As expected, sleep flees from me. There are too many thoughts running amok in my mind for it to rest peacefully. Draco, on the other hand, appears to be sleeping fantastically, curled in my lap, only stirring to lock his arms tighter around my waist. I sneak out from under him, careful not to disturb his rare bout of quiet dreams.

I go over to stare in the fire. Hermione is already here, as I expected she might be. She startles as I approach.

"Oh. Hi, Luna." she gasps, tucking her wand away, embarrassed to have pointed it at me out of reflex.

I sit down beside her, accioing a cup for an augamenti.

"Harry's still screaming then? Or was it you?" I respond

"Him. I don't scream that I know of." she replies "Why? Did Ronald say something?"

"No. I just thought it would be insensitive to ask about Harry and not you."

"Oh. Yeah," she says, hanging her head in a tired sort of way. "We haven't been able to go for supplies in weeks, and Harry ran out of Dreamless two days ago. It's been awful."

"I've been gathering the components but there's no way I'm coming across Standard Ingredient without visiting a potions shop."

A helpful thought occurs to me.

"Do you have an empty vial?"

"Somewhere, probably. Why?" she asks as she digs in her beaded handbag before summoning what I requested

"Accio Dreamless Sleep" I incant, hoping it doesn't hit Draco on the way out of the tent. "Here," I say, reaching for the empty container to pour her half. "I'd give you the lot of it, but Draco needs it on occasion."

Not to make him out like a slosh in front of his new friends, I add in "He's been doing spectacularly well weaning off of it though."

"Was he screaming often, then?" Hermione says with a bit of a wince.

"Oh yes. Still does, from time to time. He was inhaling D.O.L.D. when we first met up."

Hermione's eyes stand out as her mouth gapes wide.

"Drought of Living Death! Inhaling it? Merlin!"

Once she composes herself from the shock I didn't intend to bring, she continues.

"That's quite addictive and incredibly dangerous. How did he stop?"

"Well, as I said, he needs the Dreamless when the worst of it hits him, but I have other methods of getting him to sleep."

"Like what?" she instantly replies. She holds her breath as if the words leapt off her tongue of their own accord, and she now regrets they did.

"I tell him stories sometimes, but mostly I sing to him." I tell her

"Oh," she says, letting out a sigh of relief. "Must be nice. I can't carry a tune in a barrel full of singing moonbabies."

I laugh at the irony. If the barrel had singing moonbabies in it, of course, there would be a tune.

I offer her advice.

"The trick is to find a song that makes you happy or one that's a bit flat. Preferably both." I try to think of a tune she might know the words to that fits the bill for both happy and flat. Some eclectic muggle gentleman was singing one on a corner one day and I took to it, maybe she'll know it.

"Try this," I say, beginning to sing the lulling melody. She starts nodding her head, and by the time we get to the chorus she joins in heartily. She holds a tune quite well.

"See? Not too hard." I tell her. She nods, still not quite sure she did it correctly. She's never quite sure of herself, although she has every right to be, and then some.

We sit in silence for a moment, drinking our water and staring into the fire. Hermione is a completely different person when you take her away from everyone she has to impress. She sincerely believes she has to impress them. So many people are counting on her to keep them alive. She's the thread that stitches their hopes together, and if she breaks, the tapestry comes completely unravelled. She expects herself to do the impossible every day. To be a muggle, and a witch, and the most brilliant person in every room, all while being nice, being pretty, being impossible. When she's away from the pressure, her breaths seem to come a bit easier. Her thoughts aren't the rambling, combative kind she shows the masses, but silent and more concentrated in the darkness. I turn to her, starting the conversation I had promised for tomorrow, as it's probably tomorrow already.

"So, what questions do you have for me, Hermione?" I ask, looking patiently in her soft brown eyes. I fully expect to be here until the sun rises.

She thinks for a moment, staring back at me with pain etched in the creases in her forehead, the wrinkles around her mouth.

"Why?" she states simply, the bitter pangs of incomprehension and hurt ringing through the night.

She wishes to start the puzzle from the end then. I can do that. Let's work backwards.

"He was just as caged as me, Hermione." I tell her, never breaking eye contact. "You should have seen the wards, you would have been impressed. Narcissa is an excellent ward-smith, and she built an entire prison around him in order to keep him safe. Still, it wasn't nearly enough."

She looks up at the sky, and I wonder if she's thinking of her protection charms. I go on -

"While he was in danger, he kept me safe. He could have thrown me in the dungeons with some truly vile sorts, but he didn't. He protected me. Kept me in his own room." Her eyebrows go high at this. "He gave me a bed, a balcony, clothes - so many things…"

I think of Draco's half-cocked plan to request my life as his reward for murder. I know instinctively I can't tell her this. Not yet.

"...and he needed me. He would have died there, and no one would have cared. No one was paying enough attention to make it stop."

I remember his blue lips, his frozen eyes, how different his touch felt then.

"Was it the DOLD?" she asks, once again trying to work the puzzle from the wrong direction.

I sigh into the camp smoke.

"It was everything, Hermione. Apathy eats the heart from the inside. His was barely beating when I found him." I stare deep into her, hoping my next words will cut through the layers of animosity she has for him. "You've seen him on a broom, Hermione. You've seen how the wind whips his hair and how his smile lights the sky. No one can convince me a being so free deserves to be tucked away in a dark box to die forgotten."

She nods, whether in comprehension, or acquiescence, I may never know for certain.

"So you're still planning on leaving tomorrow?" She changes the subject. "Where will you go?"

"I'd like to get to one of the Order houses if they'll have us. It'd be much simpler if I could get that mark off his arm before we leave."

All of the lights in her tired mind come on at the sound of a problem to solve. This is why she's in the predicament she's in. She tries to save the world single-handedly. Although I wish for her that anyone else was capable of doing what she does - to at least help her, assist - with no one volunteering in her stead, I'm glad she carries this burden. Perhaps one day others will look up and try to learn from her, to emulate her work.

"You know, I've been thinking about that too. The war will have to end eventually, and the Death Eaters will need to get rid of their marks. I know it's the darkest sort of magic, do you think it's reversible?"

"I'm not sure about reversible, but I think we could remove it."

"How does he react when summoned?"

I can see in my mind's eye now the beads of sweat forming on his brow. He can't occlude away the pain. It cracks his face in agony. I watch helplessly while the screams die in his throat.

"It hurts. A lot." I say

"All over his body, or only in the arm?" she asks

"All over, but pain spreads. It's his wand arm, they're all on their wand arms. Otherwise, I would have already tried cutting the arm off and conjuring a new one. I don't know if the magic will flow the same through a conjured part, and turning him into a squib would kill him inside."

We continue going down this path until I hear Draco approaching behind us. I would know the sound of his stride anywhere.

He tells us he hasn't been having night terrors, which is a wonderful surprise. Perhaps he had been too sloshed when he fell asleep to dream properly. We all have a laugh at what is surely his first time relieving himself outdoors. I swear the boy has been taught to be modest about the strangest things.

He returns to the tent, and Hermione and I continue chatting about everything plaguing our minds: evil tattoos and flying carpets, places to keep safe and how to hide and when to fight. As the sky begins to blush lilac in the first rays of sunlight, just when I think we might have exhausted the curiosity of Hermione Granger, she forms her lips around a few lingering questions.

"So what about Harry?" she asks, her red eyes peering up at me over the rim of her cup.

"What about him?" I ask

Her face is flushed from the cold, but the look she gives me tells me she's blushing. She's quite the blusher; modest, like Draco.

"Do you… well, have you moved on then?"

I think about this for a moment. Have I moved on? It feels like it. I've definitely moved into a comfortable cadence with Draco, and I don't think about Harry with the same shadow of wanting anymore.

"I'll always care for Harry." I say, watching as her face crumbles to soot with the last of the fire. "However, it's past my time to. I think Draco and I are more suited to caring for each other in a romantic sort of way. Besides, you have been doing a spectacular job of loving him, and so long as he's being loved properly, I'm happy."

All the tension seems to melt out of her face as she wraps me in her arms.

"Thank you." she says, and I feel that she's taken from me more than I was offering. I clarify -

"You didn't need my permission, you know. To love him. You've been doing that every day. You've chosen to stay with him through every step of this terrible adventure, and have taken care of him in more ways than I ever could have, or was able to. I'm hardly the person to tell you what to do with your heart."

She sits up at this, releasing me from her arms to place a hand on my shoulder.

"I never wanted to hurt you, Luna." she tells me, and I see her aura flare in corals and gold.

I smile at this, because although it was a nice intention of hers to want to spare my feelings, I don't think she understands what they are, much less how to spare them.

"Love doesn't hurt us when we do it right." I tell her

She gives a tiny grin at this, then in an instant, her eyes light up with curiosity.

"What is it?" I ask. This time I'm certain she's blushing as her skin turns pink to the collar of her robes, and she gazes toward the ground as if she's dropped something there.

"No, I shouldn't." she says, more to her than to me, like she's convincing herself not to take on another impossibility.

"Just ask."

"No, it's improper, and really none of my concern." she continues to argue, more with herself than with me. I encourage her.

"But you want to know, don't you? Knowledge is not improper, it's what you take from it and how you use it that matters."

This seems to rally her courage, all the lion's bravery gathering at her mouth to sputter out the words

"Do you um… enjoy it? Does it hurt?"

"What? Being in love?"

"Well, yes… and no I suppose. You know, um…"

No, I do not know um, and give her a look I hope tells her such.

"I mean, err..." she leans forward and whispers "sex."

The worry in her eyes is almost too serious to be amusing, but I'm amused nonetheless.

I think about it for a moment, because I want to give her the answer she is truly seeking, not just from my severely limited experience, but one she will be able to use for herself.

"I guess it depends on who you're with, and what you like, and how well you prepare for it together." I say, giving myself an encouraging nod "You're smart, Hermione. Read some books…"

"Oh I have." she interjects "But they're all so different, some are so clinical, and others are simply horrid."

The way she scrunches her nose at the thought reminds me of Narcissa. It kind of hurts, in a vacant sort of way. I must miss Lady Malfoy, I realize. It was nice to have a mum. Even if she was the harsh sort, she cared, and she tried. I make myself return to the conversation at hand.

"Talk to him, or her, or them about what you think, and listen." I continue "That's the best way. Then you probably get more trial than error I suspect."

She laughs at this, so I suppose I've done my job.

"Thanks, Looney." she says

"S'alright, 'Mione."

I stand, making my way back to Draco and my mattress. Realizing I forgot to say goodbye, I call back at her,

"See you in a bit?"

"Yeah," she says "Be ready."

I'm not entirely sure how ready I'll be, but I'll put in a good effort.

As we wander away from each other, I hear her soft tune floating on the breeze.

xoXOXox

On the floor of a tent stranded in the woods, I've had the best night's sleep of my life. The purple glow of the overcast day seeps through the fabric of the tent, illuminating my surroundings without blinding me into submission. I don't quite remember how I ended up in bed, or how I came to be wearing cream cashmere pyjama bottoms. I'll assume Luna dragged my arse away from the fire and put me to sleep in her arms. Luna has returned to her rightful place at my side, keeping me pleasantly warm as she rubs circles over my abdomen. Her curls spill across my chest, covering me in a blanket of golden silk.

I brush them back to reveal her wide eyes, lids heavy with sleep that hasn't come.

"Are you awake, kitten?" she mumbles

I kiss her on the forehead in response. She trails her fingers - light as smoke - down the lines of my stomach, traces the v of my hips, ghosts along my length through the cashmere.

"Please?" she pleads into the morning

I take her face in my palm, rising like vapour into the sky.

"You don't have to ask, lovely." I remind her, taking her hand in mine to grip me through the feeble fabric. "What's mine is yours."

Words I never imagined would part from my lips. For her, I can say it with every breath of conviction in my lungs, for I know beyond a doubt she would never degrade my generosity to fuel any selfish whims. What's mine is hers, because as she rises, so do I.

She tugs at my waistband and I oblige, allowing the smooth fabric to glide down my hips, delivering me into the cool air beneath her warm touch. She strokes me slowly, exploring how I react to each sensation.

"Show me?" she requests

I take my hand over hers, envisioning her delicate body falling like chiffon over mine. I teach her the path to my dissolution that she will surely tread again and again. As I near my release, I control myself, pulling her hand to my mouth to place a kiss there.

"What else would you like me to show you, lovely?" I ask, my voice low and raspy with the desire to please.

"All of your secrets." she replies through a smile.

The dark shadows and long nights have been held in her palm for what seems like ages. She ensnares them, desecrating the black stains on my soul with her luminance. Without them, I can shine down on her earnestly, although my light cannot compare.

I raise myself above her, positioning myself at her entrance with my hand glistening between her folds. I taste the sun rays that have kissed her shoulders, and the cool breezes which caressed her neck in my stead. Every melody that has reached her ears before me is taken on my tongue as I push into her.

She breathes a sigh from days long past and a future far away. It's the sound of stocking feet on a plush rug, golden curls on feather pillows. It's the sound of home. She fits to me as if we were created as one from the beginning; one being who has never known the pains of longing and desertion. Her lips match perfectly to mine as she whines softly into my mouth.

"Draco…" she breathes, her air escaping to be caught in mine "I… I want…" Her moan sends a shower of lights sparkling down my spine as I fully sheath myself in her.

"Want? What is it you want, lovely?" I ask, rising again into wide blue skies "Make a wish."

She responds instantly,

"I want to feel you with me, always."

I'll do everything in my power to grant it.

She places her legs alongside my waist, crossing them around my back to pull me impossibly deeper. I slide on my knees to hold her hips steady during her impatience to sate our desires. Not to worry; we have time, love. Forever will surely come.

I bury inside her again and again, not stopping until she is flush against my hips. Not until she is cast to my form. Until understanding herself means acknowledging my presence within her.

"There, yes!" she wails, digging her hands into her hair to quell the building pressure.

Yes, there, love. There is where my name is written, lest you forget who holds the keys to your safe places.

With an arch of her back so graceful it could have been mist over water, she closes me in her, locking me away as her treasure. With a few final indulgences, I lavish her with my gifts, spending all I have to fill her with something precious to remember me by.

"I love you, Draco." she says whilst gripping my hair and demanding my lips for herself.

But I already knew as much.

xoXOXox

I fall asleep in his arms, falling into vivid, mismatched dreams of writhing black snakes and charred skulls oozing melted puddles of gold. In my dreams, all the clouds have turned to fire smoke as I hold onto him by the wrist. He lies unconscious, his wand hanging limp from his hand as we're chased by a snake-like monster. Not to worry, I know what to do.

I pull Draco into my arms, and he melts into me. I absorb him, and we stand as one before the assailant.

My voice and his, the sound of thunder and lightning roars from our lips as the monster approaches.

"Avada Kadavra"

I awake with a start as the green light shatters. Draco, the real one, not the one from my dreams, shushes me and runs his hands over my hair. Why he thinks being quiet when I'm upset is going to help is beyond me.

"It's okay, lovely. It was only a dream. You're here, safe with me." he says

That does make me feel a touch more stable, but only for a breath. Today is not the day for his consolation. Today he will be the one who needs a soft touch on his face and sweet words to placate him.

"You brought your folding blade, didn't you kitten?"

His face falls, although I can see him trying to stay it.

"I did." he says stoically

"Will you take it to Hermione, please?"

He nods and goes to search our potions pouch. He saunters off to find her without so much as a question of why. It's a dangerous amount of trust he gives me. One I hope I can prove worthy of.

My heart beats hard against my chest as I think of it, the weight of responsibility crashing into me like a sack of stones. I've healed so many, patched many open wounds, but I've never inflicted them on someone I love. It's different, somehow, sending a powerful spell against someone else's love. Against someone who means to hurt me. I console myself with the idea that he will be much better off for this bit of agony. If we succeed, it will be the last time he has to experience the pain. The alternative… well, I'm not even sure what it is. That's truly the unsettling part. It couldn't be worse than whatever Dark Sword Harry sliced him with, could it?

It could, yes, and it could be all my doing.

Worrying is not going to save us. I transfigure myself a soft green dress, the colour of life. Next, deep plum leggings and an open jumper that feels more like a blanket. May magic be with us. I charm small white flowers all along the stitching, swirling patterns of daisies open and closing in the light. I create a larger one, tucking it behind my ear before tangling my hair atop my head with my wand to hold it in place. There. I feel like myself again. Myself who would never let Draco die, on my magic.

xoXOXox

I don't so much as transfigure my clothing in haste to do her bidding. I slide my feet into the house slippers she's created from my shoes and set off for Granger. Hermione. Her name is Hermione.

The weight of the blade in my hand is nothing compared to the heaviness I could see in her heart as I left. Whatever they're planning, it's not going to be pleasant. I trust she will give me all of the details when the time is right, because for once in my life I have someone who isn't afraid of the truth.

I find Grange… Hermione. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, by the fire. She has the Weasel burning something barely edible over it while she has her head buried in an enormous book on her lap.

"Grand rising." I greet. The gentility that's been ingrained in me won't vanish with my family name.

"Fancy!" the Weasel calls, mock appraising my sleepwear. "You skin a stuffed creature for those mate?"

"Fuck off, Weasel." I call back. He's not why I'm here.

"Hermione," I implore, but she doesn't so much as glance in my direction. Whether or not she ignores me deliberately is not my concern. I have a parcel to deliver.

I slip the closed blade between her nose and the words. She finally looks up.

"Oh! Thanks, Mal… Draco. I don't know if we'll be needing it, but it might come in handy." She mumbles to herself, opening the blade to examine it.

"Any charms on it I need to be aware of?" she asks, looking at me.

"Only a standard summoning protection. It's goblin wrought."

"Perfect." she states, and again it seems to be more a confirmation to herself.

She levitates the blade over the fire, musing about goblin blades taking a long while to heat up.

As I turn to leave, she calls to me.

"Hey Draco, can you tell Luna we're going to start after breakfast? You probably won't want to eat until later though."

The relentless desire to question her boils inside me. I resist. Luna will tell me when it's time. I trust her. I do.

"Do I look like a bloody owl?" I return

She appraises me for a split second, an evil grin making itself present.

"A bit, actually." she says "Can you swivel your head? It would complete the effect."

I give her a two-fingered salute on my way out in lieu of verbal sparring. My mission completed, I have to make it back to my lovely.

"Oi, someone hasn't had his tea. Do you think he'll expect it in a gold cup? Can you conjure one?" I hear the Weasel taunt from behind me.

"Coffee." I call back, setting off to find my love and those awful, malicious Fates.

xoXOXox

"We need a Healer, Luna. We are in no way qualified for this. There are so many things that could go wrong…"

I place my hand on Hermione's arm. Now is not the time for her to doubt herself, even if it's a strong argument.

"We do. It would be excellent if we could walk into St. Mungo's and ask them to help, but I have the feeling they won't take kindly to looking at that mark, much less touching it. We believe it's just a torture spell and some kind of portus, but who's to say they would even take the risk? And they won't think it's an emergency, so we'll have to pay the healers. We only have so many galleons to live on for who knows how long. Not to mention it would completely destroy our protection against He Who Shall Not Be Named if they find out who Draco is."

It's so hard for people to accept facts when it's not what they want to hear. I trust the girl who once thought she was a muggle might be able to stretch her faith a bit in the face of such sour odds.

"We're in this together." I tell her, because it's the only accurate statement I can make to bring her a bit of comfort.

She nods her head and pulls the blade out of the fire.

I pour our last vial of pain potion down Draco's throat, giving him a kiss for luck before casting a silencing charm over him. I think all the happy thoughts I can as she tries to find the perfect positioning for her hand to both not touch the mark and make the right incision.

Draco will be free. He will never be summoned again. We won't have to worry about him accidentally touching the mark. He won't have to wear long sleeves or glamour himself. He'll never have to remember he was once thought of as an object to be owned.

He crushes my hand in his grip as Hermione places the blade to his skin, just a hair alongside the vile skull. His face bursts a bright red as he screams behind the silencing charm. His skin doesn't break.

Hermione mutters what I take to be a muggle curse-word under her breath as she tries another spot, farther away from the mark. No luck.

"Can you cancel the silencing charm Luna?" She asks me, determination set in every feature. I do as requested, and hear him struggling to control his airflow from the pain and the screams. She looks to Draco.

"Do you trust me?" she asks him

"No, Granger. I bloody well let every witch who despises me take a hot knife to my flesh! Do what you need to and for the love of Merlin be quick about it!"

"You'd be harder to despise if you weren't such a prat, you know." she says, summoning more equipment from the tent.

It's then I see it, bright white steel, rubies glinting under the cloud cover. Of course, they would have it.

"How'd you get it?" I ask

"Long story." she says

"This is my wand arm, Granger…" Draco pleads, going white as a ghost.

"I know, that's why you're going to do this." she instructs, stamping the hilt of the sword into the ground clean up to the blade.

She clenches her fist and asks him to do the same.

"See this?" she asks, pointing to the sinewy bits of tendon in his wrist. He nods. "This is what we are trying not to cut. If you stop being able to feel your fingers, you've gone too deep. Understand?"

A resolution I've never before seen crosses his face. His aura flares the brightest blue, licks of white-hot flame surrounding his feet.

"Alright." He says. "You'll guide me?"

She nods, and I replace the silencing charm.

Black smoke pours from his arm as the tip of the sword goes in, but it goes in nonetheless. It's working. He moves quickly, the same way he used to open his wards. Sweat drips down his face as his veins bulge beneath the skin. As he gets to the end of the skull he starts shaking violently, requiring me to brace him around the waist while Hermione leads the blade over the snake.

With a final cry of pure agony that wrenches from his soul to bleed into the sky, the silencing charm breaks, and the mark disappears into a cloud of wretched greyness.

The edges of the wound are clean, the blood stayed back by the unfathomable magic before us.

I vanish his outer clothes as he collapses into the snow, his chest rising and falling voraciously. I give him a moment to enjoy the chill before I set him on fire again with what remains of the whiskey. I pour carefully, leaving just a swallow to for him to drink while I conjure his flesh back into place. His skin isn't nearly as difficult to imagine as Ron's. His, after all, looks very similar to mine.

I'm finished in no time. All that's left is something firm and strong, smooth as silk, a shade off-pink from the blue blood flowing underneath.

His breathing levels as the firewhiskey takes hold and the pain subsides. The pride I feel isn't mine, but his. He's cut his own chains, broken them off of his very soul.

"You did fantastically kitten." I tell him, stroking his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. I want him to see me, to find me here in his release.

"You were great." He chokes around his strained vocal cords.

Hermione brings him a cup of water, her trembling hands causing the liquid within to quiver and ripple.

I help him sit up, and to my surprise, he refuses the water, pulling Hermione down into his arms.

"I owe you my life." he tells her.

"Nonsense." She replies in a shocked whisper "Any decent person would have done the same."

"No." he says, shaking his head to water her hair with his tears.

She hugs him back tentatively, awkwardly patting his back in an effort to get him to let her go.

I continue stroking his hair, trailing kisses down his back now cold from the snow, grateful for the people who care.

"Thank you Hermione." I tell her "If he owes you his life, I'll owe you my heart. It's not much, but it's what I have."

She pulls one arm away from Draco, enveloping me in it.

"It's more than enough." she says through her tear choked voice.

We stay that way for a while, them crying into each other and all of us running circles on each other's backs. Ron and Harry stare on silently, not risking Hermione's wrath to break us apart. She releases us, standing up to levitate the sword out of the ground. She slings it over her shoulder and reaches in the pocket of her muggle blue jeans. She pulls out Draco's folding blade to hand it back to him.

"Keep it." he says "I won't be needing it, and you can pull a handsome price for it with the right buyer."

She examines it, seeming to weigh his offer.

"I don't think I'll sell it." She says, slipping it back in her pocket. "Never know when a knife might be useful."

I laugh out loud at this as she saunters away, the ruby hilted sword glinting on her back finally granting her the air of the warrior she is.

xoXOXox

"Would you like a new tattoo to replace the old one? You can pick what you like now, you know."

This is all too surreal. My arm looks brand new, like a fresh blank beginning. I'm still trembling from the pain and the cold. Choosing a new decoration, one of her creation, is what little I can do to supplicate myself for the agony I've brought upon me. My Fates won't mark me, nor any vile master. Not even truly my beloved, but me alone.

"Yes. I think I'd like that." I tell her.

"Make a wish love." She says, raising the beech wand to do my bidding by her skilled hand.

"Give me a moon, wrapped in daisies." I instruct "With a star overhead. Make them as bright as you can, I want them to shine in the dark."

xoXOXox

A/N: This chapter name is not from Caged Bird, but the title of a song by Iron and Wine that I could in no way weave into this chapter without it being complete crack. I do however think it describes Harry and Hermione's relationship perfectly, and would implore you to give it a listen if you are sort of obsessive.

Big hugs for Tempest E. Dashon, Designer of Enigmas, Unraveler of the Fae. Please, go read Fallen Angel if you crave the blessing of brokenness, the bitter consolation of finding love without hope.

As always, thanks for joining us on this adventure.

Vine