A/N: Sorry this took a few days to upload. I feel like a real sack of crap right now, pumping myself full of meds (and with a cold on top of that!) so I didn't really feel like editing for a few days.
Enjoy:
Previously:
Deciding that this is the best possible course of action for now, I hastily re-enter the dungeon, glancing back and forth to assure my solitude, before rushing off towards the first floor. The day is growing late, and I have yet to meet with Oroboros.
Unfortunately for me, I am met with an unpleasant sight as soon as I round the corner from my bedroom. Standing in my path are the unlikeable pair of Penny and Millipede, or whatever their names are supposed to be. I never bothered to learn them (or at least had promptly forgotten them as soon as I possibly could), because they had so far presented no reason for me to like them. They both appeared vain and shallow, and the smaller one had even insulted my dress yesterday morning. I didn't see what was so wrong with it – wizarding apparel had not changed so much that women did not wear dresses, and it was of a respectable length (especially by this time's standards) – yet she had snickered something under her breath at the blond boy beside her, about me looking like her mother. I had found it necessary to mention that her mother must have significantly better taste than her daughter, before Professor Snape had seen fit to deduct ten points from me. It was entirely unfair of him.
His existence is unfair, Sal, I reminded myself, I'm pretty sure he knows it, as well.
Hoping that the girls would simply ignore me as I passed – preferably by assuming I was another student – I continued on without halting for either of them. Fate, it seemed, had other ideas.
"Where are you going, Smith?" the girl with the upturned nose called to me, her tone victorious.
Honestly, does she have nothing better to do? I ask myself, exasperated.
I went to turn in their direction, but they had already circled in front of me. I rolled my eyes.
Vultures.
"Penny," I say, "What a nice surprise."
I think it is pretty evident from my tone that it is not a nice surprise. The girl looks at me with disgust.
"It's Pansy," she snarls. The girl beside her is mimicking the same facial expression, although whether that is an actual decision on her behalf, or just a side effect of her unfortunate facial features, I do not know. I do not particularly care to know. I want to see my familiar.
"Well, Petal, as nice as it is to see you, I must be on my way," I reply. Judging from her face, this is the wrong response.
"You're not going anywhere, Smith," she spits, "This area is out of bounds outside of class time. You know I'm going to report you."
I am tempted to laugh.
Does she really think that phases me?
"Oh no!" I drawl, "Please, don't report me. You'll ruin my perfect record! Now if you don't mind..."
I try to move past the pair, but they block my path. Millipede pushes me back, and I stumble into the wall. I remind myself to make the rest of her school days particularly unpleasant.
Pansy, on the other hand, glowers down at me, looking for all the world as if I murdered her parents, and shoved their bodies in a broom closet.
"I mean it, Smith," she threatens, "I'll report you to Professor Snape."
Go ahead... I urge, I'm sure it would make his day.
Outwardly, I simply roll my eyes.
"Listen, Pippy," I state honestly, staring her straight in the eye, "you could report me to Salazar Slytherin he-imself, and I would still not give a stuff about it. I don't care – I simply do not care. I do not care for you, I do not care for your silly little games, and I do not care what the Great and Powerful Professor Snape has to think about me being – gasp – 'out of bounds'," I finish.
"Is that so?"
The two girls in front of me stiffened immediately, and it took me a moment to realise that the voice had not been one of theirs. I look up just in time to see the Professor turn the corner before us.
Right on cue, I sigh, as usual...
Also as usual, the Professor looks to be in a foul mood.
"What was that you were saying, Miss Smith?" he asks, in what I am sure he believes is his most threatening voice.
Well, it might work on little girls, I think, eyeing Panties and Millicent, both of whom look about to soil their underwear.
I flash my most winning grin.
"Why, Professor Snape," I say, "We were just talking about you!"
The Professor doesn't even blink.
"So I heard," he replies, in a dangerous monotone.
I shoot him a puzzled frown.
"Then why ever did you ask me for?" I questioned. The two Slytherin girls look at me as though I've gone mad.
Merlin, girls! He's just a man! You'd think they were facing down a Horntail. I think, watching Pansy take a hasty step forward. The girl looks fearful and hopeful in the same instance.
"Sir, I was just about to report Smith to you. She's out of bounds," she states in a rush of breath. The Professor glowers at her.
"I can see that, Miss Parkinson," he states condescendingly. The girl quickly looks away, a blush on her cheeks. Millipede doesn't even make an effort to speak, and instead glances nervously at the floor. The Professor returns his attention to me.
"Miss Smith, I would hope that after receiving such a generous position here," at this he eyes me up, "and on such short notice, that you could refrain from consistently insulting the kindness of our Headmaster with your blatant disrespect of the rules."
Considering I could have you all thrown from the castle, I think, I don't think I'm the one who should be worried about abiding by the rules.
"I would hope that from now on you will begin to take your time here more seriously, Miss Smith. You are already in a precarious situation. If I were you, I would not work to make it worse."
From the way he said that my situation was precarious, I could tell he did not just mean my 'blatant lack of respect' for him as a human being was going to result in more detentions. He meant my very position at this school was volatile. I had suspected as much. The Headmaster had seemed far too welcoming when he suggested I stayed on as a student. He was looking to extract information – possibly on some matter I knew nothing of – but was ready to dispose of me if I should prove more difficult than expected. I knew this. I just wondered how the Professor had figured it out.
Anyone less accustomed to subtlety would have missed the warning in his words. I frowned. It almost seemed as though he was actually concerned for my well-being.
There might actually be a real teacher in there, I wondered, before swiftly dismissing the thought, Not likely. He's probably operating under the assumption that I fear expulsion. As if I would tolerate such a thing! I'd just have to take back my position as Head of Slytherin, if they tried.
Still, I replied with a subdued, "Yes, Sir."
The Professor nodded curtly.
"Good," he was quick to reply, "May I also suggest that you refrain from insulting Slytherin House by taking our Founder's name in vain. I am sure that your fellow students do not impugn Godric Gryffindor's legacy."
I do, I thought, though I was flattered at the implied chivalry on my behalf, If only they would stop calling me a man. I don't even look like a boy.
"Yes, Sir," I reply again, now intending to thoroughly 'insult' myself at every given opportunity. Once more, the Professor nodded.
"Now," he drawled, "I suggest you be on your way, Miss Smith. I do not wish to see you near the dungeons out of class time again."
About time! I exclaimed.
I secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
"Yes, Sir," I replied, walking past him with my head down. Eventually, someone would figure out that I wasn't really that meek. I was a terrible actor, and had slipped out of character several times already. Most notably when insulting my Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor every day. However, this time he let me go. Or so I thought.
"Miss Smith?" he called, as I headed back up the corridor, "Twenty points from Gryffindor for loitering."
Without turning, I whispered back, "Twenty points from Slytherin for holding me up."
We may not win the House Cup, I thought, but we most certainly are not being beaten by Slytherin.
Upon reaching the second floor girls' lavatory, I found myself facing a dilemma of another kind – Miss Myrtle. That's the first thing I learned about the unsatisfied ghost, after the incredibly woeful part, of course – that she hated her nickname (however accurate). I had also learned she was a terrible gossip. And so, for the purpose of reaching my basilisk without the entire school thinking I was some mad dark magician, I opted for a more respectful title.
As it turned out, perhaps a better nickname for her would have been 'Perverted Myrtle'. Just another tidbit of knowledge I had acquired in anticipation of this day. I immediately put this knowledge to use.
"Myrtle," I called, "Are you here?"
Of course, I already knew she was there. I could hear her sobbing from outside the bathroom, for Merlin's sake. At my voice, the sobbing quickly quieted to sniffles.
"Who's there?" she asked, poking her head through a stall door, "Oh, it's you, Sally."
She sounded disappointed. Then again, she always sounded disappointed. It really was hard to tell whether she was even capable of being pleased or not.
She will be in a moment, I thought, putting on my best excited expression.
"Myrtle, you'll never guess!" I cried happily, "The Ravenclaw quidditch team just finished practice! They're all going to the showers!" I giggled at this point, as coquettishly as I could. The ghost just continued hovering in front of me, a gloomy expression on her face.
"So?" she asked.
"Well," I giggled, "I heard from a friend that one of their chasers has a really big," I looked away, attempting to blush by holding my breath, "broomstick."
Oh, dear Morgana, I did not just say that! I thought, disturbed my mouth even had the capability of using such contrived innuendos.
Must be God's fault, I decided, When in doubt, blame the Gryffindor.
My words, however, appeared to have the desired effect on Myrtle.
"Why ever would I care about something like that?" she sniffed, backing away into her stall, "Do you think I'm some kind of lecher?"
"Of course not," I say, "I just thought you'd like to-"
I needn't even finish my sentence, because the girl had already flushed herself away to the Ravenclaw showers. I smirked, bouncing on my toes in gladness.
Success!
After waiting another few moments to ensure that the ghost girl had stayed 'entertained', I began my preparations. I warded the bathroom entrance to make it temporarily unplottable, then scanned the room for any pre-existing charms or other spells that might alert anyone to my activities. Finding none, I strode over to the circlet of sinks. I absentmindedly stroked a thumb across the serpent on a faucet.
"Open," I commanded, and was instantly rewarded by the movement of parting wash-basins. Once the sinks had settled back down, I hopped off the edge into the piping, levitating to the ground.
That one was cast just for my personal use, I snickered.
Despite the relatively slow speed of my descent down the tunnel, when my feet reached the ground, I was greeted by a sickening crunch.
What was that? I thought, cringing. Looking down, I saw that I had stood on the remains of some animal – a rodent, I supposed. I snarled.
Disgusting!
I tried to kick it off of my boot, before realising that I was surrounded by thousands of similar carcases. They were piled high around the dark room, crushed into the walls and floor. I was confused.
There was meant to be a house elf working in this sector, and feeding my familiar rats? I kicked my way through a pile of the skeletons.
There is nothing healthy about this diet.
Resolving to spend the minimum possible amount of time in the sewer, I hitch my skirts higher, and continue forth into the darkness. I do not bother with a lighting spell; my eyesight is good enough without it. Roughly halfway into the tunnel, I come across another surprise – a shed snake skin. I take a moment to admire its size. I smile, knowing full well that I look like a fool.
He's gotten so big!
A new spring in my step, I practically skip the rest of the way to the Chamber. However, once I reach the inner door, I find it to be already unlocked.
"That's strange," I say, cocking my head to the side.
I've told him not to leave the Chamber open. Unfiltered water might flood it...
I shake my head. Even if it has, I can get the elves to do a little cleaning, no harm.
Smiling, I step through the open door.
"Oroborus," I hiss, "Are you-"
I halt. There is something off about the Chamber. The walls are...red, and...damaged. The statue of Merlin is even missing half his head (something I am not complaining about – Helga's statue always did disturb me a bit). What I find more disturbing is that there appears to have been a massacre in this room – and that yet another 'permanent' charm has worn off. The water in the channels is filthy. It should be sparkling, ready to filter out into the lake, not a murky brown colour. Not to mention it's freezing in the room, when it was meant to be constantly heated.
It stinks in here, I note.
I cover my face with my hand in a vain effort to keep out the stench of waste, and rotting flesh, eyes still scanning the room. I notice the object of my search curled up over in the far left corner.
I see he still likes his naps, I think wryly.
"Boros, wake up," I call. He does not stir.
That's odd... He's usually a very light sleeper.
I walk closer to the body of my familiar. He remains unnervingly still.
Something feels wrong about this...
I continue my approach, steps unsure. I could swear that the stink is getting worse, the further I move in.
"Dear one," I whisper, placing a hand upon the serpent's back, "please, wake up."
When he does not, I move to reach for his face.
"Boros, come now-"
I halt, suddenly, unsure of what I am seeing.
Then I scream.
And I scream.
And I scream.
I scream so loud and so long that I begin to forget why I am doing such a thing. Almost. I could never forget with the reason staring back at me, horrifying in its form. I could never forget with my anguished cry reverberating off the walls, bouncing on and off and on and off and on until the contorted melody could almost be mistaken for a song.
A song of death.
Boros' head faces me, his features desecrated beyond recognition, his eyes dried together with blood and puss. His bloody mouth hangs open, frozen in an tormented cry. I notice he is missing teeth. As I touch him, his top jaw slides off to the side, crashing to the floor with a sickening thud.
I can't help but stare.
Maybe I can fix him? I find myself thinking feverishly, Maybe I can still save him? There's still time. There has to be!
But underneath my delusional thoughts, a part of me understands that there is no time. There will never be time. Not anymore. Not for me; not here, in this cold, foul, stinking place. Nor in the halls that surround this tomb. Nor will there be comfort in the world outside of that. Because, I realise, I was right in my earlier assumptions. My room was a memorial. This chamber, desecrated as it is, was a memorial, and Hogwarts – my beloved Hogwarts – was a bacchanal of the dead. For what else could it be? All those who were most celebrated within its halls were dead, and all those who remained were easily forgotten. It had not failed my notice that I was the least popular of the Founders, and certainly the most misconstrued of image.
All of a sudden, the stress of the past week overtook me, my emotions spewing forth into the rancid air. All of my longing, rage, hatred, despair at my situation turned to tears, my grief to shudders. I fell to the ground, and for a brief moment, the air was filled with the sound of my pathetic gasping. Even as I longed to die, my lungs fought to live. The irony did not escape me. I grinned bitterly.
"Gone," I whispered through my clenched teeth, chest heaving brokenly, "everyone, just...gone."
I laughed, a mirthless sound, before once more bursting into tears.
"Where are you?" I moaned in a weak voice, "why would you leave me?"
The sticky tiles, stained thick through age, bloodshed, and now my own tears, did not answer me.
"Why would you leave me?!" I cried, "Why would you leave?!"
I banged my fist against the cold floor, hard enough to hear bones crack. I was momentarily distracted by the pain, but not for long enough. A far deeper pain that had been steadily growing from within me bubbled at the surface.
"HOW COULD YOU GO AND LEAVE ME HERE TO ROT! HOW COULD YOU?!" I screeched at the ceiling, my words turning back upon me after meeting with the expanse of stone. It was as if the chamber was accusing me of the very same thing I was accusing of everyone else. I collapsed onto the floor in a dilapidated heap. I did not care if it was covered in waste, and grime, and I did not care if doing so soaked me through with blood. I was not thinking of that. I refused to think at all, but I did anyway. I could not stop myself.
A large part of me found itself wishing that I was more delicate, or had at least attempted to be. Maybe if I had listened to Rowena, for all her nagging about my unseemly behaviour, I would have been able to faint now. If I was more of a woman, I could surely have done it, and this nightmare could have been over. But instead, I lay there, in my pile of fabric and filth, too shocked to even blink, my last connection to the past rotting away before me.
"What did we do to deserve this?" the words came from my throat, frail and foreign to me. I did not at first recognise them as my own. They were too full of despair, and yet, they were mine. Slowly, carefully, I closed my eyes, wishing to disappear. The world did not go away in that instant. It did not even pause out of courtesy. But for the first time in my life, I, Salazar Slytherin, found myself too weak to go on...
Who did this to him...?
My eyes snapped back open. In my despair, I had forgotten to question just how Boros had met his end. I swivelled my head to glance over the slain serpent. I was almost sick. He could not even stare back at me. I would never see his eyes again. I would never be able to feel the kinship that lay there, never sense the understanding. I closed my own eyes again.
I must compose myself. I needed to know what happened here.
Using that knowledge to calm myself, I rose to my feet, scrambling against the worn marble. I stepped tentatively towards the corpse, willing myself to not do this; to be able to go on pretending that this wasn't real. I ignore the urge to run as far and as fast as I can away from the school and never come back. I cannot submit to such wishes. For Oroboros, and for the sake of my own peace of mind, I must continue.
I knelt before the corpse, extending one battered, shaking hand.
Stop it, I thought, scowling at the nervous limb, you must!
Still fighting my natural instinct to run from death, I pressed my bruised skin to the serpent's scales. Pain flared through my damaged hand, and not only because of the marble floor I had inflicted it with. I could sense it; sharp, and biting, and venomous. Dark magic.
It was so unlike anything I'd felt before that I recoiled. This wasn't the same seething magic from earlier. Where the first had been calculated perfection, this was true pain. Nothing here broiled deep beneath the surface, emerging calm and controlled. This magic, this beast raged uncontrollably against its shackles, biting out at whatever it could. This magic would rather kill than control. Beyond anything else, it was old. It terrified me, and yet I recognised it. But from where?
It does not matter...
I could tell it was too old for me to have a chance to extract any true form of revenge. Whomever had cast the spell must by now be long dead, their body turned to dust, and their soul free. Nothing like what they had done to Oroboros. Their curse would have torn away at the serpent before me, stripping him of his sanity day by day. Until one day, he had no choice. He had no purpose left other than to follow the orders of those more deranged than he. And he would not have questioned it, for there was no true part of him left with the ability to question. I closed my heavy lids in an attempt to stop the tears from rolling out.
He must have been in so much pain...
I almost found myself grateful to whomever had ultimately taken his life. A crueller fate would have been to let him live on in that torment for even longer. Logically, I knew this, but I could not bring myself to be truly thankful for the destruction laid before me. I felt responsible for his death.
I can at least remove the darkness...put this body to rest, I think forlornly. But when I try to act on this thought, I am crippled by pain.
It's too strong!
I feel like crying, but I have already done enough of that tonight, I decide. So, instead, I simply stare at the corpse with its detached jaw, and dulled scales. I soon find myself no longer being able to bear the scene before me.
I must leave...
Instantly, I am at my feet and running through the dirty passageway leading back to the girl's bathroom. I cannot stand this pain a second longer. But a sudden thought stops me in my tracks. I stand for a moment, toes still poised to flee.
I may not be able to honour his body, I think, but perhaps I can honour a small part of him?
I twirl back to face the chamber, breathing hard. I've already come so far – I am now close to the exit. Even if I do choose to venture back into that...that Hel...I can just as easily run once more. I would always have the option of returning to the outer world without having to face my nightmare at all. I like options. There is always a good one – a safe one; a cowardly one.
I quickly make up my mind. My feet race back towards the Purification Chamber at an almost inhuman speed; the only thing that keeps me from crashing straight into the door is my own stuttering courage. Before it can stop me, I push my fear aside, and slide back into the room. It is exactly the same as I left it a few minutes ago, right down to the blood spatters near the roof. A small part of me dies at this realisation – a hope I didn't know I was holding that has now shrivelled to nothingness.
Still, I head to the basilisk's mortal shell, my footsteps light and skittish. Like a dance. Like a snake. Like a coward.
Reaching the basilisk's head, I nimbly lean down, inspecting the detached jaw at a far closer angle than I would have preferred. I gulp. My next move will be key. If I fail, it changes nothing; if I succeed, I might choke on my own vomit.
With great care, I reach my uninjured hand down to the scaly head of my dead familiar. My fingers caress his snout – I cannot help doing so – then hook under one of the smaller, lighter scales around his left eye. My hand burns as the curse tries to suck me into it, but I persist. With a small, precise jerk, I uproot the scale from its previous home. I inspect it carefully. Underneath the flaking blood, it is a pretty colour, starting at a deep aqua, and turning to white. It seems unnaturally dull to my eyes, but then, he had been dead for a long time, and from what I could gather, the serpent's diet hadn't exactly been nourishing. Despite this, when I run the scale across my thumb, it cuts the flesh. I watch the blood dripping, stunned for a moment at the sight of something so fresh in this room of decay.
Once recovered, I attempt to snap the scale between my fingers. Impossible. I am satisfied, and so I cleanse it of the dark. I find myself glad at its small size, after even that task takes the wind out of me. I then reach into my robe pocket, feeling for the wand from earlier. It spins into my grasp. I cleanse that, too, of darkness, before cautiously fitting the scale into the centre of the old wand. I must be careful here. Although I find wands mostly limiting, that does not make them any less volatile to me, and the process of replacing a heart – especially with a different type of core – is a delicate one. Despite this, when I siphon my power into the dark wood, it accepts it greedily.
It's almost as if it craves living, I think. I do not let this thought distract me from the process. I am no expert in wand-making, and my energy is drained as it is. If I do not concentrate, I could end up looking far worse than Boros, especially considering my base materials.
Basilisks tend to be testy creatures, loving very few, and trusting fewer. To make a core from the scale of such a beast, one should be sure of holding both of these places in the animal's heart. I was no longer sure. I had been, but what was I to think? That he would have loved me through the pain? That he still recalled me, above anything else? I would have liked to believe that our love for each other would always be mutual, but I found myself clinging to the deepness of my own emotions, as if they could keep the scale from reacting negatively to the stolen carcass of wood. Which brought up a whole other cause for worry – what would the stick think of me, attempting to resurrect it for my own selfish purposes? I hoped that it would be happy to be free of despair; enough so to keep from blowing up in my face.
Needless to say, I was genuinely fearful for my life, so when the process was complete, and the first flick of the new wand brought forth a shower of emerald and aqua sparks instead of death, I practically collapsed with relief. I looked my new tool up and down. It almost seemed to radiate joy. A trick of the mind, certainly, but the fact that I was entirely in tact was proof enough that Oroboros had never forgotten me – or blamed me. I felt my heart swell.
At least we can still be together in this way, friend.
And I was sure we would be for a very long time. Given our bond, and the natural resilience of basilisks, no amount of focus or power should be able to destroy this wand – not even Professor Slughorn, should he ever recognise his missing relic.
Not wanting to waste any more time in this place of sorrow, I reached to give Boros one last kiss – an action that brought bile to my throat – and headed for the exit. Making sure the door was closed this time, I couldn't help but tear up at the sight of his mangled body disappearing from view.
I will miss you, dear one...
Once his image was gone, I was hit by a wave of nausea. I held my head, toppling into the wall. It seemed that I had been in worse shape than even I had thought, holding up a brave exterior for the benefit of one who could not appreciate it. Or had it merely been to suppress the pain? I did not know, but my vision was fading, and I refused to collapse in a sewer.
I made my way back to the bathroom, barely retaining the strength to levitate myself up the pipe-made-opening; several times almost falling back onto the unforgiving remains of rodents beneath me. Even realigning the plumbing was an effort. Finally, I collapsed back against the closest wash basin, intending to take my rest. Thankfully, for me, it appeared as though Miss Myrtle had not returned yet.
Either that, or she's sleeping in the U-bend, I think, eyeing the sky outside the window. It appears to be very late at night, Just my luck. Getting caught wandering around after hours is exactly what I need on my record.
I move to exit the bathroom, ending the ward I created over the door with my new wand. It works very well. However, as I go to turn the handle, I realise for the first time how terrifying I look; Merlin knows what smeared across my robes, and with a bulging purple hand. I actually think I may have broken a few fingers in my earlier rage. Usually, I could easily fix such a simple wound.
And I could try out that Scourgify spell, I think, tempted to try, but as it is, the effort of dispelling my ward has me swaying around the room. I decide that I must take extra care in not getting caught, at least until I've had a shower. With this in mind, I peer around the door, eyes piercing the dark, before I begin to teeter down the hall. I don't make it very far before the plucking of strict heels interrupts my weak efforts to stay upright.
Damn it all! I think, stumbling over to a suit of armour. There's a niche up ahead I could hide in, if it were not for my current condition.
Maybe they'll just leave me alone...
Without the task of keeping my feet in motion to hold my attention, I feel my mind begin to fuzz over. I sway in place a little, banging my head into the armour's chest.
"Oooooooowwwwww," I moan, although I do not realise it's me. Suddenly, the clacking stops, and a bright light shines in my face. I squint into the beam, unsure how the Sun ended up so close to my face.
"Miss Smith!" the Sun exclaims, "What are you doing out of bed at this hour? It is well after midnight!"
Strangely enough, the Sun sounds an awful lot like Professor McGonagall. The thought makes me smile, which in turn makes me giddy. I cling to the armour harder, as I almost topple over. The Sun begins to move closer, sounding increasingly indignant.
"Miss Smith," it cries again, "are you intoxicated?!"
At this, I have to laugh. The effort sends my head spinning, and I suddenly feel like I'm bouncing around off the walls. I promptly throw up all over my shoes.
I just got those...
I try to hold myself together enough to feel miffed, but the most I can manage is amusement at the various shades of yellow swirling in my vomit.
"Miss Smith!" the voice calls again, closer than ever. I realise, rather belatedly, that I am now being held up on one side by the elbow. I start to panic, struggling to escape the grasp.
Who has caught me? Why won't they let me go?
The other person attempts to hold me in place, but I am too persistent. I free myself from their strong grip the exact same moment my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I fall to the ground, unconscious.
And that is the story of my first week as a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I had lost everything, and yet lost nothing - it was everyone around me who seemed wanting. At the time, I did not know just how accurate to the truth my thoughts were...
Sincerely,
S.S.
A/N: I'll keep this brief, just because I'm feeling really terrible right now.
The Yoshinator and Moi: you guys are so awesome to review every chapter. I'd PM and write a section in my A/N for you each (respectively), but as it is, I feel like I'm dying. Just know that you (and everyone else who has spent their time reading this story) are truly appreciated.
Love,
Lucy~!
