Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.

A/N: Whew. So so so so so so sorry about the delay. It was all set to go (the chapter itself, anyways), and I was in the middle of writing Shout-Outs on Friday, but some school conflict came up. This is the first free time I've had since then. Unfortunately, the next chapter, fun as it should be to write, is going to be a bit later in coming. Spring Break! Woot woot! I'll write the next two (with luck) and post as soon as I come back. There will just be a week and a half pause (possibly two) in there. Please forgive me! Right, without further ado (and there's been A LOT of it), please welcome Chapter 7!

Last Time —

"We won't have to worry about this happening again, will we, Granger?" Malfoy hissed in her ear. She struggled against his choking hold, but found his body impossible to move. She stared up at his dangerous eyes. "Because, Granger, you're not going to come near me for a very, very long time."

He pushed her to the ground and strode off without a backwards glance.

It was then that Hermione knew that Draco Malfoy was scared shitless.

Chapter 7 - Fool

Snake watched her approach. The golden orb of the firelight remained steady behind her, but the shadows below her writhed around her swollen legs. The dry twigs above her scratched and whistled, the sound rising above her labored breathing. The moon, mother of her threads, whispered a warning that dripped past deadened ears.

She stopped only once, her back bent with the heavy burden, to whip with braided starlight the skeletal hands that encircled her ankle.

She waded through the dangers, the temptations of the night easily; but then, she was of the night herself — creator and master. She paid little thought to the greater risk watching her through the flames; her sisters' slitted eyes would only brood, never act.

They knew of her betrayal. But then, they knew she was born was born to betray.

She told herself it was because she didn't want another encounter. She told herself it was because of his warning. She told herself it was because she wanted to forget. She ignored the fact that it was doing the opposite.

Hermione Granger was avoiding Draco Malfoy.

The true reason was none of these. If she ever really wanted to know, it was there, right beneath the thin layer of doubts lining her memory. She just had to dig a little deeper, open her mind to the possibility of humiliation — to admit is to humiliate; pride decrees it so. If she wanted to be perfectly honest with her conscience, she was avoiding him simply because of secret terror.

No one could truly know the horror of being a slave to another's will, to have no control over your actions. Worst of all, however, was the consciousness, the wakefulness and observance of one's body as another being puppeted it. Though the grip of the strange master would fade and one would be restored, no one could erase the memory of the deeds performed when under its influence. Hermione suddenly found herself sympathizing for the drunks and drug addicts that staggered through the streets back home. Addiction was similar, she realized, except that you made an active decision to follow the lead of that substance. She did not remember wishing to be a stranger in her own body.

November passed into December with little commotion. Her and Malfoy's interactions consisted of shortcuts and lowered eyes whenever the other's hair — bushy or pale — was glimpsed above the heads of the crowd. In class, both were careful to take seats that were far apart and involved as little notice of each other as possible.

Outside, threads of frost wove silver patterns in the grass. The grey bark was etched in white, the snow making fragile twigs grow fat and form the delicate lace of winter. Over the grounds, a pale sky waited patiently for clouds to cover it and turn everything green into a glittering sameness.

The Hogwarts students found themselves thrust into expectancy, impatiently locked indoors from the bitter wind and having nothing to look forward to except the holidays. Everywhere, holly and evergreen branches began to sprout of stone corners. Teachers whispered in crowded hallways, close-lipped smiles doing nothing to soften the burden of homework they lay so heavily on their students' shoulders.

Work for Hermione had never been a problem. She knew how to manage her time well, and she usually understood the lessons the first time they were taught, if not before. Sense was not forgotten; her fascination and frustration only seemed to increase as she grew tired of the cold walls. When her time was empty of any distraction, she pored over the cover, still looking for a weakness.

One night, when the dark pressed in through the windows of the Gryffindor Common Room, she bent tired eyes to the blue cover. Her concentration slipped, lingering instead on the form of Crookshanks stalking Neville's toad Trevor. Each time she pulled her focus back to what lay on her lap, her frustration mounted.

"I've had it!" she finally screamed, slamming the book to the floor. The dull noise reverberated around the Common Room.

A pen dropped. All eyes stared at the nosy, uptight Prefect with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

"Er, had what, Hermione?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

"Had it up to here," she said, gesturing ear-level. "I'm through with it. I'm done."

Disappointed, the Common Room turned back to their conversations, soft murmurs slowly bouncing off the high ceiling.

"Right. Good idea," Ron said absently. "Oy, Harry. Explain how to Mirage again, would you? I can only listen to one Flitwick at once, and completely missed the point of the lesson when all four of them started arguing." He rubbed his ear ruefully.

Hermione tuned out, debating her choices. The obvious thing was to do was to return it, but the problem of finding the Dark alcove again remained. Her preference, of course, was to actually open it, but there was no one who she could trust to show her. Madame Pince, the librarian, was out of the question; she would think she stole the book. Professor Nockford would ask too many questions and probably confiscate it — that ruled out all the teachers, as a matter of fact. Ginny only knew she had the book; she had no ideas of how to find that section if she wasn't there in the first place. And any other Gryffindor probably already knew what Sensing was, and would refuse to even come near the book.

If she really wanted this, she had only one option. There was one other who knew she had it. And that person was expert in Dark Arts — whether he could perform them or not was in question, but he had knowledge and enough intuition to possibly solve the book's mystery.

Hermione squared her shoulders as the bell rang, eyes on the pale head in front of her. She didn't hear Professor Vector dismiss them, her thoughts instead living the imminent conversation long before her mouth would speak the words. It took her a moment, then, to realize he had already left.

"Malfoy!" she called, books in hand, eyes on his swiftly moving back.

Malfoy turned and saw the small girl shove her way through the crowd. "Shit," he breathed, eyes scanning the mass of black-robed students. "Doesn't she know how to stay the hell away?" He spotted a gap between two groups of chattering Third Year girls, and dove through.

Hermione reached out and grabbed the corner of his flapping cloak, finding herself stumbling behind Malfoy as he tried to lose her. "Malfoy!" she gasped. "Stop! It's fast, I promise."

He skidded to a halt, and in one swift motion, grabbed her elbow and threw her against the wall. She masked the wince that threatened to break onto her features.

"Make it quick," he snarled.

She smoothed her robe with shaking hands, brown eyes fixed determinedly on the furious grey ones in front of her. "It's about Sense," she said, her voice clear. "I can't open it."

Malfoy relaxed a little. "Ah, the book you stole from the library," he said, remembering.

"I didn't steal it," Hermione objected. "It brought itself with me. It wasn't my choice to take any one of those books."

"Of course not," he said sarcastically.

"It's true. When I was following you out—"

"So you were following me!"

"—only to get out of there — it fell in front of me. And wouldn't let me leave without it." She stared back at him, daring him to disbelieve her. Instead, she was surprised to see him lean forward, eyes wide.

"It...it chose you? A Dark text chose Hermione Granger, of all people?" he whispered. He let out a forced laugh that didn't quite veil the awe in his voice. "My God. That changes things."

"How?"

Malfoy didn't answer. He took another step forward until he leaned directly over her. His body felt her heat, smelled the musk of fear — was the smell hers or his? — and heard himself speak again.

"That changes things quite a lot."

Hermione didn't like the look in his eyes. They were dead, lids pinned to his skull, and seemed to suck her life, her stuff of thought and dream, out of her until she was left gasping and strengthless. He placed his hands on either side of her head — slowly, as if he were unused to the simple motion — and gently leaned his weight on them, taut body pressing deep into hers.

"Malfoy, what are you doing? Malfoy. Malfoy? Malfoy!" Hermione pleaded. Her hands scratched and pushed at his chest, hips shoving against his in order to make space.

She froze as he felt a finger slide down her face, stroking her jaw tenderly. She felt the impulse to shiver, to relax her neck and melt herself into the sensation, but firmly denied them. She fought only by resistance, no strength left to battle him physically. Oh God, Malfoy, she thought desperately. Why don't you stop it? Why isn't it stopping?

Though he seemed displaced, unanswering, Malfoy was fighting for his consciousness deep inside the darkness of his mind. He bit and scratched and strangled the will that bound his body, but its word was absolute. Nothing could break it.

His senses were on fire, reveling in the contact. His body rejoiced in the desperate touch, pressing in only more deeply to increase the intensity. His chest ground into her, his hips locked hers to the wall. Every bit of space between them had to filled. He had to feel her skin, tame the power in the girl that resisted him so violently. His body desired her in that moment.

And just as suddenly as It appeared, the will vanished.

Malfoy fell limp on her shoulder, the whites of his eyes gleaming through the crack of his eyelids. Hermione shoved his weight off her with a grunt, letting him fall tangled to the floor. She knelt by his body, slapping his face gently in order to revive him. Beyond him, the students swirled blindly by, noticing nothing.

His body made a violent jerk, the spasm extending to the tips of his fingers. His eyes sprang open, silver irises glowing, and he jumped immediately to his feet. Hermione wondered what force in his life had taught him to spring out of sleep so suddenly and completely, crouched in readiness.

She stood slowly, watching his face. She watched the expression turn from blind anticipation to suspicion, then fall in horror as the memories returned. He stood straight then, eyes averted from hers, and ran agitated fingers through his hair.

"Fuck," he swore. He began to pace in front of her, the sharp turns at the end of each short length emphasized with another curse.

"Listen, Malfoy," she said, hiding her similar distress, "it's fine, really. We both know it wasn't you."

He stopped quickly, eyes meeting hers. The look in them was desperate, terrifying. He laughed quietly, despairingly. "Fine?" he echoed. He shook his head slowly. "No, Granger, it's not fine. How can it be 'fine' if at any moment I could hurt you, myself? Under another's control, I could murder." He looked down at his empty hands and clenched them.

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching out to still his shaking arms. "That's not what I meant—"

"Don't touch me!" he shouted, ripping his arm away from her gentle touch and stumbling backwards.

"Fine," Hermione said, temper rising. "Fine. I won't help you then. Maybe we could have worked together, and learned how to fight It, but I can tell it would have been a mistake. Just do me a favor, Malfoy, and don't come near me."

She gathered her books from the ground and stalked off, ignoring the juvenile remark he threw at her back: "That's not a favor, Granger; that's common sense! Who'd want to look at your ugly face anyways?" She didn't look back, didn't see him collapse against the wall, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. His jaw was set, his fists grinding into the stone behind him.

In the Gryffindor common room, she was alone. All other students were in their second class of the day — she should have been in Advanced Transfiguration — but now, she could barely tolerate her own company. With a cry, she threw her books onto a table. She kicked over the high-backed chairs, shoved any furniture in her reach as far as she could. Torches fell to the floor, magical flame illuminating the worn carpet; pictures shuddered on the thick walls. In her rage, she noticed none of this, watching only her small hands clench and fall back, tighten and then relax. She had no recollection of falling into the last chair, alone in the center of the circular room, and sobbing into the crook of her arm.

The only thing she heard was the chant of "Fool! Fool! Fucking fool!" echoing in her head.

Harry and Ron found her there after lunch: a solitary figure bent in exhausted contortions in the lap of a faded armchair. Her head rested on her arm, face red, eyes ringed, hair tangled erect. They restored the room silently as not to disturb her quiet sleep, erasing all evidence of the rage that stormed the room. They did not know what drover her practical mind to madness — they knew they probably never would — but they accepted it and cared for her in any way the could.

When she swam out of the darkness, erupting into the free air, she saw her two friends quietly whispering to the rhythm of scratching quills. She said nothing, simply resting in the warm comfort of their presence: one explosive and irrational, the other solid and proud. One red, one black. Both unwavering in their loyalty. Both lacking in subtlety.

Ron looked up as she sighed softly, grin breaking over his freckled features. "You're awake!" he observed. "Good. Now you can tell us what happened."

Harry shot him a look. "We were getting worried when you didn't show up for class. You okay?"

She yawned. "I'll be fine. I was just upset.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Upset?"

"So I lost control."

"You lost control," Ron said, beginning to laugh. "I've never heard such an understateme—ouch! What the hell was that for?" he asked, looking indignantly at Harry and rubbing his ankle.

"Yes, Ron, I did," Hermione sighed. "And if you're not careful, next time I'll take it out on you, not the furniture." Ron stopped laughing. "So what did I miss in class?"

"Nothing at all," Harry said. "Boring as hell."

"As usual," Ron added, ignoring Hermione's reproving look. "Except for the announcement, of course."

"The announcement?" she repeated, looking between them.

Harry began to laugh. "Oh yeah. Forgot about that."

"Forgot about what?" she asked.

"Oy, Harry!" Ginny called across the Common Room, waving a piece of paper. "You hear about the Masquerade?"

"A-a what?" Hermione asked, stiffening with alarm. "Oh God. Not another dance."

That promptly shut up both Ron and Harry. "It's only our second one!" Ron said. "Bill said he had about one every year when he was in school. Oy, Gin! Bring that announcement over here."

Ginny handed the flyer to Hermione.

MASQUERADE

Face, smiles, tongues set in stone
eyes meet eyes, hand meets hand
in celebration
in ecstacy of the mask.
-Eloise McHaggle, 1416-1474
Christmas Eve, Great Hall
Dress Robes Required
And Please, Bring No Date
(Fourth Years and Up)

Hermione stared at the message thoughtfully. "No dates allowed?"

"No," Ron scoffed. "Isn't that stupid?

"You think so?" Ginny asked. "After all the trouble you had finding a date two years ago?"

"It's actually quite an interesting concept," Hermione said. She passed the flyer back to Ginny. "I assume it's to establish inter-House unity — you know, the crap the Sorting Hat tells us every year. When we're masked, no one will be tell what House we're from."

"Except by our voices," Harry said.

"No. What do you think the first line was about? 'Faces, smiles, tongues set in stone...' In the Renaissance period, during Carnival, the men traditionally didn't talk. They pointed out their names on a scroll, and if a lady accepted them, then the men were required to do whatever she wished for the evening." Ron choked. "Now with all these ideas of feminism floating around," she continued, "I think we'll all be silenced. Who's organizing this?"

"The teachers, mostly," Harry answered, "and a selected group of Seventh Years. Dunno who though."

"So probably some sort of complex spell over the doorway to the Great Hall."

"Hermione!" Lavender Brown squealed, interrupting. She stood before them, cocky hand placed on her hip. "Have you heard?"

"Yes."

"And you're still sitting here? We've only got sixteen days until Christmas Eve! If you want a good costume, you've got to start now. There's the robes to buy, the animal to think of, the fabric to purchase, the make-up...coming, Parvati!" she yelled, and ran off.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. "I hate dances," she groaned.

Slowly, delicately, Lucius Malfoy thrust the knife into the wall and pulled downwards. He did it twice more, deaf to the echoing cry of pain that drummed through the flesh. He smiled grimly at the arch, blood oozing out of the edges and trickling downwards to join the flood at his feet.

"Wormtail. The spell," he said, hand waiting for the parchment.

Trembling, the man reached into his robes and drew forth a yellowed paper. Grey words, dead words, bled onto its surface to form an incantation. He numbly handed it over, fearful eyes on the arch.

Lucius Malfoy drew his wand, pressing his weight through his arm to deepen the arch. As he traced the gate with the sharp tip of his wand, he spoke the deadly words:

Viscus Consensco.

Scarlet light burst through the edges, blinding both of them. When their eyes regained their sight, the flesh had crumbled to grey dust at their feet, leaving an opening into emptiness. With a cry of triumph, Malfoy ran through, Wormtail scampering behind him. And always following, Hermione.

No one noticed the black words scrawled over the archway:

No Return.

A/N: Whew! Yay! Onwards! The translation of the incantation is, according to my crappy Latin dictionary, "the Heart decays." The word "decay" can be replaced with "grows old," a convenient reference to time. (I hope none of you guys are Latin majors out there...I only do French. Badly at that. So I know I didn't conjugate the verb. Just pretend it's right. Please? Pretty please?) Speaking of time, it becomes very important to this third little plot...keep that in mind. It will come into play a few chapters from now.

On a side note, I wrote a fairly long response to some questions Lorett (first shout out) posed, and I bet ANYTHING there are more of you out there wondering some of the same things. So, if you feel confused (and want a couple of previews), just take a quick peek down at Lorett's shout out. My version of an explanation often doesn't cut it with most folks. This may be the most blunt you'll ever see in Puppet Master. Of course, there IS a chapter coming up in about two or three updates which will explain a lot of this. And more! The next update might take ten days or so...I'm on Spring Break as of today, and am visiting my Grandad in New Mexico. Hopefully I'll have the chance to update while I'm there...or at least finish chapter 8!

Okay, lots of thank-you's today (I feel so loved!):

Lorett: Darling! Hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Thanks so much for the encouragement. Tehehehe...it made me smile. I just felt that I wanted to make their last encounter a bit more ... interesting. And it will be nice to put a stopper in the foreshadowing for a little while. Okay, now for your questions. As you know, I can't give the whole plot away, but maybe I can help a little. #1: Yes, not quite, and yes. Age is crouched over the form of our Headmaster, sort of another clue to why his twinkle is dimming. She's making him weak (partly in judgement), not quite senile, and is definitely shortening his life span. That doesn't mean he's going to die, but it does have interesting consequences on Hogwarts. (Explains why he's so gloomy, too, with that veil over his perspective and judgement. Not quite up to making the best choices.) #2: Ah, I'm glad you see it now. I sort of originally wanted to lead up to the whole "It's not me, it's someone else" thing, but this story is confusing enough. I have four encounters planned, each important to the story (this is number three). I'll try not to make it too redundant. And of course Draco and Hermione are going to fall for each other! Wouldn't be a romance if they didn't, right? That'll start a few chapters from now; there are a couple utility events in the way first. And as for Nockfred...let's just say that she's informed. No, not by the masterminds of this whole plan, but she IS an educated woman. Not a D.A. prof for nothing. Plus, don't forget she's a hag. Also, Hermione "just getting nervous" didn't really shoot Malfoy across the floor. She shuddered, and the wand under her hand responded to the motion. Wands do funny things, responding a lot on what one is feeling at the moment. Unfortunately, Hermione doesn't have any weird powers, brilliant as she is. #3: Yup, you were almost right about Time. Time is actually the blood in the veins, the Heart surrounding it is the vital organ which channels it. Now that they've made the gate, they're obviously going to pass away from the Heart and Time, and move onto bigger things. (Can't tell you where that'll be though. Hah hah! Gotta wait and find out for yourself.) And as for how Lucius/Wormtail/Hermione got there...I kind of didn't mention it. It's pretty simple: they just followed the flow of the blood until they found the place where no light shines, or the Heart. Working backwards through time. Sensing allows you to see the mechanics of the world (you know, how the world and life function) if you remember, and only those who can Sense can follow the blood. I'll actually describe the journey they took later on (waaayyy later on), but I hope that helped. And as for how she's seeing these happenings, I think I included a line in one of the early chapters...hold on...ah, here it is (Chap 2): "The beating was steady, barely audible to the human ear. It required Hearing, just as the coursing blood required Seeing, listening past the surface noises for the mother of life, humanity. Any could Hear, but the knowledge of existence was necessary. The knowledge could be gained from one who has Heard or Seen or Tasted or Touched or Smelled, but the clearest road to discovery was through Dream." What that means, basically, is that you can only Sense if you learn from someone who has already experienced the power of Sensing, but as I've sort of hinted at before, Hermione has an uncanny knack for it. Sort of a natural ability. Or here's another way to put it: it's sort of a vision that she sees only when she sleeps. So the events that happen as she Dreams are going on IN THAT EXACT MOMENT. Remember, Lucius and Wormtail are standing in Time, which must be a different time pattern. The time flow there is much slower than it is at Hogwarts. Basically. Help at all? Hope so. The response took me foreverrrrrr, but I love you so much I thought it was necessary. Plus, that way I can match the one you left me two updates ago! Love you, darling.

Ally: Hiya, love. Watcha think? This was actually a fairly fun chapter to right, but you know my "secret" struggle over whether to post it or not. Hopefully I can carry the next chapter off...Argh! SO HARD! Our darling Draco and Hermione only have one more encounter left (I hope it's not getting TOO redundant). But I thought their fear had to be a bit more exposed before they could do anything about it. This was sort of another utility chapter. Joy. Ah, sigh. I'm so glad you also like the first scenes. I think I've told you before that the Fates scenes are the most fun to write. They're the ones that come the most naturally to me. If I could, I would write the entire story like that. However, it would just bit a wee bit confusing, full of way to many metaphors and personifications. Sigh. Just have to content myself with the small versions. Ah, and as for why this is happening...it will all be explained. A bit obscure, so I'm confident that you won't COMPLETELY guess it. I just hope I can explain it to all of you so it won't confuse you too much. Seem to do that a lot. Anywho, I do so hope that the muses get unstuck, my dear. I am SO looking forward to the next chapter in A Reason. Whee!

Mrs-Accio-Firebolt: Hiya, love! You're HERE! Yay! I had though I'd lost you as a reviewer. Actually, I was trying to find you again when your review popped up, though I couldn't figure out a polite way to say: Hi. I admire your reviews. Give me one. NOW! But anyways, you're here. That's the important part. Now to respond: Thanks so much for your honesty. I want to make sure you know how much it's appreciated. It makes me think, and improve. Yeah, I know. Crazy, huh? IMPROVING? But it does. I was actually surprised that no one had mentioned how bipolar Hermione seemed in the first chapter. In the early chapters (the first two or three), I was still figuring out my plot and how she was going to fit into it. And because of that, I couldn't really decide on how I was going to present her. Now, I hope that she's settled down a bit (hah, though she did lose control in this chapter...so let's say settled down meaning not "over-funny"). And in the future, I'll keep even more of an eye on that aspect of my writing. It's amazingly hard to write reactions...ever noticed that? You know what you'd do, but you've never really experienced those exact situations. I think my problem is that I take each situation separately from the others, not making any bridges between them. I'll work harder on that, to keep an eye on what they have already been through. I'm so glad you liked my Ron! He's such a caricature, and fun to write. And as for your query about how he's so light when Dumbledore's so dark...observation has never been one of his strong points. He probably just thinks, Hey, the Headmaster is having a bad day. That's it. End of story. He's self-centered, in an adorable way, you know what I mean? As for your Dreaming question, you might want to take a look at my VERY long response to our Lorett. Explains a bit more what's going on in the Dream sequences. And as you said, they do seem incomplete. They're supposed to. One long journey that is in a different time pattern than the rest. It's like a separate story, with the beginning at the beginning of beginning of Puppet Master, the climax matching the climax of the main plot. Next, Hermione's mum's death: Like I said, I didn't have an outline when I wrote it, so it sort of faded into the background a bit. It is going to come back into play later on, and is going to be a big factor when it does make an appearance. I've got a couple things planned with it. I know it faded out really fast, but my interpretation of Hermione is that she is so well-organized and so intelligent and so passionate, she doesn't really allow herself to feel things that directly relate to her. She doesn't ever face her fears head on...not physical fears. Emotional fears. If you notice, she never confronts Ron or Harry when they do something really stupid and heartless, she flows with the tide. All this avoidance, however, is taken out on other things, making her really brave in the face of danger. She will do anything to kill Voldemort who is responsible for her mother's death, but she won't think about the fact that her mother is never going to come back. That sort of thing. I don't think I really explained that well, but I know what I mean. I'll think of a better way to convey that and get back to you...hm...Anywho, thanks so much much much! (I too love the Fate scenes...probably my favorite portion to write...) I love you, darling! Talk to you soon!

Callista: Hello! Welcome aboard! My face is all red from reading your review for about the MILLIONTH time. I just look at it and think, "Wow! Somebody loves me!" and feel warm and tingly. Aw, thanks a bunch, babe. I'm so glad your day of studying was lightened. I know exactly how terrible they can be. Grr. School should die. Or at least the work part. But anyways, thanks so much for the comment on my originality. I was hoping against hope that to some it would seem not two dimensional and copied, and I felt so wonderful when I read that you felt that way. You made my day. Really. You did. Love you! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chpater.

MisEnchantment: Hiya, love! So glad to hear from you! I was so thrilled when I got your comments. I was really, really, really touched. I was. What you (and Callista) said to me was about the best an author can get. Thank you so much for that. Sorry about the grammatical errors, by the way. When I write, I'm so excited to get the words down I'm not very careful to make sure they make total grammatical sense. And when I go back through and edit them, my eyes miss over some of the more obvious ones. I know exactly what I'm trying to say, so I automatically assume that it's what it says. Sigh. So difficult. I'll try to do better though. I really should print out the chapter, but it takes me so long to write and update, there'd be a month between each update instead. (Thanks for the reading suggestion, by the way. I plan on reading it right after I post!) Can't wait to see what you think!

Foamy: Hey! You came back! Thrilling! Absolutely positively thrilling. So, you think you know what's going on, do you? Hmph. Maybe you write TOO much like me. Who knows, maybe you're inside my head right now, and laughing at me because you know exactly what's going to happen. NO YOU DON'T! I WILL CHANGE IT SO YOU DON'T KNOW WHICH WAY IS UP AND WHICH IS DOWN! HAH! TAKE THAT! No, then I'd be bombarded with angry reviews. I suppose you'll just have to be right...sigh. So, when are you going to update, m'love? I'm waiting over here. Impatiently, I might add. Just as impatiently as I'm waiting to hear your thoughts on this chap.

Slyswn: Little lady? LITTLE LADY? Hmph. I resent the truth in that statement. I AM THE AUTHOR...I AM BIGGER THAN YOU! Bwahahahaha! Okay, spaz over. Glad you liked the last chap. Hope this one is just as good in your eyes. The next one should be fun, too...Love you, dearie!

Fingers Flying (to Update Faster this Time),
Alison