scrubbing his robe, trying to get the blood out of it. When that mostly failed, as most of the blood had dried and stained the cloth, leaving only a wet layer of blood on the top, he dropped it at the bottom of the shower. He then proceeded to scrub himself, using a small handheld scrubber to wipe away the blood and press into his body harshly. He relished the soft sting he received from the hard swipes of the rough material.

It was worth it... he shook his head, his arms shaking from the force he was using to scrub clean, tears welling in his eyes as he panted harshly. His arms dropped to his side as he leaned against the wall, letting the now scalding water wash over him. His shoulders shook and he closed his eyes, trying to banish the thoughts that felt wrong.

When he opened his eyes again, his chest and shoulders were a bright red, slightly burnt by the water. He groaned as he pushed himself from the water, shuddering as he reached out to turn the water off. When he stepped out of the shower, he looked into the mirror, using his hand to wipe away the steam that had gathered on it. He took a good look at himself. His hair was freshly wet, though still obviously dirty as he hadn't washed it, and his normally healthy tan skin was pale and sickly looking. His eyes looked sunken and dead and his lips were pulled back into a thin, tight, fake smile. He dropped the smile, he may be an actor, but he didn't think he was up to acting at the moment.

He stared at his sopping robe that still sat on the floor of his shower. He reached out to grab it, wrapping it in the spare towel in the bathroom. He then peeked his head out the door, before scampering back to his room. Once he'd safely made it back, he leaned against the door with a huff, before pushing himself up and going to his closet to pull out another robe.

I should go downstairs... clean up the... mess. I don't need Chef and Zadomin asking questions... Mark huffed and quietly made his way back to the kitchen, bringing a towel with him. When he arrived, though, the blood was already gone. He blinked in confusion, his hand absentmindedly rubbing over his new scar beneath his robe. He stared at the visible floating particles in the air, the world feeling stifling and cramped.

I should... go back to my room... Everything will make sense sooner or later, won't it? he thought to himself slowly, his own thoughts foggy besides this one. He turned around slowly as if walking through molasses, before making his way back to his room as if in a trance. When he arrived, he stood in the doorway for a few moments, staring blankly at the room. The familiar empty feeling of missing her was returning.

Sleep... a voice whispered in his mind, and he nodded, stumbling tiredly over to his bed and collapsing onto it. He instinctively curled around her pillow, though her scent on it was long gone, and fell into a dreamless sleep. As he did so, he missed the shadows gathering at the end of his bed and the strange presence that seemed to fill the room with a morbid sort of glee.

...

Before :

Mark's eyes fluttered open as he awoke in a strange place. The world was dark, a void of nothing. He felt a strange sensation as if he'd been flung upside down suddenly, though that didn't seem possible as he could feel something beneath his feet, and his floofy hair wasn't dangling in his face. He looked around with wide eyes, trying to seeing something, anything. But he found nothing.

He froze at the sound of a chilling laugh that seemed to surround him. And then his hands rose to clutch at his ears as he fell down and curled up. He whimpered, though the sound was swallowed by the darkness, and he felt a chill run up his spine.

He shakily lifted his hands from his ears when the sound of laughter left, and he lifted his head from the ground. He looked around, swinging his head in a slow circle. Mark blinked and turned, a bright light appearing behind him. There was... her... Celine. And she looked as beautiful as ever. Her black dress clinging to her curves perfectly, her shawl draped over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. Her hair was pulled back into a small bun and her hat sat upon her head like a delicate flower.

He smiled, reaching out to her, but she scowled and turned away. It was then he saw someone else in the picture, someone in a Lieutenants outfit. The other man had always been so proud of his position in the army, though he strived for more, for a higher position. He pushed past his injuries, using Mark's money to rise in the ranks and heal at the same time. William Warf was standing behind Celine, a dark smile on his face and his arms open wide for her. Mark felt his heart shattered all over again before a scowl came over his face.

Why does he get her? Why does he get to enjoy her company while I am left here? She deserves better than a filthy wife-stealer. She deserves someone who can provide for her, not some stuck up army Lieutenant!

He frowned at the thoughts, immediately sobering. William may have been horrible, using Mark's money, which he still owed back, to gain status and raise in the ranks of the army, and during all that he managed to take Mark's wife from him too... but... Mark wasn't good to Celine in recent years, more focused on his work, on his career. And William had been a wonderful friend of his for years...

He closed his eyes against the light of the scene playing before him in this void of darkness. When he opened them again, he could see a shape before him, a shadowy figure blocking the screen of memory behind him, facing away from him. He stared at the figures back, wondering who it was.

She doesn't deserve him. He doesn't deserve her. She's too good for him. He's too disgusting to deserve her.

Mark frowned at the distorted voice that seemed to, once again, come from everywhere. He was frozen in place, though. Unable to move his gaze from the shadowy figure. A pain blossomed in his gut, and he wanted to curl in on himself. But he couldn't.

Mark felt a scream rising in his chest, but he couldn't let it out. And then, the being began to turn toward him, slowly. Ever so slowly... He caught a glimpse of bright, glowing red orbs and a white shape that appeared to be a crescent moon smile, the world shaking and glitching, before he fell into complete darkness.

He could feel something being pulled from his mind, the memory of the being and the upside down place vanished. It left only the imprint of his memory, and a curiosity to find out what happened... it left him confused and disoriented when he awoke in the world once more.

It left him marked by chaos, and it's inevitable insanity.