Outside of eastern Gotham City, there was a park called Littleton. It was a shabby thing, with rusted metal swings, a scratched slide that was streaked with mud, and a tiny tree house that looked about ready to fall out of its tree. Littleton was rarely visited and never renovated. Its woodchips had long since grown brown and rotten. The ground was spongy and always damp, whether it had rained the night before or not. The only buildings in the area were small apartments and duplexes, all of which had the same deserted appearance as a trailer park. The area was quiet and the scenery nothing to be excited about. The people who did live there lived their lives quietly, inconspicuously, keeping their secrets to themselves.

In one such duplex, there lived a father and his little girl. The other side of their duplex was unoccupied, and so the two of them were free to do as they pleased. They drew up the curtains and moved in a few pieces of furniture, and got about to their lives.

The little girl was five years old. One could already tell by looking at her that she would grow to be a strong, beautiful lady someday. She had long, blonde hair and sharp blue-grey eyes that seemed almost endless. Of course, not many got to look at her. The little girl was cooped up inside on most days, except for when she would find a way out herself. Her name was Artemis.

Her father, a tall brute of a man who looked able to crush a rock with his fist, was named Lawrence and he worked. Where, exactly, he worked was something Artemis neither knew nor cared about. No, she was very busy with her own five-year-old world. Daddy's swords and arrows in the basement intrigued her but did nothing more. She simply accepted it and went back to her own business.

Her own business changed a little bit every day, as it does with most children her age. Some days, especially on ones where the "babysitter" came over, it consisted of her reading. She wasn't excellent, but she enjoyed pictures. Daddy had books downstairs, near the swords and arrows, with giant, lovely pictures of more swords and arrows. Her favorite were the bows. Long, arched, deadly looking things carved from wood or metal or a combination of both. They were heart-achingly beautiful. And the best part about it, for a girl like Artemis, was that they were dangerous. And she knew it.

Other days, she would actually get to do as she pleased. These would be days that the "babysitter" didn't come over. Or, it was when she was simply too tired to stand up. "Tired" was what Artemis believed she was. In reality, the "babysitter" was drunk.

These days were very exciting. Artemis would sneak out of the house using either the front door-if the babysitter was careless enough to leave it unlocked-or the back window, which was always open and available for mischief. She would jump out into the world with wide, excited eyes and her already plump lips twisted in a smile.

She would never go far. Artemis was young, but she wasn't stupid. Her father would find her one way or another, and then there would be punishment. And punishments were never fun. Sometimes they were bad, like a spanking or some cruel words. But other times they were simply awful. Daddy might take away her books, or lock her in her room for hours on end, or bring the mean babysitter who was never "tired" and always locked the front door.

Either way, she wouldn't take any chances with Lawrence Crock. She learned that from a young age, and would hold that knowledge for the rest of her life.

Normally, she would head on over to Littleton. It was simply across the street, and it was always available (the gates had long since stopped being monitored). Cops rarely visited this strand, and no one who saw Artemis ever questioned why a five-year-old was all by herself in a place as rotten as Gotham City, swinging from rusted monkey bars like a daredevil. Even the Batman never came by Littleton, and that was just as well.

Littleton and all its little quirks excited Artemis. It didn't take her long to discover that it was far more than just a deserted playground. It was a whole world. A world where there was no mean babysitter, no "tired" babysitter, no father who was never home, no rooms to lock her away in. And there were things. Oh, there were things everywhere! Sticks that quickly became her arsenal of "bows" littered the playground. There were long-lost children's toys in every nook and cranny. She even once found a box of love letters that had been buried beneath the old, metal slide.

Artemis loved Littleton, and had it in her right mind that Littleton loved her too. It never left her; that was one thing. It changed a little bit every day. She would climb up into the tree house using the ratty rope-ladder and scout from above, because Littleton was always giving her a new surprise. Looky here, Artemis! I got something for you! Another rock for your fortress! An old teddy bear that a child left behind! Looky here, looky here! Littleton always brought her something. Something special, unheard of, that was Artemis' and Artemis' alone.

And, one day, it brought something she never would have expected. In its odd way, Littleton brought her a boy.

February 19th, 2000
Littleton Park, Gotham City

It was cold, even for February. There was no snow on the ground, but the metal bars of Littleton still felt like icicles to Artemis. She was wrapped up in a burgundy-colored coat that was too big for her and green earmuffs that also managed to cover up half of her cheeks. Her hair was untied and thus burst back with the frigid wind every few minutes like the leaves of a tree. Of course, all the leaves of the trees were long gone by now. Artemis had collected many of them back in October and November, haphazardly gluing them together with pieces of thread and stolen, uncooked macaroni to make decorated strings that hung down over the entrance to the tree house.

It was on the 19th of February that she first heard a car rolling up to Littleton's parking lot (which was currently home to a lovely selection of dead weeds that had sprouted through cracks in the concrete).

She was sitting up in the tree house, biting on the edge of her tongue, frowning at a small twig about the size of her foot.

This twig simply wouldn't do. It was nowhere near big enough to be one of her bows. It would have to go in the dagger pile.

She tossed said twig into a pile of similar-looking twigs and rolled over onto her stomach, pressing her hands against her rosy cheeks and sighing. Littleton had been a disappointment today. No new surprises, and if there were any, it was far too cold to try and search for any of them. And she hadn't seen any squirrels to chase with her "bow". Even they were bored with Littleton.

"Today is a bitter failure," she announced to the world, using the same words and emphasis her father had used the other night. He had been messing around with one of his weapons again.

"A bitter fail-you-er," she said again, this time dragging out the word "failure" as she rolled back over onto her back and looked outside. The world was now upside down, and yet it still looked exactly the same. She narrowed her eyes. What a shame.

It was then that she heard the grrrumgrruumgrum of a slowing vehicle on the other side of the playground. She immediately shot up, eyes wide, snatching one of her stick-bows and running over to the opposite edge of the tree house. She peered out through her collection of leaf/macaroni strings at a red car that had pulled into the parking lot.

"Wallace, I want you right back here in ten minutes, alright? Your father and I are just checking out the bookstore, right across the street. Our hotel is two blocks away. I want you to stay in this park, are you hearing me, young man?"

Artemis blinked, perplexed at this voice. It was the voice an older woman. Probably a mom, from the nagging tone that Artemis heard. But it was not a mother of any of the children who lived around here; Artemis would have recognized it if it had been. No, this was someone completely new.

She pulled the strings back a little bit wider and stuck her head out further, so that she could see the scene playing out on the other side of the playground.

There was a little boy standing near the car. He was a peculiar little thing, with bright orange-red hair and big, wide eyes that almost made him look stupid. He was wearing a black coat and jeans with grass strains on them, his hands stuffed in the pockets. His neck (and a good portion of his chin) was concealed by a bright green scarf.

Artemis looked at him for a moment longer, washing her eyes over every inch of him, as if scanning him with her own vision. Then, after a thorough inspection, she wrinkled her nose disdainfully. No, she didn't like this boy. Uh-uh. Not one bit.

"Wallace, are you listening to me?"

The sound of the mom again. Artemis' eyes traveled to the source, the front of the car, where a woman with short-cropped, fluffy red-brown hair was calling to her son. "Wallace Rudolph West, I'm serious—"

"Mommm!" The boy finally spoke, and with a whine that made Artemis dislike him even further. "I said please don't call me that!" For a boy who looked about Artemis' age, he was rather good at the 'exasperated' tone of voice.

The woman sighed and got out of the car, walking to her son and putting her hands on her shoulders, kneeling to get down to his level. Her voice was quieter then and thus it was harder for Artemis to hear her. She strained forward, squeezing her eyes shut as if this would magically help her hear better.

Something along the lines of "Please listen to your mummy" and "Be a good boy". Artemis snorted. Typical.

A few minutes later, the mother walked across the street with her husband, then stopped abruptly, telling her husband to stay outside and make sure their son didn't go running off. Meanwhile, the boy, Wallace (or whatever), blinked around at the park, looking a bit overwhelmed. Artemis snorted yet again. What an amateur.

She put the macaroni strings back in their place and then ran over to the other side of the tree house, her rubber rain boots clacking against the wood. She jumped onto the metal slide and rushed down, thinking she would give this boy a lesson or two about Littleton.

But by the time she got out of the slide, the boy was gone.

She looked around, completely nonplussed, cocking her head to the side with wonder. Puh. This boy was even more ridiculous than she had originally—

"Woahh."

She spun around in a combination of surprise and horror, as she heard the sound of a rock being pushed aside. The little Wallace boy was down on his knees and looking at the box of love letters she had hidden three months ago beneath the pear tree.

Oh, no, no, no. This simply would not do.

"Excuse me," Artemis said, puffing up her chest and walking towards him with her hands on her hips. "I said excuse me!" She repeated, this time sticking her face forward and yelling at the boy. This five-year-old already knew a thing or two about the incompetence of men, and she wasn't about to let this one get away with anything.

He whirled around with such speed and surprise that it knocked Artemis off of her own two feet. She fell down onto her butt in the woodchips, scowling at this boy.

"Huh?" he asked, breathing quickly and looking guilty as he searched for who had caught him. Then his eyes moved down to see Artemis sitting on the ground. "I—um, I…"

"You're in my secret cave," Artemis told him plainly, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms. She remained sitting in the woodchips, simply so that he could see exactly what he had caused. What utter damage he had done.

"Um…I am?" He looked around for a moment, then turned back to her. As if he couldn't clearly see that he had trespassed on her private property.

When he made no move to help her, she irritably got to her feet and walked over to him, snatching the box of love letters out of his arms. "These are mine," she told him, placing the box back in the mound of dirt it had originally inhabited.

"You write letters?" he asked, a small grin creeping up onto his lips.

"No. But finders keepers," she replied, sticking her tongue out at him. "You can find your own letters."

"But…Mom always says to share," the boy replied, watching her scoop dirt back onto the top of the box like a dog hiding a bone.

"Yeah, well, I don't want to. These are special," Artemis told him, patting the earth onto the box and then turning to face him. "Who are you, anyway?"

He grinned at her. "Wally West. You?"

She regarded him for a second, then stuck her nose up and stated proudly, "Artemis. Artemis Crock." She turned her face back down and smiled. "Your mom said your name was Wallace."

His grin instantly faded. It was replaced by a scowl. "That is not my name."

"Wallace Rudolph, she said! Like the reindeer!" Artemis giggled, utterly delighted by this turn of conversation. "The one with a red nose!"

"I do not have a red nose. And that is not my name!" Wally was blushing quite fervently now, and had crossed his arms angrily.

"If you say so." She shrugged, and turned away, struggling up onto the metal ladder which led to the monkey bars. "So why are you here?"

Wally kicked at a rock with the heel of his shoe, still embarrassed and irritable. "My uncle Barry is visiting a friend. His name is Mister Wayne."

"Mister Wayne? Like the one in the newspapers?" Artemis asked, having made her way to the top of the monkey bars now. She pushed her arms forward and grasped at the first bar.

Wally watched her, his hands shoved back down into his jeans pockets. "I dunno. He's just a Mister Wayne."

"You should always learn about a person before you get to know them. That's what Daddy always says," she advised Wally, moving from one monkey bar to another, her legs squirming in the air as she did so.

"What does that mean?" Wally asked, perplexed.

"I dunno. But Daddy's always right."

"Says who?"

"Says me, dummy!" Artemis retorted, shooting the boy a look.

Meanwhile, he had gotten bored watching her navigate the monkey bars and was eyeing her tree house. "What's up there?" he asked, a mischievous little smirk already edging up his face. Artemis didn't like that look. Nope, not one bit.

"It's my secret base. You can't go up there," Artemis stated, jumping down from the monkey bars and running over to him.

"You have a secret cave and a secret base?" He sounded rather impressed.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Of course I do. All of Littleton is secret, and it's all mine."

"Says who?"

"Says me!"

He furrowed his eyebrows at this. "Why do you get to say so?"

"Because I want to." Her hands were back on her hips, and one hand held tightly to her stick-bow.

His eyes flashed back up to the tree house. "What's up there?" he asked, his mouth slightly open as he gazed in wonder up at the frail house, with its macaroni-string entrance swaying in the cold breeze.

"Nothing!" she insisted, then snatched at his arm, pulling him back. The stupid boy lost his balance and tripped over his own feet, bringing her down with him and causing them both to tumble onto the woodchips.

They rolled a few feet, getting their coats nice and muddy, then sat up, blinking at each other in a combination of surprise and, in Artemis' case, frustration.

"You big dummy!" she snapped at him. "Now Daddy will know I was outside!" She wiped at the mud on her pants like she was three times her age, like a woman fussing over a broken nail.

"It wasn't my fault," Wally retorted quickly. "You're the one who pulled me down!"

She immediately pulled the stick-bow out and shoved it towards his face. She narrowed her eyes in a way that was both comical, considering she was a five-year-old, and chillingly real. For the first time, Wally noticed how scary this girl was.

"What are you doing?" he asked, regarding the stick-bow with confusion. His eyes wavered between it and her face, as if he expected her to start smacking him with it at any moment. "It's a stick," he explained.

"I'm aiming an arrow. At your face," she told him, looking at him darkly.

His eyebrows furrowed once again and he looked at the stick doubtfully. "You…are?"

"Shh, be quiet!" Her eyes moved back and forth, from side to side, as if she were checking to make sure they were alone. Then she suddenly leapt to the side, cocking her elbow back and "aiming" at the monkey bars. "Quick, get behind me! There's a rabid squirrel over there."

"You're weird," he replied, but immediately did as he was told. He peered out from over her shoulder. "I don't see a rabid squirrel."

"Shhh!" she emphasized again. "You'll wake up the goblin who sleeps under the tree house. He eats little…little, uh…" She scrutinized Wally for a second, who blinked at her innocently. "Little red-headed boys! With freckles!"

"I've never heard of a goblin like that before," he replied, crossing his arms and looking at her. "You're playing a trick on me. You don't even have any arrows!" he told her, his eyes moving to look pointedly at her empty, un-stringed stick-bow.

At this last phrase, she had finally had enough. She whirled on him, shoving her arm against his neck and pressing his back against the tree. She was surprisingly strong for a girl her age. She pressed harder and moved to where their faces were only inches apart. His eyes were huge in their sockets as she seemed to stare holes through him.

"Shut up!" she hissed. "Unless you want us both to be killed and eaten! I've seen what these goblins can do. It isn't pretty." Artemis thought she was doing pretty well at being scary. Watching those re-runs of old cop shows with her Daddy might have helped a bit.

"Mom says goblins aren't real," Wally told her, as if this would magically make Artemis change her mind about the whole game.

She narrowed her eyes again, fed up with this boy taking everything literally. "I don't care what your Mommy says. There's a goblin here and—" Her eyes shot up over his head, widening as if witnessing some awful scene. Then she shrieked and tackled him, pulling him over onto the woodchips and somersaulting back into a standing position. She raised her stick-bow and faked motions, like she were shooting arrows.

Wally watched her do this, yelling "Get down, Wallace Rudolph! Get down!" with a combination of amusement and utter delight. He hadn't had this much fun since he'd left home. Mom never let him do anything. Most days since he left town he would sit around in the hotel room and watch cartoons. And here this crazy girl was, treating him to the time of his life. And in a shabby playground in Gotham City, none the less!

He wiped the dirt off of his face eagerly and jumped to his feet, running to stand beside her. "Miss Artemis! The men are fatally woundeded!" he cried.

She continued to mime shooting arrows up at the sky. "They're woundeded?" she asked with faux horror. "General, you must take care of them!"

"Me? But I—" He looked around desperately, searching for something to use as a prop. "But I'm not a doctor!"

"Yes, you are! You're…you're…" Artemis' eyes widened as some wonderful new idea dawned on her. She immediately dropped her stick-bow and raced over to the tree house, practically diving onto the rope ladder and pulling herself up, her tiny legs kicking at the knots.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Wally asked, running after her and watching her climb. He didn't dare try to follow. She had already made it quite clear that the tree house was hers and hers alone. His voice grew angry. "You can't just leave me! That's not fair!"

She poked her head back out of the tree house and threw something down at him. It drifted down into his hands like a feather, and only took him a moment to realize it was a wad of tissue paper.

"What is this?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"Bandages! Now go, General! Save the patients!" she shouted at him, waving him away with her arm and dashing back into the tree house.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the tissue paper. It was a bright, girly pink that did not suit Artemis at all. For some reason he couldn't quite explain, this made Wally giggle.

He continued to giggle, clutching the makeshift bandages to his chest and running over to the seesaws, pretending they were sick patients. He didn't stop giggling until quite a while later.

He liked this girl. Yes, he liked her very much.

And so Littleton Park became a regular for Wally. Artemis hadn't expected him to come back and hadn't really wanted him to, anyway. He was annoying as all get-out, and it took him seven times to learn how to use the tree house ladder efficiently. Not to mention he was clumsy, and on the second day of their playing together he lost one of her favorite stick-bows. She decided from that day forth that she would only let him use the twig-daggers.

But he was someone. Someone other than her father or the "tired" babysitter or the mean babysitter. Someone who knew her name and was willing to listen to her, to do as she said (to an extent, anyway). Occasionally, he would even throw in a good idea or two. Occasionally.

And he was funny. Sort of.

His mother would let him visit Littleton on Tuesdays, Fridays, and Sundays. Mrs. West would always stay across the street at the bookshop, having lost faith in her husband (who had fallen asleep while watching Wally and Artemis play the first time they met). Wally would bring a picnic basket each time he came, to Artemis' utter delight. Each picnic was a different game. On baloney sandwich days, they were most often getting attacked by an army of rampaging ants. If there were grapes, she would use them like bombs and scatter them all over the playground, diving on top of Wally and knocking the two of them to the ground and covering her ears. He would shove her off of him irritably and pretend that he didn't like her. But that was typical and she could have cared less anyway.

In a weird sort of way, he was infatuated with her. Or as infatuated as a five to six-year-old can be. It was more like he was fascinated with her, this crazy woman who used sticks for bows and jumped about a deserted playground like Superman did Metropolis. As much as he hated admitting it to anyone (including himself), he was always looking forward to when he would see her next.

Days flew by. Sometimes Artemis wouldn't come. Wally would sit alone in Littleton, with his back against the tree house's tree, eating his baloney sandwiches and grapes by himself. He never once went up to the tree house by himself. Secretly, he feared she might have some sort of booby trap set up for him.

Days became weeks and weeks became months. The two of them became rather inseparable. Not that Artemis noticed one way or another. When Wally would grab her hand before they crossed the street to the bookstore, she would glance down at it for a moment, then shrug her shoulders as if it meant entirely nothing. And to her, at that point in the time of her life, it did mean nothing. She would hand Wally over to his mother each night at 5:00 sharp, say "Thank you, ma'am" in a mumbled, shy tone of voice and scamper on back to Littleton. When Mrs. West asked her where her parents were, she would reply in the only way she knew how: "Working." For that was what Lawrence Crock did.

And though Lawrence Crock worked, he was not an oblivious man. In fact, he had been trained to be very observant, very watchful. And Artemis' soiled jackets and jeans did not go past him unnoticed. The few sticks and twigs and collections of soil that gathered in the basement were not something he casually walked by. No, he had been tracking this for a while now. His daughter was up to something. Something that was more than just a little play date.

For a while, he simply watched it grow. Watched as each day Artemis got a little bit dirtier. Watched as each day she got a little bit better at sneaking out of the house. Watched as each day she grew a little bit older. Eventually, it was time to do something.

And so one day he followed her. He got in the car the way he usually did when he left for "work", and he waited for his little girl to try and sneak out. He had hired the "tired" babysitter that day, and knew for a fact that the ridiculous woman was good and drunk. Lawrence Crock sneered. His little Artemis was a smart one, yes she was.

Eventually, the little girl did make her grand escape. She climbed out the back window and rolled out onto the grass, then trotted happily over to the edge of the street, where she quickly glanced back and forth, then did a dive-roll onto the concrete. She somersaulted over to the other side, and slipped behind the Littleton gate like an old pro. She would make a fabulous burglar someday, Lawrence Crock couldn't help but think.

He quickly and silently exited his car, hooking his thumbs into his jacket pockets and walking carefully over to a group of trees, where he could watch his daughter without being noticed.

He stood there for a moment and watched as Artemis scampered through the park, running over to the tree house and grabbing the first rope tier.

Then he heard another voice call out her name, and he moved his eyes to find the source. At the other edge of the playground was a little boy, who looked about Artemis' same age.

Lawrence Crock was not happy.

He stepped forward, wanting to get a better view at this boy. Someone with his Artemis wasn't good, but a boy with his Artemis was even worse. Not that he was worried about her—Artemis could kick the boy's ass good and well if she wanted to. No, he wasn't worried about that. He was worried because he didn't want her revealing anything that…well, that didn't need to be revealed. And a boy (as Artemis was a tomboy herself) was quite more likely to get that unneeded information out of her.

As he neared this boy, what had been irritation became downright outrage.

That was no ordinary boy. Lawrence Crock had seen that boy before, in old video debriefings about the ridiculous Justice League and its ridiculous bunch of heroes.

That was Wally West. The nephew of Barry Allen. The Flash.

Lawrence's fingers bunched up into a fist. No. This would not do.

This would not do at all.

July 4th, 2000
Littleton Park, Gotham City

"I don't know, Wally. He just says."

Wally and Artemis were standing in the middle of Littleton, wearing t-shirts and jean shorts, both of them a few months older and both of them frustrated out of their minds.

"But…why? Why does your Daddy not want us to play anymore?" Wally was asking. His face was a rather amusing combination of angry, green eyes and pouting lower lip. It would have been comical had Artemis not been so angry herself. Lawrence Crock didn't just want her to stop visiting Wally. He wanted her to stop visiting Littleton. Altogether. No more. Completely. Done.

"I TOLD you!" She was almost shouting at him now, trying not to cry in rage. "I don't know why Daddy doesn't want us to play! But Daddy says so."

Wally crossed his arms, frowning in a way that was quite ugly. "I don't like your Daddy."

Artemis looked away, down at those stupid, rotten woodchips. "I love Daddy. But I don't think he loves me. He would let me stay if he did."

"Then run away!" Wally begged her, tugging at her arm. "Come and stay with Mom and me. Mom likes you, I promise. She says you're a pretty little girl and it's a 'darn right shame your parents don't take better care of you'."

"What does that mean?" Artemis asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It doesn't matter! Please, Artemis! It's BORING in Gotham without you!" Wally told her, desperately clinging for a better argument, all the while feeling stupid and needy. He hated himself for it.

"I can't, Wally. I have to do what Daddy says. Or else he'll take my books. He's already taking away Littleton," she told him, glancing over at the tree house and biting on her lower lip. Hard. She refused to let the tears tumble down from her eyes.

They stood there in silence, staring down at the ground. It was already getting dark and the two of them could hear children starting to play with firecrackers along Gotham City's more popular streets. The 4th of July was always loud and rambunctious in Gotham. Batman would be busy tonight, Artemis thought. But he still wouldn't come to Littleton.

No, he never came to Littleton.

Wally stared up at her with those big, green eyes that almost made him look stupid. "We'll see each other…really soon, right?"

She nodded immediately, as if this were something she was completely sure of. "Of course."

"You…you have to go on more missions with me. We never defeated the goblin."

"We will."

"We have to be a team again."

"We will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Perhaps out of some strange, childish instinct, they interlocked hands the way they did most nights, and looked back and forth across the street. They weren't watching in the shadows to see Lawrence Crock waiting for them. They weren't expecting him, not for him to jump out of the darkness and take them, take them into the car and drive them away. They weren't thinking that he would take them to an awful-smelling dive in Gotham, drag them down the stairs into a dark cellar. They weren't thinking they would spend a full minute huddled against each other, shivering with fear. And they most certainly weren't expecting a telepath to come walking down the stairs towards them, grinning maliciously, and completely erase their minds of any and all events relating them to one another.

When they woke up, they were back in their beds, safe and sound at home. They didn't remember a single thing that had happened to them the night before, and they didn't remember that they had ever met each other. They didn't remember Littleton Park, and they knew nothing of goblins or stick-bows or strings of macaroni and leaves.

Lawrence Crock made sure that Mrs. West and her husband were also mind-wiped, the same night that Wally and Artemis were. It was quick, easy, painless. And it kept him for having to deal with the aftereffects later on.

Only Lawrence Crock knew that Wally and Artemis had ever met, years before they were introduced to a covert mission group called Young Justice. Only Lawrence Crock knew.

It was his little secret.

In the shadows, a dark, hooded figure passed over the entrance to Littleton Park and was gone.

Author's Note: This is a response to a prompt on a WallArt fanclub on . The prompt was "secret" and this is what my ridiculous brain came up with. XD

Please tell me if anything was rushed or OOC. And please leave a review! Any and all are appreciated. :)

Thanks and enjoy!

~Star