"Do we have to move my room?"

I lean against the doorframe, my arms hugging my hips and my head bowed in gloom. My dad looks up just as he finishes emptying the chest of drawers. He puts the last of the socks into the bag on the floor before smiling.

"You'll be getting a much bigger room," he tells me, "I wouldn't be complaining if I were you."

A vague mumble escapes my lips, but I go over to him and plunk the bag of clothes on my bed. With the laundry out of the way, dad somehow manages to cart the WHOLE chest of drawers off and out of my room. I blink, stunned. Okaaay … we got a Superman here. Maybe Kryptonite is his only weakness? Aha: now I know what to use if he tries to tickle me again. I am extremely ticklish, but I am doing some serious training with my friends to become immune. So far, they've just feathered me without mercy now that I've given them permission to tickle me. My resistance hasn't really improved.

I watch as my dad lumbers back in, panting. He sees me looking and laughs.

"I know, right? I need to do some kind of workout," dad grins, to my surprise.

"What?" I say, shocked, "Most men your age wouldn't be able to lift that thing in the first place!"

His eyes narrow, his green irises twinkling with irritation.

"What do you mean my age?"

Mum's doing some plastering in the bedroom (but mostly swearing – she hates housework) so she wants me out of the house. Else I'll disturb her. Mainly, I think she doesn't want my vocabulary of curse-words getting any longer. As mentioned, she hates housework.
I pass buckling wire fences, elapsing into each other's coils. The sky is a washed-up grey visa, like my once-white tunic at the bottom of the sink, awaiting my mother's supposed TLC. Crows patrol the skies, circling the heavens with screeching caws.
What a horrible day.

I linger on the doorstep to Svenya's house. My aunt is the wisest person in the world. She is also the most sarcastic, realistic and sceptical woman alive as well, but she's smart, and she won't mind me asking her something like this. Metal clinks as a chain is drawn back (told you she was cynical) and the doorknob is cranked open. My aunt's auburn hair falls in sheets in front of her face as she peers through the keyhole. I can just see her green eye, magnified, the same as my dad's, staring at me for a few minutes before she fumbles for her keys and unlocks the door.

"Sorry, Tamsin. Just precautions. You do realise I do this for the milkman as well, right?" she smiles, welcoming me inside.

Her room is small, but cosy. The ceiling is low-down as Svenya's quite petite, and the wooden beams traversing it are cut from rosewood. A crackling log fire simmers under the hearth, with a stack of logs next to it. The sofa is plush and sags quite a lot, so my aunt hides it with pillows. She's got her slippers on the footstool, and it looks like a normal, cute little cottage from in here.

"Agh, cliché!" says Svenya, obviously annoyed, as she pokes out the fire and tosses her slippers into the dining room.

I stare at her in slight bewilderment, chucking newspapers about left right and centre and deliberately making the cushions looking uncomfortable.

"Umm … is this just because it's cliché?" I ask nervously as a fruit bowl sails through the open door.

"Yup. Everything has to look opposite to homely," she says breathlessly, "Reila is coming around."

"Oh."

Who's Reila? Probably an ex, or something like that. Svenya's been through about four or five in the last year, and she's only, what twenty-three, twenty-four? She's very pretty. And I think it's her quirkiness that attracts the men. At least, that's what happened with my mum and dad. I choose a moment when she's not holding the fire-tools to blurt out something.

"My mum's sick," I babble quickly, the words tumbling over each other in the escape through my lips, "She keep on having these flashbacks and going on about torture, you know? They're getting worse. She's really pale. Dad's looking more tired as well. I wanted to know if I could … do anything."

Svenya pauses before chucking the kindling, and glances over at me. Anxious, I bite my lip. Will she tell me it's useless? What if my mum has a mental illness (a serious one, not the one that defines her as 'unique'), like post … post-traumatic stress disorder? Or something worse? She tries so hard to hide it in front of me that I can't help but think … that things are going to get bad.

I can see the storm clouds gathering.

Ann

"Bloody-fuck-shit-shit-shit OWWW!" I cry, managing to fit three of my favourite swear-words into the same sentence. The hammer plummets from my hand and clatters down the staircase, but I don't go after it. I'm too busy sucking my indigo thumb.

"That's a combination I've never heard before," says a familiar voice from behind me, and I can hear the smile in his tone.

Loren pulls in his arms around my shoulders and yawns. He's about a foot taller than me, and his soft raven hair falls in front of my face. I forget about my bruise for a moment to play with his mane.

"Ouch, nasty!" he whistles upon seeing my poor swollen thumb, "Let me look at that."

He reaches over my shoulder to pull my hand into the light. Nice. It's fat, ugly and is a sickening shade of violet. Now it's green. And yellow. Loren notices me pulling a face, and pinches my nose with his spare hand.

"You've been through worse. I'll fetch a plaster," he says quietly, and a few seconds later heads downstairs.

I sigh, wishing he still had his arms around me. Whenever he's gone, even for the briefest moment, I feel like a part of me has died. I can't live without him: he's like some kind of addiction. We've been together for seventeen years now, but with just the one kid. Labour was way too much for me. I don't think either of us took into account what torture has done to my body.

I am like a waning candle. I won't last the night.

Suddenly, I'm alone. Everything is plunged into darkness. Pitch black. I can't see. I scream, loud, to check that I am still alive, yet I can't even hear myself think. I'm falling, falling, ever falling, and now there is a light. I pant. Recollect myself. Look around, but I am alone. Isolated. Loren is gone.
Loren is gone.
My eyes squeeze shut. Yelling out against the fear and the horror, I curl into a ball and with my heart I will Loren back to me. I rock back, back and forth, and I'm in an ocean now. The ocean's waves toss and turn. I flail helpless in the storm, a toy-boat out at sea.

I can't move. I'm falling, falling, ever falling. Falling. Falling. Falling ever falling ever falling ever falling I am falling and falling and –

"ANN! ANN!"
My eyes snap open. Hair clinging to my scalp, my whole body pulsating and drenched in sweat, I feel my pupils dilate and draw me back to reality. I breathe, in out, and the blackness shrinks … but NO his voice is GONE I cannot HEAR HIM shout MY NAME. SAY MY NAME. SAY MY NAME or the BlaCKNesS will return. Shadows creep in at the corners of my eyes and I SCREAM I SCREAM I SCREAM NO DON'T LET THEM IN NO NO NO FAR AWAY GO FAR AWAY!
"ANN! ANN, DAMMIT, COME ON!"
He yells my name and the dusk recoils like it's been STABBED. STAB STAB STAB IT STAB FOR FUCKS SAKE STAB IT STAB IT!

Then his face comes into focus and I'm staring back into green once more. Green green green.

I am enveloped in a different darkness before I can say that I love him.

Loren

Ann's final scream chokes itself out before she sinks into my lap, limp and trembling. I gasp in shock, trying to even out my breathing, but I can't. Shaking in horror, I clutch her to my chest and tighten my hands into fists. I nearly lost her this time. She was nearly gone.
It's been getting closer. The last time, she was half-gone. Half of her here, in Arunia, half of her wherever he flashbacks take her. I know it's my fault. It's always my fault. I leave her just for a minute and she'll shut down, I know that. She depends on me. Can I carry her forever? But it was always my fault anyway. I wasn't there for her in the torture room. I wasn't there for her in the camp.
I left her on her own.
I abandoned her.
Ann murmurs something indistinct and stirs. My heart flits up into my throat as I look back down at her. She gazes up at me and groans, swearing again.

"I'm useless. God, I'm so useless. I'm useless at everything, and everything's useless at me. Look, I can't even hang up a damn painting now, can I? See: the hammer's down there on the landing! I mean, of all the-"

I hug her tighter to the point of pain. She's okay. She's o-k-a-y. She's not hurt, or anything, she's okay. When I finally release her, she blinks, dazed, then breaks into a grin. Her nutmeg eyes twinkle.

"It's nice when we get all intimate, huh?" she smiles.

"No," I say gruffly, our faces growing closer, and I feel mine reddening.

"Oooh!" Ann teases, "We got a shy one here! Shall I spell it out for you? I-N-T-I-M-A-C-Y."

Ha ha ha. Now I can sense the heat radiating from her, and even smell the lingering scent of oranges from this morning at the orchard. My wife is beautiful. I should have joined the Eagles sooner. She pauses to brush a straying hair from her face. And next she dives right in.

"I'm claustrophobic …" I manage to get out, but we're too far gone for phobias anymore.

Tamsin (that means no more yucky romance for this chapter, Chloe!)

"Your mother went through a lot a while back, Tammy. I'm sure you get that. And … really, there's no mending her. She's suffering inside. I think only your dad can get that far in."

I wince, like these words are searing hot pokers, and they're branding me with Svenya's mockery.
No. Svenya isn't mocking. She's telling me the truth straight-out as nobody else could.

"If there was anything in the world … anything … that could fix her, even if we could never do it, or find it, or whatever … is there nothing we can do?" I whisper, gripping the edge of the sofa in my sticky palms.

Svenya bows her head, thinking hard, and seats herself next to me. She picks up a cushion from the floor and puts it behind her for a headrest.

"Yeah. There's a couple of things we could do, and when I say we, I mean you. I love your mum, I really do – she's a great idi … I mean, she's a great friend. But … this is your fight, Tamsin. Not mine."

I nod eagerly, waiting for her answers. I know she can see me hanging in here so I press it further and part my lips slightly in anticipation.

"We could subject her to Ascension."

Okay … what?! What the fuck?! This is serious, really bloody serious. Svenya doesn't do jokes. Not normally, at least, and I thought she actually understood me for a moment there.
Ascension is where you take someone (preferably dead) and let a Valond priestess alight them on top of the highest mountain in Arunia. There they are supposedly freed with the Gods. I think only kings, queens and Nobles have Ascended so far, but my mum? That's plain ridiculous.

"We are not killing mum in the process," I say shortly, crossing my arms in irritation, "I mean serious things. Actually, seriously, serious."

"Oh, I am serious alright. That's the only way we could actually free her. Your mother took to religion recently, am I right? She started thinking about Ascension when I first met her. Ascending her would put her soul at peace. That's what your mother wants you guys to do when she dies, you know."

"And … what else?"

"Just the one other idea," Svenya continues, "We … We use Paradise."

I shake my head in utter confusion. Use Paradise?

"That's when we transport someone to another land … their 'paradise' land. You just do a ritual, I think. But it's dangerous. Dabbles in magic too much. You could find yourself in a world where life is more painful then death, but you can't die. Things like that. It's when you get desperate."

Desperate, huh?

Kinda fits the description right now.

**Sorry about such a late release-date, but I've had essays and tests and God knows what else! But, hey, it's here now! For this chapter (just for you, Ellie ;P), it's a multiple POV including Ann's point of view. This girl just mentioned – Ellie – doesn't know who Herobrine is! Guys, please post a review to tell her!

Also, Ellie ... INTIMACY!

Love you guys!

And (Lucinda), can I call you Lucy? Some people have a thing with names, so I generally avoid nicknaming people.

Lu xx