I know, it's been so long since I updated. Life has been hectic but I shan't go into that now. I'll try to make this top author's note short and sweet so a huge thanks to XmadlyinloveX, Erinn, Guest, Mannequin-Prince, tatizarias, Punzie the Platypus, Allyson Kat, Grumpirah, Savysnape7, revanha, SassMonster, lilyafterblue, moonlight goose, The Hunger Games-My Life, Kelliejo19, OliviaMellark, gabisamore, DizzyPotter, Guest, silverunicorn34, Minerva-Amantine, Doc95, Adessa101, Rippl, HogwartsDreamer113, Ianina, asha74, KTstoriesandstuff, American Fantasy, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, AnnieOdesta, Ember Belli, emilia, sportygirl23, writindownsouth, DrGiggles, Neooos, loverofhorses, Deadlyrose70, JulialovesLovato, loveu5missu6, updateeeeeeeeeee, Pixie hallow faerie, AHHHHH, zeldalinkilia, Ameliaxox, anon plz, PirateNinjaCJS, lovingtheboywiththebread, PinkWhalePJs, horse lover, CateyBug, GingerHeit, sophy2431, Kat, AlwaysAPotterjay, Joshissmexy92, kelliejo19, LittleTrinket, Meghan1998, imokit, a user from dA, Professor Squirrel, grumpirah, Hayffie fan, Clara Meliza, Guest, Effie, Guest, Effie, Clover, where r u, sad, guest, Alice Dodgson, and anon for your ever so lovely feedback messages and birthday wishes. And of course, thank you all who read, do art, alert, and favorite this story. You are truly the best readers any author could ask for. Now, without further ado, part two of chapter twenty seven.

Chapter twenty seven: The Plunge (Part Two)

It's as if someone is bearing down on my chest, trying to suppress the oxygen from escaping my lungs. Fear begins to fill me, the unquestionable thoughts of trouble muddling and weaving together in my mind as I turn around slowly, arms folded over my stomach to hide the fact that my hands tremble. It's then that I remember Haymitch's anger towards the children's training scores. His refusal to tell me why. Did this unexpected visit have to deal with those unsaid words? My heart begins to pound harder at the thought.

"You look well for someone in your condition."

My thoughts shatter as I fall back into reality. Glancing, I see President Snow's eyes fix on me, his face expressionless. He takes a few leisurely steps forward and pauses only for a moment to adjust the rose on his lapel. Its aroma seems almost to grow stronger at this slight rearranging, as does the nausea in my stomach.

"I have not seen you much since your arrival here," he continues calmly as if this were simply a social meeting. "All is well I hope?"

I nod my head a little to quickly for my liking, my nerves twisting and twirling together like ivy on a fence. "I am doing splendidly," I assure him. "But I very much appreciate your concern over my well being."

"Of course," he says with a nod, a strange sort of expression similar to that of a smile crossing his lips. "I would be quite displeased if one of my escorts were to befall a rather unfortunate fate."His tone is laced with a icy cheerfulness, the sort that beings the thought to mind that he has other interests in mind that he has yet to share. I brace myself for the worse. And it comes. "But I did not come here for a mere chitchat, Ms. Trinket. Though, I would much rather speak to you on a more happier sort of terms."

He straightens where he stands, the few crinkles on his suit disappearing as he does so. I can feel my heart beginning to hammer quickly, my palms perspiring like that of a sickly person. How horrid the feeling is. How unpleasant my body reacts to it. I take in a breath through my nose doing what I can to collect myself from a sure breaking point. If I show him my fear, it only brings guilt. A guilt I have for a reason unknown.

"I am sure you are already fully aware of the incident that occurred during the training exercise?" His words catch my attention. They are but news to me. "Of your tributes' rather...questionable behavior in the presence of the judges?"

"Pardon?" The word escapes before I can catch myself. A mixture of both shock and horror etch on my face, as bold and colorful as the graffiti outside the Capitol train station.

"You are unaware?" His tone is strange, undefinable, as if he is both pleased and displeased. As if he is unsure of the truth in my statement. "Your tributes, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, both displayed the deaths of Seneca Crane and Rue of District Eleven in a way that can only be described as crudely artistic."

Haymitch's words, his anger towards the children...Had this been the source of it? I give my head a small shake, blinking a few times as I try to compose myself. "I apologize immensely for their actions. I had...they did not share their training strategies with me." My lips press into a thin line, the pressure nearly painful. "It will not happen again, I assure you."

"I expect it not to." The president says with a nod, lips curled in a strange smile. "I trust your authority, Ms. Trinket. Do not disappoint me. I am rather fond of you. I would hate to feel let down due to your tactics."

On that eerie note, I watch as he turns, walking away nearly as quickly as he had appeared. Without realizing I had been holding my breath, I exhale slowly, feeling coming back to my petrified limbs. Rage. Fear. Confusion. Emotion washes over me as my mind grows hazy as to what to do next. Do I find Haymitch? Has he the answers I so desperately look for? If not, at least my fury will be properly released on the one whom deserves it most. For a moment, I close my eyes, air filling my lungs as I inhale deeply. I had been patient, I had let questions go unanswered, but now...now Haymitch had gone too far. For that, I demanded far more than being simply brushed off.

"Haymitch!" The name escapes my tongue in a sharp tone. Heels clicking, I make my way down the corridor, My disproportional body making each step awkward, highly uneasy, but displeasure masks any feeling of embarrassment or fear of judgment.

The hallway seems longer than I remember-or perhaps it's just due to my current state-as I pass from door to door, not seeing, or rather now smelling, the signature stench of the man I hunt. I can feel the baby pressing against my bladder, the discomfort only lowering my mood far more than it previously was. It's then that I catch sight of a figure sitting slumped over a table within the only room that decided to have the decency-or lack there of-to leave the door so widely open that they may as well have removed the hinges from the frame. I suck a sharp breath in through my nose, the odor of alcohol burning my nasal passageways as I take a step inside.

"Haymitch."

No response.

"Haymitch." My lips press firmly together as I make my way over to him. "Haymitch, I demand you get up this instant." I reach forward, my hand clasping around his shoulder as I give him a squeeze. He groans in response, his eyebrows furrow in displeasure but his lids do not lift. "Haymitch!"

"Go away." He mutters, his hand extending outwards as if it is a poor attempt to block me. "Tryin' to sleep. Your damn perfume is drying my throat out."

He's drunk, or hungover, that much is obvious. "You've been drinking." I say, my lips twitching into a frown as my gaze lands on several empty bottles of spirits that laden the table. It's hard to mask the disappointment in my tone. "Nevertheless, this is far past any decent hour of slumber. I need you to get up now. We need to talk. Now."

"Bout what?" He drones, his breathing begins to slow as if he is nearing unconsciousness once more. "What's so damn important?" Yawning, he waves the hand that he is holding outward. "Can't anything wait with you, Princess?"

"Oh, I believe this has waited long enough." The words escape from my lips cold, angry. A tone that is slowly becoming more difficult, like many, to blanket with false joyousness. "I'll have you know, Haymitch Abernathy, that I have had it with all of your secrets. Why, just this morning, I got a very surprising visit from President Snow-"

And as if someone has flipped on a switch to start him up, Haymitch lurches upright. Before I even have a moment to react, he is grasping my forearms, a look in his eyes that I have never seen before. Fear quickly replaces the anger I previously felt as he shakes me, his fingers digging into my skin.

"What did he say?!" Haymitch growls, his voice raised far more than I had heard it do in awhile. "What did he say, Princess?!"

"Haymitch, let go!" I say frantically, disliking his reaction greatly. "You're hurting me!"

"What did he tell you?!" He sounds almost in panic. "How long ago did you speak to him? Minutes? Hours?! Dammit, Princess, use your tongue and tell me!"

"He just told me of what Katniss and Peeta did during their training exercise!" Finally I manage to break away, stumbling backwards from the sudden movement. He reaches forward as if to catch me but I dodge his grasp, regaining my own foothold without his aid. "He merely asked me to keep an eye on my tributes' actions because their mentor sure isn't seeming to do such a job!" Tears sting my eyes, for my reason of crying, I am unsure. "That is what he spoke to me of!"

Haymitch seems to relax, his eyes focusing on the ground as his chest rises and falls from his overexertion. "I'm sorry." His voice is quiet and it's unclear if he's apologizing for grabbing me so or for the knowledge of the children. "Was that all he said?"

"Were you expecting something else?" I ask bitterly. "I have enough stress as it is without having to worry about what the tributes do when I am not around to supervise. Haymitch, I trusted you to watch them! I believed that you would tell me of what they did and didn't do while I was away. I thought that was the agreement we had! You told me I could trust you!"

"Sometimes trust is broken for a reason, Princess." He replies coldly, slumping once again in his seat. "Best let go of your innocence and realize that." Haymitch turns away from me, his shoulders hunched forward as he looks across the room. "Now if that's all you came to scold me about then get out of my sight." He pauses for a moment. "You shouldn't be out here anyway. The doctor said you needed to rest."

Rest. As if I have the time for that now. My teeth grind unpleasantly together as I inhale deeply through my nose. "I cannot believe you." The words escape sharp, edgy. "I just cannot." Shaking my head, I take a step back, my lips pressed so firmly together that it hurts. "I expect you to be showered, dressed, and outside in an hour. The interviews are today and I will not have you mess this up once again."

"We'll see." The words are muffled by his sleeve as he presses his face to his arm. Before I even have another moment to reply, he is snoring loudly, lost once again to the world of reality.

And that is the last time I see Haymitch during the day. In the few hours I have to prepare for the interviews, I'm far too concerned with other matters. Speaking with the stylists, conversing with the tributes, perhaps this is all against what I should be doing but relaxation does not come to those who are proactive by nature. Finally, when night falls, all seems to be in place. Or, at least, I can try to believe it to be so.

"Perhaps you should consider staying behind." Portia says; her words followed by the sound of a zipper traveling upwards as she fixes the back of my dress. "You know how crowded it can become in the stadium." I hear her heels click as she takes a step back. "Perfect."

I turn to face her, my eyes falling over the turquoise material that now covers my skin. My gaze lifts to meet that of Portia's. "How do I look?"

"Elegant," she replies with a soft smile.

My head nods, my hands reaching up to one again adjust my wig. "It's merely an interview, neither a celebration nor party in the slightest. There are seats, mind you. I will fair just fine."

"I know," and her smile turns to one of sympathy. "I just worry. You know what the doctor said. He believes that rest is in yours and the child's best interest." And at her words, I cannot help but frown.

"You sound like Haymitch." I mumble, peering over at her from the corner of my eye as I look to face a mirror. "He said something similar to your words earlier today."

"He worries about you, you know." Portia steps forward and adjusts the straps of my dress. "Very much so."

Rudely, I chuckle coldly at this. "He has an odd way of showing it." The corners of my lips twitch into a deeper from as a lock of my hair falls from underneath my wig. Carefully, I take a hold of it and slip it back under. "Sometimes it seems he could careless at all."

"Haymitch is a different sort of man." Portia hesitates as she speaks. "He has a strange way of showing his emotions, his feelings…He is from District Twelve, their way of life is far more diverse than ours." She pauses. "But I do believe that he loves you."

The heat rushes to my cheeks at her words. Love? Haymitch? I turn to face her, my chest rising as I inhale far too deeply. "Love?" I shake my head, a small smile of disbelieve forming on my lips. "No, Haymitch does not love anyone, especially me." I turn away again, adjusting my wig more vigorously this time. "It's not his nature."

"But it is," and I feel Portia's hands resting on my shoulders. "He is only human, Effie. We all are. It's nearly impossible never to experience love even in the slightest. Haymitch loves, he must, and it is you." She chuckles softly. "Have you seen the way he looks at you?"

In disgust? In hatred? In annoyance? I turn my head slightly, eyeing Portia with a slight frown. If anyone is concerned of anybody's wellbeing, it should be me for Portia's. "Why are we talking about this?" I mumble, moving away from her. "I don't desire to speak of Haymitch right now."

Portia smiles softly but her eyes seem to hold much sadness. "I say this to you because I fear of when we will get to speak again." Her hand reaches forward, resting on my shoulder. I glance down at her hand before back at her. What was she talking about? Did she worry that I would not have time to talk to her once the Games began? Was there something she was not telling me?

She merely shakes her head, turning her hand slightly so that she now grasps my own. "Nothing." Her smile turns kind, the sort that is meant for reassurance. As I open my mouth to reply, the loud roar of an audience sounds. The interviews are about to begin. "Come," she releases my hand. "You don't want to miss Katniss and Peeta."

Halfway through our walk to the stands, Portia leaves my side and goes to join Cinna and the other stylists. Not much further however, my eyes fall onto a surprisingly well groomed, obviously displeased Haymitch, who stands awkwardly at the entrance as if waiting for me. As he did on a few rare occasions on the Victory Tour, he is appealing to look upon. I walk up to him, still not fully over our previous encounter today.

"You look quite dashing." I say with a forced smile.

"You look," his eyes fall to my enlarged stomach before meeting my gaze. "Bigger." And I frown.

We walk in silence into the rowdy stadium, taking our seats with the other mentors and escorts. A few seats down, I catch a glimpse of Desmonda. She seems to have seen me as well for her once pleasant expression turns to a frown as she looks away immediately. I advert my eyes, a feeling of sorrow overcoming me for a moment.

"Don't look at her, you might turn to stone." Haymitch mumbles over the roar of the crowd as we take our seats.

"Pardon?" I ask, wondering if I had heard him correctly.

"Nothing." And the brief conversation ends.

All of the tributes seem to have different approaches when it comes to their interviews as one by one walk onto the stage. However, unlike it has been for most years, these speeches are far more heart wrenching then the others. Unfortunately, try as I may, I cannot seem to keep my attention on one speaker for very long. Haymitch seems to be suffering a similar fate for every so often, when I happen to glance over at him, he is pulling at another part of his attire.

"Stop that," I slap at his hand lightly as if he were a child when I see him tugging at his sleeve's cuff. "That's silk, you'll ruin it."

"I don't give damn what it is, I don't like how it feels on my skin." He grumbles, resorting to tugging it even harder.

In a last effort to save Cinna and Portia's hard work on the jacket, I grab his hand and pull it into my lap. Just as I do so, I happen to look over at Desmonda who, with just my sort of luck, is looking over back at me. Her eyes flashed down to our hands and then back to my face. Whether it's the lighting or I am truly seeing what I am, I swear she rolls her eyes before turning away once again. I drop his hand after that.

The interviews continue to drag on as the time ticks away. Finally, however, District Twelve's moment rolls around. I lean forward slightly in my seat, my neck craning as I attempt to catch a better glimpse of Katniss on the stage. My eyes fall upon the white, flowing bridal dress I saw her try on so many months ago. How peculiar that Cinna had chosen this for her to wear.

As she begins to speak, the crowd falls silent. From the corner of my eye, I can see Haymitch's expression; stern, unamused, displeased. I cannot help but wonder what could possibly be going through his mind right now. Surely he must be thinking of how it could have been him that was next to speak instead of Peeta. As I consider this, my thoughts are disrupted by the roar of the crowd. To my alarm, everyone is standing up, seemingly trying to stare at something on the stage.

"What's going on?" I say aloud, trying to see past the wall of people. I look over at Haymitch and he exhales, his shoulders shrugging as he slumps down deeper in his chair. Finally, after many attempts on Ceasar's part, the crowd settles and everyone takes their seats. That's when I see what the audience was gazing at. There, standing no longer in a dress of white but one of ebony feathers, is Katniss. And without meaning to, my jaw drops. "Oh my..."

Elegance would be a harsh word to use to describe its beauty. Vibrant long feathers cling to her sleeves as if she has wings, the detail so grand that even those in the far back of the room can see it perfectly. Cinna had outdone himself. Had really outdone himself. And yet, for some strange reason, though I find its perfection memorizing, a chill creeps over me. Why had Cinna created such a dress when Katniss's wedding one was already far more suitable than any other attire for the event? Inhaling deeply, I lean back in my seat, my eyes focused on Caesar and Katniss's seemingly friendly conversation. When the timer finally buzzes, and her place is taken by Peeta, I cannot help but grow worried.

"So, Peeta," Caesar begins, his smile growing. "What was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quell?"

Peeta begins to speak and the two, like old friends, converse about the wedding. All seems well. No acts of stupidity, no mumbling nor pauses in embarrassment, perhaps I have overreact after all. Though, when I look over to Haymitch, he seems to have stiffen, become more alert even. His eyes are focused on the stage, so concentrated that it's as if he is trying to communicate with Peeta via mind. I watch him curiously, both concerned and confused by this strange gesture of his. However, my train of thought is broken moments later when Peeta says something that I never anticipated on hearing.

"...if it weren't for the baby."

Silence falls over the crowd for a split second. Even my own heart feels as if it has stopped. Then, as if on cue directed by some conductor, cries of protest and shock overrun the entire stadium. I too find my lungs filling with a breath of horror. Katniss pregnant? No, they wouldn't possibly still send her into the arena would they? She is with child! I look to Haymitch, my expression is of one of utter surprise and fright I'm sure. As an expecting mother myself, I cannot even fathom the idea of being sent to a place where I must kill to survive. Where my death is both wanted and hated. It is barbaric! It is sickening! And suddenly, the excitement and thrill of the Hunger Games slips from me.

"Haymitch, they wouldn't...You don't think they..." I struggle to formulate a complete sentence. My mind is hazy, my thoughts muddled. I begin to stand as if my voice will be some sort of assistance in the sounds of protest. But before I am fully upright, I feel pressure on my knee. Looking down, I see Haymitch's hand resting on my leg, my eyes lifting to meet his and I watch as he shakes his head.

"Don't even try," he says quietly. "You think your words mean anything to them?"

I have not even a minute to argue when the buzzer goes off and Peeta his hustled off the stage far quicker than any of the other tributes. Caesar offers a few words of farewell but no one seems very interested. When the crowd begins to disperse, I feel Haymitch grasp my hand as he tugs me through and away from the stadium, trying as he may to avoid the rush. Finally, we manage to make it back to District Twelve's designated floor without a scrap of clothing torn or a scratch upon our figures. However, the mental pain I am experiencing now is far more agonizing than any sort of physical hurt. I feel ill, my hands tremble in both rage and shock for what fate has been placed on the children I have grown to know and care deeply about.

"Haymitch-" But he stops me before I can continue.

"There is nothing we can do." He says quietly traveling over to the couch before I can stop him. "Best to accept what is."

My hand travels to my stomach, the mere thought of Katniss's pregnancy bring my own to mind. "I cannot believe you are saying that." I whisper. "What if that had been me?"

"It isn't." He says bluntly, sitting down on the cushions.

"But what if it were?"

"It isn't." He inhales, sinking into the couch. "So it doesn't matter."

"It's Katniss and Peeta," I nearly cry out. "It does matter!"

"It wouldn't have mattered a year ago when they were just tributes to you then." And his words hit me far harder than I anticipated them to. "Just pieces in a game. But now that you've known them a year, you feel you have the right to have emotions towards them? What a change of pace, Princess. It's what you always say, may the odds be ever in your favor."

"There are no odds!" Tears sting my eyes, my hands shaking at my sides. "This isn't fair!"

"Is it ever?" Haymitch turns his head and looks at me, his gray eyes emotionless. "Has it ever been fair?"

I do not speak for a moment. I do not even look at him. I cannot. For the first time, perhaps he speaks the truth of the Games. How is it fair to send children, innocent, young children into an arena to fight? How is it right to force a pregnant woman into the Games to face a death she does not deserve? No child who is sent now to battle in the arena was alive during the Dark Ages. How can blame be given to those who did not earn it? No. No... I cannot think this way. I cannot think against my Capitol. My beloved home. The place that I love that loves me...The place that has judged me. The place that desires to kill the two children who have made such an impact in my life. I take a step back, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I want to go home." My tone is meek and my statement sounds so childish but it is true. I do not want to be in this building anymore. I do not want to face what I know I must. I don't want to believe what I am beginning to know is fact. I am a coward. Nothing more than a coward. And finally, the walls I have built around myself as an escort come crashing down.

I turn and begin to hurry away. Where I am going I am unsure. I just need to breathe, just need to think. From behind, I can hear the sound of the couch groaning as if Haymitch is standing up. I do not wait to see if he is following me, I just continue walking. Out of the door, through the hallway, I walk briskly, my head low, my breathing rapid. Calm. Cool. Collected. Manners. Ecstatic Effie Trinket the Escort. I am to remember who I am. What I worked for. I must compose myself and remember me.

"Ms. Trinket."

The cold, yet calm voice stops me in my tracks. My eyes shoot up, my breath hitching in my throat. There, standing before me, is President Snow once again. An unsurpassed gasp escaped my throat. Had he been there the whole time? What business had he with visiting this floor again? Was it about Katniss? Peeta? Their child? Had he reconsidered allowing her to forfeit from the Games? Perhaps I have given up hope for the Capitol far too soon.

"President Snow," I greet, my breathing still erratic as I try to relax myself. "Forgive me, I did not see you there."

"Might I inquire where you are going, Ms. Trinket?" His tone is ominous, questioning and yet not. It is enough to send shivers down my spine.

"Just for a walk, sir." I say with a small smile. "I just need some fresh air to clear my mind. It's been rather hectic today. I thought that perhaps now would be a good time than ever to recollect myself."

"Perhaps," he says coolly. "But I'm afraid I cannot allow you to do that." He takes a step closer and for the first time from behind him, I see two figures step from the shadows. Peacekeepers. In full uniform and in a stance I know that is not to be taken with much friendliness. "You see, Ms. Trinket, you had made me a promise today that I really was hoping you wouldn't break. Something that I never dreamed of thinking you would be a part of."

"I'm...I'm terribly sorry." The words escaped from my lips in a jumble, fear and confusion filling me. A part of something? A promise broken? What in Panem was he speaking of? "Pardon me, Mr. President, but I'm afraid I do not understand. What are you speaking of?" I take a step back suddenly wishing Haymitch had followed me out here. "Perhaps there has been some error, sir. I...I really must be going. The children are expecting me I'm sure."

Footsteps sound from behind and I do not need to turn to know that more Peacekeepers have stepped forward. What was going on? Had I been framed for something? Surely Desmonda's detestment towards me had not been that great? My stomach churns, my arms wrapping around it as I look on either side of me as if I had a possible escape. But running made one look guilty. A guilty that could not possibly belong to me.

"Oh, I think you are fully aware of what I speak of, Ms. Trinket. And you should know that not all stunts are to be found as amusing." My heart pounds heavily against my chest, my heavy breathing returning. Stunt? What was he referring to? "It's quite a shame really, Ms. Trinket. I did really like you despite what others thought. But unfortunately, what is done is done and cannot be overlooked. You understand rules and their consequences, am I correct, Ms. Trinket? Then you'll understand why I must do what I am doing."

Hands grasp either of my arms and without even truly meaning to, I begin to struggle. They have the wrong person! Surely they do not really believe it to have been me? This is a grave mistake. They must know that! They must know I have not done whatever they have believed me to have committed. My eyes fall upon President Snow, a look of horror etched upon my face I'm sure. However, no emotion crosses his features as he looks to those who hold me and gives a single nod.

"A real, true shame, Ms. Trinket. You were really a wonderful escort." He turns on his heels and begins to walk away. "I guess it is true what they say; when one hangs around the wrong crowd, they too pick up their habits." He stops for a moment, turning to look at me for a final time. "I see that now."

Gloved hands hold onto me so tightly that it is impossible to break free. Before I even have the energy to try to prove my innocence, I feel the unmistakable pinch of a needle entering my neck. Darkness falls over me before reaction does. Reality slips away as I fall from the world. A true nightmare I know will not cease upon my awakening. I greet unconsciousness with crossed arms as it swallows me whole, I as empty and as alone as I once came into this world. Forgive me, Haymitch.

Dundundundun, President Snow has "arrested" (or perhaps the term kidnapping would prove more correct) Effie. So, many of you probably have questions like, 'When will Haymitch know?' 'Won't he come looking for her?'. For those, I sadly must say will be answered later on in the story. However, fear not, it won't be too long I promise! So, I thought that now would be a good point in time to arrest Effie since Cinna was taken the next day by the Peacekeepers for the stunt he pulled on the stage. I feel like Effie too would have been taken for Snow believing she had involvement with it. After all, Peeta and Katniss do not see her again after the interview so for all we know, maybe she was taken then or maybe she was taken upon the arena's explosion. Anyway, as I had promised before, if this story reaches 1000 reviews, I shall post a new chapter. I don't mean that I'm going to wait until it reaches that number of reviews before posting, merely that as a thank you, I will work my darnedest to give you a chapter when the story does.

Feedback is greatly appreciated and loved and seriously keeps me writing (see folks, I didn't give up on this story!) I would love to know your thoughts on what occurred in this newest installment! Anyway, hope you enjoyed! The baby will be coming in a few chapters! Hooray! Thanks so much for reading! And a huge thank you to my lovely beta reader, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, who was kind enough to read a section of this chapter for me. So if there are any errors, it's my fault because I forgot to correct them, but I shall go back and do it later! -Jen