It felt as if her heart was being ripped out another time, pulling her physically a step back and pushing the air out of her lungs. It burned into her core, as she remembered how it had been to take a Gamble for the first time in her old life.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth through the pain, feeling the heaviness of the Mana that was Pandora's. Her shoulder was itching and stinging at the same time and she knew it was the Number burning into her skin for the first time as well.

This would be just like old times… and it would be similar to the day she had made the contract as well. Knowing she didn't have much time, she did the most reasonable thing.

"I can make him vanish and leave Norina behind… in three minutes." It felt as if she could see his dumbfounded expression as he looked at her with the mask covering his entire face.

'That's not enough time,' Pan implored her, 'you won't get much power for such a weak goal.'

"Three minutes," she repeated, "and I will use it all."

"Use it all", or in other words, she would use the Absolute Space. It didn't depend on how high her Gamble was if she could just take the pain. It was the only option for a Gamble as vague as hers to give her enough strength.

He couldn't deny her request, as it was her right to decide on the Gamble as the contract holder. All he had to do was to come up, as he saw the enemy start to run away.

"Not so fast, dipshit," she said, "Ire of Chains." This wasn't a spell, it was a command – an invocation of the true fear the Numbered under their contract could hold. And she let go of it all in one motion, as Lucan opened his eyes and an array of red hot chains seared through the air.

The pain had subsided at some point, but Rowena couldn't remember any of it. Not the chains, not her own words; not even her body falling to the ground with a thud.

Darkness was once more closing in on her. Was it the end now? No, she had gone through this before, it wasn't this easy. Or maybe she had lost her Gamble?

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'Damn,' her mind produced as she started to lose the grip on her thoughts, 'why do I never get to kick their ass prop…?' She couldn't finish her thought, as everything was drowned out in a numbness she almost welcomed as she drifted off.

That night, when nobody could sleep, three individuals would return silently to their chambers, a sullen mood hanging above them and relieve that this was finally over. On their respective beds, they had a small present lying in wait for them.

They were cards – one each – showing a position fitting for the person it was meant for on the front, and a few words of greeting in the form of "Hello, friend" on the back. And the head of Arcane was watching them receive their invitation from the shadows.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. The sounds of tears falling quietly could only be heard by the person shedding them in desperation. She couldn't understand what had happened and didn't know what she was supposed to do.

The feelings overwhelmed her, she was so lonely, so confused, and the sadness was unbearable.

"I want to go home," she said, rubbing her eyes, not realizing someone had entered the room.

A man had come in, looking at her with worry, but all she saw were his eyes that were as red as that of the monsters she used to see in cartoons, with his hair a foreboding black. Fear stricken, she started balling loudly once more.

"Row, please, tell me where you are hurting," he asked almost as desperately as she was crying.

"Leave me alone," she pleaded with, "I want to see my mommy."

A blond woman was standing in the doorway, face riddled with sadness. "I…"

"I don't know you. I want to see my mommy."

"You can't see her anymore, you know that," the man said, feeling a sting of pain every time he saw in to her eyes and felt the hostility in them, as if she couldn't recognize him; as if she denied his entire existence.

"The doctor's said you are confused. It's okay to be confused, honey. You had a terrible fever, but you are fine now. You are home, Rowena."

"Don't call me that," she just went on, "I want to go home. I want my mommy. And I want my daddy."

He couldn't understand what was happening. She hadn't been a whiny child for even a day of her life, and now she was too old to be behaving this way.

Nevertheless, he would still try to calm her down. "But I'm right here-"

"Who are you?" the lavender haired girl bemoaned, "You're not my daddy. My name is not Rowena."

He had to swallow hard, as he couldn't show his pain to a mere child. She was the one hurting, after all.

"Then if you are not my Rowena, who are you?" he humored her antics, because the doctor's had said she might have had something they just started researching – a mental breakdown. He had to go along with it, in order to not disturb her fragile mind even more. It would go away on its own if she recovered her health.

"My name is Celia," the girl answered with a sniffle, hoping they would listen, "Celia Whitchett."