A/N: Hey everyone! It's only been about a week since the last update but for once I've actually been writing throughout the week! And, let me admit right now, I totally lied last week. I said that we would meet the Alexandrian teens this chap, but that's going to be NEXT week. I felt that this needed to be given it's own limelight, so I gave it one.
Also, I read a review last week about the new OC, Sam, and how it would probably get a little confusing because there's already a Sam in the TWD universe. That new character I'm adding isn't actually my own. I was just given permission by his creator to use him in this story. So there is no way I'm changing his name. I need to respect it, so Sam is going to stay as Sam. It may be confusing at some points but I'm going to explain stuff in the story to differentiate between the two (I mean, one is a teen and the other is a child, so it's not going to be too hard.)
Also, I'm not going to lie, the end of this chapter is kind of freaky. The title gives it away, but still...
More of our people slowly trickle into our new, "home." Deanna, Carol said, began to give them jobs. One by one, she's telling all of them what their new duties are. Carol is a new cooker/housewife; it's the new appearance she's keeping up. She tells me that that's how she's going to play Alexandria. Act like she's useless outside the gates, learn every little detail from the inside. I think it's smart, albeit dangerous.
Right now, the only people back are Judith, Daryl, and Carol. Those two were easy enough for Deanna to put down, and it's not like the baby is picking up an axe any time soon. Daryl will be a scavenger and go outside the gates once our group has, "officially settled in."
Currently the five of us, plus the baby, are lounging on the porch. Rick is slowly walking with Judith in his arms, rocking her gently. Daryl is sifting through opossum guts. He stabbed the dead carcass, sliced open the belly, and is yanking out the innards piece by piece, staining the bright white paint of the porch to red. Carol just walked out to us; she took a shower earlier and changed her shirt. And Carl and I are sitting on the rocking chair, swaying back and forth in the light breeze. I have my head resting in his lap, my legs kicked up comfortably. One hand rests on his knee. His hand lightly runs through my new short hair. He told me earlier that, "You look beautiful with it, it's just so different now! Let me touch it." And of course I let him. Dork.
Though I don't follow his eyes, I can tell that they're trained on the other house beside us. Our other house. None of us have actually been through it yet. Not that we needed to. I mean, we've only been here for maybe four hours. Everything feels so much different now. We haven't even been here a full day and Alexandria has already changed our lives.
"You can look." Rick says in our direction. "Just be quick."
"Okay." Carl nods. His hand leaves my hair and gives a quick pat to my shoulder, a signal to get up. I groan irritably but stand up from my spot. He and I walk to the other house, and after a moment Carol joins us.
The set up in here is much different from the other house. In this one, there's a kitchen to the left, the decor in grays and blacks, a shining silver fridge. The house we showered in is colored in peaches and browns; this one is blacks and grays. There's a door down a small corridor, which I head to and open. A garage. To the right of the kitchen is a living room with filled bookshelves and a mounted tv on the wall. Hidden in the corner of the living room is stairs to the second floor.
"These are like mansions." Carls eyes trail over everything in astonishment. I bob my head in agreement.
"And they're just giving them away." Carol ponders aloud. Yeah, there's something really weird about that.
"You coming?" Carol points her head back to the door.
"Yeah, in a sec." Carl answers. I move over to Carol, signaling that I was going to leave with her. I give him an awkward wave as I leave the room.
She closes the door behind us, making sure not to slam it shut. I look over to our main house and notice that there's no one on the steps anymore. Not even Daryl's poor little opossum was relaxing on the porch. My guess is that more of our group came back.
As we take our time walking to the house, Carol asks me, "When are you gonna talk again?"
I just shrug. I don't know. Maybe a day from now. A week? A year? Never?
"You should." She says. We step up the stairs together, my hand trailing along the railing. "We're in a new place, with new people. You gotta keep up appearances."
No I don't. I'm not you. I don't need to.
I just shake my head at the request. I'd rather not.
She, with an heir of disbelief and disdain, shakes her head harshly. "One day you're gonna need to talk again. It should be sooner rather than later. We don't get to just stop. There's still an apocalypse happening. You need to let it go."
You know what? Fuck you, Carol. You, of all people, should know I can't just, "Let it go."
I visibly bristle towards her, my arms crossing in front of me as if I could physically deflect the words. I pick up my pace to grab the doorknob as she slows down. My eyes follow hers in between the houses, where Rick and Daryl are walking out of. Instead of following me inside, she takes a step back and goes to them.
I open the door and am greeted by all of the group examining the house. Many heads turn towards me and I give another awkward wave. Then they all go back to investigating our new, "home," with curiosity. Get used to it. Whether or not we like it, it looks like we're stuck here for a while.
By nighttime, Maggie and Carol make dinner, which, to me, was an absolute feast. For our rations today, Deanna told us to take whatever we wanted for our first official meal here. So Maggie and Carol went back down to the pantry and took a chicken, a family pack of jasmine rice, and some fricken fresh broccoli and carrots for our meal tonight. All of us cramped together in the dining room, many of us standing, with our fancy plates. We all got to drink from a full jug of water as we pleased. No actual rationing tonight. Just, eat like pigs because for once, we can.
While there is so much food to eat, I barely touch any that's on my plate. I take a couple bites of the chicken, a spoonful of the rice, and three pieces of my broccoli. The same goes for my filled-to-the-brim glass of water. I take a few tiny sips throughout the meal, nothing more. As I look around, everyone is going to town on their plates, but I can't fathom eating that much. My stomach would burst the next day. Plus, I always have the voice in the back of my head, telling me, "Something bad is going to happen and you all keep WASTING the food. That glass of water could save your life. Don't have it all. You don't need it now."
Across from my seat is mom, slowly but surely eating every little bite on her plate. She hungrily downs her chunks of chicken, not letting any little bit go unnoticed. She surveys my food and looks up to my face, confused. "Hungry, Liz?"
I shake my head politely. She raises an eyebrow.
"Are you suuure?" She implies that I should eat more. However, I just shake my head.
"Not even one more bite?" A suggestion. And begrudgingly, I follow it. I take a small spoonful of the rice and pop it in my mouth, swallowing it quickly. She gives me a, "Really? That's it?" look, and I roll my eyes. I take another spoonful, this time a bit bigger than the last, and look to her. Are you satisfied now?
"Better." Mom nods at the action, but tells me, "Keep eating. Please."
I genuinely feel like I would throw up if I ate too much more, but I take one small last bite from the chicken and another piece of broccoli, and lightly push my plate forward as a signal that I'm done. People have already begun to leave the table and set up for the night. We're all sleeping in the same house, and in the same room. We don't want us to be separated. Ever.
I notice how moms eyes look disapprovingly to the food left on my plate, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she takes it and puts the rest of it into a container and sets it in the fridge. Probably so I can eat it later. It still boggles my mind that the fridge still fricken works.
As the rest of us leave the table, blankets and pillows are strewn across the floor and onto couches. Right now, Carl and I are sitting together on one, reading a comic he found in the other house. His arm is draped around me, and his thumb draws light circles on my hip where my shirt rides up a bit. Just a couple inches above the waistband of my jeans. I lean in to the touch happily. My head is resting comfortably on his chest, one arm holding him in a lazy hug. Every few seconds it leaves the spot to flip a page.
"How long was I in there for?" Mom walks out of the bathroom, sighing happily. In one hand is a toothbrush.
Rick looks up from Judith in her crib to mom. "Twenty minutes?"
She chuckles and wipes a bit of toothpaste off her cheek. "God, I could not stop brushing."
She looks up fully at his face and goes. "Huh."
"I've never," she gives a cheeky smile and a chuckle as she points to his beard-less face. "I've never seen you face like that." She title her head to the side with a flirtatious smirk. Oh my god. They are flirting and it's kind of adorable. My mind goes to a hundred miles a minute of, "What if they go out? What if they actually get together? What the hell would happen?!" It makes me happy and nervous all at once.
"That's what I felt before and after." Rick says, a hand goes up to his chin and rubbing where hair should have been. He goes to pass by her and get into the bathroom, but she stops him. She whispers to him, quiet enough that I can't make out the words.
A knock on the door makes everyone jump, and immediately my hand goes down to my knife. Instead it finds empty air. Right. They took it from me. Shit.
Rick goes to the door and opens it, revealing Deanna.
"Rick, I-" she steps in the doorway but stops immediately to look up at his new face. "Wow." She seems completely stunned and I laugh at her expression.
Rick gives a playful groans at her response and she says, "I didn't know what was under there."
She stepped through the doorway a little bit, entering the room and standing to look at both. Rick and the rest of us. "Listen, I-I don't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to step by and see how you were all settling."
Her eyes roam over all of us, a twinkle of enjoyment shining through them. She likes seeing us here.
"Oh, my. Staying together. Smart."
"No one said we couldn't." Rick shrugs.
"You said you're a family. That's what you said." Deanna gives the signature smile/smirk of hers. I swear, it's glued to her face. "Absolutely amazing to me how people with completely different backgrounds and nothing in common can become that. Don't you think?"
After all we've been through, it's not hard. These people are my lifeline. I would gladly die for any of them. And they would do the same for me.
"Everyone said you gave them jobs." Rick says. It's a statement, but it's spoken as a question.
Deanna nods. "Mm-hmm. Yeah. It's part of this place. Looks like the communists won after all." She laughs heartily at her own joke.
"Well, you didn't give me one."
"I have." She tells him, her stance on it solid. "I just haven't told you yet. Same with Michonne. I'm closing in on something for Sasha. And I'm just trying to figure out Mr. Dixon out, but I will."
She sounds so calm about it, and so firm on the subject. It's hard to try and argue with her when she can read us like a puzzle. I think I'm starting to like her.
She checks out Rick one last time slyly. "You look good." The approving nod is kind of funny to watch. It's just such a charming, playful gesture that I can't help but enjoy. Great, I've only been here half a day and it's already making me soft. I can't let that happen.
She tells us good night and leaves us be. Rick shuts the door behind her, locking it by the doorknob and the chain a foot above it.
"Okay, looks like it's bedtime." He tells us; like we didn't already know. One by one, the lights are getting shut off in the house and each door and window is locked and double checked. We set a chair against the door as well. Just in case.
The whole group goes to the floor, lying down on blankets and pillows and experimentally wiggling in the spot to check for comfiness. By the time I twist into a soft, blue (and extremely fuzzy,) blanket, we're all silent and some begin drifting off.
My eyes stay fixated on the blank ceiling, my body telling me, even though it's dark out and the rest of us are falling asleep, it's not time to sleep just yet. We need to keep watch. Someone needs to stay awake. Walkers can't get us while we're sleeping. I tell myself that they can't get in, that they can't kill us, but the thought is always at the back of my mind. It's telling me to always be watchful. You never truly know.
I try to keep my mind off of it and shut my eyes tightly, as if I can will myself to sleep. My ears fill with the hushed sounds of steady breathing and light snoring around me, and I find comfort in knowing that most of us will at least get an adequate amount of sleep. I don't seem to be one of them. It doesn't seem like my mind will shut out the dark thoughts or go blank for even a fraction of a second.
I twist on my side, looking over to Carls' dozing form. It didn't take long for him to pass out. I'm jealous. My eyes wander to the hand hanging by his side, and my own begins reaching out for it. I clasp it loosely, not wanting to cause much of a disturbance to his sleep. As I give his hand a half-hearted squeeze, I feel a lazy one in return. Shit, I didn't want to wake you!
But as I look to his face, I realize he's not awake. His eyes are still closed shut, no movement underneath his lids. His breathing is slow and steady, and I note the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Hm, maybe I just imagines it. Or maybe it was just a twitch in his sleep. Either way, my hand is in his, and I feel a little bit better.
My index lightly roams over his calloused fingers and to his soft palm. It travels down to his wrist, where I lightly feel his pulse pumping at an easy, relaxed rhythm. Bahbum. Bahbum.
I keep my diminishing focus on the steady beat. With each flutter of my heavy eyelids, I keep the feel of his pulse on my finger. I relax as my breathing slows and finally, I drift off into unconsciousness.
I'm sitting down on the porch of our new Alexandrian home, unloading my Glock. I take it apart to clean the inside thoroughly, just like I normally do. With the last click of putting the bullets in place, I stand up from the spot and brush invisible dust off my pants.
As I walk into the house, I take note of how epithet the whole community seems to be. Our first day was yesterday and even though Deanna told everyone to give us space, we could at least hear all the chatter of the families and see certain projects that had to be hung outside, like their laundry on a clothes drying line. Out here, the lines are empty and the chatter is nonexistent. It's like a ghost town.
I open the door and walk inside the home, and it's almost as quiet in here as it is out there. Where is everyone?
However, it's not as empty as the outside is. To the left, in the living room, I see Glenn and Maggie lounging by the couch. It looks like Maggie takes up the whole of it, lying down on all the spot on her back. Glenn sits in front of her, kneeling in just the right spot so I can't see her face. It sounds like they may be sharing a plate of food.
"Glenn?" I say. "Where is everyone?"
The chewing stops and his ear cocks in my direction at the doorway.
"C'mon," I add. "Don't bullshit me. You two are the only people I've seen all day."
He turns fully around at the sound of my voice, and I gasp in horror.
Glenn is no longer his normal, hopeful self. He's dead. Tears well in my eyes as I take in the sight of dull grey eyes and a chunk of flesh missing from his neck. Blood litters his collar and the front of his shirt from harsh scratches and what looks to be a very painful bite. His hair, normally in a side swoop, is completely disheveled and from the looks of it, someone pulled out a chunk of it out. He must've fought back. Of course he fought back. Glenn!
A sob racks through my chest as I look back to Maggie. Where I thought they were sharing a plate, it was actually walker Glenn feasting on her entrails. The copious amounts of blood being ripped out of her stomach stains the couch. So. Much. Blood. There is now a huge gaping hole where her intestines should be. Her normally kind brown eyes are fixated on the ceiling, forever staring at a single spot.
No. No! This can't be happening. My worst nightmare come true.
Walkers got in. They're killing us. They killed us!
"Glenn?!" I wail out, not being able to stop the tears flowing down my face. I attempt to palm them away but I can't keep up with how hard I'm crying. "Maggie?!"
She doesn't move. That southern belle is completely lifeless, and the reality of her being dead rips through me like a knife. Glenn, however, moves away from her. His legs are contorted, one bent out to the side, the other has his femur popping out. Oh god. He begins limping toward me, an arm outstretched to grab me when he gets close.
My hands are shaking and I can barely see through my tears, but I take my Glock out. Through his groans and hisses I hear the safety flipping off and I set a bullet in the chamber. I whimper brokenly as I point it at his head, ready to kill.
But I don't. I just can't. This is Glenn we're talking about. I could never do this.
So instead I run down the hallway, up to the stairs that would hopefully give me more space from him. I hear him behind me, his twisted limbs somehow moving fast enough to grab a wisp of my long hair trailing behind me. I drop the gun and I take the stairs two steps at a time, and like I thought, he took slower to get up. I mentally curse at the loss of my gun but I continue to run to the last room down the hall, seeing a dark figure in the room. I grab the door and swing it open behind me.
"Mom?!" Her back is turned to me, but I could call out the slender form anywhere. "Mom, Glenn. Maggie. They-"
And she turns to look at me. No, not again. Not her. Not my mom.
But here she is, walking dead and limping to me with no thoughts but, "kill." I take in the bloody features and grey eyes and her missing skin. Her arms, which normally I find comfort in, are a deep red, stained with blood. Her hair, those beautiful dark dreadlocks that I love, cover her face in shadows menacingly. Her shoulder has a missing chunk of skin, and I can clearly see teeth marks around the edges. But that's only one bite. It looks like she was dropped in a pile of walkers, seeing how many rips of cloth and scratches and bites are all over her body.
"No..." I can't think straight anymore. My mom is dead. My mom is dead.
The walkers got us and three of the most important people in my life are dead.
And then my mind goes to the Grimes boys. What about them?
"I'm sorry." A vicious sob racks my chest. "I'm so, so sorry."
I start to back away, my hand searching for the doorknob as she begins to run over me. She hisses at me and lunges at my body. I squeal in fear and slam the door in her face. I can hear her banging against the door as I run somewhere, anywhere else.
The bedroom where Carl and I kissed in is the one I run to next. As I open the door I fairly hear the sound of Glenn wobbling up the stairs. Shit.
I grab and close the door behind me, taking a single second to breathe a little bit. But, no, I don't get the luxury.
My heart is broken for the fourth and fifth time. I look over to the bed first and note that there's a hand lying limply underneath the bed. I shrink down underneath it, flopping to my stomach and looking to the body.
Carl.
No.
My mind is so wrought with despair that my outward response is almost emotionless. No screaming, no my-heart-was-ripped-out-of-my-chest response. Just a million tears silently streaming down my face.
He isn't an animated body like the others. No, he's dead-dead. There's a hole right between his opened eyes, shot just once. There's a pool of blood around his head growing steadily as it pours out the wound.
I can't look at this any more. I can't.
With one sob and a heavy heave, I make it back to a standing position. When I look over the other the bed, Rick is standing stark still, looking intently at me. He wasn't there before..?
And then I realize his skin is ghostly. His eyes are sunken and there are dark circles underneath. His skin is pale and leathery. He looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks. The normally muscly arms are just skin and bones. He's so skinny and weak. With a slow blink, he points a gun straight at my face.
"Rick..." I say cautiously. I notice how empty my voice is. With each death, a little bit of life went with it. "Please, don't do this."
"You're dead." The words are simple, yet they're harsh and pierce me.
"No, I'm not. Rick!" His hand doesn't waver.
"You're dead." He repeats. "I'm dead." My eyes roam over his skin, and there it was. A single bite mark, gushing blood from his wrist.
"We're all dead."
I look down to my body, and I notice that my arms go pale right before my eyes. The normal, tanned skin loses all color and all depth. It's like all my blood and my muscles were torn out of me, leaving only bone and dry skin. I hold my arms out in horror and in that moment, I'm just a skeleton. I'm dead, just like all of them.
Rick steps around the bed and the barrel of the gun touches my forehead. The groans and moans of undead fill my ears. I can't move my head out of fear of the gun, but in the corner of my eyes I see the bodies of Glenn, Maggie, and mom coming towards me fast. I can feel their undead fingers creeping on my form and pulling me in to their realm.
"We're ALL dead."
"Alyssa, wake up! Wake up!"
I screech loudly, shooting up from underneath the blanket. My skin is slick with sweat and my short hair is completely matted to my face. I can feel my heartbeat pounding out of my chest as I take in shallow breaths.
"Sh sh sh, it's okay. I got you." Warm hands envelope my damp form and I push them away. No more. No more walkers. No more pain.
"Alyssa, stop! It's me!"
I hyperventilate in my spot, trying to breathe normally. Strong hands grab my arms, holding them tight enough to stop me from writhing in my spot.
"It was just a nightmare." When I look up, it's Carl. His blue eyes search mine with concern. These eyes are no longer glassy and lifeless like they were just minutes ago. I'm sure mine are filled with terror. But you're dead. And then his words register in my brain. My heart leaps in my chest and I repeat inwardly, It's just a dream. It's just a dream.
I take in a heavy breath and make an attempt to stop my shaky hands. I drop my head into his chest as a nervous sob leaves my mouth. No, no more crying. They're fine. We're fine.
He holds me as tightly as physically possible and rubs circles on my back comfortingly. He doesn't ask me what it was about; he doesn't try to get anything out of me. Instead, Carl whispers the same phrases to me; "It was just a bad dream. You're okay." I wonder how many times it's going to take for me to truly believe it.
Just for the sake of my sanity, I look around the sleeping group. Thank god, I didn't wake up anyone else. Sure enough, I pick out Glenn and Maggie a few people away, soundly napping with their arms wrapped around each other. Just above my spot is mom, her body comfortably twisted in the fetal position to get some shut-eye. And to her left, Rick is-
Wait, where is he?
I see his spot made on the floor with a pillow and blanket- the scratchy kind; the one that has the colorful lining to trick you into thinking it's comfortable but really, it's not- and he's not there. I whip my head around the room, my eyes darting through the darkness to find his silhouette. There is none. I point to the empty spot with worry.
"Bathroom or something." Carl shrugs his shoulders. I visibly relax at the statement. "C'mon, lie down a bit."
Together, with his arms still around my uneasy form, we lie back down on the ground. I attempt a couple more calming breaths as Carl holds me flesh against his body, his hand trailing up and down my arm just enough to give me goosebumps. It's something more to focus on than the thought of everyone I cared about being dead.
He and I are quiet for the time-being. He lets me have the silence as a moment to mentally soothe myself, which I do. For the most part. The thoughts are still in my head, but I've distinguished that it was all just a dream. But still, I rationalize, those thoughts came from somewhere. And that somewhere is Alexandria. The people here don't know what it's like outside the walls. One day, they'll screw up. One day, a walker's going to get in and my nightmare will be a reality.
I can't let that happen. Ever.
"Feel better?" Carl whispers. I nod against his chest. Much. But not completely.
"Do you want to try to get more sleep, or no?" He asks. I shrug, but still hold him close. I breathe in his scent, which is normally woodsy, like cedar trees. Right now, the stupidly strong body wash or cologne or whatever kind he used is all I can discern. It's something manly. Probably some Old Spice. It's all wrong. Just another way that Alexandria is messing with us.
I can faintly hear the sounds of a squeaky door opening and closing down the hall. I wiggle a little in Carls' arms to look over and see Rick walking back to his spot. However, he doesn't. In the faint light of the bathroom, I see his shadows walking out and shutting it off. His form walks through the living room but, looking like he had a second thought, he goes to the kitchen. I can't twist my body around fully because I want Carl to go back to sleep, so I focus on the sounds that pierce through the newfound silence. A drawer opening. Something clanking.
I keep my eyes focused on Carls' face, patiently waiting for him to fall back asleep. I know that there is no way I'm getting any shut-eye tonight. I know if I try, I'm just going to see more of my friends as walkers, and I don't want to see that ever again. It would break me. However, just because I'm not getting any sleep doesn't mean he can't get any. So I stay relaxed in his arms until his eyes close and his breathing slows.
Once he's completely dozed off, I shrink away from him. I steadily inch away from his form, being aware that if I move too fast he'll wake up again be all worried about me.
With a single hand, I grab the arm on me and pull it up, just enough that I can duck under it and get up. Thank god, I think as I stand up. He's still asleep. Perfect.
I tiptoe past the others and make my way to the kitchen area, where I now fully see Rick in.
The clank I heard earlier was a kitchen knife; he holds it steady in his hand. His eyes look to me as I walk in to the space in front of him and hop onto the shiny black countertop.
Wordlessly, I hold my hand out. It's a silent plead. Please give me one. A knife.
He nods and grabs another from the drawer beside him and holds it out to me. Damn, it's like you can read my fricken mind. I take it graciously out of his hand, pulling it close to me for comfort. The blade is silver with a black handle. While the blade itself is large, it doesn't look like it can cut through much of anything that matters. No walker skulls. No bones. It looks like it's used to cut chicken breasts. But still, beggars can't be choosers. At least I have something.
I hold out my left index finger, curling the rest of them inward so just the one is pointed proudly. With the very tip of the knife, I poke the finger until it bleeds a little. It stings when I break skin, but I'm happy that it does. It's just another way to prove my nightmares aren't real. I still bleed.
I scrape the finger along the knee of my jeans, watching the single bead of blood get soaked up by the material. The new red is very visible in the light blue of the denim.
When I look up, I notice Ricks eyes trailing my every move. As I look to him, his blue orbs bore into mine. They're tired.
"I heard you, earlier." He says. I look down apologetically. Damn it. However, he doesn't seem angry or annoyed. Instead he sounds understanding. "I get them, too."
I look back up at him, expressing my confusion. He continues, "Nightmares. The bad ones; the ones that you can't get out of your head in the morning. I get them, too."
I look back down to the ground again and the grip on my knife tightens. I just want to get it out of my head. I don't want to think about him holding a fucking gun to my head. I don't want to see Carl dead. I don't want to see mom as a walker. I just want it out.
My eyes, downcast to the ground, watch as he takes three large steps to me. A warm pair of arms go around my figure, pulling me close to his strong, muscled form. Without much thought, I bring my arms around him, too. I release a shaky breath onto his chest. These hands would never hold a gun to me.
It was just a dream. It was just a dream. We're all alive. Even if I don't feel okay, I have to be.
"I'm still here for you." Rick whispers to me comfortingly. "We're still here."
He repeats it again a second time and I try to let the words really sink in. I really do.
A/N: Sooo? What do y'all think? Good, bad, ugly? I really want to show throughout these next handful of chapter that Alyssa no longer sees real from nightmares any more. It's PTSD, basically. She's trying to keep sane but she's losing her mind at the same time. Plus, being mute doesn't really help all of that either. These next couple of chapters, she's going to be watching her back, whether or not she actually needs to is up in the air at the moment. I'm excited to write it, so I hope you all are excited to read it.
Also, I promise that we're going to meet the Alexandrian teens next chapter. I swear this time :)