I walked into the house and took a deep breath. The air was thick, almost moldy, and already I could hear it begin to whisper. I did my best to tune it out, putting in one of my earphones and letting the other one hang, allowing the house to become a dull hum in the back of my mind while I followed my father and Marcy around to each room. As we crossed the foyer into the kitchen I felt it—the source of what held them here.

I might have only been sixteen, but I'd gotten a good hold of what makes me unique. You can call it whatever you want, a sixth sense, a power, a gift; I don't care. It's what makes me, me. My mother drilled that into my brain when I was little, and taught me everything she could before she died. She taught me not to be afraid, that the dead couldn't really hurt me if I didn't let them. So far, she'd been right.

The door to the basement swung open on it's own, the whispers of the house growing louder until they had completely drowned out my music.

Oh my poor Thaddeus...

...Where's my baby? What have you done to him Charles?

I tried to kill it, but it clung to life.

Do you want a baby?

Will that make you happy?

Anyone watching me would have thought that I was in a trance, but I was only fascinated. Every other house had only been a silly secret here or there, a simple story if even that. But this house? It was darker, much darker than any house I'd ever been in. The thought of living here...was absolutely thrilling.

"Cherie?"

My hand stopped its trail on the wall as my father's voice broke through and the house retreated into silence momentarily.

"Yeah, Dad?"

His head popped into the doorway above me, "Come on out of there, we'll get to it with Marcy. Won't we?"

The poor woman looked so startled. Clearly showing the basement wasn't a part of her original plans, and it showed as she wrung her hands nervously.

"That's okay," I chimed happily, "I'll check it out on my own later. I guess Marce isn't to fond of dark spaces."

I gave a slight nod to her thankful smile, and made my way out following them around some more. I didn't pay too much attention though; My thoughts kept wondering back to that basement. Each of the other rooms, though, had their own kind of allure, their own stain from the previous owner. Some were happy, some weren't, but dear God, there was so much death. So much sadness. It was isolated though, an obvious separation between those who had found peace here, and those who had lost hope.

We went into the smaller bedroom at the end of the hall on the second floor. Almost immediately I found myself struck with a mix of emotions. Love, betrayal, rejection. This had been the room of a teenage girl most recently, and she too had died here. I could feel her almost as strongly as if she were still in there, crying in confusion, and yet I knew that she wasn't sad anymore, only...mildly disappointed, somewhere in the back of her mind.

Flashes of images came and went, her and a boy—a dead boy, I noted—had been so in love. But something was twisted inside of him, keeping her from fully accepting him. In his own way though, I could sense so much effort.

For always, I heard his voice single itself out above the others, an image of his tear-struck face showing clearly in my mind.

"Cherie, are you alright? We can leave if you want..." My father's voice jolted me to the present again. His green eyes were so worried, his orange-red hair mussed a little from where he kept messing with it. Again, I forced another smile.

"I'm great Dad, this place is just so...beautiful." Interesting, is a better word for it.

He shrugged and smiled at me, mussing up my hair just a little.

Most people think my Dad and I are a model example of a healthy Father-Daughter relationship. They couldn't be more wrong. We're both just pretending, at least, now we are. We used to be that way for real, and I still am honestly fond of my father. He just doesn't feel the same way about me anymore. We don't really talk about it, but I'll tell you. The real reason we had moved in to that house, back in 2014? It was the same reason that I wasn't in school, and that my father could no longer look at me directly for more than two seconds. I was found in the girls bathroom, holding the half-dead body of Marie Waters by hair while she bled out into the toilet. I guess he never really got over the image of me being dragged into the police station, my black frizzy curls matted with her blood as well as my hands and face.

"So, what do you think?" Marcy said, her falsely chipper voice cutting through my memory, "I can accommodate to any offer, just name your price." She was wringing her hands again, trying not to look nervous. The wrinkles in her face practically quivered from how hard she forced her own smile.

"I don't know," Dad teased, rolling his eyes and leaning towards me, "What do you think Cherie Pop?"

I giggled happily, the way a daughter's supposed to, "I love it."

We looked back at Marcy who seemed relieved already.

"We'll take it." We said together.

I took the basement for my room. It was secluded, quiet except for the whispers, and I had my own exit.

Haven't you got any Kurt Cobain? One of the whispers came out loudly, a memory from the girl who I knew was watching me. Violet. Her body was still below the house, probably nearly a skeleton already. The house silenced when she appeared. Subconsciously, I sighed with relief.

"Nice, you've got the Ramones. White Stripes...the Cure. I still don't know what the deal is with everybody and the Butthole Surfers though," She said suddenly, and grimaced, her finger tracing each of the different albums on my shelf.

"It's one of those bands you don't like at first, but after you're friends keep playing them over and over and over..." I rolled my eyes to stress my point and grinned at her, "It kinda grows on you."

She gave a sort of half-smile back to me, and stuck her hand out. "I'm Violet, I live in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by and see what all of the commotion was about."

I made sure to give her a knowing look, and took her hand. "I'm Cherie."

Violet wandered around the room for a minute, and I waited until she sat down next to me on the bed, crossing her legs. "So, you're not freaked out that I just kind of walked into your house without knocking?" She asked curiously.

"Not unless you really want to keep up the 'in the neighborhood' charade." I gave her that look again, waiting for her reaction. Her mouth hung open for a second before she closed it and looked away from me. Some people get unnerved with how I look them in the eye, I guess you could say that I'm very direct.

"I-I don't know what you mean. I live like, a few houses down." She started tugging at her sleeves and I waited for her to look at me again.

"What?"

"Vi, it's okay, I already know."

"I don't get it, know what, that I'm..." She trailed off, waiting to see what my conclusion was.

"Dead. Yes."

Her eyes were wide, she gaped opening her mouth and closing it. Looking away and looking back. I sighed and leaned into the mattress. "I kind of have a knack for these things, I already know a lot about what happened here. You and Tate, your Mother and Father, Hayden, Nora. The house already told me."

"...The...house?"

I just shrugged. After a moment I sat up, and went to my CD's. "So, you want me to start drilling that band into your head so you can join the club?"

Come on, you liked it the last time.

"Dad, do you mind if I start having my tutor meet me at, like, the park or something?" I asked, sitting down at the island table and waited for the light knock at the door. She'd probably be a few more minutes.

That time was a mistake.

He raised his brow, taking a large drink of his coffee before answering. "Yeah, sure. But um, is there any special reason or did you just think it'd sound cool?"

"Kinda both."

Please, stop. No!

Tip, tip, tap. There she was. Just like before, as soon as she had appeared, the house silenced. I took a relived sip of my chai, watched as my Dad went to the door to let Moira in and set the cup down. Her slight nod to me let me know that Violet had already told her but that she would keep up the charade for my father. I half-way listened as she explained to him that she had been the maid for all of the previous owners, what her hours were, etc. etc. Something was off though, to me she seemed like a sweet old lady, but when she talked her voice sounded young and sultry. It probably had to do with her death.

"I don't know, Miss. We can't really afford a maid." He looked at me, then back to Moira.

"Dad, I don't really think we have a choice. Something tells me that if she's worked here this long, this place is like a second home to her. She might just keep coming back." I told him, walking over to stand next to the both of them.

"Cherie, we don't have the money."

"I'll work for cheap if need be, Miss Cherie's perfectly right. If you refuse my services I'll have no choice but to break in and clean anyway." She smiled sweetly at us.

"Well, okay then. I mean, it really won't be much. We barely have enough for her tutor."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Levins. Money is no issue with me. Now, shall I get started with your breakfast, or do you prefer only coffee and tea in the mornings?"

Within minutes Moira had laid out a large breakfast, and I was pleased to see that she had cooked the scrambled eggs in with the bacon grease, and left the bacon at a perfect chewy texture. The food was delicious. Decades of cooking would probably do that for you, I had thought, smiling to myself. A few more minutes later and my father had scarfed down what little he could, letting me know that he'd call and tell my tutor to pick me up for my lessons later on in the evening as he headed out of the door and kissed my forehead.

"Thank you, Miss Cherie, for convincing your father to keep me here. I don't know what I would do having to keep myself hidden while another family wandered about, messing up the house." Moira had smiled to me, her voice a more natural, gentle old woman's voice.

"No problem. And thank you, for the marvelous breakfast. Seriously, it was delicious." I leaned back in my chair and put a hand on my stomach to show her just how stuffed I was.

"I'm curious though. Most places we go, my Dad can't see anyone like I do. And they're not exactly, trapped, the way that everyone else is here. All the things the house has told me, and yet it hasn't told me about that."

"Some things I supposed are more of a felt knowledge. I've never had any experience with any other ghosts, but perhaps it's because we're trapped here that we are allowed to be seen." I nodded as she leaned lightly against the counter top, thinking for a moment before she went back to cleaning the dishes.

"And there's no way to free you? Is every one trapped here no matter what?"

"Even those who have been laid to rest properly still wander these halls." She said simply, sadly. I took that as a sign to stop talking about it, and made my way back down to my room.

When I got there, Violet lay on my bed, relaxed. She was flipping through the pages of one of my books now, holding it above her head like an eccentric inspector. I chuckled at her. "You can borrow it if you want. It's one of my favorites though, so be careful with it."

"Sweet, thanks. Can I...?" I nodded to her, and the next thing I knew she was running up the stairs with it tucked under her arm, and then she was gone. I smiled after her, laying on the bed as well and trying to decide whether or not to introduce myself to the others, or just let them come to me. After all, some of them might not want anything to do with me or my father. Some of them though, I'm sure would try and scare us out, and I wouldn't be able to stay here anymore. It'd probably be best to talk to Vivian and Ben at the very least.

I thought you weren't scared of anything! The echoed scream from his memory told me that he was here. I stiffened unsure of how to respond. Though the house told me about everyone, it didn't exactly tell me what their intentions were or anything like that. Even worse, I saw images of him putting a knife to the last teen who had tried to live here, attempting to give Violet company, and shook it out of my head. With a deep breath, I sat up. At least the house was quiet again.

"So, you know that we're all dead." It wasn't a question. Tate's face was blank as he stared at me then made his way around to the side of the bed while he went on. "You know that we're trapped here. And that Violet is alone."

Doing my best not to look suspicious, I backed away from him towards the other side of the bed just in case he might be planning a replay. "Violet's not alone, she has her family."

I jumped as he appeared directly in front of me the second I stood on the other side of the bed. "Yeah, she said that. I'm just here to make a point."

Each step he took towards me, I took another step back, until I found myself bumping into the concrete wall, my head bouncing off of it and causing a slight headache. Next, I felt the sharp edge of a blade press to my neck and held my breath.

"Don't try hurting Violet. If I see her hurt because of you—I don't care how bad," He pressed the blade in just enough to draw a thin line of blood, "You'll be joining us here."

I'll be honest, I don't know just how much of a threat that was supposed to be. I don't think he noticed how much I really loved being here. Regardless, I nodded, and watched as he backed away, vanishing again. Something about him felt so...familiar. I sorted through the whispers trying to pick out anything that would explain how I felt. Ah...

You're a psychopath Tate, you can't feel real emotion. It's all just one big performance.

At that moment, he'd stopped crying and became serious. He'd shown his true, natural expression—pure apathy. I felt a bit guilty towards Violet as I rolled the memory of the house around in my head, finding myself more and more intrigued then pulled out my diary without hesitation.

Well, it was only half a diary. Mostly I just wrote about my experiences with different ghosts. Most of the beginning was about my mother, and how she'd trained me. But now, I found myself writing about everyone I had met so far, the odd way that they could be seen by the living, well, Moira at least, though she had hinted that everyone else could too. I wrote about how the house still hadn't run out of things to say, how so much had happened here over the years that it might never be quiet, and how it only silenced when one of the residents had made themselves known to me. Then, last but not least, I wrote about Tate, and the familiar feeling I'd felt from him. The familiar emptiness driven only by basic wants and needs.

I wondered why he had killed those students, if it was anything like why I had attacked Marie Waters or something completely different. Of course, he didn't get let off in an insanity plea and spend a couple years in a psyche ward. He didn't get the chance. And he actually knew what it was like, to feel death brought by his own hands. I didn't get to kill Marie. Had the teacher been a little bit later in finding us, I would have finished her off, but I didn't. Maybe that's what saved me from prison. I finished writing, feeling the last bit of inspiration pour out of me and closed the diary, putting it back in the drawer of my bedside table.

"Well, now that that's over, let's go take care of business." I said, mostly to myself, but fully aware that anyone else could be listening. I would never really be alone in this house, would I? I couldn't decide how I should feel about that.

I went to the master bedroom, knowing that my Dad had already set it up as his own, but also knowing that Vivian and Ben would be in here too. The moment I walked through the door, I knew I was right. I called out to them. Nothing happened.

"Mrs. Harmon? Mr. Harmon? I know you're here, I can feel you."

I'm finding it really, really hard to look at your face right now, Ben.

"I get why you don't want us here, Thaddeus can be a handful. And I know Hayden's not the best person in the world, and neither are those Murder Fanatics, but I really like it here. I'm sure I can handle it by myself, I'm more than I look, you know. And my Dad knows a thing or two about keeping himself safe."

I think you're weak.

Still neither of them said anything. I pictured them sitting there listening, giving each other questioning glances while they tried to pretend I couldn't sense them.

Don't Shrink me.

"We're not like the other families, Mr. and Mrs. Harmon, you're not scaring us out of here, okay? Whether you want to talk to me or not, you'll at least believe me. Eventually." I sighed, looking around the room and lamely dropping my arms so that my hands clapped on my thighs and walked out. Well, it could have gone worse at least.

For the first time, I think I finally feel happy.

"I'm not the best person in the world?" Hayden suddenly shrieked, appearing in front of me halfway down the hall, hands on her hips and eyes flashing angrily.

"Hey, at least I didn't call you a bitch or anything." I held my hands up in mock surrender, but she only looked even more mad.

"I should kill you right now!"

I sighed. "Go away Hayden."

"You don't tell me what to do, you cheeky bitch." Really? She stepped forward and grabbed my shirt, lifting my body a good inch off of the ground. I didn't let it phase me, and amped up the strength in my Voice.

"Go away Hayden."

And she was gone, within seconds. With perfect timing I heard the door bell. I was sure it would be my tutor, though he was here a lot sooner than I had expected, and hurried down to let him in while I got ready. In a way I was kind of relieved to have an excuse to leave the house. I'd barely been here a week and had already met what I was sure could only be about half of the residents already, and still the house was whispering. As I got to the door, I felt a little disappointed. Before I had even touched the knob I knew it wasn't my tutor.

Her name was Constance, the house told me. Tate's mother, the sweet-voiced Virginian woman who was all but sweet. I peeked through the eye hole to see her fluffing her hair and holding a tray of sweets. Don't trust the food,the house told me directly, and I laughed to myself. Duly noted. I swung the door open with a smile, and said the normal introductions, invited her in, explaining that my father wasn't home.

"Oh, yes. You'll find that this house is quite special in it's own little way," she said cryptically, setting the tray of sweets down at the island and seating herself.

"Moira, fix me a coffee, you know how I like it."

"Of course, Ma'am." I noted the way Moira poised her self differently when Constance was around, and barely listened as Constance explained that she had once employed Moira herself.

"Yes, I've come to notice that." I said softly, grateful at Moira's presence. "It's alright, Mrs. Langdon you don't have to tip-toe around everything. I've already met at least half of my room mates already." I smiled, while her's faltered.

"I beg your pardon?"

I explained to her about the house, the whispers, the things that I saw. She visibly relaxed as I spoke, and in a way so did I. It was nice having a living person that I didn't have to hide anything from—I hadn't had that since my mother had died.

"So how is Micheal, anyway?" I asked.

"Micheal's just fine. Moody, and...unique...but as fine as a summer breeze."

I nodded absently. "And...my boy, Tate... is he, well?"

Oh God, how was I supposed to explain that to her?

They're going great. Turns out I hate my mother.

That was the last time she'd spoke to him, I was sure. So how was I supposed to explain his well being to her? Don't try hurting Violet. Well, I guess in a way he was better. I told her just that.

"He's found other things to focus on, I guess." I added, and she simply nodded.

I wandered back into the house after Mr. Simmons dropped me off from my study session. It was only six o'clock but the sun was already setting. I had already slipped my sweater off by the time I made it to my bedroom door, stopping only when the house had silenced, and I turned to see Moira standing in the doorway to the dining room.

"Your sessions took awfully long, Ms. Cherie. Would you like something to eat before you retire for the night?"

"Nah, I'm good Moira, but thanks anyway. I think I'm just going to go take a nap for a bit, and then I'll eat." I replied, leaning heavily in the doorway. I was half tempted to ask her to stay with me while I slept, if only for the silence, but I decided not to.

My bed felt so much softer than usual, probably due to how tired I was. I muttered a drowsy, 'Good night everyone', slipping my earphones in and turning up the music just before the Darkness drew me in entirely.

I didn't wake up until the next day. Images from my dreams lingered, a mix of all the different events in the house. It'd be a miracle if I remembered any of my studies with how much information the house seemed to be drilling into my head. I used to worry that I would simply become the house, and every memory inside of it, losing myself to its curse without having to die.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and rolled over. A jolt of fear went through me for a split second as I saw Tate standing at the side, looking down at me with an unreadable expression before stalking away and disappearing. Okay, so I was going to be getting used to a lot of new things. As soon as he'd gone, the house started whispering again, and I slipped out of the bed, got dressed, and went up stairs. It was still dark outside, probably early morning. I didn't bother looking at the clock.

When I got to the kitchen Moira was already in there, fixing a bowl of frosted flakes and setting it on the island. I climbed onto the stool.

"Thanks, Moira, how'd you know?" I smiled at her. The frosted flakes tasted like heaven.

"I figured from the amount of cereal your father had bought that they were a favorite of yours." She replied kindly, smiling to herself as she put the box away.

I munched on them for a bit, wondering whether or not Violet would be awake and if I could call her out.

"Oh we don't sleep here." Moira said simply.

"Nope, not a wink." I started again, the second time in the last ten minutes, and chuckled.

"Hopefully I get used to you all popping up randomly. If I don't I might have a heart attack." For the first time I heard Violet laugh, lightly, but it was still a laugh.

"So, I got to reading that book. Oh my God!"

I beamed proudly at the look on Violet's face as she went on to explain how Barron's was her favorite character at the time, and we argued. My favorite then had been V'lane for his obvious...well, I'll say charm. Plus, I was well aware of the end game, but as much as I wanted to tell her, I decided to let her figure it out on her own. It was nice having someone else read the book other than me, and that she was already nearly done with it made me feel pretty good.

"So, do you have the next book?" Violet asked, excited.

"Oh, honey," I mimicked Constance's southern belle accent, "I've got the whole series!"

Violet gave an awkward shiver-sigh and laughed. "I don't think I could ever get enough of this book."

I finished my bowl, drinking the milk out of it and placed it in the sink, to save Moira a few steps, then went ahead and walked with Vi down to the basement. It seemed like hours we lay there talking about it. Vi kept asking so many questions that it was hard for me not to tell her what really happened, and I ended up giving her cryptic possibly too-obvious answers instead. When she ran out of questions we just lay there in silence.

True silence. It was nice, having her there with me, keeping the house quiet without even realizing it. I could have laid there forever.

"Hey, Cherie?"

"Yes, Violet?"

We shared a grin, then she was serious again.

"Tate hasn't, like, tried to hurt you or anything has he?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "No, he didn't hurt me. He let me know not to hurt you, but that was it. He's pretty protective over you."

Why did it make me a little sad to admit that? It was probably just the residue of Tate's emotion, the ghost of emotion filling my empty shell and giving me something...almost human. I curled into a fetal position, trying my best to slow the dull hum in my chest. If it was Tate's emotions for her swarming around inside of me, then he wasn't like me at all. He felt true emotion. Or was everyone like us able to feel that way, and he only channeled it better? Convinced himself that his ghosted emotions were stronger?

That didn't even make any sense.

All at once the whispers came back full force. I didn't need to look to know that Violet was gone. I just reached back towards the side table and grabbed my phone and my earphones, blaring the music as loud as I could. I lost my self in Corey Taylor's stylized screams. Listening to him made me forget how badly I now wanted to scream. The drum lines helped me channel my snap of emotion and keep my hands around my knees rather than twisting in my hair and pulling until my scalp throbbed.

'...Obsession, Take another look.

Remember, Every chance you took...'

I must have looked like the perfect definition of calm, sitting there like that. So relaxed. The only sign of tension was the slight tick in either wrists every few seconds. I tried my best to focus on what Corey was saying, on whatever message it seemed he was trying to get across, but my mind kept drifting back to those memories, those feelings...him. I couldn't get him out of my head.

"You want to understand me?"

At first I thought the music was getting quieter. The whispers had grown loud over the music, and they were different this time. It wasn't the house, with it's many memories and different voices. It was only one single voice cutting through the thrash metal in my ears. It was him. He was repeating the same phrase, over and over again.

"You want to understand me?"

Hands, gentle but firm grabbed at my shoulders—caressed my arms. A cold body pressed to my back, enveloping me in his embrace. "You want to understand me?"

On reflex, my body molds to his. My head rests on his shoulder so that I can feel his blonde hair graze my cheek. His lips are so close to the curve of my neck. His breath is so cold. Those cold, gentle hands that press against me just so, slide from my arms to my waist, all power and sweetness. I can feel his lips move when he talks, brushing so slightly.

"You want to understand me?"

My response bubbles out of me, like boiling water. A warm, satisfied hum of energy, all summed up in one breathy word.

"Please."

'...Don't go.

I never wanted anybody more,

Than I wanted you.

I know.

The only thing I ever really loved...

Was hate...!'

I pulled my knees in tighter as I continued to listen to the music. The lyrics drilling into my head. Could people like me feel guilt? Did we only feel the negative emotions, and simply mimic the rest? If that was true, that I was almost sure that I'd felt guilt that morning, as the light had begun to trickle through my tiny window in the basement. What would Violet think of me if she knew I was fantasizing about the one she called a monster? The one who had raped her own mother. He had even put a knife to my throat, the only time I'd ever spoke to him! For her!

And yet, something about the house...something in its stories it had told me over these past few weeks had given him a small place somewhere in my heart. I felt that if I kept listening, something would just...click.

Over the next few days, nothing really happened. I met Beu, and sometimes played with him up in the attic. Thaddeus had made a few attempts, but Nora kept him at bay most of the time. As for Vivian and Ben, they still hadn't chose to acknowledge me. In a way I guess that was a good thing, they trusted that my father and I could manage ourselves. In the weeks that I'd been there though, I would spend most of my time in the basement reading whenever I wasn't out with my tutor. When no one was around—or visible at the very least—my father and I ended the charade, and went about our lives almost as though we didn't exist to each other.

Isn't it funny? In my own house, I was noticed by the dead more than I was by the living. My closest friends were a victim of jealousy, and a suicidee. My high school crush was a murderer and a rapist; a psychopath that I couldn't get out of my head. I couldn't even tell my best, and only friend for fear that she'd reject me in the same way that she rejected him.

I took a bite of my toast and just chewed, half listening to the house, half listening to my music. In the background I was aware of the small-talk that my father was carrying with Moira as soon as the house was silent, while she started lining pumpkins along the dining room table and prepared them to be carved.

"Cherie!"

I jumped, the toast caught in my teeth as I looked up at my father, who smiled apologetically. "I was asking what you were dressing up as for Halloween?"

It took a moment to think. Moira had left the room, I knew she had noticed the difference between my father and I when she was and wasn't around. I think something about our charade had unsettled her, so she left to keep us from forcing the effort. Sifting through what the house was saying, the perfect thought found its way to the forefront of my mind. An image, really. I dropped my innocent thoughtful expression and just stared at my father.

I put it short. "Dia de Los Muertos."

"Well that's...cute." And fitting.

His unsaid remark hung in the air like the thick, moldy smell I'd grown so accustomed to. I just smiled and left the room, going back down to the basement where I would figure out how exactly how I wanted to do my make-up with the glorious help of Google, and Vi.

I called out to her the second I flipped open my laptop open, and we went through page after page trying to find the perfect one. I got the feeling that Violet never got a lot of girl to girl time when she was alive. We sat and giggled over which one was cuter, which one seemed more cool and tough looking, going through several pages until we were bored.

I rolled over onto my stomach and put my head in my arms. My heart raced but I couldn't handle the curiosity anymore. I hadn't seen Tate but twice since I came here, but everywhere I went I could feel him. I had to tell someone. "Violet? Can I ask you a really touchy question?"

"Sure, what's up?"

For a moment, I just looked at her. My best friend, dead as she was, the smile on her face as though she had completely forgotten everything that she'd gone through with him. Everything he'd done to her...for her. Although a part of me wretched at how she'd taken his kindness for granted, I still felt that guilt inside of me choke out whatever questions I might have pieced together with his name.

I forced a smile. "Do you think I should wear a dress, or a suit with it?"

Let me know what you think okay? I tried to make it a bit more different than a few of the others I've seen, and I really wanted to make it more of a continuation of the show than anything. Any ideas? Let me know. Anything rushed or repeated to much? DEFINITELY tell me about that, I do my best not to but it kind of slips out anyway. Thanks! Chapter Two will be coming eventually!