Why was it that whenever she wished for sun, it rained? Or when she wished for a light breeze, all she received was a blizzard? Nature liked to tease Monica, it seemed, and it irritated her to no end.

She sat at the window staring glumly out at the snow, tapping one finger on the windowsill and holding a mug of some warm drink in the other. With the snow had come the dashing of her hopes for this day, planned out carefully between she and Zavier.

Monica didn't like Zavier, still considered him a stranger, though he had lived in town for three years now. But she had nobody else to hang around with, and it wasn't like he was a bad person.

She glanced behind her at the shop, and the carefully maintained and categorized flowers littered throughout. It was long past opening time, but no customer wanted to venture out of their houses in such weather. She would have little work to do today.

Her grandfather sat at his workbench, scribbling away at a little piece of paper. A letter to Shara, perhaps, or something similar. Writing was about all Wells did when he couldn't focus on the shop.

"You said you've been having nightmares?" Wells spoke up suddenly, not even looking up from his work to meet her eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Not really. But they were becoming too frequent to ignore. "I guess." She looked away from him and turned back to the window. "I get them most nights, but often I'm not really sure what I'm dreaming about."

"Dreams can be tricky things," Wells agreed. "They can be as mysterious as they can be clear. Some people have even claimed dreams can reveal the future - though I'm not sure if I believe that."

"I don't like to consider it," Monica said. "If my dreams were prophetic, nobody would be safe."

"Nobody safe in Sharance?"

"That's right."

Wells nodded and grunted. "I think we'll just drop by the apothecary and have Marjorie cook you something up to help you sleep. The woman can work wonders."

"Thank you, grandfather."

Wells frowned. He'd been doing that a lot lately, but Monica had gotten used to it. No doubt he was looking at the serious girl in front of him and wondering where on earth his lively little granddaughter had vanished to. But he wouldn't find her.

That girl was long gone.

Monica left the windowsill and headed to the door. The cold air hit her face as she opened it, and she liked it. The snow was thinning, and there was no point staying inside.

"Are you going to visit Zavier?" Wells asked as she made to cross the threshold. Something in his tone made her feel the thought was an unwelcome one to him.

"No," she said, and she wasn't lying. "I want to see Shara."

Wells smiled. "Ah, good. It's been a while since you saw each other." He held up the piece of paper. "Will you give this to her while you're there? I would accompany you, but I have things I need to do."

Some kind of business, maybe. He was the mayor, after all. "Alright. I'll take it." She put the letter in one of her pockets.

Wells looked like he had something else to say, but then he shook his head and gave a loud, rasping cough. "R-Right..." He got up from his chair and shuffled up the stairs, giving one last remark. "Don't let too much of the cold in."

Monica stared after him for a few moments, and then stepped outside, closing the door behind her. She leant against it, and wondered where she was actually going to go. No matter what she told her grandfather, she wasn't going to visit Shara. She would find someone to deliver the letter for her.

Monica had seen her sister in her nightmares. Being with Shara brought the memories of the horrors back to her, and she couldn't suppress them. Her nightmares, though surely of no real meaning, plagued her as if she knew they would somehow come to pass in real life.

It wasn't just Shara either. She dreamed about her sister's husband as well, though his fate tended to be significantly less frightening. But she still felt uncomfortable seeing either of them. Uncomfortable enough to avoid her own family...

She started when someone came suddenly around the corner of the shop, humming to themselves and smiling broadly. As soon as they appeared, the snow began to cease falling. Everything brightened, and the sun came out.

But the person themselves were the brightest thing of all, seeming to positively glow. Their presence added a warmth to the area that Monica had never really known before.

And somehow, with their appearance, she knew everything would be okay.

She never found out who it was that had walked by. Because a few moments later, they disappeared into thin air, and she was forced to conclude that they must have been part of another dream. Sometimes, she couldn't tell what was reality and what was not.

The wooden board next to the house was already full of requests from various people around town. Monica grabbed a piece of paper from inside the house, wrote on it her request, and pinned it to the board where it could be easily seen.

She stepped back and looked at the note.

From: Monica

Deliver something for me.

I need a letter delivered. Come see me.

Was it cowardice? Avoiding her sister? Maybe it was. But if so, she had lived her life a coward. There was always someone she was trying to avoid. Someone she opposed. Those she considered strangers.

But this was more painful...and Shara was no stranger.

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned sharply. She disliked being touched. Her mouth opened automatically when she saw who it was, and she spoke politely. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Payne."

Zavier's elderly mother smiled, and her mouth wrinkled. "I am sorry if I startled you, dear. It's just been so long since I've seen you! Have you seen Zavier? I can't find him anywhere."

"He isn't with me."

"No? Well, that's alright."

Helen Payne had moved into town with Zavier when her husband had died, and both had settled down in a newly built house that was located close to Privera Forest. They had tried making friends with Daria, but Helen soon decided their new neighbour was a bit too loopy for her son's health, and they had turned to Wells and Monica.

Helen was a social creature, but she seemed oblivious to the fact that Monica was certainly not. "I'm holding a bit of a tea party at home, and Zavier was supposed to help me set things up. But of course, he skipped out."

Monica could sense an invitation coming her way, and she opened her mouth to talk about how busy she was, in the hopes of throwing Helen off, but before she could do so, someone came round the corner and bumped into Helen, and the book in the old woman's arms went flying.

"I'm so sorry!" the newcomer said, flushing slightly. "Let me pick that up for you."

Monica froze at the sight of Shara, but her displeasure didn't show on her face.

Helen simply beamed. "Thank you, dear. It's quite alright. Oh! Didn't I invite you to..." She wiggled a finger.

"You did," Shara reassured her.

"And can you come?"

"I don't see why not-"

"Wonderful! We have Hazel coming, and I think she's bringing Karina with her. Sophia, Evelyn, Sakuya - but only because I promised her a crystal I found the other day - Marjorie..." She paused. "I think that's it. Many of the women I asked all had colds, the poor dears..."

How convenient.

Shara glanced Monica's way, and Monica looked down at her feet, jaw clenched. Her finger travelled to her pocket, and found the letter stowed within. She might as well deliver it now, and get it over with.

She could tell Shara knew she was avoiding her. Their relationship was far too strained, and it was all Monica's fault.

Helen shifted her position, and the late morning sun's rays shone directly into Monica's eyes. Squinting her eyes, she spoke nervously to Shara. "Grandfather asked me to give you this." Her voice sounded flat.

Shara took the letter, and looked at the front. "Thank you."

Helen looked from Shara to Monica and back again, mouth slightly open. "Woo! I've never felt such tension before. Are you having relationship problems?"

And once again, Helen expressed her lack of tact. Monica scowled and ripped her no longer necessary request from the board, and then walked briskly into the house, closing the door heavily behind her.

"Come to the tea party!" Helen yelled through the door.

"I have a cold!" Monica yelled back, just because it gave her a little satisfaction.

She glanced over her shoulder, but her grandfather was not downstairs. Maybe he hadn't heard. Then she wouldn't have to worry about explaining herself.

When she reached her room, she collapsed onto her bed, and promptly fell asleep.

Who is that? Who's there?

You already know me. I have dominated your dreams time and time again.

What's your name?

Fear. Death. Pain. I have many names.

I do know you. And I hate you.

Oh, I know, little one. The only beings that love me are the ones who use me to gain their own selfish means, thinking they are my master. That I will give them the world.

But you don't, do you?

Sometimes. But I always bring them down in the end.

What is it you want with me?

I am pain. I infect all I can. You are just another piece of the puzzle, another pawn in a web of lies.

I don't understand.

You thought I'd tell you everything? Oh, child. You are a fool, just like the rest of humankind.

Monica opened her eyes. She remembered this dream, but it was so different than the other ones she had before experienced. What did it mean? No. It didn't mean anything. It was just a dream.

There was a knock on the door. She ignored it. After a few minutes, Wells went to answer it.

Helen poked her head into the room, Wells at her heels. "Monica! I just came by to let you know the party is in an hour. I still don't know if you're coming."

"Go away! Or I'll...I'll bite you!"

"Poor dear," Helen said sympathetically. "Has she been under much stress? She's been so reserved lately..."

Monica buried her face in the sheets and scowled to herself.

Wells glanced at Monica and frowned. "Hmm. Helen, would you mind coming downstairs? I have something to discuss with you."

Helen shrugged. "Alright." She turned towards Monica and opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, and left the room with Wells. But she looked Monica's way again before she disappeared down the stairs.

Monica lifted her face from the bed and rested her chin on her hands. Wherever Zavier was now, she didn't care. She felt less willing to spend time with him than ever. Being with his mother often had that effect on her.

There were few people she liked. Why was that? Was she doing something wrong? Either that, or she was right and the entire world was wrong. And that couldn't be the case.

She grasped her pillow and pulled a notebook out from under it. In the last few days she had started writing down what she dreamed, assuming her latest dream wasn't so horrifying she couldn't let herself dwell on it. Somehow recording everything helped her relax, even start to let go. Helped her to see how her nightmares had no real meaning, no risk of becoming reality. Years from now, when her dreams became more peaceful, she would throw the book away.

If her dreams became more peaceful, at least. She prayed every night they would. Because while experiencing what she dreamed in real life would be far more frightening, they were disturbing enough when they were experienced in her subconscious.

No, she wouldn't throw the book away. She would burn it, and with it her dark memories. Going up in flames. Burning to a crisp so they would be impossible to ever see again.

All she could recall of her last dream was a bit of dialogue, but that was all her dream had been. No pictures, no horror, except for the chill the voice itself put into her heart. But she wrote down what she could remember, and placed the book snugly back under the pillow.

Downstairs, she found no sign of Wells or Helen. She crossed the room to a display of flowers and began to arrange the display, moving bouquets where the placement looked scruffy, and cleaning any debris nearby.

She had just decided she might as well mop the entire floor, when the door opened, and two people walked into the shop. She gave them a quick look, and then shook her head. This was not one of her better days.

Shara was back, and she'd brought her husband along. They both looked tired. But there was something about the look on their faces that seemed incredibly alert.

"Do you need help?" She asked slowly. The flat tone in her voice was back, though she hadn't given it permission to return. It was habit now, automatic.

Shara glanced at Micah, and spoke just as flatly as her sister. "Where's grandfather, Monica?"

"I don't know. I think he left with Helen."

Micah whispered to Shara, but his words were loud enough to reach Monica's ears. "We can come back later."

Monica tried to ignore them, taking the mop into her hands and rubbing furiously at a spot of the floor which didn't really need to be cleaned. Her face had turned red. She felt so awkward.

Shara shook her head. Then she turned to Monica. "Would you mind getting us a few flower seeds? We need them for spring, and..."

She kept talking a little longer, but Monica was barely listening. It seemed odd to her that Shara was asking her for flower seeds, when she could just as easily get them herself. She worked here, had once lived here, she had right enough. Though, she hadn't been coming in to work very often lately.

Monica shrugged. "Okay. What kind?"

"Everything that can be planted in spring," Micah said, suddenly entering the conversation. "I need a lot. Say, a few of each kind?"

They kept the seeds in boxes near the countertop in the corner of the room. Monica nodded towards them, and then looked to Micah. "Come pick them out, then."

Micah followed her, and Shara went upstairs. Monica pulled a box forward and opened it. It was filled with a variety of seeds, all different colours and shapes. She had once enjoyed looking at them, imagining the flowers they would grow, how they would look when bloomed. She had liked flowers, though not nearly as much as Wells and Shara.

She still wanted an accessory shop. But that dream seemed to be getting more and more distant each day.

Micah looked up at Monica while he dug through the box. "Janet keeps asking about you. She always wants to know where Aunt Monica is." He smiled, but it was somewhat shaky. "She asked me to give you this." He held out a piece of paper.

It was a very messy drawing, drawn with so many colours it would have made Daria proud. Monica could make out through the scribbles the head, torso and legs of two people standing hand in hand. One was labeled "Aunt Monica". The other, "Janet".

An urge to rip the thing to shreds came over Monica, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. For a few moments she stared at the page, and then risked a glance up at Micah.

He wasn't looking at her.

Tears filled her eyes, but she wiped them away. There was nothing she could do about the fear that filled her heart whenever she saw Shara, Micah, even Janet and Lynnx, their two children. But it felt like she was letting her emotions destroy everything she had that was worth having.

"I'm sorry."

Micah looked up, surprised, but Monica was already to the foot of the stairs. "Put the money on the table. I'll pick it up later."

Hey, I figured I ought to update this chapter to give folks a little idea about exactly WHAT the heck this story is. It might be slightly spoilerish, but I don't think it's a big deal.

This fanfiction is going to be...different than a lot of others. Very different. Mostly because while it acknowledges the canon plot in Rune Factory 3, this story is set a few years after it, and so the plot is entirely mine and a lot of stuff happens that I know many of you wouldn't think would happen. Hey, we all have our own headcanons.

About the pairings - I like canon pairings in general. Or at least the pairings that seem the most likely to happen (even if they're not confirmed as canon) and so you can expect a good deal of Micah/Shara. I've heard a lot of people think Shara is boring, but I like her anyway. You can also expect a lot of Gaius/Evelyn (so cute) though I'm wondering how to pull that one off. It's requiring a lot of brainwork on my part. I don't want to mess it up. Honestly, I'd love feedback from you guys about how you would imagine their relationship. Please consider it.

Monica is (as you will have discovered in this first chapter here) a major character in this fiction. She might sound like an angsty jerk right now but honestly - she's just suffering. Give her time. She's about thirteen right now, I think.

I have a lot of OCs in the works. Weird, because usually I hate them, but I'm pretty sure they're necessary to the plot and I don't really mind them in this case. But I won't be pairing up any Rune Factory 3 characters with OCs. That always irks me (heaven knows why).

There might be major character deaths. I'm not entirely sure yet how cruel I wish to be. But you can count on it not to be Evelyn or Monica.