Ah, the sun. A giant, fiery orb of death out in the middle of space, millions of miles away. Just kind of existing somewhere out there, casually levitating our solar system around its pull almost like one of those spinning swing rides at the amusement park. Get too close and you're fried to a crisp. Get too far and you're like those idiots that tried to invade Russia in the winter. It's like the sun just can't seem to make up its goddess-damned mind. It's awful. It's stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

CRASH.

THUD.

"Are you quite alright?" Skye wheezed, sounding rather like a deflated balloon.

"Sure, yeah, just peachy," I murmured irritably from the ground. One thing I hadn't quite accounted for about returning to the real world was the fact that the sun did indeed exist, and was just as annoyingly bright as ever. My eyes weren't exactly suited to this fact after being locked away in the darkness for so long, and as a result, I could hardly see more than a few inches in front of me. That was even putting things lightly, if you'll excuse the pun. The moment Skye had magically whisked us away to the shore of the Goddess Lake, I'd stumbled in my sightless confusion and immediately collided with the first object in my path. The first object, which was surprisingly soft and actually kind of nice and smelled faintly of warm ginger and freshly cut roses and maybe even a vague hint of cayenne-

Nope. Nuh uh. Not today, Goddess. I stood abruptly, brushing a few loose strands of grass from my jeans. I winced as my hands stung slightly from the contact; though they'd saved me from a full face-plant, they were left red and stinging from their violent collision with the ground. Sheepishly, I extended my least injured hand in what I hoped was the direction of a recently-toppled, silver haired thief. I admit that I was a little embarrassed at my newfound clumsiness, especially given the nature of the earlier conversation between the two of us, but I wasn't about to just leave my victim there after knocking him to the ground. I wasn't quite humiliated enough to forego common decency.

"As if I would accept the aid of a damsel who is herself in distress!" Skye laughed. There was a brief sound of rustling grass, followed by a light, dismissing pat on my outstretched hand. I quickly withdrew it, shoving it in my pocket with a huff. The nerve of this guy! Couldn't he just let me help for once without making a scene? "Though I must say, this particular damsel does still have the makings of a fine knight. How chivalrous my companion is!"

A noise of disgust fought its way through my lips. I stuck out my tongue in his general direction, which was met with another wave of warm, vibrant laughter. I may not have been able to see him, but I still wanted to wipe away that smug look that I knew was plastered all over his face. He always seemed to emerge from our conversations as the undisputed champion. Though his wit was admittedly one of his better traits, its tendency to put himself over the top still made me want to hurl myself right back into the lake. With a huff, I threw my back against the nearest tree, arms crossing irritably over my chest.

I hadn't noticed before-or maybe I'd just been ignoring it-but my heart thudded painfully against my chest, sending nervous prickles of electricity flying across my skin with each beat. Maybe I was more on the fence about Skye's plan than I originally thought. Sure, I was initially taken aback when he'd mentioned swimming, but I had to admit that he'd put a lot of thought into his strategy. He just seemed so. . . sure. So confident. Maybe even a little proud, like an obnoxious parent bragging about their little honor student, wallet stuffed to the brim with embarrassing pictures. It was so contagious that I'd agreed to his terms almost without a second thought. But now, away from the surreal twilight of the hidden lake chamber, there was a lurking twinge of unease that pricked naggingly at my stomach. Nervously, I twirled a still-damp strand of hair around my finger.

"Can't we just get this over with?" I asked, not bothering to hide the bite of irritation from my words.

"As much I would love to," Skye replied regretfully, "I am afraid I have little control over when our guest of honor arrives. Vivian is. . . temperamental. Though no doubt eager for our little meeting, I suspect that she intends to make our wait as excruciating as possible, as is her usual preference."

I slumped against the tree. The bark dug annoyingly into the grooves of my back as my heels dragged against the dirt, conjuring a small cloud of dust into the air.

"Well, joke's on her then. Can't get any more excruciating than being around Vivian."

"Careful," he teased. "She may be listening. You would not want to fall out of her favor, now would you?"

"Right. Because I'm in the running to be her maid of honor, you know."

Damn it, he made me smile. His sense of humor was drier than Rock's last shriveled brain cell, and yet there was something about it that was actually starting to lift my mood. Strange how it can drive me insane one minute, but prevent insanity the next. It was probably the potion talking, but I was actually really grateful for his company. I guessed that I'd be panicking a lot more without him around to keep me occupied, especially with my sight being as impaired as it was. I closed my eyes, noticing for the first time the gentle nudge of the breeze as it tousled my hair; the delicate crinkling of the leaves in the forest's canopy. How long had I been locked up? Were the villagers still looking for me, or had they given up by now? While there was no one person in Forget-Me-Not that I was particularly close to, everyone still had this uncanny way of making me feel like family. There was always a hot meal on the house when I fell on hard times, or an ear to listen no matter the time of day.

Wow, what do you know? The little ghost town in the middle of nowhere had grown on me after all.

. . .As had, unfortunately, a certain criminal. My feelings for Skype were complicated, at best. When I'd first heard about the love potion, I was convinced that I'd never speak to him again-and yet, once he'd explained himself, things suddenly weren't so black and white anymore. Two wrongs might not make a right, but what about doing the wrong thing for the right reasons? Or, would it be the right thing for the wrong reasons? Was there an ulterior motive, or did he genuinely do what he thought was best for me? Goddess, this was all so confusing. Maybe I should just let Vivian finish me off so I wouldn't have to deal with this mess. A smile, uncertain and dark but somehow serene, crept its way onto my lips. The gentle warmth of the sun soon lulled my rampant, unkempt thoughts into a dull murmur. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace.

A sudden pressure on the bridge of my nose brought me slowly out of my trance. Bewildered and pleasantly dazed, I reached up to investigate the intruding object. My fingers met with what felt like plastic, slightly damp to the touch, and rounded along the edges on either side. Wait, was this. . .? My eyes flew open. The world was now engulfed in dim hues of amber, the brightness of midday no longer overwhelming my vision. Before me stood the culprit, arms crossed triumphantly and a knowing grin stretched across his face.

"My, I truly am an idiot," he'd laughed quietly, mostly to himself. His slender fingertips pressed delicately to his brow, partially obscuring the laugh lines that danced around the corners of his eyes. "Here I was, believing your face to be so dramatically contorted out of anger! If you were struggling to see, you need only have asked for assistance. Ah, and before you ask, these sunglasses were given willingly by a passing merchant several years prior. That particular brand went out of style rather quickly, you see. Not quite gaudy enough for those who could actually afford them. Really, his tossing them in a lake was more of a convenient way to rid of them than an offering, but ah well, c'est la vie. One man's trash is another's treasure, no?"

I wasn't quite sure what to say. The sudden act of kindness took me by surprise. I eventually settled for a simple 'thank you.' Skye nodded once, that vibrant, upbeat, yet somehow languid smile never fading for even a moment.

"You are very welcome," he replied. Then, after a brief clearing of his throat: "They, ah. Look quite nice on you."

I coughed nervously, choking on some unseen force. With the abrupt gesture, the glasses slipped from their already-unstable perch. I fumbled, reaching blindly, and missed; the momentum of my hand sent them flying over my head, whirling unceremoniously through the air. I cursed, my knuckles throbbing with pain where the plastic rebounded from my preexisting injuries, but nonetheless whirled around desperately in an attempt to catch the airborne object-but my shoelace, danging free of its usual double knot, became lodged beneath my foot in the chaos. A confused yelp escaped my lips as I tumbled once again towards the dirt, legs tangled and arms pinwheeling wildly through the air.

But, naturally, I never hit the ground. Of course I didn't, because apparently I'm acquainted with Harry-freaking-Potter, wizard extraordinaire. As if appearing from thin air, there he was, crouched casually before me as if he'd been there all along. The glasses-brown tortoiseshell, I noted through squinted eyelids, that was peppered with translucent notes of violet that popped delicately in the sunlight-dangled teasingly before my face as he twirled them around his finger with a flourish. He placed them confidently atop the tip of my nose, laughing as I tried in vain to blow them higher with my breath alone. Green sparks danced along his fingertips, which he tapped together gleefully.

"As if I would let you fall again!" he laughed, at last adjusting the offending, lopsided frames with a flick of his index finger. I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused, but settled for both: a lenient smile, complete with scathing eye-roll. The perks of having a magical boyfriend. Realization of thought in 3. . . 2. . .

"Agh, get away from me!" I all but shouted, throwing my palms up defensively. Alarm bells blared in my mind, shattering whatever was left of my previous train of thought. Even so, my voice resonated hollowly through the trees, each echo a reminder, a slap to the face. I clawed at my cheeks in vain, feeling the blossom of angry, swollen marks but hoping somehow to scrub my brain of the last five seconds. This one was clearly defective. I needed a full wipe. A factory reset. Hell, maybe I should just drop it on the curb like an ancient couch, holy and infested with bedbugs.

"O-Oh. Too close? My apologies."

The heavy, crestfallen look that flitted across his face was too much to bear. My heart dropped to my stomach. My stomach plunged to the dark recesses of hell. Is this what they meant by puppy dog eyes? No, I began to realize, thoughts tinted with a twinge of horror and boundless regret. It's worse than that. He looked in that moment like a kicked puppy, simultaneously soaked through by the torrential rain, doused in kerosene, and set ablaze by a lightning bolt hurled by Zeus himself. Left alone on an empty, uninhabited doorstep in a moldy, decrepit cardboard box. Fur clipped down to the skin, shaking, cold, and exposed to the elements. Children throwing rocks and laughing, a cold, hollow sound-

"N-no," I offered weakly, panic rising up my throat like bile. Then again, with more force: "NO! I mean, yes. I mean, uh," Magical boyfriend, my intrusive thoughts offered helpfully. I groaned. Thinking of excuses would just make things worse and required far more brainpower than I was apparently capable of. At the same time, I didn't even know what was going through my own head, which made honesty virtually impossible. My eyes flitted to the downtrodden figure before me. His shoulders sagged dejectedly, his posture every bit reminiscent of a wilted flower, but there was a smile-tiny, and sad, but unmistakably genuine-that now rested comfortably across his features. Was he trying to cheer me up? Cheer ME up? After I chewed him out over nothing? Oh dear goddess. Suddenly, I felt rather like a kicked puppy myself.

"It's alright," he said. His hands rose slowly before his chest, palms out, mimicking my own stance. Mine, however, was a symbol of defense, a declaration of war; his, an olive branch, a treaty of peace. "Truly. You are under no obligation to oblige my silly, ostentatious behavior. In fact, I would prefer it if you di-"

"NO!" I blurted once again. Good going, Pony. You now have both the vocabulary AND emotional control of a two year old. The thief's eyes widened innocently, swimming tumultuously with confusion and shock and doubt. I shook my head, trying desperately to condense the whirling riptide of thoughts in my head into a cohesive sentence. "It's just. I don't know. The thing is, I don't even know how to feel, or react, or think anymore. My head is just. . . buzzing. There aren't opinions, or. . . or presumptions, or anything. I don't hate you. But I'm also not. . . completely enamored by you. And yet, somehow, I'm both. I'm hopeless, but happy. I'm breathless. I'm calm. But, I'm also nothing at all. Somehow, they cancel out. All those emotions, I do feel them. They're all there. They exist. And yet, together, when combined-" I gestured wildly, hopelessly, hands twisting through the air without purpose. "-they somehow don't?"

There was a brief silence as my words hung in the air, thick and stifling as molasses. Though I was finally able to put words to what I was feeling, somehow I was even more confused than I was before. I dared to peek at the silver-haired man before me. He looked pensive, brow furled, toying absentmindedly with a leaf between his thumb and index finger. Though far from content, his posture had straightened significantly. He no longer appeared as a drooping flower, ancient and discarded underfoot, but rather a budding sapling tousled ever so slightly by the winds of a summer storm.

"I think I understand," he finally replied. Slowly, carefully. He nodded, coming to some silent agreement with himself as he let the leaf slip through his fingers. I watched it dance lazily through the air, drifting left, then right; right, then left again, then spiraling suddenly upwards, having caught the undercurrent of an unseen breeze. "You are not conflicted, per se. Each thought, each emotion, is there for a reason. For a purpose. They are often opposite, but not inherently contradictory. You are upset with me to some degree, yet understand my rationale and feel little resentment for how I have chosen to proceed. You feel the effects of the potion, yet assert and maintain your independence and control over them. You experience each emotion in turn-powerfully, beautifully, naturally, like breathing-and yet feel neutral and somehow at peace under the unbearable yet somehow bearable weight of them all. Am I correct?"

"Damn thief and his mind reading powers," I grumbled in response. There was no malice in my voice, however. Somehow, the words escaped my lips like a long-repressed sigh of relief, sapping every bit of stress and worry from my body like a personal hot spring. There was something cathartic about finally understanding the turmoil in my head. It didn't go away, not by a long shot-and yet now, I knew what to expect. Skye knew what to expect. There would be no more misunderstandings; no more kicked puppy looks based on spur of the moment reactions. He knew that I was confused. He knew that I wasn't angry with him, even if the circumstances made it seem like I was at times. The thought was more comforting than I cared to admit.

As was, admittedly, the expression that now lingered on Skye's features. There was a downy softness there, so delicate that I thought it might shatter irreparably with just a glance. He did not smile; he didn't need to. There was relief and joy and exuberance etched in every corner of his features, from the fragile creases around his eyes which were sparkling like polished emeralds, to the quiet, certain lift of his chin. My heart thudded painfully against my chest, my throat running alarmingly dry.

For lack of a better word, he was beautiful.

Not beautiful like a front-page supermodel, plastic and touched-up to the point of uncanniness; not beautiful like a fallen angel, otherworldly and ethereal and so inevitably out of reach. No, this was a grounded beauty that rushed through his veins like liquid fire. This was a beauty that dripped like golden honey from every word, laugh, and sigh that passed his lips. Beyond the infamous Phantom Skye, I realized, was a person. A genuine person, with compassion that ran so incredibly, unfathomably deep that it sent pleasant shivers down my spine. Before I could stop myself, I reached out, gripping his hand tightly, like it might drift to the heavens like an over-inflated balloon if I didn't.

"I want to start over," I declared. I barely had time to register what I was thinking; still, I knew this was something that needed to be said. His eyes snapped to our intertwined hands, gazing at them with pure astonishment. Frankly, he looked like he was about to throw up, though from surprise or contentment I wasn't sure. I stifled a laugh. "When we clear up this mess. When we reverse the potion. No more secrets, or running, or. . . I think I want to be friends. I mean, we didn't really start off on the right foot, so. Is that okay with you?"

"Is that, okay?" He asked with disbelief. The words seemed to lose all meaning, as if he were merely parroting a phrase from an unknown language, letting the syllables fall heavy from his tongue like cemented bricks. "Is that okay? Pony, you continue to astound me with your unending compassion. How you manage it is beyond my comprehension," He shook his head incredulously, something resembling a cross between a smile and a gape overtaking his features as he let out a short, disbelieving bark of laughter. "Yes, it is okay. Of course it is okay. We will be friends for as long as you wish it, and not a second less or a second more."

"Think of it!" I chimed, feeling a dopey grin spread across my lips. "We can make those god-awful friendship bracelets with the half hearts. We can paint each others' nails!" I wiggled my eyebrows, fingertips drumming against his in a brief staccato.

"We could sneak into R-rated movies," he offered, voice shaking and lilted with the beginnings of a laugh as he fondly patted our intertwined hands. "And order copious amounts of pizza at three in the morning."

"Right," I nodded sagely. "And don't forget hiding dead bodies for each other. Just typical BFF things."

Our conversation, just minutes before on the verge of heartfelt and serious, quickly devolved into a series of offhanded comments and half-suppressed laughter. We talked about impromptu cooking lessons and braiding each other's hair; doorbells rung without reason and flaming paper bags full of dog crap left on porches. Talking to him was easy, I thought. Maybe it always had been, but I was too busy being self-righteous to notice. It was easy, backs pressed against the grass and eyes tracing the gentle path of clouds shaped like elephants and high-heeled shoes, to forget the reason we were here at all.

And yet, I couldn't forget.

"It's alright, you know," he reassured, noticing when my eyes began to linger a little too long on the horizon. The sky, formerly a bright cerulean, was now diluted with the subtle reds of twilight. Their warmth began to creep across the heavens slowly; carefully; methodically, like a spider weaving its silken web, the promise of a meal to come lingering unsaid in its sticky threads. Skye shifted his weight onto an elbow, peering at me earnestly through his silvery, windswept hair. "You will be alright. Truly. I swear it on my radiant beauty, and goddess knows it would be a tragedy should the world be deprived of it."

I hummed suspiciously, torn between his unfailing confidence and my fleeting knowledge of what came next. He couldn't tell me everything, he'd said. His plan would be much more believable if my reactions to it were genuine. Vivian had to think he was on her side, and if I showed even the slightest hint of knowing more than I should, it could be bad news. Plus, we didn't know what the Witch Princess was capable of. While Skye wasn't aware of any secret mind reading powers, it was best to limit some things to the person who had a chance of deflecting them.

But I knew enough. Enough to worry; enough to doubt. Enough to know that Vivian wanted me dead, and that escaping completely unscathed was far from likely. But still, scared as I was, I trusted him.

"Have you ever heard of Occam's Razor?" he'd inquired back at the lake, before we'd ever emerged on the shore. Recognition had tugged at the corners of my consciousness, but ultimately I'd shaken my head, unable to produce the long-forgotten knowledge. "In essence, the simplest solution is almost always the best. The fewer steps there are, the less of a chance that things will, as the kids say, 'get janked.'"

"Kids don't say that," I had snorted. Somehow, hearing the phrase from the elegant, well-spoken man made it even more comical to hear. "They never said that."

"Well, Phantom Skyes do," he'd retorted playfully. "And Phantom Skyes also say that you are a horrific actress."

"I am not!"

"Yes," Skye chuckled. "You are. You are honest to a fault. You say what you mean, and mean what you say. One of your better qualities, I must admit, though not necessarily conducive to the art of acting."

After the initial wave of denial and offense has subsided, I had realized that he actually kind of had a point. I'd never acted a day in my life. Everything that I said and did was reflective of how I felt, or at the very least how I thought I felt. Still, I wasn't happy about it. An insult was an insult.

"Yeah, well. Whatever," I scoffed. "You're dramatic enough for the both of us anyways."

Back in the present, I smiled, remembering how he'd denied it with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Just because he'd memorized Shakespeare's greatest works word for word, he'd argued, did not mean that he was dramatic. Of course, I didn't believe him; and of course, he'd decided to prove me wrong with a one man production of Macbeth. He didn't actually call it that though, insisting that the title was merely "The Scottish Play," and that it was bad luck to refer to it as its real name. My nostalgic smile widened to a full grin as I remembered how we'd made a game out of it. I would try to catch him by surprise by yelling "Macbeth" during his performance, and each time he would try to drown me out by shouting his lines as loudly as he could. Just to spite me, he'd even changed the titular hero's name in the play, though never in the same way each time.

"What he hath lost, noble Mackerel has won!"

"Fear not, Macklemore. No man that's born of woman shall e'er have power upon thee."

Eventually, having murdered King Duncan and subsequently slain himself as the noble Macduff, Skye had steered our conversation back to the more pressing matter at hand. Still, I got to see a side of him that I'd never noticed before. I used to think he was all business. That every word and every action was a means to an end, however frivolous it might have seemed at the time. But there, back in the lake, he had proven me wrong. When given the chance, he really could be a funny guy. A bit of a drama queen, sure, but there was a teasing quality even to his theatrics. I snuck a glance to my right, hoping to tease him more about his previous antics-but Skye was no longer there.

I froze.

The Witch Princess. Vivian. It had to be. There was no way he'd leave me alone otherwise. Not when he knew she was coming. My fingers clenched, my knuckles turning a pale, ghostly white from the pressure. Alarm bells ringing furtively in my head, I sprung to my feet, ready to throw down. If she touched a single hair on that giant, dorky, ego-inflated head of his, so help me goddess I-

Oh.

Oh.

Talk about overreaction of the century. If I'd cared to look just a few feet down the path, I would have noticed the object of my internal tirade lounging cross-legged in the grass. His gaze flicked up to meet mine at the sound of my miniature rampage.

"Oh, dear. Did I wake you?" he asked, eyes tinged with regret and sympathy. My hands dropped limply to my sides, dangling like a couple of overcooked noodles as I noticed that he clutched a fistful of. . .

"Daisies?" Oh dear goddess. Did he pick me flowers? I thought the puppy dog eyes were bad, but here he was, his dumb cheeks all pink and his dumb eyes casting about aimlessly, flickering almost comically between me and the ground. It was so goddess-damned cute that it almost made me angry. Who gave him the right?

"Chamomile, actually," he corrected sheepishly. "Primarily used to brew a popular floral tea. Vivian also had me gather it on occasion for her potions, the flowers and stems both. A rather practical and versatile plant, you see. Yet, I believe them to be useful even from an aesthetic perspective. I wished to try. . . ah. Well. Here."

He gathered up the bundle of flowers in his hands, raising it gently into the air. Wait, no. Not a bundle of flowers. They clung to one another, tied together expertly by their stems and danging gently from the thief's fingers in a circlet of pristine white petals. Skye placed the flower chain on my head, tucking an errant strand of hair behind my ear before deftly withdrawing his hand.

"There," he sighed. "Lovely."

Was this what it felt like to short circuit? To be a deer in headlights? It was official. I'd been undone by a flower crown. A FLOWER CROWN. My thoughts were suddenly as mangled and unintelligible as TV static. I stood there dumbly for what felt like no time at all and an eternity all at once.

"Peony for your thoughts?" I blinked, barely registering what the thief had said. Was that. . . did he just. . .? "Or perhaps you are garden them for a reason, in which case you do not have to say."

Oh, so that's how he wanted to play, huh?

"Keep that up and I'll push you in the lake," I chided, my vocabulary rushing back as he broke the tension with his awful sense of humor. Though, I thought with a half-suppressed laugh, I'm definitely one to talk. "Or-chid you not."

"I am afraid lilac the ability to stop."

"Don't be such a pansy! You can stop if you try."

"Alas, iris-k insanity if I suppress my boundless wit."

"Here I was, thinking you were someone that rose to the occasion."

"I do believe your insults stem only from jealousy."

"Oh, come on!" I whined, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "That one was such a cop out! Specific flower puns only. I call foul!"

"'Foul is fair, and fair foul,'" he proclaimed with a wicked grin. I raised an eyebrow, recalling the line from his earlier performance. "Though if it's fowl you want, I'm beak-inning to think I may be a bit of a chicken."

I groaned. Flower puns were one thing, but chickens?

"I retract our earlier declaration of friendship."

"I was simply wing-ing it before, and I would rather not egg you on, given your inclination towards drowning me in a lake."

"Skye, I swear to goddess."

"I may be light as a feather, but I do not float. I will not shell out more than I can handle, as I may crack under the pressure."

"SKYE!"

"Yes?" he chuckled. "May I help you?"

"Sure can," I replied. Unable to resist my previous threat, I placed my hands on his shoulders and shoved as hard as I could. His eyes widened as he toppled backwards, arms flailing wildly like a fish flopping on the sand. Finally, he succumbed to gravity and plummeted towards the surface of the pond. . .

Only to stop just before he took a nosedive beneath its surface.

Right. Magic powers.

"How violent!" he teased, propping himself up on his elbows mid-air. They brushed against the surface of the lake, sending out tiny cascades of ripples across the gleaming, impossibly-smooth surface. "Though I admit, you took me by surprise. I almost didn't have time to pond-er my dilemma."

The grin on his face reminded me of the Cheshire Cat, full of the most annoying sort of mischief and mockery you can imagine. I crossed my arms, eyeing him scornfully as he rolled onto his back, hovering lazily over the water with his arms resting casually behind his silvery hair. The dwindling sunlight swept gently over his features. A languid smile played at his lips as he cast his face towards the sun, basking in the warmth of the crimson sunset. A sudden realization crept into my consciousness.

"Wait. . . How are you even moving?" I asked, remembering all the times that he'd paralyzed me with his magic. His so called "Maiden Chick Beam," one that froze a person in time, didn't usually allow for that much mobility.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teased, cracking open an eye to peer at me tauntingly. "Perhaps I've been honing my skills."

"Well, how you did it is beside the point! That's totally cheating. You cheated again."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

He sighed dramatically. "Must I?"

"Yes."

With a slight pout, he rose gracefully to his knees as he hovered over the water. Then, with a final, halfhearted salute, he plummeted towards the water like a cartoon character who found itself over a cliff's edge. He seemed to catch himself just before his head breached the surface, though he gave a slight whimper as the chilled water seeped through his clothes. While it hadn't been that bad earlier, the temperature had since dropped about ten degrees, and the wind had picked up considerably. A twinge of guilt prickled at my thoughts. I almost felt bad for him.

That feeling, however, was very short lived. Suddenly, the shivering man had vanished from my sights like a puff of smoke into the breeze. Before my mind could register what had happened, I felt a gust of warm breath at my ear.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold, don't you think?"

And then I was falling, only this time, Mr. Gandalf the Silver decided not to catch me. Unprepared for the sudden impact, my nostrils filled immediately with water, and I coughed raggedly as I paddled desperately for the surface. My nails raked through the dirt of the shoreline as I gasped for air like an out-of-shape runner recovering from a marathon. From above me, I heard the unmistakable notes of laughter. I rubbed the water from my eyes with a grimace. While my sunglasses had been lost to the depths of the lake, the sun's rays had been diluted considerably by the growing twilight. In other words, I could see better than before. In fact, I could see a scrawny pair of legs right there in front of me, shaking slightly from laughter and the cold. Fine. He wanted funny? I'd show him funny.

My hands snaked around his ankles and I tugged with all my strength. Skye gave a slight yelp as he lost his footing and tumbled over my head, knocking me unceremoniously in the face with his shoe as he fell. I hissed with pain, my nose throbbing from the harsh impact, but soon was distracted by the distinct splash that erupted from behind me. I whirled around just as Skye broke the surface with a harsh intake of air, his silver locks hanging in a curtain of disarray over his eyes.

"My hair!" he gasped with mock indignation. He attempted to shovel the long, tangled strands out of his face, but only succeeded him giving himself the equivalent of a two-layered bowl cut. I snicked. "It's ruined! You've thoroughly trampled upon my image, Ms. Pony. This is a hair-y situation indeed."

"Ugh, I really wish you would stop it with those puns," I scolded playfully. "At least mine were tasteful. I'd give anything to make them stop. An arm, a leg-you name it."

"A shame," he teased. "If you had no limbs, then how would you pun-ish me for-"

Suddenly, he paused, his brow knitting together in confusion. He opened his mouth again, but no words followed. Then, out of nowhere, he jumped, evidently startled by something beneath the water's surface. I followed his gaze curiously. Oddly enough, the lake water had begun to bubble around us-first slowly, but increasing in speed, almost like a bag of popcorn heating in the microwave. That's weird, I guess. Did the lake have a hot tub function? Judging by Skye's deer-in-headlights reaction, the answer was probably a solid no.

My suspicions were all but confirmed a few seconds later, when the water around Skye abruptly condensed into a sickly, neon mass. It glowed ominously, pulsing with a cracking green electricity that ebbed and flowed with the ripples on the water's surface.

"Whoa!" I cried, backing up instinctively to the edge of the shore. The light darted after me. It seemed to follow me like a shadow wherever I went, almost like a moth drawn to a candle flame. It was seriously freaky. Yeah, no. Nope-ing right out of this one. I tried to lift myself out of the water, only to be halted by crackles of red-hot electricity that tore painfully through my hands. I yelped in pain, arms squeezing across my chest protectively. It felt almost like a friction burn, but multiplied by a thousand. "S-Skye? W-What's going on? It really REALLY hurts. . ."

"I-I'm trying!" he stuttered. Through the haze of pain, I managed to glance over my shoulder and saw that his eyes were scrunched shut, his face pale and ghostly. "It isn't working, I don't know why it just-! Just hold on! Please!"

The searing pain began to creep down my sides. It didn't linger there long, but each inch it traversed felt infinitely worse than the last, cutting at my skin like thousands of tiny, invisible knives. The burning at last reached my hips; there, it ignited with an unparalleled sort of fury. Colors swam before my eyes. They exploded in faded shimmers that drifted across my vision like an afterimage of fireworks. I threw my arms onto the shore, wheezing breathlessly with pain. Something vile rose to my throat and I felt myself retch on the shoreline. It tasted metallic and bitter.

I'm not sure how long it lasted. Honestly, I think I may have passed out, because I don't remember much else after that point. All I know is that one minute I felt like a witch being burned at the stake, and the next I was coughing weakly on the shore, tired beyond belief but otherwise fine. I opened my eyes, blinking questioningly at the thief who was forcefully shaking my shoulders.

"O-Oh, thank goddess!" he cried, finally releasing me. He fell back onto the grass, burying his face in his hands, which he then buried in his knees. I sat up, shivering as the breeze cut right through my damp skin. Abruptly, Skye perked up, clamoring onto his knees somewhat pathetically in forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, Pony! You-I think your words might have been misinterpreted as a wish and-your legs, your arms-the lake tried to. . . I-I tried to stop it with another offering but nothing would work and I could not find the glasses and the flowers were not enough and I- I had to- Please don't-"

"You just-" I began to speak, but was immediately hit with another wave of nausea. I threw up again on the shore, though really it was more of a dry heave. I hadn't exactly eaten much lately. I wiped my mouth shakily, turning again to the panicked, near-incoherent thief with a small smile. "Sorry. That was. . . k-kinda gross. . ."

He stared. "You're honestly worried about-"

"Oh, right. I was going to say," I tried to smile, but I was so exhausted that it felt more like a grimace. Well, actually, I lied. Part of the reason was tiredness, and the other part was because Skye wasn't exactly. . . decent. His signature leopard print was nowhere to be seen, leaving him shirtless and shivering against the cold. I tried not to look. I really, really did. And I succeeded, I'll have you know! I wasn't about to take advantage of something like that, especially since he'd apparently used one of his favorite clothing items as leverage to save me from my dumb outburst. But even so, knowing that he was there like that was enough to light my face ablaze. Still, I was myself before anything else, and I just couldn't resist the thought that kept whirling through my half-unconscious brain. "You just w-wanted to. . . deflower me. . . didn't you?"

If there was ever a time to use the word 'flabbergasted,' it was with reference to the expression that Skye was wearing right at that moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"T-The flower crown. Deflower?" I laughed weakly at my lame (and somewhat tactless) joke, wincing at the pain in my stomach as I did. "B-Because it fell off my head in the water? And, you're half naked? Get it?"

Silence. Deafening, brutal, and glaring. Tough crowd tonight.

Then, there was more silence, but this time complete with a flimsy pair of arms that were most definitely not my own being flung forcefully around my shoulders. It was my turn to be flabbergasted as a strangled sob escaped his lips. I flinched as he buried his face in my shoulder, squeezing so tightly around my neck that I briefly thought I might throw up again. It felt weird, and stifling, but the pressure wasn't completely unpleasant. At least, it wouldn't have been if we weren't both freezing, sopping wet, and covered in pond muck.

"There, there?" I squawked, patting his back awkwardly. That's what you did when people cried and slobbered all over you, right? You pretended that you knew what they were going through and slapped them behind the shoulder blades? Sounds about right. I was getting better at this. He sniffed pathetically, finally lifting his face from my shirt once the violent sobs had subsided. His eyes were puffy and his face damp, though from tears or the lake I wasn't sure. Finally, he spoke.

"You really are a horrible actress."

This time, the pats on his back were less than comforting.

A/N: This was originally going to be the last chapter before the epilogue, but Pony and Skye being bros was just too fun to stop writing about. Before I knew it, I had a written a whole chapter and the witch hadn't even shown up yet! Their dynamic actually works pretty well once Skye makes an effort to stop being a superficial womanizer and Pony learns to relax a bit.

Sorry again for the insanely slow updates. College has been absolutely crazy! Apparently, I hate myself with a passion because I picked up a second major and a minor, and THEN on top of it all somehow became in charge of what feels like every organization on campus. This story is kind of my stress reliever on the rare occasion that I have free time! I hope you all can forgive me for dragging my feet on it so much. I mean, I started this in middle school and now I'm about to graduate from college. It's kind of insane to think about! And also a testament to just how slow I am haha. I hope you've all been well, and thanks for sticking with me so long. :)