He is playing the “Requiem for a Princess,” and he expects it to work as it has before. He will find her wherever she is in the world. He will haunt her with his music, driving her mad. He will appear before her as an apparition, reach for her slim, pale throat, but this time he will close his gloved hands around it. Then he will squeeze with his left hand and play the melody with his right, watch as her life slips away from her as his requiem plays. His deadly masterpiece.

But that is not what happens.

Instead of being transported in the present, he is taken somewhere else. It takes him a moment to realize that he is no longer now, he is before. He does not understand how or why, but he is remembering a scene long forgotten. He could stop playing and return to normal; try again or save the plot for another day.

He continues playing.

He is sitting at a piano in the memory, playing an entirely different song although the melody is the same. Everything feels familiar, although his fingers feel cold without his gloves. At first, he thinks he is alone, but then he looks up and smiles at someone. His eyes do not immediately focus, but when they do, he knows her instantly.

How could he forget those doe-like eyes filled with hidden sadness? Her fragile frame, so delicate that he dreams of holding her arm between his hands and bending it until it breaks. Her smile, both confident and cautious, lips glittering in the candlelight.

It is the princess. Serenity.

She is leaning against the liquid black piano, swathed in shimmering gold. He notices that the dress is cut a bit lower than he thinks was customary for the age; that the slit in the skirt is just a bit higher. He furrows his brow, questioning.

She is enjoying herself, tipping her head back as if the musical notes are dancing across her skin. She is exposing her throat; the very one he dreams of crushing.

In the memory, he stops playing, but the requiem continues. He pushes back from the bench and rises, crossing over to Serenity. Her smile takes on a darker edge as she arches her back, watching his every move with wicked eyes. She holds his gaze for what feels like centuries, and he honestly doesn’t know what to think until she starts to spread her legs.

He stares. He has no idea what to make of this. He knows that he has always hated Serenity; she has been his sworn enemy since his initial creation. She is the woman who will destroy the world, but she is also the woman who is leaning forward and whispering his name.

“Zoisite.”

She catches his lips a hunter snatches its prey, taking them before he even realizes what is going on. He wants nothing more than to pull away, strike her, and the crush her bones beneath his fingertips, but in the memory, he doesn’t. He grabs her hips, pulling them forward. Her legs are still spread so that she straddling his thigh. She rubs against him as she entwines her fingers in his white hair, a snake circling its mouse.

Her tongue is in his mouth; she tastes like blackberries. She unbuttons his jacket, no easy task, as though she has been doing it all her life, exposing his torso. Then her mouth is on his neck, licking and suckling as though she knows his skin. Her teeth graze his Adam’s apple at just the right moment, and he shivers through his disgust.

This is not right. This is not what should be happening. But he knows that he has no more control over what is happening; he cannot even stop playing the requiem.

Her right hand slips down his chest, her nails grazing a nipple. Then she pulls away from him, but she keeps her left hand wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him forward. She releases him only to climb gracefully on to the piano, her legs still wide and tempting. She takes his face in her hands, deceptively gentle, and says, “Come on.”

Something about her whisper or the subtle growl or the way she shifts to expose her entire right leg pulls him forward as though she had a chain around his neck. He pulls himself onto the piano as she slides back, holding his eyes like a witch. He reaches down to unbutton his pants, which are beginning to tent.

He is above her, dominant at last. He thinks of how easy it would be to kill her. He feels his blood pulse thinking about taking his sword and driving it through her whoring legs, watching the red stain her gold dress. But of course, he doesn’t do that. He kisses her like a drunkard and slides her dress down, exposing her breasts.

He takes her breast into her mouth and suckles it, occasionally nibbling. She does not moan as he would have thought; she just breathes deeply. He glances up and sees that her head is tipped back and her eyelashes are fluttering. Her mouth is wide open, but no sound is coming out.

He reaches down between her legs, pushing her skirts out of the way. He pushes his fingers inside her easily; she has been ready for him for awhile. He pulls his pants off the rest of the way, eager but not frantic. Then he positions himself, grabbing her hips, and pushes into her roughly.

Her back arches off the piano and a gasp escapes her mouth. She still doesn’t make a sound.

He smirks at her, and then he speaks. It is the only time that his memory and his present self have the same impulse.

“Scream.”

He fucks her as hard as he can, smiling down at her with as much wickedness as she dealt him. She wraps her legs around his waist, forcing him deeper inside her. She drags her fingernails across his back, leaving scars. But she does not scream until she comes, hips bucking and a single tear streaming down her cheek.

“Zoisite!”

At last, the requiem reaches the final note with its final crescendo. The memory fades as she shouts his name, and as the last movement ends, he comes inside his pants. He shudders in surprise, his head tipped back, and a name escaping his lips in spite of his shame.

He doesn’t know what to think when he does not call out “Serenity.”