Cruella De Vil nor any other Once Upon A Time' nor Disney' character belongs to my humble person. If they did, they'd be cooler.
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She was almost happy she had not killed that silly reporter now. She had dismissed the staff for the night right after her mother's… passing, and - unbeknown to them, she had locked them in the servant's quarters, in which had probably been her wisest move to date, now that she stopped to reflect about the whole affair. In her bloodlust, she had been careless, relentless. If she had carried on scattering empty carcasses around the house, as she had almost accomplished, one of the servants would have notice and alerted the others; and then cleaning duty would have doubled, tripled even. She did not enjoy menial work like tidying, she had learnt tonight. Mostly because it was desperately prosaic. Involving in repetitive motions and processes, time and time again, was something she could simply not endure nor allow, being the nature of her boredom-induced blackouts as it was. It was mediocre and dangerous, and she could not afford to assume those qualities, not anymore. Not now that she had finally reached her freedom. So Cruella was actually quite relieved that she had not been able to finish the pitiful male off, but she was quite confused about it as well. She understood he had used that magical -she would need to revise that piece of data very carefully, pen of his to make her do, or rather 'not do', something. She had felt it work on her just as the animal manipulation skill had worked on her hours earlier, but she was not entirely sure what he had done or how it would affect her. She was not even sure if both would still work tomorrow morning. The woman stood, careful not to let the pail spill red on the patterned surface, and admired her work while making a solemn promise not to put herself in this situation ever again.
Cruella thought about tomorrow morning, already vexed by the downpour of issues she would have to deal with then. It would not just be explaining the newest change of management to the staff and invent some clever lie about her mother's whereabouts -'trouble in daddy's vineyards' would have to cover it until she thinks of something more tragic, she would also have to consult with the family lawyers about matters of property and heritage. She had read extensively about it on her father's books but she was not aware of her personal situation since her mother had never shared the contents of his will with her, thinking her too young and ditsy for such serious matters. Truth was Cruella De Vil had been educated by the best tutors Essex could offer; and in a remarkably short amount of time, at that, -accelerated at her mother's insistence but followed through without problem by the girl. In her constant brawl against ennui, she had read every book in the library -which covered an ample diversity of topics, at least twice, and she had demonstrated inventive and resourcefulness in every one of her fathers murders: as far as she was concerned, she had always been rather bright. Not that she had anyone to compare herself with, but it did not mattered: she had always had solely her own opinion to rely on and that had always been enough for her, so it would have to be enough for the rest as well. She would also have to think whatever to do about the servants; they were prospective witnesses to a murder case and simply too near for comfort. It was fortunate that her mother had made certain they would be a small and mostly young group, which she would renovate every couple of years to make sure they never interacted with her daughter more than was absolutely necessary. Most of them were not even aware of her existence, as she had discovered when she went down to the kitchens that night. Only the cook -a lovely old female who knew her as a child and managed to smuggle biscuits to the attic every once in a while during her confinement years, and the footman-become-butler -the one who had treated her Goldcrest friend in such disgraceful manner, had recognized her. The young would be easy to relocate and the cook could stay, but the butler would require some sort of especial treatment.
Lost in her machinations, the woman barely noticed she had made her way to the gardens with the pail of dog blood still in her hand. She headed to the patch of dirt where her precious trumpets had once thrived, strong and beautiful, under her mindful care. Without much of a thought, she poured out the contents of the pail on the abandoned dirt, feeding it. It had always being easy bringing life to anything around her -being an ancient dusty attic or the most finicky of flowers; and it was rather funny how easy it came her, when her favorite thing about life was the thrill of squeezing it out of a breathing body. The irony was far from subtle. Cruella walked to the fountain in the center of the garden and started washing the cloth she had used to scrub the floor, gathering every wringed drop in the pail. The water ran reddish, at first, then pink; the woman persisted until it became transparent again. She made her way to the dirt patch -her dirt patch, to feed it again, with the blood meal the cloth provided. She felt like an ancient priestess offering a sacrifice to whichever goddess favored Angel's Trumpets. She was fairly certain it was a woman but she could not recall her name, History never being her forte: why look into a dying sunset when the light flickering at dawn is so much brighter? Anyway, she was feeling quite primordial at the moment and she enjoyed it, so she engaged. She went to gather more water from the fountain and returned. She had thrown away her shoes and dipped barefoot on the muddy surface, pail of clear water high on her hands; she took a deep breath. «Fucking cold!», she screamed as the water ran across her body, taking any evidence of the slaughter away and into the famished soil, getting warmer as it advanced. Cruella thought of the vulgarity she had voiced, and of the freedom she had to voice it now; and then she laughed. She laughed aloud and she contorted and she clenched her hurting belly, and then she laughed even more. The woman spun around in her ruined dress and felt her wet locks getting messier, but it did not matter; she felt so excited!
Therefore, as enthralled as she was on her little celebration, the woman did not realised she was being watched. Not until he had the decency to signalise his presence... by laughing. Cruella jumped back in caution; it had been the quietest of snickers but she had felt it anyway. She had felt it in her body, like a vibration; and she had jolted at the feeling, just as her mother's beasts used to jolt at the sound of thunder. The woman realised, then, that she was not shaken by this stranger's intrusion at all; she had known of his presence all along. She was not sure what to make of this sudden heightening of the senses but she would figure it out at a later time; right now, she chose to use this as an advantage. She quickly adopted a more insouciant demeanor, hoping the male had not perceived her hesitation. The trick with beasts -as she had learnt from her constant encounters with the dalmatians, was to mantain the appearance of control. She knew they were able to smell fear, but if the body language was not threatening to them, they would adopt a cautious behavior rather than aggresive, and that represented gained ground for her and her plans. Appearance was key in every aspect of life, Cruella firmly believed; and thus, she would change her own whenever was needed. It had worked wonders in her adolescence years against her stepfathers, again tonight on the reporter and, she was sure, would do so in any other male she encountered. She assessed the smiling intruder using her newest tools to gather any nip of information: he looked courtly, he felt tense, he sounded chary, he did not smelled of fear and… he must have terrible taste to be wearing that hat. Until she knew more, the woman opted for the curious and gullible caged bird, especially designed to destroy the... 'sterner' sex's defenses. «Most frightfully sorry... sir, but I do not seem to be able to recall your face. Are you, by any chance, a friend of my mother? », she asked innocently. «I'm not, my lady», was his answer as he began to slowly approach her. «Could it be, then, that you work here? », she asked, again innocently. «I'm afraid not, my lady», he had closed the distance between them to a barely decent couple of steps but Cruella De Vil refused to be intimidated by such an inferior creature. The woman simply stood in place, full height and defiance. The smiling stranger studied her carefully, but now she was able to inspect him as well. His smile looked more forced than amused. The tension she had observed on his shoulders appeared to extent to the entirety of his body, as if he was permanently prepared to run in the opposite direction, should trouble arise. His eyes were bored; not her usual uninterested sort of bored but truly weary, as if he had already seen everything the world had to offer and was mentally exhausted of its repetitiveness. Cruella felt her chest race, her head spin: she was completely taken by the thought, utterly stimulated by the possibilities. She changed tactics.
«Then what could possibly be that brings such an excellent World connoisseur as yourself to my garden this evening? It is hardly time for visits, sir», the woman tried to apply a bit of accidental flirt to every word, just enough so she could steer away in time if necessary. The male smiled again but now that Cruella had him this close and personal, she could not help but notice how forced the smile was, how fake it looked in contrast with those apathetic eyes. He was trying to appear complacent but was failing miserably. «You know, the picture-of-purity act doesn't quite agree with that look you carry, my lady», he signalised to the fountain, inviting her to see for herself. Cruella was rather confused by the comment; sure, she must be a bit of a mess right now but, if anything, it should be cause for concern, not for mockery. She sneered at him and ambled to the fountain, incredulous. She looked down on the reflecting surface and froze as she discovered a set of curious eyes gazing back at her under a rather thick layer of make-up. The dark shadows above her eyes and the flaring cherry red lips made the most beautiful disparity with the female's fair complexion. The soaked bangs that framed her face were divided in two-coloured symmetry, one side black and one side white, which gave her a delightfully eccentric visage. The whole look was rather unique, and it gave the female before her a very strong sophisticated mystique, as those film stars she had spent her lonely days reading about, devouring magazines and picture books. This female fascinated her in a way that only music had achieved before. Suddenly, the enchanting innocent expression changed into a confused furrowing of eyebrows, as if she were wondering the same as Cruella-«Oh...», she whispered in appreciation. She delicately reached for her right cheek and watched the beauty in the water mimic her action; then she noticed the diamond earrings she was wearing, the same the reporter had written for her. She suddenly blasted into joyous laughter, her sky blue eyes ablaze with delight. Her freckles were no more, replaced by flawless milk-white skin that made all her other colours radiate with dazzling force; she was sure she could stop a train with just her gaze. And, oh, the hair! The whole evenness in her contrasts both embodied and concealed her inner being in such poetic fashion. She understood the male's words now; she needed the confidence to match this particular picture, a confidence her past self could never achieve. She needed change, a vast variety of changes. So for the third time this evening, she changed strategy, but she felt quite confident this one would never want to leave.
«Well, darling», she whispered; «…isn't this swell? » The woman turned to face the stranger; her accommodating smile transfixed into a fierce grin, her eyes wide, and sharp like sabres. She examined him from head to toe, grin broadening, «how should I call you then, tall dark stranger? ». «Jefferson's the name, my lady», he said as he took off the ridiculously oversized hat and engaged in an equally ridiculously exaggerated bow. Cruella did not mind the honorific but she surely was not accustomed to hearing it in her direction. It rolled out of the male's tongue with ease but she was not sure she entirely liked it. Besides, it was her father's title, and, knowing the law, she was positive it could not become hers so why bother getting used to it. «Oh, do please drop that dreadful distinction. I find honorifics to be appallingly dull, do you not agree? Long tradition and all. Might even be because of it...», the woman initiated a rhythmic gait; hipswinging her way, pass the male, towards her house. She turned without stopping, «are you going to stay there all night, darling? You will catch your death! »; the woman smiled and turned, again without stopping, waltzing into the house with as much grace as her muddy steps allowed. A sensible female would have never invited a stranger into her home -not at this hour nor any other hour, unchaperoned, but Cruella De Vil was definitely not just any female. Moreover, at the moment, she was sure to be more sensible than all of them together, for upon entering the house she went straight to her Dalmatian fur and recovered the gun she had written for herself with the magic pen. She hid it into her stockings and turned just in time to see the male entering the room. «I could not possibly abide myself to fall ill at a time like this, you see; so much to do! » She covered herself with the fur, trembling slightly, making display of her apparent vulnerability; after all, people always underestimate a girl in diamonds and furs. «Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of such... genteel company? » She made the gibe clear in her voice but paused to peer at the archaic top hat the male held behind his back, for emphasis. At this, the male smiled, peevishly like a child. «I was around the neighborhood, Miss-» «What an odd thing to say. I insist you tell me your intentions at once, lest I will be forced to command the dogs against you», she cut him mid-sentence, blunt; a blind rage was starting to burn inside her, like none she ever thought she possessed. Well, none except for the Other. However, she could not let her take charge right now; she breathed and blinked away her anger, relaxed her body, poised. Jefferson dropped his fake smile at the interruption and glared intensely at her, caution forgotten. He looked hurt, as if she had robbed him of something he desired, although Cruella could not begin to imagine what the strange male was after. He stood in place, bringing the hat forward, extending his arm in her direction. «Why, you of course... darling».
It happened in a blur but she managed to keep track. The male had dropped his hat in front of her -probably an attempt to distract her, and then raced in her direction, fast as a bullet. However, Cruella's first impression was wrong for the male had not intended to grab her, no; he was after her fur coat. The blind rage that had almost overcome her before suddenly burst alight inside her; it rose from the pit of her stomach, through her chest and into her head, from where it came out as a shout. «How dare you trying to separate me from what is mine!? », she barked. «Stop! »; and then, without thinking, she discharged all that rage she had within towards her attacker, in a green haze. The enchanted whirlwind surrounded the male before he could touch her; barely inches away, he immediately froze. A second after, his entire body slowly began to relax: his arms loosened, his expression placated, his intentions dissipated. Cruella examined the expression on his face: a mix of confusion and anger; he had raised an arm to his chest at the last second, as if he had expected for her to counter-attack but wasn't expecting exactly for it to be like this. She smiled at him, satisfied as she saw fear crept into his eyes. The smirk in her face suddenly transfixed into an indignant sneer; «now, darling, is that any way for a guest to behave? ». The woman circled her prey with calmed malice; knowing he grew a bit more nervous with every clic her shoes clac'd. In all honesty, she was not entirely sure what had just happened but -again, she did not feel surprised by the outcome, merely relieved. Somehow she seemed to have control over this male, which had clearly only been possible thanks to her new skill; but did this mean she had power over humans as well? Could it be that it only worked on males? Was it that this particular stranger had particular qualities that made him vulnerable to her power? She tried to consider other possibilities but found herself more interested in what the male had to offer; not in matters of amusement –which she briefly considered before recalling her promise, but regarding information.
«Your lack of perplexity is most bewildering… Jefferson, was it? », the male followed her with his eyes but otherwise did not move. She stopped her pacing to face him. «I demand you answer me at once», at this, the male staggered and spitted a low confirmation, seemingly against his wishes. «Tell me then, what on earth are you doing in my property? », she resumed her idle gait following random courses across the floor. He grimaced as if he was in pain, «I'm following the magic». Cruella changed course hastily and faced her prey, her eyelids slightly closed, her eyes raving with hatred. «So you do know about magic. Are you working with that nasty reporter and his magical pen? » The male furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and examined her, looking for insincerity. «Answer me now», she pressured. «I was only following the magic» The woman had a better mind than to believe him so she inquired further. «Explain yourself. What do you mean by 'following the magic'? ». «Only what I said. I've been following a great source of magic for the past few days. Tonight, it led me to this place just to move into the woods afterwards; I followed, but it disappeared about three hours ago. I thought I had lost my chance to go back but then I felt a small amount of magic still inside the house, so I came back for it», he eyed the fur again. «What do you mean 'go back'? You sound perfectly English. Where are you going back to? Answer », she could feel her suspicions grow as she kept asking questions, and her anxiety as she heard them confirmed. «Go back… home», he was obviously fighting but she was not going to be fooled; «Where is this home of yours, male? Answer! », she asked desperately. Only one word blasted out of his mouth, «Wonderland! » The sky blue eyes glanced at the male in awe. She had suspected such a thing, given her earlier conversation with the reporter but it was another matter entirely to have it confirmed by one of his creatures; and she knew him too! She had read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland so many times that the tome was shabby, with crooked pages and tattered covers. She never began a book by its first page but from some point in the middle, to make sure the story was, in fact, interesting. The surreal environment and silly disposition of most characters reminded her too much of her first stepfather's flamboyant soirées; thus she hated the book instantly. However she was entranced by this girl who appeared to have been given the opportunity to escape her dull aristocratic life and took it without a second thought, so she returned to the beginning of the book and devoured it in minutes. She dreamt, the next few nights, of her very own journey to many distant lands, with the book clutched against her chest. Cruella's startled blue gaze examined the male's hollow orbits which were moving hyperactively, compensating for the inertia of the rest of his body, and then she remembered… the hat. «You are the Mad Hatter… », she whispered.
He grimaced, as if the name hurt him, and nodded. The woman could only stare at him, marveled by the implications of this creature's presence in her house. The reporter had said something about 'this world' being aside from time, which meant there others that were not; he said he collected stories, which meant there was a place where they all would stow and intersect, like a library of sorts; he wrote them down and collected them, which meant he must be able to look for them in those other worlds, and thus had access to the place where they were stacked. Her mind raced formulating questions and resolving them herself; she often jumped into conclusions and was, almost always, proven right at the end. Finally, she asked the first question she failed –or dreaded, to find an answer for, «Is this world without magic? Answer » He grinned as he obliged, «not anymore, my lady». «I am going to free you now and you are going to tell me everything I want to know. You will not try to escape, and if you do I am just going to trap you again and feed you to the beasts. Are we clear on this? »; Jefferson glared daggers at her but finally nodded. As if he had any choice. She released the mental grip she had on the male, like loosening a dog from its collar; the male's body regained tension as she did, and the next moment he was sitting on the floor manoeuvring to his hat, which flied across the room to his head, only to be rapidly taken off and placed in between his crossed legs. «Comfortable? », Cruella asked, raising an eyebrow to such display of crassness. «At least, better than before; although, a nice cup of tea would help me making me feel more at home… my lady», he retorted, but the woman had already resumed her pacing and completely ignored him. «If I am getting the picture correctly, you and the reporter who was here before come from another world; a different world where time passes. You both came here with some sort of magic, probably the same magic he used to escape afterwards, the magic that gave me this power: the pen. That means you have one of those pens as well but, for some reason, you cannot use it to escape so you came here looking for my fur coat… », she was trying to piece everything that had happened that night together; she felt struck by lightning, fueled by it. «…because it is drenched with ink. It is the ink you are after, not my coat», she stopped for confirmation, gazing wide-eyed at the male in the floor; «The magic source you were talking about is the ink that is spilled on my coat». He had a mix of confusion and surprise in his expression; he stopped to consider everything she had just said, previous smugness forgotten. «Answer me now! », she shouted, making the male jump on reflex. «I didn't hear a question, my lady, but... », he added as he saw the murderous look forming in the woman's eyes; «I do understand what you're saying; most of it, anyway. You see, I come from the Land of Wonder, as I mentioned before, from which I can get out –almost always, at will with my hat», he presented the inside of the hat to her; «with which I'm able to cross to other realms, like the Enchanted Forest, where I recently moved. There I run a little business of retrieving artefacts from other realms, at my costumers' request». «So… the Mad Hatter is nothing more than a glorified thief maddened by mercury abuse, how quaint», Cruella chuckled at her own joke, which was not as well received by her guest. «If you allow me to continue, my lady, I assure you you'll find me even more amusing…» The woman nodded, «do so». «My latest assignment was to follow a man who, apparently, had the same abilities as I. He didn't look like much: a bit anxious but good-natured, rather silly man», Cruella blanked her eyes at the mention; «I followed him to this realm where, as I found out rather late, there was no magic whatsoever, which made my return impossible; and the worst thing was, I had lost track of the man in my initial disorientation». The male grinned bitterly and lowered his head, «there's nothing worse than to know yourself alone and powerless at the same time, I can tell you. You probably have no idea… ». But she did have an idea; hell, sometimes it felt like the whole notion had been invented for her. She had known loneliness up close since childhood, and felt equally powerless once her mother had stacked her in that attic with the rest of her forgotten belongings, at the mercy of her vicious dogs. She felt the halo of coldness intensify around her, even over her coat; she crossed her arms, warding herself from it. «Do continue», she said in a hollow steady tone.
«This realm does occur through time, unlike what you just said; I've been here for over, what you'd call, a year. Growing more and more desperate to return home, especially after knowing about your big bad war; if I wanted to witness any more slaughter and death I'd have remained in Wonderland after the Queen of Hearts took over», his eyes went a little… mad, at that; Cruella couldn't find another way to describe it. «And how did you stumble upon the reporter again? », she inquired. «Apparently, the lack of magic in this environment propelled other of my abilities; I can sense magic around objects and people, since I constantly need powerful sources of specific magic to fuel my hat. It took me months to track him down but I finally managed to catch him in the vicinity, which was strange: he usually doesn't stay anywhere for long», he looked at her and grinned again; «I suppose I have you to thank for that, my lady». She chose to ignore the honourific again, certain as she was he was trying to make her angry and unsteady; she certainly could not afford to lose herself at the moment. «So you followed him to this place and planned to steal his pen and ink to return to your realm» «I knew he had magic on him, a powerful sort of magic, but I didn't know what to look for. Magic comes in many forms: objects, light, air, even… people, sometimes», he stared at her, trying to see beyond, to something hidden in her anatomy. Cruella, once more, chose to ignore the unbalanced male and continued her interrogation. «Could it be possible, then, that this coat has become magical because it's been spilled with magical ink? », she reached for the spotted fabric, now stained with large dots of ink and blood as well, and displayed it for the male to examine. He blinked as he was brought back from his thoughts and eyed the coat, inspecting it with eagerness, «I'd say it is, my lady; very possible»; he stood up but did not move from his place, only extended a hand in the woman's direction, «may I? » She stopped her pacing at the sight of him standing; she tensed, retrieving the gun and pointing it in his direction. «You may not. Not until we have settled a few particulars first»; the male retreated his hand with a sharp move, giving her a disappointed sigh. «You may not realise this, as we have just met and you make a rather piss-pour detective, but I have suffered from a secluded… life, in the most literal sense. I have no idea what year it is, neither our current date; and, until you told me, just now, I had no idea that there was a war going on somewhere-». «If we've already passed midnight, the date is March 31, 1919; war ended last November». Cruella laughed inside a bit, what a perfect unbirthday gift this day had been, concluding in her real birthday. «Do not interrupt me», she paused for a moment, considering her options; «As I was saying, since I have almost none practical knowledge of the real world yet, I have no desire to leave it anytime soon. However, this does not mean I will be forever satisfied with its contents, and thus, I might choose to explore new ones someday», she grinned wildly, looking at the blank canvas in front of her and filling it with prospects. She put the gun down and directed her attention to Jefferson, «oh darling, I do think we have the most marvelous of friendships ahead of us»
Cruella was tired of having breakfast alone in her room like she had been doing for the past ten years, so, as soon she woke up, she commanded her mother's maid to prepare the dining room for her morning meal. Once there, she instructed the maid –now her maid, on all the activities they would be engaging in for the rest of the day; especially relocating all her belongings in the master bedroom. Little was inquired about her mother's whereabouts; the staff did not seem to be particularly fond of her either. «Also, tell the gardener I prepared a plot for him to sow a new flower, and I want it done as soon as possible. The name of the flower is Datura Metel Fastuosa, the blacker the better. Do not dare getting it wrong», she said before dismissing the maid and resuming her meal. She tasted the fruit they had prepared for her but find it utterly unsatisfying; it was mild, dull, and she felt her jaw tense with the need to chew on something… stringier. The woman asked for a small piece of meat, rare, and a glass of her father's red wine for her breakfast. As it arrived, she could smell the mixture of scents emanating from each piece; she could smell the fire in the meat and that what fire did to you in the wine. She cut a piece of the mostly raw meat and marveled at the red it held inside; blood juicing all over the white surface of her plate. She heard the juices as she chewed slowly, and moaned at the tenderness and feeling of its texture, wrapped in a sensual haze. She almost cried at the taste of blood in her tongue; sweet, salty, coppery: she could only described it as fabulous, and that was enough for her. She sighed happily and chuckled, finishing her first bite, bracing herself for the second. «Is this more to your liking, my lady? », the footman-become-butler asked innocently. «Do not call me that», she snapped, startling him a bit; «Yes, I am enjoying this very much…» Cruella had a mind to order this plate for every meal every day, but she could not pronounce the words; she panicked at first, afraid that she had suddenly lost her voice or something of the sort, but tried other words as she saw the butler's increasingly worry grow in his body language. «Is…», she tried; «Is there any more meat left? » «We must have enough for the rest of the week, Miss», was her answer. She tried to command him to buy more but the words were trapped in her mouth once again. The woman slammed her fork into the plate, which caused it to break. She thought she knew what was happening to her and became so angry, she wanted to destroy everything around her. She was so enraged she did not notice she had hurt her hand with the porcelain pieces. «Miss…», started the butler, who had noticed her injury, but Cruella interrupt him; «Call Mr. Rampling and Mr. Knight. Tell them I need them both here with my father's will at once. If they cannot arrive today, tell them that I will be forced to find lawyers who can». «But, Miss-» «And leave me alone. Now! » The butler stood startled for a second but quickly regained his sense of survival and made haste to retrieve what remained of the plate and steak and put it in service tray. Cruella watched as he did, slowly reaching for the gun she had hidden in her stockings. She waited until the butler started his way out of the dining room to bring the gun out and point at him, just at the center of his back. She remembered how he had treated her friend all those many years ago; the indignity Goldcrest had to suffer at that male's hand. This scrawny little male was the sole remaining culprit of the most hideous of crimes, and he had to be punished. But as much as she tried to coax her finger to squeeze the trigger could simply not do it; her opportunity lost, as the male finally left the room.
Cruella threw the gun over the table and began to suck the blood pouring from her fingers, trying to find solace in the taste. That fucking reporter and his fucking bloody writing! This curse was going to be absolutely bloody unbearable.
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Hello again and thanks for reading~
I didn't know ff gave such detailed information about the readers. I was rather surprised/excited to find that this had been read in places such as China, Netherlands and Saudi Arabia. As a language geek, I am ecstatic, and I have a bit of a favour to ask. Please, could you, #devildarlings, –wherever you're from, add 'hello, darling' and/or 'hello, gorgeous' in your mother language when you review? It will probably appear in future chapters since Cru is in such a hurry to experience the world, and what better way to experience something than to make it yours, am I right? ;)
Also, thanks to you (yes, you), who followed, and to Mia and MaraMania for their support and taking the time to review this clumsy little piece. MaraMania, dahling, of course I will continue; the fun has just begun~
Albums listened: Amy Winehouse's discography to set the mood, and Uh Huh Her's Common Reaction.