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Goths Will Eater Your Soul
Kashii's rants about Soul Eater, Gothism, and other pop culture crap . . .
Victimes de Nous-mêmes: Prologue, Interlude I, Chapter 1 
Tuesday, 1st May 2012
Title: Victimes de Nous-mêmes
Summary: It is the many connections between them all, some close, some tenuous, that define them. These are the hearts that make up Pandora. More than anyone, it's themselves that they victimize. A cast study in three arcs, alternate ending. OzxAlicexGil OT3.
Chapter: 1/24 (w/ prologue & interlude)
Rating: NC17; language, sexual content, violence
Warnings: Malexmale, underage
Pairings: OzxAlicexGil OT3, LeoxElliot, BreakxSharon

Hello! I am Kashii Ai, and I am pleased to finally deliver you Victimes de Nous-mêmes. This fic has been in the works since last June, and it's my biggest fanfiction project thus far! A few things before we begin . . .

This story is an alternate ending to Pandora Hearts. That's not to say I won't be happy with how the canon ends—in all honesty, this began as a kink meme fill and slowly mutated. It was originally supposed to be a canon interpretation fic, but 65 basically nullified everything that happens here. :"D So alternate ending it is~!

The story has both fanart and a fansoundtrack. I highly, HIGHLY suggest you check out the FST—this story is inspired by that playlist, and each track corresponds to a chapter. There is also a very talented art team working on the illustrations (besides myself)--updates run on their contributions!

This story will be divided into three arcs, with four interludes, and a prologue and an epilogue. The first two arcs are pre-written. So updates should be fairly regular, if the art teams comes though! Also, we need more artists, so if you are at all interested in drawing for this story, send me a PM.

Thaaaat is pretty much it. Without further adieu, I present to you Victimes de Nous-mêmes. I hope you enjoy~!




Prologue: Kings and Queens
FST: Kings and Queens 30 Seconds to Mars

Victims of ourselves
we deserve our crowns.
We are Kings and Queens
and we all fall down.

One—

To have love
in our hearts
of white doves.
We start to heal,
wounds are closing
Pandora's Box is yet
still sealed.

Victims of ourselves
we deserve our crowns.
We are Kings and Queens
and we all fall down.

Two—

And life dies
in our hands
hear our cries.
So much we lacked
wounds are open
Pandora's Box is yet
still cracked.

Victims of ourselves
we deserve our crowns.
We are Kings and Queens
and we all fall down.

Three—

Here we war
in our place
hit the floor.
Here lies the key
wounds are gone
Pandora's Box is yet
still free.

Victims of ourselves
we deserve our crowns.
We are Kings and Queens
and we all fall down.

Interlude I: The Caged Dove

The Will of the Abyss would dream about doves. Blinding in their purity and white feathers, they would fly from cages in her thoughts, only to be shot open or run into windows or bled from an arrow. She would awake to the soft brush of feathers on her arms, against her body, and find nothing there. She would lie in her bed and watch the ceiling of her small domed room, reminded of the constant destruction of the whole. She still couldn't understand why everything inevitably fell to earth, why everything died, why contractors were unavoidably pulled into this place to meet with her.

She feared sleep; she feared what she saw on Earth more.

Sleep was always a maze of shadows, and she would find herself chasing the distant laughter of Jack Vessalius. She could never hold him, could never touch him. She was constantly distanced from him. She would watch him often, in her mirror—it showed everything and nothing: humanity's race to destroy itself, the way ants struggled over hills for food, the song of whales in the sea. She was always watching people, always watching Jack. She pressed herself to the cold-water glass to be near him, willed it to vanish into mist, but it remained solid, substantial, even when she beat her fists into it. It would simply quiver and stand there.

She had found that humanity was all the same—there was no glorious answer to being human, no bliss or freedom or understanding in the Earth, yet she wanted nothing more than to breathe that world in and comprehend why it was that humans were alive. She had seen every walk of death—world wars rose and died in beautifully ashen mushroom clouds, men killed each other, women died for love or revenge or pain.

Sometimes, she would find Jack younger, sweeter, when she moved forward in time. She found it strange, and she concluded that perhaps he had been revived or reborn. He was always with her sister, and with a tall, brooding man of dark hair and strange, sad eyes. She watched as Alice, Jack, and the man grew close, close, closer still, until she couldn't distinguish one from the other. This was what she wanted the most, to have what her sister could, to contain another heart that beat the same as hers. She despised and loved Alice, who was everything she wanted to be and stole everything she desired.

Sometimes, she would watch Glen. She found him fascinating and tragic and desperate, a reflection of herself. As time marched forward, Glen changed, was revived into another boy who was somehow more vulnerable, more lost, than his predecessor. She knew he missed the boy who was always with him, a light of stubborn purity and blond hair and ice blue eyes. Glen's new vessel wore spectacles until his precious person had died, and sometime after, she watched him find them once again, filed away in a drawer. The lenses had cracked, spidery veins rending the glass in pieces, yet miraculously, it held.

Glass cracked, doves died, the shadowed laughter of the person she loved the most led her nowhere. She would feel angry and lost and lonely, and she wouldn't know why it was she who had been born under this darkness. Hopeless little girl, sad little girl, she would wonder why everything she touched died, why the wishes she granted caused grief, why she loved the sight of blood and the terror of broken humans. She hated herself, hated, hated, hated—it would all seep into her skin and sit under it, and there were times when she felt venomous, destructive—like she was worth nothing.

She feared loneliness the most.

It was all she had ever known.


Hi-Res | by fujyoshi73
Arc I: Les Bienheureux

Chapter 1: Tags and Kisses

FST: Teenage Dream Katy Perry & the Warblers

Oz's eyes held the inexplicable and perfect ability to clutch people. If one leaned in close, they would find all that green was made up of a million stars, the rotation of planets, the rhythm of life. It was sometimes easy to forget that Oz was only fifteen, when words much older than he should know dripped from his mouth, and when he fixed Gil or Alice with a stare like that. Neither ever dreamed he could steal breath or dictate their wills with a simple look, and he remained oblivious that he held rapture in his eyes. But it was in him that the universe seemed perfectly ordered. Only Oz could calm Gil, or tell Alice to stop yelling. He was truly unaware of how centered he was in their worlds, and of the magnetism he held over them.

So still, he was his cheery, smiling self on that lazy Sunday. It was raining outside, and the Rainsworth mansion felt too quiet. It was three weeks after Elliot Nightray's death, and things had died down. Pandora had recently planned a trip to Reveille, but it had been canceled in light of everyone's grief. Oz was reading some obscure English poet, Gilbert was cleaning his gun, Alice was listlessly poking at the fire. The thunder of rain beat a tattoo into their ears, and it felt easy to slip off to sleep.


Hi-Res | by ilovexb

"I'm booooored," Alice's voice cut across the sound of rain, and Oz looked up.

"You're bored?"

"Yeah. I wanna go outside and play."

"It's raining, you'll catch a cold." Though, could Chains catch colds?

"I don't care."

"You could get struck by lightning."

Alice scowled and flipped onto her stomach. "But you said lightning strikes the tallest thing. So it would be Seaweed Head."

Oz busted up laughing, as Gil shot Alice a glare. "That's not funny."

"Pfftahahah, I think it is~" Oz marked his book and closed it. "We could play a game. Would that please Alice?"

"Yes!" Alice pushed herself up to kneel on the couch. "Outside?"

"No. Inside. There's all sorts we could play, though. Like indoor tag, or hide-and-seek."

"Ohh, what's indoor tag?"

"One person is 'It.' Whomever It touches becomes It, and you have to run away from them. No one wants to be It. Various objects are declared safe, which you may touch for twenty seconds to rest."

Alice bounced up and down on the couch, excited over the idea. Gil rolled his eyes. "Should we really be encouraging her? She might wreck the house . . ."

"I choose Indoor Tag!"

"Okay, not It!"

"Not It!"

Gil looked between the two of them, as they both watched him expectantly. "Seriously? Ugh, fine."

Oz jumped up, and dashed over to Alice, grabbing her hand. "Let's go, let's go!"

She leapt up after him, and they dashed off, holding hands. Gil heard the thump of their feet pause at the door, and the Pandora agent looked up from cleaning his gun to find them waiting for him. He sighed, put his gun back together, capped the gun oil, and cleaned off his hands. He was finished anyhow. Though quite honestly, he wasn't up for chasing around two much smaller, faster people for the rest of the afternoon, either.

As soon as Gil got up, Oz darted off with Alice, giggling madly. Did he really have to? Well, it was what his master wanted. Gil jogged after them half-heartedly. They were stopped halfway down the hall, and Alice squealed and pushed Oz to go as soon as they saw him coming. Oz stuck out his tongue, before yanking Alice down the corridor and around the corner.

"Come and get us!"

"I'm coming . . ."

"C'mon! Where's your sense of competition? Gil will regret it if he doesn't get his head in the game~"

The servant could see Oz's evil smile simply from his voice, which promised many punishments of many ills, most of which probably involved cats, Alice, or both. Gil crouched low, suddenly, and stealthily crept up to the wall, listening to their giggling and snickers. He waited a moment, before he sprang out. Oz and Alice both shrieked and sprinted away. Gil gave them a headstart, and chased after them, turning and twisting through the labyrinth of corridors that formed the Rainsworth mansion.

It was kind of fun, almost thrilling, to chase them. He knew Oz would tire soon, and then it'd be easy to catch him. Inevitably, Oz stopped before a set of curtains, and touched them. "SAFE!" Alice imitated him. Gil jogged up, hovering a few feet away for when their twenty seconds were up and they had to run again. He could see Oz's lips forming the words of numbers, counting one Vessalius, two Vessalius. They'd played these same games all the time when he was a child, and found he was having a rush of nostalgia. He almost expected a six-year-old Ada to come tottering around the corner, asking her brother if she could play too, and no tagbacks, kay?

Their twenty seconds expired, and Alice dragged Oz off this time, who lagged behind, gasping. That boy really needed to exercise more, Gil thought, as he ran madly after them once again. Oz eventually stumbled, and Alice stopped. The servant took the opportunity to catch up, reach over, grab Oz around the middle. He yelled and squirmed, as the blond fell back against his chest. Gil chuckled, as Oz moaned and went limp. He'd worn himself out, Gil hoped.

Oz shifted around to stare up at his servant. Gil made to step away, but a smaller hand closed around his wrist, pulling, pulling. He stepped closer, as Oz turned fully around. Gil's lips parted; he wanted to say something, but it was somehow hard to speak. Oz was It, wasn't he? He should be chasing Gil and Alice, by now. But instead, the boy is watching Gil with some strange intensity, those huge green eyes filled with something he wasn't quite sure he wanted to understand. It promised, it excited, it forbade. Slowly, hypnotically, the older man found his hand raised to contact Oz's cheekbone . . .

"Hey! Are we gonna play, or what?"

Oz flinched, looked over his shoulder at Alice. And just like that he was vanished from Gil's arms, and the hand was left to lean against air instead. Alice shrieked again, and he looked up to see Oz chasing her down. The moment was a dream, now. Just a memory. He wasn't quite sure it even happened. There was more yelling, and Gil jogged after to find Oz chasing Alice in circles, gasping, struggling for air. He likely had a cramp, as he was clutching his ribs. Eventually he gave up and sat down, waving a hand vaguely in the air to tell Alice it was a timeout.

Gil approached him. "You tired already?"

"Haven't . . . been running . . . as much . . ." Oz swallowed, flopped back against the floor. His head cracked against the tile and Gil gasped in sympathy pain. Oz seemed fine, however—God knew the boy had a hard, thick skull.

Alice bent over him. "You're not dying, are you?"

Oz laughed weakly. "No. Just out of shape . . ."

"Good. Because Oz isn't allowed to die yet. You still need to be my manservant."

"Yes, ma'am."

Alice flopped down beside him, as Gil stopped before them. "Are we still playing tag?"

"Dunno," Oz looked at Alice, his breathing steadier. "What does Alice think?"

Alice tilted her head, as if considering her options. "Alice wants to know . . . why you both stopped and did that in the hallway."

"Did what?" Gil sat down on Oz's far side, observing the rise, the fall, of his thin chest.

"The staring thing. It was . . . really weird."

Gil froze, his eyes moving to Oz's face. His expression was unreadable, and he sat up, rubbing the back of his head where it'd hit the floor. He dropped his hand against the floor, the smack filling their small space in the large corridor. He looked at Gil once again. The servant felt suddenly self-conscious, as the boy watched him. Once again, he wanted to say something, but no words would come. There was some sort of sensation in his chest—it was tight, fluttery, powerful, all at once. He wasn't sure what to make of it, why Oz was inducing this feeling.

"I think it's because Gil and I have something. Alice and I do too. All of us have something."

Alice leaned over, glanced between them, but Oz's stare did not waver. "What is it?"

"It's very hard to describe." Oz suddenly shifted closer, and Alice sat back, observing.

"Oz? W—what are you doing?" Gil scooted back, but again a small hand grabbed his wrist. Gil could easily break the grip, but he found he didn't want to. The teenager moved close, closer still. There was something about his presence that felt different, like one body was attuned to the other, meant to harmonize. The hair on his body all stood, he had goosebumps, his breathing was matched to Oz's. Slowly, he raised a hand once again, and this time eased it over Oz's cheek, down to his chin, listening to the rustle of skin-on-skin. Yes, something. It was most definitely something.

Oz exhaled. He was still traveling nearer, and Gil took a deep breath as Oz clambered into his lap, and settled there. His hands came to rest on Gil's shoulders, and the servant realized their faces were only inches apart, and still Oz moved forward—he eventually stopped when their noses brushed. Each could taste the other's breath, feel the contour of muscle, bone, sinew underneath clothes, bodies pressed together. And Gil was staring directly into Oz's powerful eyes, tracing the maze of veins in his irises, and wondering at all the galaxies he saw, that brilliant shade of green.

This boy was so very vibrant. He was all the colors of the sun, of living, growing things, with his corn silk hair and solemn eyes. Gil cupped Oz's cheek softly, leaned in, closed the gap. Oz gasped softly, and his eyes fluttered closed, long fair lashes brushing Gil's cheeks. Gil's eyes followed, and he gasped as their lips brushed, felt out each other. The touches were feather light, but Oz was shaking, and he eventually drew back.



Hi-Res | by kashii_ai

" . . . is that the something?" Alice asked.

Oz blinked and started, as though realizing she were there. "Y—yes. That's the something."

"And we have it too?"

"Yes. You and I have it too."

"How come . . . how come it's with both of us?"

"I'm not quite sure. But you and Gil could have it, too."

"No way!" Alice huffed, as Gil spluttered.

"Then . . . you two need to be willing to share."

"Wh—what. Whoa, whoa. Hold on." Gil's face tightened. "You're only fifteen."

"Physically."

"Emotionally and mentally too."

"So?"

"So . . . I'm not okay with this."

Oz sat back, his eyes narrowed. It was the expression Oz always gave him when Gil did something wrong by his master. He bit his lip guiltily, and found he couldn't make eye contact. A slender, cool hand was in his own, suddenly, lacing fingers with his. Oz's hands were always cold—he had poor circulation. Gilbert looked up, again, to that same stern look. Oz leaned in again, and his eyes altered as he did so—that intense feeling swelled in Gil's heart, and realized age shouldn't matter. Because here was this person, who held him enraptured and attentive. If asked, he would follow Oz through hell and back, without question, without complaint.

To Gil, who could see the entirety of living in his master's eyes, he need not ask if it was permissible to hold Oz close, need not fear if repercussion of their relationship would become apocalyptic. Even if he had to share Oz with Alice, allow his master to slip away, Gil would never go against this boy's wishes. Because there was something between them that was too perfect, too whole, and too irreplaceable to pass up. People only found something like this once, and his master was offering him the lucky chance to find it twice—in Oz, in Alice. Gilbert looked up, between the two of them.

"This is called love, Alice."

Oz's lips parted in response to this, and his breathing deepened. He was startled, here in Gil's lap, to hear those words thrown about so casually. Alice was watching Gil, and her violet eyes were soft, curious, and bright. Oz watched as she scooted her petite body forward, her eyes switching to Oz's face. He offered her a slight smile, as she narrowed her eyes and sized up his face, leaning forward until she could see Oz's individual eyelashes and the small smattering of freckles on his nose.

"What's love?"

The question hung on the air, and Oz sucked in a mouthful of air. He wasn't sure what to say, and he found he was still stumbling over the fact that Gil had even introduced the concept. He knew he was in love with them both, but the way his servant had stated it—as though the three of them would become inevitable. Alice was leaning towards him, and he found himself drawn in. Eyes slipped close easily, and he was kissing her slowly, gently, more deeply that Gil had kissed him. She was instinctive and intuitive, sucking on his lip in a way that drove him mad.

"Mmm . . ." She at last drew back, and studied his face. "Was that good?" She looked unsure of herself, the cute little rabbit he adored.

"Yes~!" He beamed, leaned forward, kissed her again. It was hotter, heavier, more complex. His hands had somehow tangled in her hair, and their breathing was heavy. She was moving closer to him, and suddenly Alice was in his lap. He heard Gil grunt under the added weight, and Alice shifted back once again, her face flushed, her eyes a bit crossed. Oz smiled.

"I think we should get back to my rooms."

"You two need to move, then." Gil said.

Oz shifted Alice off, easily lifting her by the hips and moving her away. He stood, and stretched, stiff from flopping about on the floor and running around. As Gil stood, the Chain caught his hand, and his face was startled as he was pulled down to kiss her. Oz giggled at Gil's red face, and he was glad to see Alice accepting this idea. Their kiss was a bit rough, competitive—so very like his dear Gil and Alice.

"C'mon, let's go!"

Oz poked them in the ribs, and they broke apart, looking irritable at being interrupted. He simply smiled, turned around and took each of their hands, pulling them back down the hall. The tile clacked against their shoes, the empty echo resounding above the bass roar of the storm outside. They got into the sitting room, and Oz shut and locked the door. Gil swallowed audibly, and Oz smiled at him gently. Things were going to be interesting.

Alice had taken a seat on the couch, and Oz joined her, drawing close. She blinked at him for a moment, before she leaned forward and kissed him again. Oz moaned, his hands automatically resting on her hips. He felt the couch shift as Gil sat down behind him, and his large hands snaked down Oz's back, rubbing his thin, sharp shoulder blades gently. Oz emitted a small, happy sound, and drew back.

"Er, Gil. We need to explain things to Alice."

"What?" Gil leaned forward, resting his chin on Oz's shoulder to better hear.

The teenager's face burned. "About—about . . . reproduction."

Gil blanched. "Wh—why would we need to explain that?"

"What's reproduction?" Alice interjected.

"Because . . . I . . . I want . . ." Gil was sure that shade of red was impossible, but Oz managed it.

"Oz! You're fifteen! Alice isn't even at the age of consent!"

"She's a Chain, Gil, God only knows how old she is."

"Well—she—you—mmf . . ." Gil was promptly kissed silly by his precocious master. It was warm, open-mouthed, their tongues sliding against each other, and Oz shivered as he was French kissed for the first time, his hands tightening into fists. Gil was clearly more experienced, and he wondered what could have happened during those ten years. Though, he really liked this kissing-from-behind thing. Very much. He drew back, to find Gil was dazed.

"Stop thinking! You think too much."

"You never think!"

"Are you boys gonna answer my question?" Alice shouted.

They looked up, and she glared at them. Oz sighed, his face still red. "Well . . . it's like . . . well . . . do you know where babies come from?"

Alice tilted her head, curious. "A mother? That maid Sarah is gonna have a baby."

"Well, yes. But the baby has to get there in the first place."

"Oh . . . how does the baby get there?"

Oz turned a bright shade of red. "W—well . . ."

"Well?"

"Well . . . you know people get married and stuff?"

"Yeah."

"Well . . . it has to do with love, right? And making babies is part of it."

"Oh . . . so if you're in love you have a baby?" She poked at her stomach, as though she expected a baby bump to suddenly appear there.

"Haha, no. You . . . you have to . . . do something."

She looked up again. "Why does Oz keep blushing?"

Oz hid his face in his hands. "Take it away, Gil."

"M—me?"

Alice stared at him expectantly.

"O—okay. So um . . . men and women look different, right? Well, er . . . it's like . . . a woman has an egg, and the man has the seed. And . . . um . . . the man has to fertilize the egg and it makes a baby."

"Ooooh. Cool!" Alice smiled, then frowned. "But how does the seed get to the egg?"

Oz looked up. "Um . . ." He hesitated, before he made a fist with his right hand, and stuck the index finger of his left inside the fist. Alice observed the gesture for a second, before she imitated it. Oz heard Gil smack himself in the forehead.

"Really, Oz?"

Oz blushed. "Shut up! I'm not describing it!"

Gil groaned, and pulled Oz's hands apart and settled them in the boy's lap, lacing his fingers with his master's. "They have something called . . . er . . . sexual intercourse."

"I see," Alice nodded. "What is it?"

"It's . . . um . . ." Gil turned red this time, realizing why Oz used a gesture to describe it instead. "W—well . . . men and women are built differently."

Alice nodded, "I know. I'm all curvy and soft, but you and Oz are all triangular and hard and I like it."

Oz smiled, and Gil blushed. "Yes. Well . . . er . . . well, sex is something very important and special. It's like . . . giving yourself completely to another person. You shouldn't just do it with anyone."

Alice nodded. "Can I do it with you and Oz? Because Oz said you and I should be in love, too."

"Um—"

There was a soft intake of breath, and Oz shifted. "I don't understand."

"What do you mean?" Gil asked.

"How can you just . . . suddenly decide that, because I said it? It was just a suggestion. You two can just share me if you wa—"

"Anything for you," Gil cut in, and smiled, stroking Oz's hair. "We'll do anything for you, Oz."

Alice nodded, her face adorable and soft. "I need to take care of my manservant. I want him to be happy."

"But—but—" Oz was having a problem with understanding this. "I didn't . . . you two don't like each other. I mean I know you both kissed, but that was sort of . . . I dunno."

"Silly Oz," Alice leaned forward, her face serious. "Just accept it."

Gil kissed his master on the cheek. "You have a power over us, you know. We can't say no to you."

Oz blinked, processing this new information. "Really?"

"Yes."

"I see." He blinked again, before a slow smile spread across his face. "So you two will do aaaaaanything for me~?"

Gil gulped, as this was Oz's I'm-about-to-make-you-uncomfortable voice. "Probably."

"Well, then. I think I want to—to—go through. With this. All the way." He was red again, suddenly shy. Gil smiled—he liked this side of Oz, who was innocent and embarrassed and so very pliant under his hands. For once, he would teach his master something.

"Alright." Gil's hand traveled down Oz's scalp, to his neck, lazily tracing his nail down the boy's spine. Oz shivered, and made to turn around.

"How do we do this?" Alice asked.

"I don't know." Oz was shifting in Gil's lap, and he eventually settled down, his legs straddling the gunman's hips. "How much experience does Gil have?" Oz leaned in. "Have you been with others?"

Gil bit his lip—he didn't want Oz to feel hurt. "I have been, yes. But none of it meant anything. I was just lonely."

Oz nodded, and smiled, but it was sad. "That's okay."

"Oz . . ." Gil sighed, and ran the pads of his fingers down Oz's face, reveling in the flawless skin. "Don't pretend. Please. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. But I . . . I've always loved you."

Oz inhaled, the whisper of his breath barely audible, and he closed his eyes. "I love you, too." He smiled, genuine, now. "Ever since we were young . . ."

"Really?"

"Yes. I think I was only thirteen when I realized . . ."

"I see."

"And Alice," Oz drew back, to look around at her, "I love you!"

She blushed, and her mouth twitched into a smile, and then she frowned, and then smiled. "Same. And Raven."

"Yeah," Gil smiled. "Love you, Stupid Rabbit."

"So. Are we doing this, or what?" Oz asked.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"One hundred percent?"

"Yes, Goddammit, let's move to my bedroom!"

Gil chuckled, and kissed Oz sweetly. "Alright."

He released the boy, and Oz stood slowly, his thin frame unfolding before Gil in a way that made the gunman's imagination travel to rather naughty places. He stood as well, and helped Alice up, who accepted it grudgingly. Oz beamed, and turned around, walking forward with his hands behind his back, as was his habit. He opened the door to his bedroom, looked over his shoulder at his two loves, and stepped across the threshold.

He would love them. Always.

A/N: And thus begins the story for reals~! This is the start of the first arc, which will be seven chapters long. 

Also, remember that updates for this fic run on art contributions. Therefore, if you're interested in drawing for the next few chapters, shoot me a PM with samples of your work. You will get to read chapters early, and have your art featured with a chapter release. :D

Disclaimer: All original Pandora Hearts characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2006 by Jun Mochizuki. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Pandora Hearts series.

Victimes de Nous-mêmes story copyright (c) 2012 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies.


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