“Hahahaha! Man, that felt great! I haven’t cut loose like that in so long. It’s a shame about losing such a good source of hatred, though. But man, that was hilarious! Hahaha!”

“Ms. Eleanor, you went too far this time!” Donna starts reprimanding Eleanor as soon as they get back to their room. “What were you thinking?! You scared that poor man half to death! You could’ve killed him!”

Eleanor shrugs. “Meh. I can just revive the guy.”

“This isn’t a joke, you horrible thing. This is a man’s life we’re talking about!”

“Chill out, freckles. After all … it ‘was’ your idea to scare him. Ha! What did you say again? Something, something about teaching that old boomer a lesson by scaring him straight? This isn’t my typical MO, but I did it all for you, Ms. Goodie Two Shoes. You should be thankful. Hahahahaha!”

Eleanor leans against the study desk. Various ledgers, documents, and letters are scattered across the table. These are secret documents she has retrieved from exploring the Malino Stronghold. Most of them document the corruption and misdeeds of Majestate Lorenzo and his less than just trials, and the crimes the Palatine have committed under the church’s commands.

“You should be thanking me for reenacting divine punishment on your lazy god’s behalf, freckles.”

“Never take the Lord’s name in vain, heretic! And my name is Donna Day. You should learn that by now since you’ve stolen my body! The fact that you’re able to walk around, indulging in your juvenile pranks, is because of me!”

“What, are we pulling this card now? Because if we are, I can pull up the fact that your life—your continued living is all thanks solely to my efforts. You’re a dead girl walking—but lucky for you, your inside happens to be nice and warm.”

“I warn you, Ms. Eleanor.”

“Warn me of what, huh? What are you going to do? Nothing! That’s what. You can’t do a goddamn thing because I’m the one who holds all the cards here. Me! Does that frustrate you, freckles? Does that make you just hate your powerlessness in the face of evil—me? Oh, you do, freckles. I’m sure you do. I sense the potential in you, my freckled friend. What you need … is a little push, and you will become my masterpiece—a being of righteous contempt, whose bottomless hatred of evil of the world would be quite … delicious.”

“Never! I live only to love the Lord and his children!”

“Never say never, little girl. After all, lying is a sin. Hahahahaha! Hahahahahahaha!”

Poor Donna.

Devil, why did you gotta bully the poor girl like that?! After everything she did for you! Have you forgotten the days in the endless snow? When she picked you up and carried you through the frozen hell?

Shut up.

You walked because of her. You lived because of her. The fact you’d stopped coughing blood was because of her, wasn’t it? And the fact that you’re able to cast magic now is because you’ve stolen her mana veins, didn’t you, Amelia Ambrose—the born waste?!

Enough! I will not allow anyone to berate my daughter!

Duke Ambrose unleashes his overwhelming aura and creates spears of light in the air. The audience begins to panic, but with a strike of the hammer, Duke Ambrose’s magic is dispelled.

Order! Order in the court.

But Judge …

Despite everything that has transpired today, this place is still a court of law, Duke Ambrose. This is the exact place for the accused to face the consequences of their actions, and all voices—especially ones you disagree with—have a say in my court. So sit down, my friend. Don’t force me to detain you again.

I … I understand, your honor.

Duke Ambrose sits down, and Doctor Nina reassuringly squeezes his hand.

Your daughter will be alright, Ashton. We’re barely halfway through her memory. She has plenty of room to grow a conscience somewhere along the line. Who knows, maybe she already has.

… I hope so.

Back inside the memory, Eleanor stands silently within the confines of her room. Within her being, another girl is crying.

The tearless whimper drags on as the candle lights flicker and die out.

Eleanor looks up at the ceiling, thinking. Then she breathes out a heavy breath.

She raises her hand and summons the red particles of hatred into her palm. They shine like diamonds and are dancing like fire above her palm.

“You’ve probably seen this, haven’t you, freckles? Hell, you’ve probably felt it flowing through our body whenever we transform.”

Donna is silent.

“This is hatred personified—the most sought-after substance in the cosmos. An ounce of this stuff can fetch me a decent sum with … Let’s just say there’s a reason I need it, on top of using it to keep both of us alive.” Eleanor looks out the window at the crescent moon outside. She has a melancholy look on her. “Emotion is a powerful thing, freckles. Strong emotions are more powerful than your little unevolved brain can comprehend. With enough of it, you can create miracles—turn water into wine, reshape mountains … even save that which cannot be saved. So learn to have some human fucking emotions, you stupid little girl. Faith can only take you so far.”

“… Ms. Eleanor?”

“Fuck, I must be drunk for saying all this shit.” Eleanor ruffles her hair.

“Drunk? But you haven’t eaten anything, even before we went out.”

“Yup, I’m totally hammered. Screw it! I might as well indulge a little.”

The dancing red particles on Eleanor’s hand disappear, and in its place are a few specks of blue dust that move to-and-fro with little energy.

“No wonder I feel like shit. Damn girl, can’t keep her tears in check.” Eleanor groans and brushes her hands, trying to get rid of the dust. She then summons yet another colorful substance. This time it’s blackish purple that swirls around the center like a whirlpool. “There you are, my pretty. Kekeke. You should be a good palate cleanser after all this time.”

“Ms. Eleanor, what is that?”

“This, freckles, is what we got from the old man. It’s the emotion he felt when the Ghost of Christmas Past came for him. Hehehe.”

Eleanor licks her lips.

“Let me give you some financial advice, freckles. A good businesswoman should never indulge in her own product. Sure, you may use some of it if necessary, and you can give some away if there is profit to be made, down the line—but you should, by no means, indulge in what you plan on selling. Everything else, however … is fair game.”

Eleanor takes the dark particle up to her nose … and snorts it.

“Fuck! Now that’s what I’m talking about! That’s what I’m talking about! Fuck!” Eleanor leaps up and bounces around the room like a junkie. She is quite literally tweaking out. “Oh, man. Oh, man, I’m feeling it! Duuude—like—Duuuuude. I’m feeling it, man. Shiiit, it’s coming to me like an ocean wave.”

“M-Ms. Eleanor?”

Both Donna Day and the audience in the courtroom don’t know what to say as they witness the past-and-future Saint Eleanor Ambrose shifting her wide glossy eyes side-to-side, beginning to strip off her clothes, and insanely uttering:

“Oh shit, I’m feeling it! I … I … Where ... Where am I? Mommy. Where is my mommy? I want my mommy. I’m scared. Mommy! Daddy! I’m scared! Whaaa!”

At that moment, the current-day Devil stops curling into a ball, and simply transforms into a ball. An unseeing, unhearing, unfeeling little ball on the ground.