Disclaimer: I do not own Gotham or any of the characters, except my OC.


Chapter 2

The first morning I woke up in Wayne Manor, I had an awful feeling that the afternoon before had just been a dream. In a panic, I leapt out of the bed and rushed over to the vanity. A huge sigh of relief left me when I saw that the drawing of Jerome was indeed real and had not disappeared. It had been real.

I brought the sketch closer to my face and examined my work. It was clear that the boy in the picture was Jerome, but the lines were rough, imprecise, and slightly off in proportion. My lips curled in dissatisfaction. I was out of practice.

A thought occurred to me, and I padded over to the closet where I was keeping my unpacked things. I opened the closet doors and knelt by my duffel bag, and I reached inside and pulled out an old, battered purple sketchbook. My fingertips reverently traced the edges of the book before opening it fully.

The first drawing was one of my mother laughing with tears streaming down her face, drawn from memory. My chest tightened painfully, and I quickly flipped the page. The next one was of Bruce when he was little, playing with a set of legos. Aunt Martha and mother giggling conspiratorially amongst each other. Father reading the paper with a glass of scotch in one hand. All of the first twenty pages were portraits of family members and friends in various situations.

The next pages were landscapes, snapshots of bustling city life, street dancers in action, wild horses galloping across a prairie, and countless other scenarios. Each drawing was dated, and there was one for nearly every week. Then, after over two hundred drawings spanning over three years, they stopped. The pages after were horribly marred with frustrated black charcoal marks, crossing out and covering up the incomplete drawing underneath. Then, I came upon my last drawing.

It was a self-portrait, my first one. The lines were harsh and rough, but the drawing was unmistakably me. My face was a covered with a motley of bruises and scrapes, and my lip was split and bleeding down my chin. But it was the expression that drew my attention. My eyes were dead and flat, and my face was empty of all emotion.

I stared at the person on the page for several long moments, thinking back to the time I had drawn that. It had not been a creative spark that had entered my soul and spurred my fingers to act. It had been a spark of hatred and defiance. I had drawn it to remind myself that although I was beaten, I was not dead. I was still there, and I would survive. And I did.

Flipping the page again, my eyes fell upon blank, slightly yellowed paper. I pulled out the sketch of Jerome and clipped it to the empty page with a paper clip. I gave it a date and turned to another blank page, bringing my pencil to the paper. My lips pursed as I struggled to think of something to draw.

Nothing presented itself. Nothing at all. Even Jerome's unique grin and sparkling eyes was fading from my mind's eye. I glared at the page for several minutes, racking my brain for something, anything, to draw. Nothing.

I huffed, closed the sketchbook, and put it back in my duffel bag. Just as I had finished zipping it up, there was a knock on my door.

"Dany, are you coming down to breakfast?" It was Bruce.

"Yeah, I'll be down in a minute," I called back.

I jumped to my feet and pulled on the robe lying on the side of my bed. I quickly ran a brush through my hair and sped over to the bathroom. Alfred always had meals served at certain times, and I'd learned the hard way that he won't prepare another breakfast just because someone oversleeps. I had no intention of missing breakfast, as I used to before.

Once I was done, I made my way downstairs to the dining room, guided by mostly by my nose. Bruce was already sitting down with a plate of eggs, sausage, toast, and a glass of orange juice. He looked up when I entered and smiled in greeting.

"Good morning," he said.

I ruffled his hair as I walked by. "Morning, kid. Is there anything left?"

"Yep. There's plenty."

"Awesomesauce. I'll get some of that. It looks good," I commented.

I pushed through the door to the kitchen and headed straight for the countertop with the food on it. Quickly, I made a small pile of eggs and bacon on my plate, and then I headed back to the dining room to sit with Bruce. Alfred was there when I entered. He glanced up and raised an eyebrow at me while he set out a pot of tea on the table.

"Good morning, Miss Danielle. I see that you have finally learned the skills of an early riser," he said, somewhat surprised.

"You know me, Alfred," I replied while I set down my plate and settled in a chair next to Bruce. "I love being unexpected. But more importantly, I love food. So, here I am." I shrugged. "Besides, I was already awake."

"Well, I am glad that you are finally developing good habits, Miss." Alfred set the cups of tea in front of me and Bruce.

"Thank you for breakfast, Alfred," Bruce piped in as he took a sip of his tea. I echoed the sentiment immediately after and began to dig into my food.

Just as I had finished, a white envelope slid into my field of vision. I glanced up, startled, to see that it was Alfred who had laid it by me on the table, and he had just left the room. I quirked an eyebrow at his retreat and picked up the letter to examine it better. The words "Gotham State University" popped out at me immediately, and I quickly opened the envelope, fingers surprisingly steady they moved underneath the envelope's flap.

Dear Ms. King,

On behalf of Gotham State University, I am pleased to congratulate you on your acceptance into our program for the fall 2016 semester. We were very impressed by your academic history and believe that you will prove that our confidence in you is not unfounded.

Enclosed with this letter, please find the necessary enrollment form for you to fill out and return by May 15, 2016. A timely response can increase your chances of finding accommodations on campus. You will be contacted upon receipt of the form by our student advisor, who will give you all further details regarding scheduling. If you have any questions regarding this letter, please feel free to contact us at the admissions office by phone at (983)564-5841 or email at admissions . We look forward to hearing back from you.

We at Gotham State University are pleased to welcome you and feel that you will make a great addition to our student body. We wish you the very best in success in your future and hope that you will find all of your needs satisfactorily met here. Thank you for your prompt attention and for choosing GSU.

Yours sincerely,

Edward Hamilton

The letter fell from my hands back down to the table, and I covered my mouth in shock. I had been accepted. The idea that I would be accepted by my dream school had been so preposterous to me, and yet I had still applied. It still seemed preposterous.

"Who's the letter from?" Bruce asked when he saw my reaction.

Wordlessly, I handed it to him. He took it, gave me a strange look, then began to read.

"Wow, Dany. This is wonderful new!" he exclaimed once he had finished reading. My expression did not change, causing his smile to drop. "Isn't it?"

That brought me out of my daze. "I- yes. Yes, it's the best."

"You don't look very happy about this. Are you alright?" Bruce asked, concerned.

I feigned a smile. "I'm fine, It's just shocking. I did not expect to get in. Just wait. I'll be jumping around in excitement shortly." It was a lie, but a hopeful one. I felt nothing, except for surprise. And even that felt hollow.

"Alright," he replied, although he looked like he didn't quite believe me. "We should do something to celebrate. Remember that pizza place by the river?"

I shot him a suspicious look. "Aren't you supposed to be in school today?"

"I'm homeschooled," he said with a smug smile.

"How about we'll do something this Saturday?" I suggested. "We can make a day of it. Right now, I'm not really feeling it."

Bruce nodded in understanding, his eyes softening, and he reached up to lay his hand on my shoulder. I forced myself not to stiffen too much, and I felt my right hand make a fist underneath the table, nails digging into the skin of my palms. My breathing hitched for a second before becoming forcedly calm and even.

"Of course. I understand. Whenever you are ready, we'll do something to celebrate this," he said gently.

I nodded. Sometimes I forgot that Bruce was no stranger to trauma. Of course, his was wholly different from mine, but he knew enough, more than he should have to. Mirroring him, I placed my left hand on his shoulder and gave a small squeeze.

"Thanks, Bruce."

"It's no problem, Dany."

I swallowed and looked away, removing my hand as I did so. I had to get out. Bruce must have noticed that I was uncomfortable, and he took his hand away as well. I quietly folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope, then I stood and gathered up our empty plates.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Bruce pointed out. "Alfred will come take care of it. It's part of his job."

I shrugged. "Old habits die hard, I guess."

Bruce didn't reply, and I left the dining room, plates in hand, and headed to the kitchen. I set the dishes down by the sink, and, seeing little else to do, began to wash them. I heard Alfred's footsteps come up behind me.

"Doing my job for me again, Miss Danielle? I see that some things have not changed," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I have to do something with my hands, Alfred," I replied. "Might as well be dishwashing."

The footsteps picked up again and came to a stop beside me. A hand entered my field of vision and picked a rinsed glass from my grasp. Alfred brought out a towel and began to dry the dishes alongside me.

"Still can't draw yet, Miss?" he asked softly.

I shook my head. "Nope. Not since… well, you know."

"I thought that had changed last night," he questioned. "You were highly engrossed in a sketch on the ride home. Or was that not a sketch?"

"No, it was a sketch," I said, handing him a plate. "A really bad one that came from a short-lived burst of inspiration, but it was a sketch. The inspiration is long gone, though."

Alfred hummed. "Perhaps if you revisit what gave you the inspiration to begin with? That boy you were flirting with might be willing to help."

My hands fumbled and a glass slipped from my fingers and into the sinkful of dishwater. Blood rushed to my face and burned as I retrieved the glass, rinsed it, and handed to Alfred.

"Did your SAS training make you come to that conclusion?" I replied noncommittally once I got myself under control.

A light spray of dishwater flew onto my face, and I flinched, surprised. My eyes widened and snapped over to Alfred, who was smirking down at me. He had flicked water at me.

"I didn't need special training to have seen that you liked that boy," he retorted. "Anyone walking down the bloody street would have noticed it if they looked in the window."

I shrugged, face burning. "He was funny. He made me laugh. What makes you think that he was my inspiration?"

The look that Alfred gave me was the epitome of unimpressed. He picked up the newly cleaned dishes and began putting them away.

"I'm not going to even dignify that question with a response, Miss."

I sighed and shook my head. It was just like Alfred to see everything, even the things I didn't want him to. Although, I shouldn't have been surprised. He was the only one alive who knew me better than I knew myself. When I was a child, I used to get annoyed at how accurate he was in predicting what I'd do, but now I was more or less resigned to it. There was something oddly comforting about someone understanding, even if it wasn't fully, what was going on in my head, rather than creating their own interpretation.

When he was done putting away the dishes, he turned to me, reached into his pocket, pulled out a small keychain and a credit card, and handed them to me. I eyed him in confusion, but I still took both.

"These are yours now," he said. "Be back before nine, and try not to wreck the car."

I blinked. "You're letting me use a car and the money? Me?"

"Well, obviously if you do something stupid with either, they'll be revoked, but yes," he replied simply. "You're eighteen years old, and you don't strike me as the little brat who always got in trouble and wouldn't sit still without a pencil and paper."

"I wasn't that bad-" Alfred gave me a look. "Alright, I was. Sorry. And thank you."

"Now go, have fun, make friends, meet that boy of yours," he commanded, making shooing motions. "It's time for Master Bruce's lessons."

I rolled my eyes and gave a mock salute.

"That was bloody terrible, Miss."

My lips lifted in a smirk, and I strode past him and out of the kitchen. I ran back up to my room and quickly got dressed. Once done, I checked in on Bruce, who was studying away, and I let him know that I was heading out. Then, I headed to the garage, where I hopped into one of the dark cars that inhabited the space.

The drive to Gotham was short as always, and, on the way there, I pondered where I would head first. It was clear that I needed new clothes, as most of mine were faded and some were sporting small holes and rips. However, I was not in the mood for clothes shopping.

Rosie's Coffee Shop was certainly a possibility, but I dismissed the idea. I wanted to revisit a few of my old hauntings, and the first place that came to mind was the library. I used to go there whenever Rosie's was closed, or whenever I just wanted to hide from the world in a quiet corner with my sketchbook or a novel. So, when I entered the city of Gotham, I turned down the right road that led me straight to the library.

The smell of books stopped me in my tracks momentarily when I entered, and I paused to take it in. The library had changed organization-wise, but it still felt the same. There were still books, bookshelves, computers, and people engrossed in a good story. That much had stayed the same.

I lifted my hand and allowed my fingers to lightly brush the tops of the book spines as I walked down the length of the shelves. The place was virtually deserted. It was before noon in the middle of the week; everyone was either at work or school. I had neither at the moment.

The librarian shot me a friendly smile as I passed by her desk, and I mimicked the expression in response. As soon as I'd passed, I turned down a row of bookshelves that led to the wall. In the past, there would normally be a chair or a couch for people to sit and read. I made my way all the way to the back, where I came upon a couch set up against an empty stretch of wall, and I stopped short. It was occupied, and by the last person I'd expected to see in a quiet library.

Jerome was sitting on the couch, his arm propped up on the armrest, and his head resting in his hand. He was fast asleep.

I stared in amazement at the slumbering redhead, wondering if what I was seeing was actually real. He seemed so peaceful, a stark contrast to the energetic, wild-eyed boy I had met the day before. I was tempted to nudge him awake, but the dark circles under his eyes stopped me. He was tired.

Glancing around, I noticed another couch about twenty feet away, unoccupied. I took a step forward towards the other couch, and the floorboard underneath my foot made a horribly loud creak. My heart jumped, and I froze, startled.

A low chuckle came from the couch to my right. I looked over my shoulder, and a pair of amused and delighted green eyes met mine. Despite the obvious signs of exhaustion, he was grinning at me with his usual gleeful smile. The corners of my lips lifted of their own volition, and I found myself smiling back softly.

"Fancy seeing you here, gorgeous," he said in low, gravelly tones. He had a nice voice.

"Yes, fancy that," I replied, turning to face him fully. I crossed my arms and cocked my head. "Looking for victims in the public library? You won't find many at this hour."

Jerome cackled. "I found you, didn't I? Maybe that's all I need."

I scoffed. "Just try something, I dare you. You know what happened to the other guys."

A strange glint appeared in his eyes, and he rose to his feet. I realized for the first time how big he was compared to me. I was not exceptionally tall, but I was no runt either. Jerome towered over me, and he moved closer, causing me to reflexively move away. My back touched the end of a bookshelf, and I started to wonder if teasing him had been a good idea.

"Be careful what you dare me to do, gorgeous," he said, resting his hand on the wood above my head. "I love dares."

I had been cornered before, and my reaction is always the same. My vision turns red, my heart begins to beat wildly out of control, time slows around me, and I have a powerful urge to attack. Mother used to say that it was because her family had fire in their veins, fire that burned hottest whenever they sensed danger. She used to say that I had the same fire in my veins.

This time, I was cornered, but my blood did not boil. My vision did not turn red, and I did not feel a desire to kick and slash and tear. I was calm. I was… entertained.

"That so?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Did someone dare you to sleep in the library? What are you doing in here?"

Jerome cocked his head to the side and looked away, pretending to think.

"Well, I was taking a nap," he said. "Mother dearest had a visitor last night who. Just. Wouldn't. Leave. So I came here this morning to get some sleep. The librarian doesn't care."

"Ah, sorry I woke you," I apologized with a guilty frown. "I saw you and decided to let you sleep. The floorboard had other ideas."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm not complaining, gorgeous. It's not everyday I see a face as beautiful as yours when I wake up."

"Another entry to add to my journal highlights," I deadpanned calmly. "'Dear Diary, the local serial killer called me beautiful today. I can die happy now.'"

"Ha ha ha. I see you're not letting that go anytime soon," said Jerome, rolling his eyes.

"Nope."

"What are you doing here?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Currently, I'm stuck between a serial killer and a bookcase, and I'm wondering why."

Jerome chuckled. "You mean that you don't know? Really?"

I eyed him carefully, trying to understand what he meant. Jerome loomed over me, watching me with the same intensity as he had the day before. Then it hit me. Had I not been living in the earthly equivalent of hell for five years, I might have been a little scared and uneasy at how close and intimidating he was. As it was, I was more amused and intrigued than anything else.

Tilting my head upwards slightly, I stepped forward, invading his personal space. I lifted a curious eyebrow and watched as his grin changed into something darker, hungrier.

"Nope. You'll have to show me. Slow wit, remember?" I replied, obviously lying.

I understood exactly what he was doing, and, strangely enough, I wasn't opposed. I liked him. He was strange, wild, and so utterly different from any other boy I'd ever met, and I liked that. He was also attractive, which definitely helped.

The moment the words left my mouth, something in his dark green eyes shifted, and he lunged forward, capturing my lips in a kiss. I gasped against his mouth at the sudden move, but I did not pull away. The kiss was gentle at first, light.

Hands rested on my hips, but this time I did not stiffen or freeze in restrained fury at being touched. I became bold, and my teeth sank into his bottom lip. Not hard, but hard enough for him to pull back in surprise.

Jerome looked down at me in amazement, caught off guard by what I'd done. I grinned at him, missing the contact. Then, he laughed suddenly and bent to kiss me again. This time, the kiss was forceful, rough, and electric. My back slammed against the bookcase end, and I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck.

All space between our bodies disappeared as the kiss became more wild and unrestrained. Jerome gripped my thigh and lifted it up, hooking it over his hip, and he pressed his body against me even further, trapping me against the bookcase. I doubt I could have dislodged him even if I wanted to, and I did not want to.

His lips left mine and trailed open-mouthed kisses along my jaw and on my neck. I bit my lip at the sensation, and I buried my fingers in Jerome's thick, fiery hair. My nails raked down his scalp, and teeth nipped at the juncture between neck and shoulder in response. I squeaked involuntarily. Jerome's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter when he heard me, but he continued his attentions to my neck.

Then, it happened.

"Mommy, I wanna go to the park! Books are lame!"

We both froze, still locked in each other's arms. It was clear that neither of us thought that anyone else would be here at this hour, except the librarian, and she was far on the other side of the library.

"Hush! We are in a library," hissed a woman's voice. "And books are not lame. All of the smart children read. You want to be smart, right?"

The voices were moving steadily closer, and Jerome and I glanced at each other worriedly.

"But… the park!" wailed the little boy. "I wanna go to the park!"

"Oh, for god's sake, Billy!" the woman huffed in disgust. "We are getting a book for you, so be quiet and suck it up!"

The footsteps moved closer to where we stood at a faster pace than before. We both sprang into action, and we bolted down the rows of bookcases, clutching at each other's coats as we ran. Before the woman and boy rounded the corner, we ducked into a row of shelves and stood there silently, both of us panting from the run.

"What was that? Who was running?"

I clapped a hand over my mouth before a sound could escape me, and I looked over and saw that Jerome was practically vibrating with silent laughter. Our eyes met, and I doubled over, trying desperately not to explode. I could feel the veins in my forehead and neck stand out as I struggled.

Jerome suddenly took hold of my arm and pulled me down the row toward the exit. A moment later, we burst through the doors and into the sunlight. I allowed the doors to close fully before a full, hysterical belly laugh tore its way out of me. Tears began to pool in my eyes, and I noticed then that Jerome was not laughing. He was staring at me, grinning from ear to ear.

"You have a perfect laugh, gorgeous," he said, starting to move closer to me again.

"Thanks," I chuckled giddily. "Oh man, that was fun. I haven't laughed like that in years."

"Really? That's a shame." Jerome touched my cheekbone where the bruise began. "You should laugh like that more often."

"You seem to have a gift for bringing them out of me," I replied with a grin. "Not sure why a serial killer can do that, though."

Jerome rolled his eyes and leant down to press his lips against mine. It was sweet and completely unrushed, even though we were on a street sidewalk. His hand cupped my cheek, and suddenly a thought occurred to. I pulled back first, causing Jerome to frown in confusion.

"Wait, a second. This is crazy," I said, shaking my head as I laid my palm against his chest. "We only met yesterday. You don't even know my name! I don't even know your surname!"

"Crazy, huh? You know, darling, that's easily fixed," he chuckled. He gave a showy bow and said, "Jerome Valeska, at your service. And, you are?"

"Dany," I said hesitantly. Whatever uncertainty I had was fading quickly. This was fast, maybe too fast. Yet, my warning bells were not going off. They were silent. "Dany King."

"Dany King…" Jerome tested the name, eying me as he paused to consider it. Then, he grinned. "Well, nice to finally meet you, Miss King."

I rolled my eyes. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Valeska. Now what?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," he replied, shrugging. "You'll find I make everything up as I go along. I move around too much for any proper plans."

Crossing my arms, I frowned at him. "So, this was just a spur of the moment thing? You kissed me on a whim?"

Jerome laughed again. "No, gorgeous! I wanted to kiss you when I first saw you!"

My mouth fell open slightly, and I stared up at him, not entirely sure whether to believe him or not. After a moment, I shook myself and closed my mouth. There was no point in jumping to conclusions. He hadn't explained himself yet.

"Ignoring the cheesiness of that statement, why?" I asked once I could get my voice to work.

Jerome's grin became almost predatorial as he stepped closer. "Because, Dany King, you are like me. You're good at hiding it. Too good. I almost didn't catch it until you slipped and nearly broke that creep's arm."

"Oh? And how, exactly, are we similar?" I asked, raising my eyebrows at him in question.

Jerome reached up and lightly brushed back my bangs, revealing my black eye. I couldn't help but notice once again how my body did not tense and prepare to fight at his touch. There was something oddly liberating about being able to be touched without my fight or flight sense coming to life. I had no idea why this was the case, but I realized in that moment that ever since meeting this boy, I had not needed to fake a single emotion, a single smile. I had not needed to pretend at all.

"Because, darling, if you weren't like me, a girl that's been beaten like you so recently wouldn't have fought back. She would have wilted on the spot, like the lady making the drinks. She would have been too scared," he murmured, green eyes wide and fascinated as they trailed over my features. Then, he chuckled. "But you're not scared, are you?"

"I still don't see how that makes us so similar," I replied, still holding onto my skepticism. Trusting Jerome felt right, but my mind had yet to relinquish the possibility that this was wrong. And so, I stepped forward and met his dark gaze and said, "Do you live your life teetering on the edge of insanity because your world has been ripped from you? Are you always one moment, one touch, one word away from snapping and destroying everything and everyone in your path? Do you hide your nature so deep within yourself that you've forgotten who you are? Would the world call you insane if they saw you for what you really are?"

"Yes." The answer was so instantaneous that it caught me off guard. Jerome was not smiling anymore. He was gazing at me with such amazement and fascination, and I couldn't help but wonder what on earth he was possibly seeing in me. "You're singing my song, gorgeous. Where have you been all my life?"

The smile had returned in full force, and, for the first time, I noticed the truly sinister edge to his expression. I should have been afraid. The rational part of my mind screamed at me, begging me to be scared, to run away at top speed. but my instincts whispered in a voice loud as thunder, stay.

There is no reasonable explanation for why I made the decision I did, except that I wanted to. This boy definitely had a few screws knocked loose, but, then again, so did I. There was no chance that this… thing would have a happy ending, but, then again, people like us never seemed to be meant for happy endings. We are all on a one-way trip to the grave. Some trips last a century, some never make it out of the crib. I did not know how long my trip would take, but I knew that I could not pass up an opportunity to make the ride extraordinary.

And so, after a moment of silence, I pushed myself onto my toes, and I pressed a kiss to Jerome's lips. My hand reached up, and my fingers curled in his soft, red locks. Immediately, Jerome responded in earnest, and the kiss grew ravenous. He wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me to him, enveloping me in warmth. The air around us was frigid, and the clouds threatened snow, but the cold did not bother us one bit.

We broke apart for air, our foreheads touching as our eyes met. Glee and exhilaration sparkled in Jerome's dark green orbs, and it struck me in that moment just how handsome he was.

"I could ask you the same thing," I said, replying to his earlier question. "Where have you been all my life? I would've been a lot more fun about five years ago."

He cackled. The sound brought a wide smile to my lips, and I did not try to stop the chuckle that rose up from my throat to accompany his. Jerome gave an exaggerated shrug, arms still around me as he did so. He seemed hesitant to remove them, and I was not complaining.

"I live with the circus, gorgeous," he grinned. "I've been everywhere. Besides, we're here now. Want to grab a coffee and help me plot my next crime?"

I rolled my eyes, but I nodded, still smiling. In a city as gray and depressing as Gotham was, two people as cheery as us must have looked rather odd and out of place to anyone passing us by. No doubt there were people staring at us, but I did not care. For the first time in five years, I felt well and truly alive. I no longer felt as though my ride through life would be a slow and steady trudge towards the end. This choice marked the beginning of my life, and, no matter what happened afterwards, I will never regret my decision.


A/N: *ducks under covers and waits anxiously for feedback* So, that moved fast, didn't it? I'm sorry if it was strange at all, but I can't envision Jerome in a slow burn romance. Every time I've tried, it feels wrong and out of character for him. Jerome is impulsive and crazy, and if he seems like the kind of person who would immediately try to grab the thing he wants. It just so happens that the thing he wants is Dany, and she's more than okay with this pace. I mean, come on. It's Jerome. Who wouldn't want to kiss this psychotic ginger?

So, anyway, holy crap! I did not expect to have so many reviews on the first chapter. Thank you all so much for your feedback! I really appreciate it. It means a ton to me and it always helps to motivate me to finish my chapters. So, thank you again, and please leave a review and tell me what you think about this new chapter! I love hearing from you all! :D