Hypnagogia
Genre: Angst
Summary: There is room enough in the darkness to destroy and to create anew, and for everything in between. He has many iterations, and Ryou is the genesis of them all. / Gemshipping, Ryou x TKB
A/N: Written for the YGO Fanfiction Contest, Season 8, Round Nine. The pairing is Gemshipping (Ryou x TKB), although in constructing this story I'm looking at the relationships between Ryou, Bakura, the Thief King, and Zorc (does that pairing have a name? xD) and exploring just who is the same. I reference several canon moments in the story, although I've adjusted a few things for artistic purposes.
Enjoy!
Hypnagogia
As the thief returns to consciousness he is acutely aware of his senses. He learns to appreciate the intensity of feeling of the coarse fabric of the cloak he's wrapped in and the smooth, cold stone underneath him. The sharply bitter scent of stale spices and incense perfume the air from the doorway cut into the wall across the room, the small patch of visible sunlight equally bright and harsh, familiar and loved.
Loved. Egypt. So many memories swarm into him as he remembers what he is doing here, lying on the ground, staring at the tablet—his life is leaving him, he realizes belatedly, although he does nothing to stop it. His life is being given up in shades, and there are faces leaning in front of his vision, faces that he does not recognize until Bakura whispers the information into his mind. Bakura's face is there, too, although no one else can see it but him.
"Where…am I? Who are you? Tell me-! My hands—what's happening to me?"
Not quite a face, however. Even though he knows all this is Zorc's fault—and his own, of course, for listening to the darkness in the first place—he knows that what Zorc has could not be called a face, just as what mind Bakura has can no longer be called whole. He feels heavy and knows there's no reason for it, but he can see enough to know that it's the result of his body turning into sand.
There's so much sand around him, blown into the cracks and crevices of every surface in sight. He wonders briefly how the grains that once comprised him will ever find their way back together again.
He hopes they will, but he doesn't think he'll quite mind if they don't. It's not that he's become lazy; although there's certainly that, too. It's more that he's finally stopped fighting it. Stopped fighting Zorc.
His chest becomes sand and sinks down into the stone, and the rest of him follows. The light seems to be getting brighter—it is too bright, and it feels warm on what remains of his face. It is difficult to see anything but light and the absence of it.
"Someone help me!" He wishes that someone would answer him—he is too close to fail now. He is not sure what he will find when he next opens his eyes. It could be nothing at all. It could be whatever Bakura wishes him to see.
He remembers for a moment how, when the bright Egyptian sun shines on the deserts, the sand is so hot that it becomes physically painful to come in contact with it. The feeling now is familiar, and he takes whatever comfort from it that he can.
Ryou stops at a street vendor's stand for an ice-cream cone on his way home from feeding ducks at the park. The normalcy and the cliché of it are staggering, but that seems to be all he has to latch on to these days.
Everyone else—when Ryou thinks of everyone else he thinks of Yugi, and Jonouchi, and Honda, and Anzu, and the strange puzzle spirit that he understands better than most—has left Domino, and Ryou isn't quite sure where they have gone, exactly. Or when, if that might be the more appropriate question.
The ring spirit had quite a lot to say on the subject, before he at once assaulted his mind and overwhelmed his memory with promises made in the past—he hadn't known what he was agreeing to, back then, and he only has the slightest of ideas now about what sort of history the two spirits really share. He thinks at times like this it's better not to know.
It's a nice day out, and Ryou takes a seat on a bench on the sidewalk to enjoy his ice-cream. It's not so hot out that it'll melt before he gets a chance to finish it, but warm enough that he wishes he would have splurged for the double scoop, even if it's only vanilla.
Ryou isn't paying the light traffic any attention, or the few pedestrians weaving their way around the streets, passing the bench. There's a trash can next to it, and a few people toss in their empty coffee cups or food wrappers from the other vendors around the area. He doesn't even notice when someone sits down beside him on the bench.
He tilts his head to take a swipe of the ice-cream and the first thing he notices is the hair. There's so few people who look like that, and Ryou himself happens to be one of them. The others he can name on the fingers of one hand, and he knows none of them to be the stranger next to him.
The stranger is watching him, in the kind of way that someone does when they think the other person doesn't know that they're being watched. He averts his eyes quickly, hiding under a layer of white bangs, but it's enough for Ryou to notice a second quality of the stranger's. It can't be natural, he thinks, but the light purple color of his eyes seems to fade and glow as he raises his head once more. Ryou attributes it to the sunlight.
"Excuse me," Ryou asks. "Can I help you?"
"I'm not sure you can." The stranger's voice is deep and familiar, so very much like the ring spirit's yet so diametrically opposite. It reminds Ryou in a way of the one time he listened to a recording of his own voice for an extended period when making his telephone answering machine. After a while, to his ears it stopped sounding anything like him.
"After all," the stranger continues, "I'd have to know whether or not I'm actually in need of help before I could accept or decline your offer."
"How could you not know?" Ryou thinks maybe the stranger could be lost. Perhaps, even, he's merely on drugs or intoxicated, but his neighborhood seems too nice for that.
"I'd have to know who I am first, to answer your question which would in turn answer mine, which in itself brings us back to the very first words you ever spoke to me."
"How so?" Ryou asks.
"I'd have to know who I am, to answer that. For all I know, I could be rich beyond our wildest dreams. For all I know, I could be living on the streets." He shrugs. "Nothing seems familiar to me. Not even you. I'm sure it's no coincidence that I decided to sit on this bench instead of one a block away. Then we never would have met." He shrugs again. "How unfortunate—don't you think?"
"Amnesia? Have you hit your head?"
The stranger laughs, and Ryou can tell that it's him being laughed at and not just his words. "Don't be dumb," he tells Ryou, and for a moment he thinks the stranger sounds a little bit more like the ring spirit. "That's such an idiotic thing to say. I have no memory and even I know that things like that only happen in movies or daytime television. Am I on daytime television?"
Ryou notices the odd looks the people walking by seem to be giving him, but he looks away, back towards the stranger. "Do you have a name?"
"Do you?" he asks in return.
"Of course," Ryou answers.
"Then what is it?" The stranger is persistent and speaks quickly, and Ryou answers without a second thought.
"It's Ryou."
"What a nice name," he remarks. "I like it."
Ryou knows he shouldn't be so forward with any personal information with someone he just met. He also knows that he's far too gullible for his own good. It doesn't stop Ryou from believing him. "So you don't remember anything at all?"
"Obviously, I remember telling you that very same thing," the stranger says with a slight smile. "I remember meeting you. I remember today, at least. I opened my eyes and here I was, standing in the middle of an intersection."
"So what happened next?" Ryou asks.
"I think I was a thief," he admits. "I didn't even think about it. I'd walked from the street to a busier square, and before I could help myself I'd reached into the pocket of a woman walking close to me and stolen her wallet. Then I felt ashamed of myself, and put it back."
The stranger is wearing an odd red cloak, much too tightly wrapped and concealing for the weather. He seems comfortable in it, though, as if he didn't mind the heat. As if it means little to him.
"I stole a man's keys and returned them two seconds later. I'm not sure why—taking them felt like the right thing to do, but I didn't know why. It feels right, but I know it isn't. It's not enough to stop, though." He glances at Ryou. "I wouldn't steal from you, though. Unless I couldn't remember it or I've done something to cancel that out. Still—I'd be sure to return whatever I took right away. You'd barely even notice it was gone."
Ryou shifts in his seat, but the stranger doesn't even seem to notice.
"Do you have a home nearby? Or can you recommend somewhere for me to go? I don't have anything to do or anywhere to go, and I'd very much like a place to stay, if only for a few hours." They lock eyes, and Ryou is once again reminded of how odd the stranger seems to appear, like he'll leave just as quickly as he appears and with as little warning. Ryou doesn't know why he agrees.
"Sure—for a few hours. I can give you a map or let you use my computer if you want."
A bit of melted ice-cream runs over the rim of the cone and onto Ryou's fingers. He shifts his hold on the cone to bring his hand to his mouth, sucking away the remainder before taking another tentative lick of the ice-cream. It doesn't taste as good anymore; he can feel his snack sitting in his stomach like a stone.
Ryou has been sitting to the stranger's left. As they rise, he turns and he can finally see the stranger's whole face.
A scar bisects his cheek and runs down his face from his eyelid to his chin. Ryou wonders if the stranger has ever seen himself in a mirror. If he had, he'd have known about the scar, and about just how much he looked like his newest acquaintance.
"Thank you for your generosity," the stranger tells him. "I'll find some way to pay you back. I promise."
Bakura doesn't look at Zorc; only his shadow. The thought passes through his mind that if Zorc is truly the darkness, how can he have a shadow?
He glances down, and amidst the swirling mist of their mind he can clearly see his own shadow lagging behind him. How odd, indeed, that he as well should have one here.
The air is sticky and humid, and the mist rolls languidly around them, barely rising above Bakura's ankles before retreating back down to lie flat beneath his feet.
It's quite striking, the way that Zorc strides across the floor of their mind. The darkness is infinite, and they have all the room they need to spread out, be it in rage or despair or incalculable joy. There is room enough to destroy and to create anew, and for everything in between.
Zorc is pacing.
It's quite a familiar action; he has done it himself numerous times, although Zorc is so large and grand that it takes him a bit longer than most to complete a full circuit. His movements are unrushed and unhurried.
Zorc is waiting.
As they both should be—waiting for the day when their carefully constructed plans will see the light that does not reach this place, and the day when everyone else above will see the darkness as it truly is.
Waiting for when the time is right. Bakura glances down at his side, ignoring the troublesome shadow, to the tarnished gold pocket-watch sticking out of one jacket pocket. He flips it open. The hands refuse to move.
In the mind, there is no sense of time, for how can one measure an infinite space bordered by an infinite direction? There are no units for it, and if there were there would not be words to describe them.
The curls of smoke lick the edges of his shadow. Zorc rises above him.
Bakura has only one question for him.
"What can I do for you, master?"
Ryou pours the stranger a glass of juice and sets it on the laminate counter. When he turns, the stranger has already disappeared, although Ryou can hear the creaking of the wooden floor and the soft shuffling of feet.
He takes his steps quickly to reach the open door to his bedroom, where the stranger is looking at a bookshelf filled with curios and photos—of other places, of other people, of Ryou himself.
"Do you mind?" Ryou may be generous, but he isn't a total Samaritan. "Please stay out of these rooms—if the doors are shut, that's probably a good indication that you shouldn't go in them."
"But if I'm a thief," the stranger replies, "then isn't it in my nature to steal things? Not physical things, I assure you. Not possessions." He sets down a piece of colored glass in its rightful place, as a paperweight to an incomplete deck of playing cards. Ryou cannot remember even seeing him take it.
"I can take information," he continues. "Or emotions, or memories, or time." He tilts his head to one side, staring at Ryou. "Perhaps I was a philosopher instead of a thief?"
And perhaps he was also a maniac. Uneasily, Ryou stands in the doorway, having more than a few second thoughts. "Come on, let's get some juice. Would you like anything to eat?"
"I think a person's room can tell us a lot about their mind," the stranger continues. "It can tell us about their anger, or their peace." His fingertips brush over another object, a tiny gold box from one of his father's many trips to some foreign country; he can't keep it straight.
"Yours looks like two people live here, although there is nothing about you that suggests you live with a roommate or a sibling." He shrugs, and his shoulders rise under the heavy cloak. He had refused to take it off when they arrived. He steps over a spilled pile of books and clothes, around the perfectly-made bed with the pillow at the foot.
"Oh–" It is all but a gasp, sudden and startling. The stranger catches sight of the mirror hung on an opposing wall, reflecting the corners until he steps into its vision.
Ryou takes one cautious step towards him, finding the rest to be much easier once he starts. He moves to stand behind the stranger, and it surprises him that they are virtually the same height.
He is standing still and straight, drawing one finger up to tug on his bangs and poke at the mark on his cheek.
"I wish I remember how this happened," he says.
"Are you sure you really want to know?" Ryou doesn't know why he asks. It would be the sort of thing the ring spirit would say, not him.
"You're probably right." It's clear by his reaction how the stranger takes the newfound awareness of not only his appearance, but the uncanny resemblance between the two.
He turns away after a minute, but it's only Ryou's estimation of the silence. For all he knows, it could have been an hour.
"You said something about juice?"
"Yes." Ryou is thankful for the change of topic. He doesn't like to be reminded of how alike they look—it reminds him of someone else he doesn't want to be reminded of. "Right this way."
When had it ever been simple?
"You wouldn't understand, yadonushi," says Bakura, idly wrapping his fingers around the spines of the ring. "You're only good as our host. You couldn't handle any more than that. Don't worry, though"—at this he removes his fingers from the ring to wrap them instead around Ryou's chin, turning it and sweeping his thumb across the jawline—"you shouldn't lose it. It's about all you have left."
"You're the expert."
"Why so glum?" Bakura doesn't wait for an answer. "I'm in a good mood today. You don't want to go and ruin that, now do you?"
"Of course not."
"There's the spite. I knew I'd see it yet." Bakura removes his fingers, and Ryou leans into the space left by their absence. At least Bakura is not standing too far away.
"I've discovered a place deep inside your mind. Would you like to go there with me? It would keep all these troublesome morals of yours from interfering with our plans. It's the best solution, I feel." Bakura's lazy grin cuts across his face, narrow lips like the edge of a knife-blade. "Ignorance is bliss, dear yadonushi."
"That's not what I think."
"Yes, but it's what we think, Ryou." Bakura only uses his name when he's blatantly manipulating him, and Ryou is only too aware of his methods of persuasion. Bakura doesn't even try to hide it.
"What do you want this time?"
"You promised to help me acquire the seven millennium items," Bakura says. "And it's time to collect on that promise. I have one, as you can see." The thin light catches on the gold, and Bakura dangles it before them before dropping it back against his chest. "And it's about time I collected a few more."
"What are you going to do?"
Bakura's grin turns into an almost pitying, mocking sneer. "Are you sure you really want to know?"
"No…you're probably right."
Ryou slides into his usual seat in class. It seems so odd to see the banks of empty chairs, where he knows his friends would be sitting if they weren't gallivanting around in Egypt or playing games with the ring spirit.
He had faith, though, in Yugi—if anyone could beat the ring spirit, it would be him.
"Hey." An empty desk separates Ryou from Ryuuji, but they at least share pleasantries each day because there's no one else around to talk to.
"Hello," Ryou responds in turn. "How have you been?"
The look Ryuuji gives him is strange. "I passed you yesterday, by the park. You were sitting on a bench—you didn't say a word to me."
"Really?" He is genuinely confused. "I don't remember that. I must have been too caught up in talking to my new friend. I should introduce you, and maybe he could even enroll in school—"
Ryou knows that he is babbling, but he can't seem to stop. Ryuuji blinks twice and exhales loudly before speaking.
"Listen, Ryou—you were sitting there talking to air. You weren't talking to anyone, just staring off and mumbling something…I forget, something about stealing somebody's keys, and your ice-cream was melted all over your hands…"
He pauses, and folds his arms over the top of the desk and rests his head against them. "I know I'm not the best person for this, but is there anything you want to talk about…?"
"No." The answer is quick and definite. "There's nothing. I was—I was merely—"
The bell rings, and the teacher calls the first name in the roll. Ryou looks away and drops his gaze to his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. They are shaking.
Bakura tucks one edge of his coat tighter around his body to prevent it from flapping in the thin breeze that seems to pervade through the blank emptiness around him. He can't see where it ends—he can't see Ryou—but he doesn't have to, to know that Ryou's pain is all because of him.
A glad exchange, Bakura surmises, if it means that Zorc's blessing will be bestowed upon him, and once he rids the world of all remaining virtue and liberation, there will be no one else to deliver them, not even their Pharaoh. He will fall first, by Zorc's hand, and then they will rule the world in darkness together. If only he didn't have to kill that thief to do it, although he was far too much like Ryou for his liking.
There should only be one Ryou, just as there should only be one Bakura. Any more is just troublesome and distracting to his goals.
He can see Zorc coming closer from the opposite expanse of blankness, almost materializing out of the black smoke. It fills him with exultation and triumph.
What he has given up to the darkness in order to win can never be undone.
Bakura has given nothing, of course, as has the thief, as is—or was—his nature. It is Ryou who made the deal, Ryou who paid the sacrifice, and Ryou who sits in chains while the darkness reigns above him.
The same could be said, then, that it is Ryou who will endure long beyond them all.
The stranger-thief is sitting on a bench a block away from Ryou's house. Ryou sees him as he walks closer, and tries his best to avoid making any kind of eye contact with him. It's not successful—he stands and immediately falls into place beside Ryou. As Ryou quickens or slows his pace, the stranger follows.
"Quit following me," Ryou finally tells him. "And I know you're full of lies."
"Do you now?" They have arrived at Ryou's house, and the stranger-thief holds the door open for him. "It's strange that you think I'm the one who's lying, when you've only been lying to yourself this entire time."
"Somehow, I doubt that. I'm not the one with the faulty memory," Ryou says. They each take a seat on the worn furniture in his living room, and Ryou shuffles the edge of one sneaker across the carpet, fidgeting.
"Would you like to know what I've remembered since?" he asks.
"Why not." Ryou leans back. "Tell me."
"I remember what it felt like to die," the stranger says. "I remember living in Egypt—"
"—Yugi and his friends are in Egypt right now," Ryou interrupts, at once thoughtful and confused.
"I'm sure they've already met with him, then," the stranger continues casually. "As I was saying, I remember Egypt—"
"Wait, him?" Ryou interrupts again. "Who do you mean by him?"
"…You don't know?" The stranger glances at Ryou with his translucent violet eyes. "After everything you've told me that you know, you've forgotten this?"
"The…" It is difficult for Ryou to speak the name—to place a name on the figure and the phantom. "…ring spirit?"
"That's right, Ryou," the stranger says. "He didn't want to kill me, you know, but he had no choice. He still needs me, however, and I'll have to resurface long enough only to die again. Do you know what it feels like, to drown in sand?"
"…No," Ryou answers.
"I'm sure you do." The stranger analyzes Ryou's expression, his nervous habits. The stranger reaches across the sofa and places one of his hands on top of Ryou's, and for a moment they stop shaking.
"I recognize their faces from the photos in your room," he says. "Yugi, Jonouchi…the Pharaoh. Yes, I know about that, too," he adds, after catching Ryou's expression. "He refuses to die by my hand, so perhaps it will take something a little stronger."
He catches the way Ryou's expression changes at that. "Now, don't look at me like that. I'm only doing it because…of you. I'm doing what you ordered me to do. It's what I've always done."
"You lie."
"I'm sure you've come to the proper conclusion." His voice is steady. "Tell me."
Ryou shivers, violently, and the stranger-thief—no, just thief, Ryou realizes—tightens his fingers around Ryou's. He can see how pale and lucent he appears to be, even though Ryou can clearly recognize how deeply his skin is tanned and how unkempt and dirty his hair is.
"That day in the park." Ryou looks at the thief expectantly. "What's wrong with me?"
The thief pouts, the frown looking so out of place against the jagged scar and knowing, bright eyes. "You don't know how easy you've got it, Ryou. Things could be much, much worse for you. Are you sure you really want to know?"
"You don't exist outside of my mind," he says.
"That's where you're wrong," the thief says in return. "Of course I exist—you gave me life, after all. Dearest Ryou, I have you to thank for so much. So very much…"
"You're a ghost," Ryou maintains. "You're…not real."
"Oh, I'm very much real." The thief slides closer to Ryou on the sofa. "I'm a part of you, after all. The part that takes what he wants. Who does what you wouldn't do under any normal circumstance. We adore you, Ryou, we really do, but you're so neglectful at times. Careless. Forgetful. We can't have that."
"What do you want?" Ryou asks. He lets the thief lift his hand from Ryou's to run his fingers down Ryou's jawline. The gentleness of the gesture is what shocks him most about it.
"It's very simple," the thief says, leaning closer to whisper it in Ryou's ear. "We want you to join us once more. Do you think you can do that?"
"Us?"
"You." The thief nods. "Drowning in sand isn't nearly as painful as being reborn from it, but the pain is rather illuminating, as I'm sure you'll find out for yourself."
"Go away. Please," Ryou insists.
"But you've already given me your orders, you just don't remember." The thief strokes Ryou's hair, consolingly. "I'm just doing what you told me. There's just one thing you need to do."
"…What is that?" Ryou is almost afraid to ask.
"Wake up and remember."
Bakura walks, following Zorc's vast shadow across the expanse of darkness that is their mind. That is their home. He knows their destination, of course—he can see it in the shadow game being played out between himself and the useless Pharaoh. In this case, it's the journey that's so much more exciting—
Bakura stops, abruptly. Something is strange, and it takes him a moment to figure out exactly what it is. Before him, Zorc stops as well. The shadow looms, and Bakura studies the pattern more closely.
Ah—he thinks he has it figured out, although his answer makes even less sense than the initial question. He reaches out one hand and his fingertips touch smooth, cool glass. A mirror.
Bakura raises his head. Zorc has disappeared.
He can only see himself reflected back, one hand outstretched. He recognizes his face, of course, but not the look it wears. He presses the fingertips of both hands against the glass, as if willing it to move or disappear. It doesn't.
The understanding spreads like fire through him, at once incandescent and ardent. Burning.
"Where is Zorc?" His lips in the mirror mimic the movement of his own.
His own face stares back at him with the answer.
A small candle flickers to life, the yellow flame quite out of place amidst the darkness. Bakura turns, isolating and identifying the location.
"He's awake."
Somewhere in the distance, Ryou screams.
The thief gently lifts one of Ryou's hands, manacled in iron, and closes one palm around Ryou's right index finger.
"This is the finger of blame, is it not?" he asks. He moves the hand to point square at Ryou's chest.
"Here is where it belongs. Never forget that."
"I hate you," Ryou sobs.
"No you don't." The thief's words are reassuring. "How can you hate yourself?"
"It's so easy." The darkness is deep and dark enough that Ryou wonders how he can see so well in it. The thief has died again, and it is all his fault—Bakura is at the crossroads, and it is all his fault—he has created the darkness and this world, and the consequences of that are that he has to live within it. He wishes both for some sort of mental button that he could press to wake himself up from a dream, and for one to put him to sleep. It would cover his escape from the present, whichever one he happens to fall into.
"You were always so good at creating things, Ryou," the thief whispers to him, "so you decided to experiment on yourself. With astounding success. You're quite pleased with the end result—at least I know I am."
"Stop talking," Ryou mumbles. "Why won't you stop?"
"Because it's what you want—I know everything about you, Ryou. I am you, after all." He sighs. "How many times must we go over this?"
"Let me forget again." Ryou's voice is weak. "Once more."
"I remember when you created me," the thief says. "I was the first, of course. Bakura followed soon after—a split from my own self. Bakura siphoned off the darkness within him—what you abandoned—into something greater, and it exploded into bloom. You're the genesis, Ryou. You could control it, if you only desired to."
"Not—"
"Did I ever tell you how I obtained this hideous scar?" The thief laughs, and traces the outline on his cheek fondly. "Your ring spirit gave it to me—how generous of him! He becomes more powerful, you see, the more you refute us and the deeper you entrench yourself in your mind."
"You're not hideous, not to me," Ryou is quick to reply.
"You don't like the idea that you have these…thoughts," he continues. "Of murder, and deceit. Of vengeance. What you're capable of disgusts you. But not me. Not the rest of us. To Zorc, well—he derives great pleasure from those acts. They sustain him. It is why he is out there, right now, destroying the world."
"This time it will be different." Ryou looks up at the thief. His face is hidden in shadow even in the darkness. Somewhere, a candle burns down to the wick.
"Somehow," the thief says. "I don't think so. We are one in the same, after all."
The thief presses the key of the chains into one of Ryou's hands. "If you unlock yourself, you'll be able to see what destruction you've caused. Won't that be fun?"
"Don't—"
The thief stands, moving a few steps away from Ryou. "But you're doing it right now. You've locked yourself so deeply within your mind to escape the possibilities. Don't you see, Ryou—the darkness is all you have left. It is you. Embrace it."
"The key—" It is heavy, and Ryou considers dropping it because of that, but he finds that he can't quite remove his fingers from their firm grip around it.
"You know the name of the longest river in Egypt, don't you, Ryou?" The thief grins. "Own up to it, and unite us."
Ryou can't find a keyhole on the cuffs.
He sits in the darkness, chains wrapped around his arms that end in nothing. He is not chained to anything. He cannot feel anything.
A second passes. The thief was wrong—the truth hurts far more than sand.
For the first time, he is completely alone.
End.
Notes:
1. Hypnagogia is the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep (i.e. the onset of sleep). The definition is courtesy of Wikipedia.
2. While I don't stick to canon like glue, the parts that I reference occur in episodes 199 and 211. I base much of my characterization of TKB on those few seconds in 211 where he sort-of "regains" consciousness from Bakura—the dialogue in the opening section is a direct reference.
3. Reviews would be much appreciated and valued! Thanks for reading!
~Jess