You guys have no idea how long I waited to get to this part of the story! :D I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it! And I'd love to know your thoughts if you have any to share.

So once again, enjoy and thank you for sticking by thus far!

The Devil Who Knew

"Manny, Gypsy, how does love heal a soul?" It was an innocent question, but caution was required for the boy who voiced it.

Perhaps Manny should have suspected something when Flik asked to join him and Gypsy on their forest walk. The poor thing had been out of sorts ever since that revelation at the registry, and though he seemed better lately he still wasn't completely back to normal. Mind-wise, that is.

In terms of soul, Manny couldn't quite place it. It certainly had gotten more stable when he checked it this morning, but he couldn't help noticing its discoloration. While there's nothing wrong with lavender, souls don't normally change half their colors in a few days. Not unless something great happened. He'd meant to ask, he just hadn't found the appropriate time. It could have led to a difficult conversation.

However, he did not expect this subject at all. No one mentioned it as far as he knew. "Where did you hear that, my boy?" the magician asked to gauge whether or not he should be worried.

"It's something I learned in passing. It sounds nice, too good to be true. I want to know how it works." Pleading blue eyes looked between their owner's companions. "I can know, can't I?"

"I believe there's a log up ahead. We can sit there and talk," Gypsy said softly.

So they did, the couple on one side and the boy on the other. Manny sighed, speaking first. "What have you heard of it? So we know where to start."

Flik began to fidget. "Well, it's really effective," he replied, "and passive. It just happens. No therapy, no pain, nothing. But how? How is it possible?"

If he could wonder such things without any issue, perhaps it was time to explain. "It's in the very nature of relationships," Manny said, bracing for intervention if need be. "You feel comfort in the company of those you care for, do you not? The bonds? Damaged souls are sensitive enough to heal by them, and love is given freely so long as the bonds are mutual. It's the ideal and default way to heal a soul." Another sigh left him. Talks like these never get any easier. "Therapy, as you may have guessed now, is for the more serious cases. For those who don't recover quickly enough or are… without love."

To their equal surprise and concern, Flik remained thoughtful. "So that means…"

"We never meant to keep it from you." Gypsy started to wring her hands, so Manny took them in his own. "Your progress was so slow that we worried how you would take it if you knew! That you would think we weren't sincere and then the healing would stop. Or worse! So it became easier to not bring it up. But we care for you. We all do."

Instead of any doubt or questioning as they feared, Flik merely grew flustered. He flailed his hands in front of him. "O-of course I know that! I get that you're trying to protect me. You never kept that a secret." Still a troubled shadow fell over him, though he shook it off quite quickly. "I understand, I promise I do." Turning away and hunching, he began muttering to himself. Quiet, indecipherable mumbles that could be either a good or bad sign. "Mutual, huh?" was the only coherent phrase in the otherwise string of nonsense.

Somewhere along the way he must have reached some breakthrough, because it showed in his eyes. Except his was a reaction they'd never seen after one of their talks. Those eyes had never once sparkled before. Neither had mirthful laughter ever erupted from his grinning mouth.

"Flik? Are you all right?" Gypsy reached for him.

He sprang to his feet. "This is great!" So great was his excitement that he couldn't even stand still. He paced to and fro so rapidly that he almost appeared to spin in place. "I can't believe it. I-I gotta make sure!" His babbling was still hard to understand despite there being proper words.

Suddenly, he promptly sprinted away, leaving the two in stunned silence.

But he was only gone for seconds before he returned and grabbed their hands, shaking them. "I'm going back early. There's so much to do. To say! But this's been really enlightening. The best! Thank you!" Again he zipped back to camp with nary a chance to respond. "I'll see you tonight!"

Now they were alone. Left to ponder what had just happened, whether to feel relieved or disturbed at the unexpected turn of events.

"I see that that went well," murmured Manny.

"I can't believe he took it that well," Gypsy breathed. "Should we be worried? Is it bad that I'm not?"

How could they be? They've never seen the boy so joyful before.

"Let him have this," Manny told her. "He's getting his spirit back. This could be good for him." He wouldn't know for sure until the next therapy, but what they witnessed was promising.

"I suppose you're right. It is nice to see him acting like his old self again." Then a slight and inquisitive noise escaped her. "Oh my, I didn't know those grew together." She pointed to the spot where Flik had sat.

More precisely, she was pointing in front of the spot. There on the ground sprouted a patch of purple and white hydrangeas. Surrounding the bushy blossoms were, of all things, forget-me-nots.

"They're quite lucky Flik didn't accidentally trample them." Gypsy moved past him and knelt by the flowers. She frowned at the blue stars. "They're lovely colors, at least."

Yet something more notable than the poorly placed flowers bothered Manny. "Had those always been there?"

They were bright blooms, contrasting glaringly with the dark log and the brown dirt path. Hard to miss if not impossible. Even with their attention elsewhere, lesser and duller things caught their eyes before.

So why hadn't they seen them until now?

She loved him. She loved him back! The idea felt more real now than ever before.

It explained everything! Flik's feelings may be strong, but of course they wouldn't be enough to fix him. He'd always needed help and this was no different. Now that he knew what was happening to him all this time, the pieces began falling into place. It was blissful and cruel. It wouldn't last. He couldn't find it in himself to feel down. How could he? It was more than he could ever hope for.

His feelings were returned. Mutual. They had to be. Somehow, someway, Princess Atta loved him back!

They needed to discuss this. Face to face. But after last night, he wasn't sure if she would come back unprompted.

So here he was, hastily writing to her that he wanted to see her again. Had to see her again. He needed to tell her something important, and he would wait for her at the lake for however long it took for her to come. Forever, if need be!

The letter finished in record time and he safely tucked it away into the Princess' memento box. On top of the sketches all individually sandwiched in wax sheets. Flik had taken the liberty to repair the rest of them last night; there had only been a couple sets left. He should try to return them to her now that they were done. Sure, he could just as easily hold onto them until she came to get them, and he could probably spring that then, but he didn't want that. It wouldn't be right to use them in that way.

And wanted her to prepare, to come for him.

"I guess I could have Dot deliver them." Now that he heard it aloud, it sounded like a great idea. That's exactly what he'll do.

Next he knew, he was up and heading down from the campsite with the parcel. He'd stuffed his vest into the package to keep the papers in place, but he still moved carefully so as to not accidentally drop the thing altogether. It wouldn't do if everything scattered and ruined all the work he and Princess Atta had put into the repairs.

Before the gate to the main street, a golden glint and some light green caught his eye. It was a coach, and a fancy one at that, on the side of the road. The shine came from the ornate gold border around a sand-colored exterior and the light green came from the curtains covering the window. Two handsome white horses stood proud and at the ready in front. Overall a fine thing that he could appreciate seeing.

Though its handsomeness was tarnished by a very busted wheel.

Flik walked up to the stout man fretting by the carriage. "Hey, do you need some help?"

The stranger yelped and flailed. "Whoa! You nearly scared all the hairs off my head!" A few copper strands indeed fell to the ground as he turned to face the mechanic. Rather than startled, however, he wore warm brown eyes and a friendly grin. He must recover quickly. "So, what did my bro—wait, you're not the guy I sent out."

"No, I'm just a passerby. Sorry I scared you." Flik eyed the wheel. "What happened there?"

Instantly, the man became sheepish. "I might—just might—be a bad driver," he confessed. "Can you blame me? I fly everywhere most of the time. But you know, there's something real relaxing about carriage rides. I think it's the rocking. So I wanted to drive for once, and then I hit the sidewalk." He scratched the back of his neck.

The damage looked a lot worse than the 'hit-the-sidewalk' sort. "And you've been stuck here ever since?"

"Oh, it hasn't been that long. I sent a messenger to ask my brother for money, because I don't have any for a repair guy." He chuckled and returned to fretting over the wheel. "Aw, Hoppy's gonna be so mad. Maybe I shoulda asked to find a repair guy first, and pay him later. Nobody would know. Nobody needs to know."

From where he stood, Flik spotted a spare wheel strapped to the back of the carriage. "If you want, I can change the wheel for you."

The man's surprised and pleased face turned back so quickly it was a miracle his neck didn't snap. "Really?! You'd do that?"

"Yeah, it shouldn't take too long. I just need to go get my tools and—" A great, strong hand engulfed Flik's own and shook him so much that he almost dropped his parcel.

Meanwhile, the excited man did not seem to know his own strength. "Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! You're a lifesaver!" He let go after a few admittedly painful seconds.

"N-no problem." Flik cradled his throbbing hand. "Give me a m-minute and I'll get my tools."

"Nah, you shouldn't need more than a wrench. Here, I'll get it for ya." The stranger went up to the spare and took it down. From where it rested, he opened a compartment and pulled out a wheel wrench. "What's your name, pal? I'm Molt."

"Flik."

"Well, it's nice to meet ya!" He handed over the wrench. "Let me know when you want to start and I'll lift the carriage."

"You sure?" Flik regarded him with wide eyes. "It might take a while."

"I'm strong. I can handle it." Molt positioned himself by the carriage. "Just say when!"

The when turned out to be after a few minutes. Molt's eagerness was pretty contagious and his remarkable strength proved far more efficient than a jack. True to his word too, he showed no sign of getting tired from holding the vehicle for however long it took to change the wheel. And he had a lot of energy left over. He was quite the chatterbox.

His current topic was why carriages in his home kingdom always came with spares, a wrench, and a jack. "...you'd think they'd have better stuff to do than kick wheels in, you know? I tried to ask Hoppy to do something about it, but he always says he's busy. I believe him, though. He barely leaves home, but he knows how to get a job done."

"Why don't you try something?" Flik suggested. He counted the pieces he still needed to tighten on the new wheel. One more. "You're his brother. That means you have some power too, right?"

"Ooooh, don't bring that up. The last time some guys told me that, I never saw them again!"

"That scary, huh?" He couldn't imagine how terrifying anyone called 'Hoppy' could be.

"You don't wanna make him mad. Believe me." A sudden thump came from Molt's direction. "Shutting up."

Curious and maybe a tad concerned, the mechanic paused in his work to see what had happened. He froze as he caught sight of a new figure looming over Molt with a fist that very likely just hit him on the head. It didn't seem like a hard blow, but definitely enough to quiet him down. They were soon surrounded by buzzing as from a swarm of wasps. Thuggish men landed all around the carriage. The horses, silent and patient until now, started stomping their hooves on the ground anxiously at the men's arrival. Ruggedness aside, they were guards if their armor was anything to go by. This newcomer must be very important.

"Molt." He only uttered a name, yet conveyed a threat.

"H-hey, Hop." The stout brother gently lowered the vehicle. Oddly, he sounded more like a child caught stealing cookies than anyone in danger. "You done already?"

Flik couldn't believe what he heard. This man was 'Hoppy'? He looked like the nickname would insult him enough to kill over. Suddenly that comment about never seeing some guys again felt a lot more deadly.

'Hop'—that can't be his name either, but it's better than 'Hoppy'—snarled. "As if I can trust you to get back in one piece. How you ended all the way out here with just one broken wheel is beyond me." He straightened and somehow made himself even taller. Then he turned his glare to the mechanic and he could very well be Death himself. His scarred right eye was blind and unseeing yet appeared as focused as the left. "Why did you stop?"

"A-ah?" If he didn't feel so much like prey, Flik would have been ashamed of his squeak.

"If you want to get paid, you'd do your job."

He hadn't thought about money when he offered to help, but his survival depended on keeping his mouth shut. "O-of course." He went back to tightening the nut on the wheel. Though he at least didn't have to look at the man anymore, his back prickled at the feeling of being watched. His nerves practically sang when he finished and he thought to simply run. "All done. You don't owe me anything, so I'll be on my way." He set the wrench next to the wheel and grabbed his waiting box of mementos.

"Not so fast." Armor clanked at a thinly veiled command and he knew he was trapped. "Well, this is a surprise."

That tone… For the first time, he didn't want to ask. He didn't want this guy to have known him.

"Got nothing to say to an old friend?" 'Hop' knelt to Flik's level. The smirk on his face tinged with confusion. "What's that look for? You know who I am, don't you?"

"Sh-should I know you?" Flik inched away. Clanking armor behind him warned against going too far.

'Hop' scrutinized him rather than answer. Just a few seconds really, but every one felt tangible. Then the tinge turned into a malicious glint as the scarred man finally stood back up. "No, I guess not." His smirk became a more relaxed and almost genuine grin. The scary part was that it could work if not for moments ago. Now more illuminated by the sun, he appeared more on the noble side with his combed copper hair and goldenrod suit. "I apologize. I thought you were someone I knew."

This had to be the fourth time in this visit alone.

"Calm down. I'm trying to be sincere." An ordinary-looking hand stretched towards the wary mechanic. "Since this is our first meeting, I'm Hopper. And you are?"

Reluctantly, he took the hand and shook it. "The name's Flik."

"Really? Is it short for anything?"

That stung. "No, no that's it." Withdrawing, he finally found the nerve to get back to his feet. He held his parcel to his torso like a shield.

"I see." Hopper crossed his arms and his fingers flicked a sleeve. "If it makes you feel any better, I think it suits you."

It wasn't assuring at all, but best not comment. "Thanks. Now I really should get going." Flik glanced behind him at the wall of armor. "Places to be, you know? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Say!" Molt piped up. "Why don't we give you a ride? We're pretty much headed in the same direction and the carriage is faster than on foot. Or do you wanna fly?"

"No!" Flik cried and he inwardly berated himself for showing his desperation. "I mean I get airsick easily. And carriage-sick. It's better that I walk."

Hopper chuckled. "There's no need to be scared. Unless you're on the run?"

"Not that I know of…"

"Then, climb on in." At a snap, one of the thuggish guards opened the door.

The spring green inside may look welcoming, but Flik could only imagine being faced with one of those exotic flytrap plants he'd seen. If he went in, he'd surely never make it home. But there was no escape. He was outnumbered and without wings to depend on. He had no choice except to obey.

Mercifully, he had one side to himself. If he focused on staring out the window, he wouldn't feel as suffocated. The seats did wonderfully in cushioning against the cobblestone road. The hooves and wheels clacking against the uneven ground helped greatly to drown the guards' droning wings that made him think of an executioner's knell. He could almost enjoy the ride.

Almost.

"You know, the resemblance is really uncanny," said Hopper. "You don't happen to have a twin, do you?"

Against his better judgment, Flik answered: "I wouldn't know."

"You should look at the man you're speaking to. It's only polite."

"S-sorry." He forced his eyes away from the window.

"That's better." Hopper reclined and used the unoccupied portion of the seats as his footrest. "You look like you two really could have been twins. Identical in every way. It would have been nice if you were him."

"Why's that?" The amnesiac's curiosity piqued. This comparison had more physical detail than the other times, though he still sort of wished otherwise.

"Like I said, he's an old friend. I would have liked to see him again, but I guess I should face the facts. They don't take kindly to thieves in these parts."

"What did he steal?"

"Something sacred, that's all I can say about it. Too important for something as measly as a fine." Sighing, the man made a show of frowning. His eyes, however, betrayed something else. "It's a shame. He was dearly loved. Quite a few hearts were broken with him gone. A couple are still in denial."

Why tell all this? Flik wondered.

"I hear he was talented, too. I've seen some of his creations. They could have set him for life. It really is a waste."

His breath caught as the carriage slowed to a stop. Right in the nick of time. He didn't want to hear any more.

"I guess we're here."

"Yeah." Flik reached for the door. "Thanks for the ride."

"Hold it."

He paused; his hand hovered over the handle.

"Show me your palm."

Not wishing to test the other's patience, he complied and flipped his hand. A jingling bag twice the size of his fist promptly covered it. Sealed as it was so that its contents did not spill, he could still see the glimmering yellow peeking through the mouth. "I-I can't take this! It's too much!"

"Consider it thanks for stopping to help my brother, and for being such good company." Hopper opened the door for him, but his hard stare made it clear he wasn't free yet. "Now, before you go, there's just one more thing." That unsettling grin widened to the point of even showing teeth. "They never did show the body. So if by chance you happen to run into Ninety-Eight, give him my regards."

A number? "Ninety-Eight?"

"I never got his name, just what he went by. I'm sure you'll know him when you see him." Finally, the mechanic was ushered out. "Have a nice day. We should talk again sometime."

Molt waved. "See ya, Flik!"

Flik couldn't remember what he said as he hurried away from the carriage. All that mattered was that he was out and hopefully safe. Air tasted so much sweeter without a creepy scarred eye staring him down. Yet the gold in his hand told a different story. There was too much to be considered payment and neither was it really for charity or gratitude. It felt more like a sinister promise. The sack weighed on him like a shackle and he'd let himself get trapped.

As was the trait for those scared for their lives, he dared to look behind him to make sure the coach would actually leave. He saw it pass through the castle gates. Green curtains swayed eerily so that he expected to spy Hopper still eying him. He was blessed that no such thing happened. Hopefully whoever watched over him might make it so that they never met again.

May Hopper never find this 'Ninety-Eight' either. But Flik had to wonder if maybe he already did.

"Identical in every way," the man had said. Those were purposeful words, calculated, like he expected what he implied. The similarities he brought up were scary, too. He'd mentioned creations, that Flik and 'Ninety-Eight' could have been twins, and 'Ninety-Eight's' very moniker matched well with Flik having no real name. Where did the coincidences stop?

And if he really was 'Ninety-Eight,' what then? It meant he was a thief who went too far. He probably would want to forget such a thing.

It also meant he really did leave behind people who loved him, who missed him.

Flik's grip weakened and he dropped his belongings. The sack of gold stayed intact, but the box opened and spilled the vest and papers. In his panic, he dropped to his knees to gather them and check them over for anything undone when he spied the corner of one page.

A bold and calligraphic number '98' resided there.

No. No, it can't be. They can't be the same. They can't all be the same person.

Calm down. Don't jump to conclusions. Maybe it's part of a larger number or calculation, he thought. Another page on top did cover the rest of this one. He's probably just overthinking because what Hopper told him was strange. Messing with his head. Turned a random number into something bigger than it is. All he had to do was lift the page and see that it was nothing. Nothing at all.

Lilac bounced in his peripheral vision and he looked up to see Dot trotting away from the bakery with a basket of bread. "Dot!" he called to her, quickly cleaning everything up and heading to her.

She'd stopped in her tracks at her name and smiled at him. "Flik, hey! What's up?"

"I'm glad I caught you. I have a favor to ask."

"Oh yeah? What is it?"

He shifted the box forward and paused. Once it was in her hands, he won't be able to be sure of that number he saw. It would forever remain a mystery. Surely a peek wouldn't hurt before he gave it up.

And then what? What did he hope to find and what did he expect? What would it mean if 'Ninety-Eight' was Princess Atta's lover? This boy who seemed to be everywhere, who Flik kept getting compared to, who could be related to him? Who at worst could even be himself?

It made perfect sense given what he knew now. That terrified him. It wasn't just the similarities, of which now he's seen more (awful handwriting, for one). The idea explained so much: why no one came for him all these years, why no one in his supposed hometown knew who he was, why he didn't have a name, Dot's behavior at the cottage, and how Princess Atta could possibly fall for him despite so strongly loving her crafter. By all appearances, they were one and the same.

Or it could all be a cruel cosmic joke. The answer laid under the lid.

"Flik, you okay?" Dot's concerned blue eyes peered up at him. "You got quiet all of a sudden."

"Oh, er…" His heart clenched upon realizing what he'd almost done. If he relapsed now, no one could help him. Not to mention what it would do to the girl in front of him. "I was thinking about how important this is." As much as he wanted to confirm his suspicions, the risk was too great.

Besides, it's better to hear it from Princess Atta herself. Now that he was more sure of how she felt about him, he might be able to handle the truth. He had to trust that their mutual feelings were strong enough to withstand the relapse.

Resolved, Flik presented the box. "Can you give this to your sister for me?"

"A present for Atta?" Adjusting her basket so that it stayed out of the way, a now cheerful Dot took the package in her arms.

"Something like that. It's for her only, so don't open it, okay?" Gods knew the last thing anyone needed was for her to see the sketches and ask about them. "You wouldn't want anyone to see your present before you did, right?"

"I won't look. I know better than that."

"I dunno. So far you've been quite the troublemaker."

"It's a present! It's special!" With both hands occupied, she couldn't playfully slap him. She could, however, headbutt him.

Flik held her off after the first two hits. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "Thanks, Dot. This means a lot to me."

"I bet it'll mean a lot to Atta, too." Dot turned to the castle, ready to continue her trip home, when she frowned. She hugged the box like it was a stuffed animal. "Actually, I don't think I want to go home right now. Atta's fiancé is here."

The pained look on her face stamped out any question Flik might have asked. Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "In that case, let's have some bread together. Sound good?"

The shaky gasp that left her as her eyes snapped back to him, along with the hope reflected in them, broke his heart. Still, he managed to keep his smile as she beamed. "Yeah."

They called it a gazebo; she called it a giant bird cage. It had the shingled roof and polished white wood of a gazebo, but the bars of a bird cage. It was outside as one would find a gazebo, but it had the lockable door of a bird cage. So it's a bird cage that looks like a gazebo.

And she will soon be trapped here with someone she despised. This was the worst time for the customary tea.

A most beautiful and torturous tune began to play.

Atta hadn't been able to sleep ever since the Middle Ground started singing his song. Her favorite song now played in her head and she didn't know how to feel. Should she be proud that the sacred island preferred it over its usual theme? Should she be livid that it would use her most treasured thing to torment her? She leaned towards the latter. The Middle Ground's song played not only for her.

"Why so glum, sweetheart?" Speak of the devil. Hopper took her hand and pressed a greeting kiss to it before taking his seat across the table. The porcelain tea set and cake stand clattered. "I've been looking forward to our usual tea time. It's been so long, don't you think?"

Atta rubbed her tainted hand. Even with gloves on she still felt gross. "I didn't notice you coming in. Did you get tired of announcing your arrival?" He knew how much she hated hearing the Middle Ground sing. He liked to torment her by humming along to emphasize their connection.

Today he did no such thing. "I thought you might be tired of hearing the same thing over and over again," he replied.

She quirked an eyebrow and forced herself to face him. "'Same thing?' You don't hear anything different?"

"Different? The Middle Ground doesn't change its tune." A sneer crossed his face and his eyes gleamed. "You've finally gone mad from grief, haven't you?"

An inexplicable mercy, but she would take it if it meant she didn't have to hear his voice corrupt her gift. She merely pursed her mouth and turned her attention to the scar on his face. It wasn't like that before. At least it was as good a subject change as any. "What happened to your eye?"

"Concerned for my well-being? That's a first." He leaned forward just enough to show the crown still bold despite the faded iris. "Don't worry, my Mark is still there."

"I never asked about that." Atta leaned away.

"I'm aware. Just wanted to be sure you don't forget." Relaxing back into his chair, he poured tea for the two of them. "You seem tense. Is it the declines?"

"I don't want to think about them."

"Of course not. You're always thinking about that mutt."

Anger flared and she bristled. "That's enough, Hopper."

He didn't back down. His smirk only grew. "You're right, I'm sorry." He took his cup and drank casually from it. "After all, we'll be spending our last days together, however long that will last. We should be getting along."

Atta said nothing and took a sandwich from the stand so she could continue in her silence.

"How about I make it up to you?" he offered. "A wedding gift sounds like a good place to start."

"I don't want anything from you."

"Don't be like that. At least hear me out." He regarded her with all the amusement one would a child. His watchful gaze unnerved her. "I saw something interesting outside the town today. A stray, your favorite breed." Unnease bubbled into panic the more he spoke. "Looks just like yours, probably would have been the same age. Handy, too. Might need to retrain, but he seems like a clever little guy."

"What are you saying?" Atta sat rigid in her seat.

"I can fetch him for you," Hopper said simply. "Having a pet again might be just what you need to fill that void in your heart. You can pretend he was only lost for a few years."

"Stop it."

"What are you scared of? I can sneak him in, keep your little secret. You have my word."

"I don't care about that. Leave him alone."

"Don't believe me? I can't see why not. I never break my promises, not like someone I know." He shrugged and looked in the direction of Atta's tower. "I'm still not used to that window of yours. Too new compared to the rest of the castle."

Broken glass stung all around her. They had nothing on the searing pain of underused wings.

"Then again, I can say the same for a lot of the windows. Didn't he break all those? He's been a bad influence on you."

She paid no mind to the shocked servants cowering all around as she raced past, none knowing what to do. They couldn't touch her and they certainly had no power to command anything of her. They can, however, curse him by the only label they knew him by: his number.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm a compassionate guy; I understand love. It's only natural you'd do anything to save him."

"Tell me where the dungeons are!" She pushed the poor cleaner against a wall, gripping his vest because she couldn't afford for him to escape and waste her time. She'd already lost so much trying to navigate the maze that was her home.

"You know, no one's heard the end of that story. With the way you acted, we all thought you didn't make it, but nobody ever saw him dead or alive." Hopper stood and moved to Atta's side. "But you did, didn't you, Princess?" He knelt and took her hands in his. A comforting gesture if it had come from anyone else. "You know what happened to the body."

She would never forget how his clouded blue eyes stared past her. Unseeing. Unrecognizing.

Even without the tight grip, she had no strength to pull away. "Please… let him go."

"How can I," said her fiancé, "when he makes you so happy?"