Noumenon

Genres: Mystery/Suspense

Summary: Seeing your own future is dangerous. There are many risks involved—it's the future, but it hasn't happened yet. It could still change. Seershipping, Priestess Isis x Ishizu Ishtar

A/N: Written for the YGO Fanfiction Contest Season 8, Round 11. The pairing is Seershipping (Isis x Ishizu). This story is an alternate retelling of events from episodes 95 and 122, particularly the transfer of the Necklace and the confrontation between Ishizu and Dark Marik. In this story, I'm also playing with the idea of Isis "projecting" herself into a vision, and the possible effects this could have on both timelines. Vision scenes are italicized. Enjoy!

Noumenon

Isis finds herself in an odd, dark enclosure made entirely of an unfamiliar metal. She touches one wall, and withdraws her fingertips swiftly. It is cold.

The walls around her seem to hum, and two of the sheets of metal before her open, sliding sideways into a hidden pocket. She steps into a hallway, equally dark and bleak, only lit by a few faint lights in the ceiling. Everything is so unfamiliar, so foreign and different, but she does not fear it. She does not question it.

Isis knows enough to recognize when she is in a vision, but she cannot tell where she is, or why she has been brought here. What did she wish to see?

The realization stabs her with its cold, unrelenting awareness, washing over her with the truth. She takes a few careful steps down the hallway, drawn to one room in particular…

She remembers now—the Necklace had been asked to show Isis her death.

Shivering, she continues, until she arrives at a door. Windowless and heavy, she expects it to be locked and is surprised when it swings open at her touch, as if expecting her. Inside, she is greeted by the sight of someone looking much like her, falling backwards in a languorous grace, arms spread—almost distracting from the bright crimson splash against the sand-colored fabric covering her chest.

Above, Isis can only see the glint of a dagger, the glint of the Millennium Rod, poised to attack again, over and over until her eyes see no more—

"You wished to see me, Shaada?"

Isis lingers in the doorway to the other Priest's chambers. Inside, Shaada gives her one curt nod before rising and taking the few steps to join her. "Let's walk in the courtyard," he says. "There is much I wish to discuss with you regarding your new placement as one of the Pharaoh's guardians."

"High Priestess, Shaada," Isis reminds him. "Can't you be proud of my accomplishment?"

The air is cool as the sun dips below the rim of the horizon, but Isis merely draws the edges of her sand-colored cloak around herself, wrapping her arms around her body. Underneath the cloak, she can feel the Necklace shifting with each step.

"I see why the Necklace chose you to wield its power," Shaada says. "And I see why the Pharaoh and the other Priests have selected you to join our ranks. It's because of that very power, Isis."

"Control is not a problem," Isis tells him. "My training was thorough. You saw to that, Shaada."

"Our Items are similar enough." He stops near a trio of columns, and Isis waits to hear what he will say to her next. "They both allow us to enter another's mind…to influence others. To influence events. I asked to speak with you to impart some critical advice."

"And what is that?" she asks. "I have only been initiated today, Shaada. You have certainly wasted no time."

"I simply wish to remind you that you are to be entirely selfless with your use of your Item. The Pharaoh will expect that you are always looking towards the future for him—to ensure his safety and security. He and the others would not have it any other way. It will be taxing on you—"

"Oh please, Shaada," Isis interrupts. "Do not worry about my constitution, it is not as frail as you would like to believe—"

"That is not what I meant," he continues. "I caution you never to observe your own future, if you can help it. Only observe the future of others. It will guide you—do not let it rule you. Many who possess the Items are driven by the obsession of their impulse, and I do not wish to see that happen to you."

"It will not," Isis says confidently. "I have seen it—"

"Isis—"

"Merely a joke, Priest Shaada." They continue to walk, but it is Isis who stops next. "Thank you, for your wisdom. I will not let you down."

"We need your gift—the Pharaoh, and this country need it. It is greater than you," he says. "Do not forget that."

"I could not," she agrees. "May I ask you a question?"

"Anything, Priestess," Shaada replies.

"What should happen…if I cannot explain a vision? If I do not know what something means…if I fail…?"

"You do not have to worry," Shaada says. "Because you will not fail. I do not need to be able to see the future to know this." With a kind smile, he takes her by the elbow and gestures to the other end of the courtyard. "Let me walk you back to your chambers. Tomorrow, you'll see how much work being a member of the Pharaoh's Priests really is."

That night Isis finds herself tossed back into the same vision, locked within a black metal box whose doors never open in time. This time it is different—she runs towards the door, wrenching it open with both hands, just in time to watch the first arc of the dagger go down, piercing its target. She had fought it, but was not strong enough to overcome her attacker—Isis's eyes are not focused on the identity of the wielder of the Rod, only the woman identical to herself.

Her heart aches with it—it is a pain that continues long after she wakes.

It would trouble anyone, she believes, knowing when one is to die and how it will happen. The surroundings are like nowhere she has ever seen, yet in the vision she looked barely a year or two older than herself.

Shaada had told her not to do something she had already done—not that she wants to watch herself die repeatedly, but that one particular vision calls to her with a fierceness she has never before experienced. There is something there…something to discover. If she knows her own death, then she can take measures to stop it from happening. She can prepare herself for the real moment, however many years or decades away.

Perhaps, Isis considers, she only needs a little more concentration…

She stands before the doors of the box—they are closed. Somehow, she knows the hallway she stands in is not the one from before, but a different area of this strange world.

A door is opening. Down the hallway, she can see it clearly—another identical door, and from it emerges herself—the same version of herself from the previous vision, dressed in clothes of such a strange cut, but the resemblance is still unmistakable.

"You!" Isis ignores the happy desperation in her voice, ignoring the mild shock on the other's face as she approaches.

"The Millennium Necklace," the other whispers, and Isis nods. "Of course—you wield it now, as I do then. In my past."

"Your…past?"

"And yours," Isis says. "Quick, where are you going?"

"My room," she answers immediately. The tiniest of frowns mars her otherwise unflawed face. "I have seen that Marik will be meeting me there."

The name is unfamiliar to her, but Isis quickly grasps the other's arm, noticing with displeasure the way that she flinches from Isis's touch. "Let's go somewhere else. Now. I am here to prevent our death."

At this, her face turns pale, but Isis can tell that her claim is believed. "The elevator. Follow me."

She stops before those odd doors, the same ones that opened for Isis to a different hallway and the murder that followed. Isis doesn't like those doors.

She presses a button on the side of the wall. Once inside, she presses another button, and Isis can feel the drop and the eventual stop. The doors open again, to a much darker space, a narrow hallway that they navigate until they reach a doorway. She opens it with a small card, and ushers Isis inside.

"The blimp cannot hold much cargo, but what it carries is stored here," she explains. "It should be safe."

The room is still dark, and Isis's eyes take a few moments to adjust, lingering on the other's own, using them as an anchor in the unfamiliar space. She looks away.

"You shouldn't have come," she says. Isis immediately recoils, sharply glancing up at her, forcing her to meet her gaze. "And why not?"

"You know why." She sighs, heavy with something Isis cannot name. Guilt? Sadness? Isis does not understand.

"I came to save your life! I thought…why are you not thankful?"

"There is a reason I did not foresee my own death! Why would I observe my own future selfishly? I only observe the actions of others—my own path lies only on the fringes of theirs. Seeing your own future is so dangerous. There are so many risks involved—things could be changed! Things that haven't happened yet!"

"I wanted to stop it!" Isis moves quickly in the darkness, reaching out to grasp the other's arm.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved, idiot self of mine," she says. "You should have known better! I have never met myself when I am projected into my visions! By coming here, you have already changed things—I have no memory of doing this."

"There must be some cause…some explanation," Isis tries to reason. "It's the future…"

"It's the future, but it hasn't happened yet for you! It could still change! Why did you come to me?" The last, she says in an anguished whisper, almost too softly for Isis to hear.

"I came because I didn't want you to die! I can't help these visions, they spring on me like a snare, and I cannot escape them. I…involve myself because I do not wish to watch you die over and over again!" Isis once again meets her gaze, tightening her grip on her arm. "I wish to save you."

A pause stretches between them, and Isis has no knowledge of how much time passes. Neither says a word; Isis waits to hear what the other will say, while the other simply waits. For death, for live, for salvation—one of them will come for her. One of them must come for her.

"The future is not set in stone," she says. "But my future might be."

"Don't say that!" Isis is quick to respond.

"Come. We've stayed here too long."

"What is best is to find others," Isis advises. "Stay in a group."

"I will meet my destiny," she says with finality. "Whatever it may be—I will not run from it."

They return down the length of the hallway, but before she can press the button the metal doors swing open, exposing the interior of the box—inside, a man with spiky hair the color of bone stands, clutching the Millennium Rod with one hand. Isis recognizes him—he is the man from the past visions, although this is the first time she is ever getting a good glimpse of his face.

"Ishizu, my dear," he says. "Don't you know that you cannot run from me?"

"Brother, come back to me," she says. "Do not do this, Marik!"

"Brother?" Isis does not understand. "I have no brother—"

"I AM NOT HIM! HE IS GONE!" shouts the man, and before Isis can react he is plunging the exposed dagger down, deep into her side. She falls to the ground, and Isis falls back against the metal wall in turn, feeling sicker than she has ever felt in her life.

"Not again…not again!" The one named Marik can clearly see her—as a holder of a Millennium Item, he is fully aware of her projection, yet he ignores her.

"I will find you!" Isis cries. "I will find you again, and I will come back! Nothing will stop me from saving you—"

She is torn from the vision, waking with a start; her whole body shakes, and her clothes stick to her from perspiration. She is back where she belongs, safe inside her home, away from murdering maniacs and future selves.

Or…

Confused, Isis draws her knees to her chest, sitting up in her bed. Marik had called her Ishizu—an odd pronunciation, but still very different from Isis, her own name. And Isis herself did not have a brother. And the strange landscape this Ishizu lived in…was it possible that she was not in fact seeing her own death, but the death of someone else linked to her through the Necklace? Through time or space, there must be some connection, and the affinity Isis feels for this dead-alive stranger is so sharp and all-consuming that all she can think about is how next to save her.

Isis shakes her head sharply, trying to clear it. The obsession of the challenge is overcoming her, she can recognize it. She wants to know if it's possible to save her—Isis wants to save Ishizu with every fiber of her being, but she knows with a heavy heart that only a week ago she had dedicated her entire being to the service of the Pharaoh. Already, she desires something else.

The knowledge that the woman from the visions is a different entity from herself does not change Isis's mindset in the slightest. She can see the sky lightening outside, and knows that the day's events will soon begin. The Pharaoh always rises with the sun, after all.

Isis suppresses a yawn. Once the adrenaline wears off, she knows the exhaustion of the past week will be upon her like the heaviest of cloaks, and this is one that she cannot take off. The mantle of responsibility, of power—she will wear it gracefully and without complaint. She will not secede from it, and she will not let it consume her. She will control it. And she will return.

It is only a matter of time before the vision calls to her again. Isis welcomes it.

The Pharaoh wants news of the coming harvest. Isis stands on a balcony overlooking the fields, spread before her like a blanket. The Nile is clear and blue; the colors to Isis seem sharper than in real life—the blue of the sky, the gold of the wheat and barley. It is a good year.

Isis ignores the dark tinges of the sky in the distance. A storm, perhaps, but a prophetic one. For now, however, they were safe. Their security was all but assured.

"How are you, Priestess Isis?" the Pharaoh asks, moving to stand beside her. The Puzzle gleams every bit as bright as the wheat. Both give life, and both sustain it; both support a kingdom.

She smiles. "I am well. Tell me," she asks, knowing that in a vision, she has the unique chance to question those she encounters without consequences in the present. "Tell me, have you ever thought about asking me to prophesize someone's death? Yours? Mine?"

The Pharaoh takes a moment to consider, resting his hands on the curved stone columns that serve as a banister. "I understand why you would ask. This knowledge—the knowledge of the harvest," he says, gesturing to the water and land before them, "can be attained without your understanding of how these events actually happened. You do not plant or harvest," he adds by way of explanation, "so you need only to reflect on what you see with your eyes to tell me the truth of the future. But things are different when you seek a certain understanding."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"I have thought about it often, as I am sure you do as well. Why do I ask you to observe in the future what I ask?" He straightens his arms, tanned from the hot sun. His hair has grown longer since her present, but it is still hardly noticeable. Isis wonders if she looks any different to him.

"Back to the matter of understanding. Death is not so simple—it is not something you can observe without direct impact. Your being here cannot change anything—yes, I realize you are a projection, dear Isis, and do not look at me like that. The harvest will continue as planned, but interfering in the future can have an effect on the past—you still have to live with what you experience. What you see will likely change the actions that would have led up to what you see. It will be different every time, mark my words."

"Sage advice, Pharaoh," Isis says with a smile. "Thank you."

"Return to your time," he replies. "What a handful! Mana meddles in everything else, and now you're meddling in the future. I suppose I could order you to stop, but I would not take that choice away from you. And you must choose, Isis. Surely you realize this."

"I do. My choice will always be the same—"

Her eyes snap open, and for a moment Isis is blinded by the sharp Egyptian sunlight. Before she can move to sit up or even shield her eyes, one of the other Priests is by her side. Shimon helps her to her feet, and Shaada and the others try not to look concerned even though they've seen the same thing a dozen times.

"Well, Priestess?" Shimon asks. "What did you see?"

She breathes, still getting used to being in her own skin again, calming the heartbeat that pulses so loudly in her chest. The colors of the throne room seem subdued in her mind, so washed-out in comparison to the sharpness of the visions.

"Does the kingdom have anything to worry about?" the Pharaoh asks.

"No," she says with a smile.

"That is good." The Pharaoh glances at her, and Isis gets the uncanny feeling that he is seeing her twice, both as his current and future selves. She knows it is impossible; he will have no memory of the encounter. It has not happened yet, after all.

"What else do you require from me?" she asks.

"Nothing at the moment. I see we are overusing your gift—do not tax yourself," he says. "It is obvious that you are exhausted. Perhaps you should return to your chambers and rest."

At the thought, Isis cannot help the surge of joy that springs through her. "Rest…sounds excellent, Pharaoh."

"Good. Take some time for yourself, then. Return tomorrow well rested, for we will have need of your talents again."

Isis ignores Shaada's gaze, ignores the way the others follow her with their eyes as she leaves. She enters a courtyard, and tips her head up to let the sun's beams dance off of her skin. It is warm and wonderful and everything she remembers the sun to be, yet the colors in the sky seem to be much less than she desires. She yearns for the world as she knows it, drawn into the fullness of her visions.

The Pharaoh had said that she must choose. Her choice had always been the same—

"I choose myself."

She approaches the doors of the elevator—for she knows its name, now—and confidently presses the button to open them. Inside, as expected, a woman emerges. Ishizu, speechless at seeing someone who could be her double, can barely move as Isis blocks her entry to the hallway as she moves inside the box. The doors close. Isis presses the "stop" button.

"Who are you?"

"I am not you," Isis says. "My name is Isis, and it is a pleasure to meet you again." On a whim, Isis presses the top button. If it takes her a million tries, she will discover every single path of this future, and find the one that will not end in death.

"You have the Necklace," Ishizu replies, almost accusing. "Tell me why you are here."

"Someone on this blimp is going to die." She knows this word, too. "I am here to keep them alive."

"Who would…?" Ishizu asks, but her eyes already know the answer.

"Marik. He could hurt you. Take me to the others."

Ishizu reaches over and presses the "stop" button again. The elevator lurches to a halt. "You know why I can't do that," she says sadly. "I know you're talking about me. It could only be me." She laughs brokenly in the stillness of the cold metal silence. "I don't know you, but I feel like I do."

"Why won't you ever let me save you?" she asks.

"Tell me, Isis," Ishizu says. "How many times have you tried?"

Isis snarls, grabbing Ishizu's shoulders and pushing her against the side of the elevator as hard as she can. "I don't know! I lost count! This is not my fault!" With a sudden desperation, she rises to her tiptoes and presses her lips against Ishizu's, trying to force her way past the other's resolve through any means possible.

She pulls back, dropping Ishizu's arms as the reality of what she has just done crashes around her. "I…I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Leave," Ishizu says. "Let me die, if that is to be my future."

Isis leans over, pressing the button to resume the elevator's path, along with the floor button where she knows Marik will be waiting.

The doors open. "I'm sorry," Isis says, "but I just can't do that."

She steps outside. The doors close. She sees Ishizu's face, and before the doors lock she see Ishizu raise one hand to her lips.

The hallway—she has been here before. It is so familiar now, the path to the end. Now she has only one question in mind. She has never fully explored this option before, and cannot quite understand why she is contemplating it now. Can one be killed inside a vision?

The one called Marik leans against the bedpost in Ishizu's room. When he sees her, she can see the flash of recognition and anger in his eyes.

"Hello, brother," she says. "It's good to see you again."

"Brother?" Marik seethes. "I AM NOT HIM! HE IS GONE!" The dagger is in his hand, and the recognition in his eyes has been replaced with purpose, but he does not act on it.

"You…you are not her. I know this. I know." He laughs, and the sound is so shocking and loud that Isis physically recoils from it. "Who are you? Never mind, it does not matter. What did you think you could accomplish here?" He moves in quickly, grasping her chin with the hand not clutching the Rod. "You're a fool. I will find her, and I will kill her. And then I will kill Rishid. I will kill them all, and I will win."

"But not me?" Isis gasps. "In her place…I am her, brother, don't you see? It's me—Ishizu!"

"LIES! You lie!" His fingers tighten on her chin and neck, and he throws her to the ground. Her head hits the side of a dresser, and stars shoot before her vision.

"No—I will not kill you, because you asked for it." He laughs again, that same humiliating and overwhelming sound as he walks towards the door, leaving her with nothing but the knowledge that she failed.

It is dark when she opens her eyes again. She has missed dinner, but neither hunger nor the chills from the night air do much to temper her resolve. Failure, again—it seems to be the path that all others lead to, but she knows that there must be one with victory.

She was telling the truth when she said she had lost count of the number of times she had entered a vision only to watch Ishizu die or otherwise know, from some corner of the blimp, racing against time, that she was far too late and the inevitable was about to happen. She would not allow herself to fail again. She has only to find that one path that will lead her to the correct end—the only acceptable one.

If she can do nothing else, she will not let Ishizu die.

Once again she is back within the future-world of the vision, walking down a long hallway. She has arrived earlier than usual—she hopes it is for good reason and that the time will help her.

The hallway is lined with doors. She runs to each, throwing the doors open. Isis is not sure what she is looking for, or who, but she knows with a quiet desperation that once she has run out of ideas, there will be nothing left. She will try anything.

Her fingers hover over the last knob. Banishing her hesitation, she grips it tightly, wrenching it open. She is shocked to see an entirely different, familiar face before her, and Isis cannot help the deep bow she sinks into at the sight of the Pharaoh.

"My Pharaoh!"

"Your…what?" the boy jumps backward, throwing up his arms at Isis's entrance. Blinking, Isis rises.

"No…you are not him, although you greatly resemble him. The distinctive hair, especially." She sighs. "But alas, you are too short. You cannot be my Pharaoh."

"…What?"

"Let us do away with the drawn-out explanations," Isis says. "I am here to prevent the death of Ishizu at the hands of the one called Marik. You wear the Puzzle—I need your help."

"Marik? He's insane."

"I had gathered that, yes," Isis replies. "Quickly, you must follow me. We don't have a moment to lose."

Once back in the hallway, Isis heads for the elevator. She knows, deep within herself and the Necklace, where Ishizu and Marik both stand, drawing ever closer to one another, even though there is still enough distance separating them. There is still enough time separating them.

She jams the buttons repeatedly with her fingers, willing the elevator to move faster. It doesn't, but she feels better once the doors close on them and the box begins to ascend.

"You look like her," the boy says. "Ishizu, I mean. I'm Yugi, by the way."

"Yugi." She tests the name, resolving at that moment to fully share her knowledge of this strange person in her vision to the Pharaoh upon her return. It is not just about her, she realizes, but she cannot ignore the possibility that the effects and the people of this one timeline could influence her own.

The door is there, looming large and terrible before them. Like before, the lights seem brighter, the deepness of the metal seems even blacker to her eyes, and the sound as the handle turns in her hand is louder than it has ever been to her ears. She pulls it open quickly, but it garners resistance as the door slides along the floor, opening to the hallway. Inside, Marik and Ishizu stand, one poised to attack, the other drawing back.

"Marik! This has to end!" Yugi calls. His voice seems deeper than she remembers it, but Isis is too focused on Ishizu to concern herself with any oddness that her senses pick up. Ishizu looks frightened, Isis can tell from her eyes, but she reaches out to grasp one of Ishizu's hands in her own. The act seems to calm her, and Isis wishes to comfort Ishizu in any way that she can. Isis draws the two of them back, putting herself in-between Ishizu and her brother.

"I will send you to the Shadow Realm unless you tell me where Rishid is!" Marik growls, but Yugi raises his voice again to match Marik's.

"Enough! What is more important to you—your tournament, or your revenge?"

"Ha, ha, you are right," Marik replies, his laughter dark and edged with malice. "The tournament will not wait. There is a chance, dear Ishizu, that Rishid will never wake! I can take care of him at my leisure, once I destroy you, and all others who oppose me. They will fall before Ra."

"You!" Marik addresses Isis. "What do you see, with your Necklace? Will I be successful?" The pitch of his voice seems to change with each word, and the sound is low and discordant. "Tell me what you see, sister-and-not."

"What I see does not matter," Isis says, cutting her words through the air. "The future changes simply by observing it—there is a path where you win, certainly. There is also a path where you lose. The one thing I know, is that you—all of you—have time."

"Time is all I need," Marik sneers, brushing past the three of them, tucking the Millennium Rod into his belt. "I will win our duel, and when I do, your Puzzle and your God Card will be mine."

Once he is gone, Isis breathes a shuddering sigh of relief, allowing her shoulders to slump and all of the tension that had built up in her body to drain out. She collapses into Ishizu's arms, drawing the stunned woman into a tight embrace.

"Oh!" She draws back, almost instantly. "I forgot, you do not know me in this timeline. I apologize for startling you."

"…What?" Yugi asks, again, but Isis answers him with a smile. "It's better that you do not know, right?"

"Right," he says.

"My Necklace…" Ishizu begins, but Isis finishes her statement.

"Is not infallible. I trust in its power too much, and too often. The future changes simply on account of our living in it. We observe it, and our understanding and knowledge affect that, too. I learned many things, because of you. Thank you for that."

"If I do not know the future…" She is still hesitant.

"It will happen regardless," Yugi says.

"Give him the Necklace, Ishizu," she says. "Give it to the Pharaoh."

"Yes," Ishizu answers. "You have much greater need for it than I. I…had seen it." Smiling, she brings both hands to the back of her neck to unclasp the Necklace before dropping the golden links into Yugi's hands.

"You would choose not to have access to the future?" Yugi says, still stunned by her gift. He cradles the Necklace like the treasure it is, glancing between it and Isis's identical one.

"I choose myself," Ishizu says. "I always have."

She turns to Isis. "And you? What do you choose?"

"I choose—"

She awakens, the words on her lips a whisper in the Egyptian silence. It is over—she won, but it does not feel like a victory. Yugi was right, as was Ishizu. She sets one hand against the side of her neck, drawing it down the Necklace.

The surface is warmed by her skin, but the metal still feels cool under her fingertips. The thought that the Necklace was not infallible, and that the future could not be determined through means like her gift simply because it has not happened yet, and even observing it may have consequences…fascinating.

Her choice is clear. She chooses responsibility. She chooses the Pharaoh. She chooses herself. As she always has, and always will. She needs no Necklace to tell her this.

Ishizu stands alone in her room, running one hand over the space around her neck where until very recently, the Necklace had been. She had rarely removed it, and its omission is like a spiritual weight has been removed from her body in addition to the physical one. She can see the skin there clearly for the first time in years—it is slightly lighter and softer than the rest of the skin on her face and neck, and as she touches the spot she registers the sensation in her mind. The future is no longer definite and unquestionable. It is unknown and strange, terrifying and full of promise.

"The unseen future," she says. "I want to trust this."

End.

Notes:

1) Noumenon, the word used for the title, is a posited object or event that is known (if at all) without the use of the senses. Classically, the noumenal realm is the higher reality known to the philosophical mind (definition from Wikipedia). I liked the connection and symbolism there in representing how Isis uses the Necklace to divine the most probable path of the future.

2) On that note, my idea of the "visions" is a bit like the many-worlds interpretation or the Shroedinger's cat theory in that all paths are possible, and simply by observing one the future outcome has already changed.

3) I use a bit of dialogue at the ending few scenes from canon episodes. I combined elements from episodes 95 (where Ishizu gives the Necklace to Yugi) and 122 (where Marik confronts Ishizu). It's obvious that in canon one comes after the other, but I altered the events for the sake of the story.

4) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your reviews and feedback!

~Jess