Disclaimer: Still borrowing J.K. Rowling's wonderful characters. Still not making any money. Sigh. Life can be so unfair!

A/N: Long time, no update, eh? Sorry about that, but I was in New Mexico for Spring Break and had little access to a computer, so I wrote this chapter by hand, and just typed it up last night. At least it's done, right?

Okay. I have to clear up something, the whole purpose for this Author's Note at the BEGINNING of the chapter. A couple of people (MisEnchantment - where are you by the way, love? I missed your review this last chapter - and especially MrsAccioFirebolt) notified me of the existence of some typos and grammatical mistakes. I want to apologize for that. I condemn stories that have those – I lose a lot of respect for authors' stories that contain them – and here I am doing it myself. I feel like such a hypocrite. My best excuse (it's true, too) is that I've taken to writing out the chapter first by hand, and make most of my corrections on the paper (I swear the grammar is close to perfect there), but when I type I do less of a thorough job in my editing. So, I'm going to change that. I printed out the entire story (all forty-something pages of it), and have gone through with a red pen and PAINTED each chapter with squiggles and corrections. I plan on going through and re-posting each chapter. I don't know whether they send out Author Alerts for those, but if they do, feel free to ignore them. Just rest with the knowledge that all those stupid, pesky, disrespectful mistakes have been taken out. Words here and there have been changed, too, but nothing that's changed the course of the story.

In the future, I will be far more careful. I swear. Right. Enough of beating myself up. Onto the text!

Last Time:

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)

Chapter 8 - Stone Tongues

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.

"Lord," she said, smoky words stinging Snake's ears under his hood, "I am discontent." Her eyes glittered, their empty depths whispering pictures: Her place by the fire, once exalted and respected, overgrown and bleeding black displacement. Her chains broken, rusting in her yellowed hands. Her ears deaf to the drums from the thirsty roots of the trees. Her ankles snapped, swollen and sore from dancing; the blood in her veins unable to move her joints to dance with the grace and enchantment she once possessed.

Snake saw this and smiled. "You have passed," he answered. "Turn traitor to your sisters. Become loyal to me, and your place will be restored. You will rise above the lesser Fates, whom you once thought your equals."

"Lord, I stand before you. My presence here, at your feet, swears it. I cannot go back to them." Cruelty bowed, bent back a creaking in a vicious salute to his control. Her lipless mouth contorted in a smile terrifying to behold, but was shielded beneath her veil.

"Good," said Snake, pleased. "I have a task for you."

Hermione felt a tugging on her hand as she placed her feet on the first step to the girls' dormitories, and turned to find Ron's pleading face in front of her. "No, Ron, I won't tell you what I'm going to be," she said, amused in her exasperation. "And no, I don't want to hear what you're going to be, either. It's against the rules." She gently took her hand from his.

His hopeful smile fell. "Please?" he asked. When he saw her firm headshake, he took a deep breath and pressed on, "How else am I going to save the first dance for you?"

Hermione reddened. She hesitated, face looking up to where her black silk robe waited for her before turning back to the boy, expression disapprovingly flattered. She leaned forward then, mouth by his ear, and whispered, "Look for the raven." She quickly kissed his cheek, and cheeks still flaming, skittered up the stairs. She didn't see him watch her disappear around the corner, blue eyes enraptured.

Fingers and minutes flew: the slender black robes were thrown over her body; her hair battled until it fell under her control and was turned the color of emptiness, of deep shadow, of the raven's feathers. Ginny's skillful fingers teased it up until it curved behind her ears in two graceful wings, supported with feathers and soft incantations.

Ginny, eagle's beak beneath her arm, steered Hermione passed a flamboyant butterfly who was fussing at white-robed Lavender with Parvati's voice. A unicorn's head hung from the corner of a disgruntled mirror, who unwillingly showed Hermione her reflection. She smiled with silver lips, mutely placing her raven's mask over the bridge of her nose. Ginny tied the black ribbons behind her head.

"What do you think?" Ginny asked, briskly smoothing the silky feathers that hung from Hermione's sleeves and collar.

Hermione tilted her head, considering. "This beak is going to get annoying," she said simply, her voice echoing beneath the stiff cardboard, sound traveling to the pointed extension that stretched past her nose. She quite suddenly pivoted and gave Ginny a wordless hug. "It's great," she whispered. "Thank you."

Ginny patted her back awkwardly. "Anything to get Ron off my back," she said, winking. Hermione felt herself blush a second time, and her hands found the silver talon at the base of her throat. Ginny grinned at her reaction, hands occupied as she adjusted her glaringly feathered headdress and mask. "It's not like it wasn't obvious," she said. "He's had a crush on you for years."

"Since Third Year," Hermione whispered. "That's when he figured out that I could do things, that I had the courage. It wasn't just 'the Boys' anymore – it was 'the Boys and Hermione."

"Like I said. For years."

Hermione hastily changed the subject, her romantic realization still too fresh and tender for her to share. "Are you meeting up with Dean there?"

"He told me he was the leopard," Ginny said, shrugging. "And I dropped a hint at Harry. I'm sure Ron would have told him anyways."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Harry? Since when?"

"Since never. But Ron's always throwing us together – we decided we might as well pretend interest in each other if only to force Ron to ask you. Now that he has, we'll probably stop—oh, that was the girls' signal."

The lights flickered once more, the lull swiftly filled by excited laughter and slapping footsteps as girls raced down the spiral stairway to join the masks drifting past the Portrait Hole. Hermione, close behind Ginny as they began the long descent to the Great Hall, felt her heart stop as she saw the ethereal creatures, her unrecognizable fellow students. They poured down the stairs, from all sides as sand slides into an hourglass – swift and at once – eyes glittering in the light of candles. A graceful stick of wax floated near her wrist; she grasped it and felt the heat swell into being. She joined the procession, the masquerade of false reality entering into one night of fantasy.

She looked up; more eyes stared down at her over fangs, beaks, horns. The boys – men for this single night – watched them far above. Flames illuminated only their faces, the rest was lost in shadow. It was no matter, the girls would see the rest soon enough.

Draco Malfoy watched the flood of lights and leering faces flow lightly below him. The boys were silent, gazing upon the spectacle with hidden eyes. A stag, magnificent horns twisting to the dark and unfathomable ceiling, glanced at Draco's black robes briefly. He looked away again, and catching sight of one he presumably knew, gestured a hello into the depths of lowered lashes. Draco leaned over the railing to inspect the figures more closely, and met the eyes of a beautiful black crow.

He smiled smugly under his heavy mask in recognition. Pansy had not wanted to tell him her disguise, but one has little thought for duty when in the throes of pleasure. His lithe fingers were enough to guarantee that admittance. When the chorus of his name echoed in the knots of the damp sheets, it was intertwined with the single word "raven."

"Raven?" he had repeated softly, holding the shivering girl gently in his arms. Her blonde hair twisted around his arm, tying them in the bonds of an infinite embrace. He did not protest at this forever-intimacy; he only felt the grip of the stranger Security.

Pansy nodded, mouth to dry to vocalize any but the most guttural sounds.

"No," he told her, cheek against her temple. "Don't be a raven. Be a crow, a rook. They look almost the same," he assured her, noticing the protest in her blue eyes. "No one will know. Except for me."

"Then why should it matter?" Pansy asked hoarsely, burrowing her face deeper into his strong body.

"It matters to me." He was silent. "The rook is my mother's favorite animal," he whispered into her small ear. "Intelligent and beautiful. She always used to say that if she was an Animagus, she would be a crow. Graceful, poised, but overlooked by so many." He stroked her cheek gently, twisted a sweaty lock of hair between his fingers. "Like her. Like you."

Pansy's fingers crept to his hip and found the small black needle-drawing there. She traced the tiny beak, the beating wings, the eyes that were so knowing in such a fierce body. "Is that why you got the tattoo?" she whispered.

"Yes."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "I'll be your rook," she promised, and pulled his warm weight over her once more.

The promise rang in his ears now, and the same fingers that evoked such a vow waved in greeting. The black head bowed, and passed on.

When the lights flickered three times, the rustle of the robes had faded below them. A second parade, unobserved, began the march down to the elegant doors of the Great Hall, quiet punctured by a few unechoing murmurs. Draco remained silent, steps carefully placed inside the unmarked footprints of the stag in front of him. They passed through the doors, woodwork faded but unwavering, and rested burning eyes on the transformed hall.

Even Draco, accustomed to magnificence, felt awe's shadow. The enormous fir trees – twelve in all – erupted out of cold water that slipped by on its four-cornered odyssey. The men crossed a graceful bridge, noticed shielded benches overgrown with holly and flickering orbs that shed a silver light. The main platform was long, clear for dancing and lit by the limitless depths of the star field above them. Another several dozen orbs slid past the hundreds of candles in an endless, unfathomable pattern.

And there, at the other end, the women waited restlessly.

The men wandered among them, extending hands to pull them into the music that descended from the otherworldly roof. They did not attempt to identify the other; the full masks relentlessly foiled any attempts of recognition. Draco wove between his peers, eyes locked on those in the hollowed depths of a black mask. His rook, fletched in all her glory, took his hand.

"Dance?" he asked. The sound, however, never made it to his lips. His tongue had grown roots that meshed flesh and instrument together; his vocal chords had stiffened into still existence. Only his breath sounded, sweet but meaningless. Stone tongues, he thought, and smiled grimly at the irony.

Pansy pulled him into the center of the dance floor, placing his large hands in the familiar hollows of her body. Her eyes were light with fondness and amusement. Their traveling gaze made it apparent that she found his choice of creature comical. Draco found himself a little offended; he had thought the spirit of a panther – sleek, dark, and cunning – fit easily inside his skin. It was not to say the costume was not impressive; its cruel mouth snarled, pure fangs bared in the ecstasy of the predator.

He quickly forgot his resentment as the drum continued in the very bones of his being, urging him to press closer and more fiercely with each passing minute. Pansy was a good mover – she had to be after sixteen years of elite training – and fit into his arms perfectly. Their bodies seemed to tear at each other in succulent ripples, subtle to the observer, but filled with a desperation and newfound intimacy to the two movers. Draco had never felt so released and euphoric in his life; behind the hardened panther's smile, his own mask of etiquette and cold politeness, crafted over so many years of hardship, slipped.

Hours passed uncounted as creatures spun from one partner to the next. The stag danced next to him with an eagle, eyes crinkling in a warm smile that remained hidden behind his mask. He turned and saw a leopard swaying with the arms of a butterfly around him, a unicorn impatiently spinning beside them with a griffon. Far off, he saw what could only be Crabbe and Goyle, slow and blundering under their uninspired serpent attire. They danced alone, the rhythm finding no home in their dull limbs. A dragon pressed close to him once, pushed by the force of a silken black bird. Draco looked proudly at the bird in his arms, and thought that she was easily the more beautiful.

Draco never paused in his movements, never far from Pansy, his liberated eyes always on hers. Torn apart again and again, their bodies always found the other's within moments, lust only strengthened and increased.

He could no longer sustain the seductive movements; he broke away, breath winding through his mouth in a soundless gasp. Tugging his rook through the crowd, eyes glancing at hers mischievously, he pulled her across one of the nine narrow bridges to rest on a white bench. Pansy sat close to him, hands folded neatly in her lap, and stared contentedly across at the dancers through a twisted gap between the trees. Draco paid the movers no attention; his hand covered hers warmly, long fingers reminding her soft flesh of the power they contained. The other crept to her throat, smoothing the clawed talon around her neck. It crawled downwards towards her collar, stroking the feathers there, and came to rest splayed between her breasts.

Pansy started, dislodging his hand, and turned to examine the intention in his eyes. He responded to her silent question; his arms reached up to untie the silk ribbons of her mask, exposing her beautiful face and casting light into blue eyes.

Except that her irises weren't blue. They were brown and steady, inviting instead of seductive. He recoiled at the sight of Hermione Granger sitting in the place of Pansy Parkinson, he leaned away from her hands as she mimicked his gesture. Her fingers clasped around the edges of his mask.

He knew what was going to happen. He knew, without it being explained, why and how she came to be sitting there. He also knew then, in that fraction of a moment, that there was a reason behind this horrific madness, and that it was their purpose to find and end it. Then, his mind froze in the now familiar way, and his puppeteer regained control.

He felt his mask fall away; Granger's eyes narrowed in similar disgust and disappointment. She turned away, head leaning into her palms; he saw her back stiffen. It was his turn, then, to look into her deadened eyes and remember what came after.

Her hands rose limply to his neck, twisting into his dyed hair – black, as hers was – and let the weight drag his face towards hers. His arms curled of their own accord around her waist, fingers beginning the stumbling climb to her chest. Swiftly, though to both the consciences of Hermione and Draco eternity lived in that moment, black lips met silver.

Draco felt his tongue, roots loosened by the power of this imposter, drill between her eager lips to meet freed flesh behind them. They twisted in grotesque contortions, sucking the bitter saliva from the other's mouth. Their heads lolled in sensual pleasure, lips opening time after time to admit the human's most divine instrument.

Seconds, minutes unwound in agonizing mental horror as the owners of the bodies observed their intimate actions. Paper-thin lids fluttered closed, opened, and shielded eyesight again more times than could be counted. Inside their skulls, the two knew only blackness.

It was in that time of displaced existence that they were abruptly returned to command. Their faces snapped away, breath heavy, distancing their sweaty bodies swiftly. Draco, not knowing how long his tongue would be free, took the opportunity to speak.

"Granger," he began haltingly, memories too fresh to be comfortable, "this has got to stop."

Her face flushed angrily. "I didn't do it this time!" she said. "You were the one to approach me, if you'll kindly remember – not that I would have known. You were masked."

"I know, I know, Granger," he sighed. "I meant we have to stop this—this thing from taking control. No matter how hard we try to eliminate all its opportunities, it designs a way to throw us together." He stopped; she looked at him blankly. "We need to learn how to second-guess it." Her brown eyes were still wide and open to suggestion. They weren't blank, he saw now. They were laughing at him – she was playing with him. He felt his cheeks flush in anger. She was forcing him to admit he had been wrong. If there was one thing he never did, it was to go back on his word. He was swiftly decisive, but he never regretted his mistakes. But then, he rationalized, times of caution require change. This fall is necessary, unavoidable.

He tore his eyes away from hers and set them instead on his hands. "I think," he said, his words measured and weighted, "that we have no choice but to work together."

Her voice was steady; no note of triumph highlighted the words, although if he had looked up, he would have seen the brief look of victory flash through her eyes. "I'll meet you at the library tomorrow," she said flatly.

"No, not the library," he said, straightening. "We can't be seen together. This has got to stay between us, for the good of my reputation and yours."

"Professor Nockford's room then," she said. "At lunch. She already knows, anyway, so it can't do any harm." She stood and brushed off her robes, gathering the mask in her hands. "Out of curiosity, who did you think I was?" she asked.

"Pansy."

"Ah, the slut extraordinaire," she said spitefully; the comparison needled her. She raised a single eyebrow at him before disappearing under her mask, tongue melting once more.

Draco paled, his hands shaking. "Do not speak of her that way," he spat. "Pansy is far better than you, Granger, more than you could even begin to comprehend. You stupidity and disgust for your superiors is all that blinds you. You talk of 'equality' and 'starting over' and 'stereotypical bastards,' but I see now it's only using up air — you don't truly believe in it. If I hear one more thing about Pansy, so help me God, I'll—" His words ceased; the mask fitted neatly on his forehead, tongue returned to stone anonymity.

The tension between the two followed them over the bridge, each desperately wishing to push the other into the water, but were confined by the truce they had agreed upon. Though it pleased the other to think so, neither was dishonest. Their resigned hostility could be felt from across the Great Hall, as panther and raven claimed their rightful partners.

The torrential torrent of blood that ran through the veins of the Heart had reduced to a mere trickle, crawling down the rough flesh that led them downwards. The eternal beating diminished to an inaudible pulse, silently tying their hearts and fates into a single braid: each strand dependent on the others.

In the gloom, Wormtail snuffled, silent mucus winding with the salt tears that welled in the cup of his neck. Lucius Malfoy, cruel and shrewd, said nothing until sobs began to echo off the narrow walls.

"My dear Pettigrew," Malfoy said mock-concernedly, "do stop sniveling. It's doing nothing to better our chances for success."

Wormtail attempted to quiet his cries, and was suddenly compelled by an abrupt and gruesome premonition to confess, honestly and completely, to this enemy that strode in front of him. "I never wanted to serve him, Malfoy," he murmured, interrupted with violent hiccoughs. "I was forced into it by terror, and now I think I won't ever come out of here alive. All for a cause I don't even believe in—"

Malfoy whipped around, hand at the base of Wormtail's slippery throat. He put his face dangerously close, words soft. "I would keep quiet if I were you. The Dark Lord does not like traitors, and is even less fond of cowards." He unclenched his hand and looked at the wet palm distastefully. Wormtail shrank back, content to sob in silence as he followed Malfoy's malignant back.

My Lord, Malfoy thought, you have chosen your sacrifice well. All is how you want it.

A/N: Thus ends the encounters for the next couple of chapters, my darlings! I proofread this chapter about a million times, so hopefully there won't be mistakes. Er...I don't think that there's any other news, really — all of the rest was explained at the top. (If you missed it, at least read the second paragraph...that's the important part.) Oh, I guess if I'm going to take this editing thing all the way, updates may be a little farther apart...you'll have to excuse me, but this is really important to me. I still feel horrible that it happened. Sigh.

Okay, onto thank-you's:

Ally: Heya, love! Aw, thanks so much for your very very very long review...I'm glowing and blushing all over. I hope that this chapter was similar in quality...it was remarkably hard to write for being so simple. Eek...I hope it didn't fall into the category of badly written Masquerade fics – I tried so hard to keep that from happening. You pointed out a couple of interesting things though...well, one is the "attraction" between Draco and Hermione you mentioned. There is (physical) attraction between them, though it is involuntary, but remember that they have nothing but disgust for each other when they are in full control of their bodies. I mean, think of the reaction Draco had when Hermione mentioned they should work together (Chap. 7)...I guess most of it was that he was afraid, but some of it was that he felt it would be downright unpleasant to work with her. It was quite an effort for him to propose it in this chapter. Anyways, the point I'm trying to make is that I hope that his relationship with Pansy didn't destroy what I had set-up in previous chapters...she is his official consort, and the action between Hermy and Draky is just an unpleasant and frightening sideshow to him. And when he explodes on her behalf, I hope I conveyed that there's more there than just sex. Ah, and the mention of his line about how he was scared he was going to murder someone and how that showed the difference between him and his father...that hadn't even occurred to me. I'm obviously going to have to address his tie between him and Lucius (got it planned out already), but that was sort of an involuntary lead-up, eh? Hah, your perceptions surprise me sometimes, but THEY WORK. Awesome, one loose end I've sort of already introduced. (By the way, if you're ever interested in sending me those puddings or flowers...let me know. I'll be glad to take them off your hands...and Draco too, for that matter.) Wow, let's see. Sexiness. Yeah, it is sort of hot isn't it, that someone else controls their actions? Be so horrifying though, no matter what action you get. Though seeing it's Draco...I wouldn't mind. Me! Pick me! Sigh. The author refuses to write Alison in. I should go throw a tantrum in the corner...sob. I suppose I can't sign off begging you to update, seeing as you JUST DID (what a present!), but I guess I could always hope...groveling at your feet, Honored Ally. I'll email you just as soon as I get this chapter posted, so we can talk about Masquerades, eh?

Lorett: Believe it or not, love, you picked the same lines that were my favorite. I was depressed over how long winter was dragging on in D.C., and those scenery lines just sort of flowed out of my pen. I think that might have been the one paragraph I didn't change at all, when I was transcribing and editing from paper to computer. God, Draco is so sexy, isn't he? I fall in love with him more and more as I write him. He's easier to write than Hermione personally, just because writing Hermione is like writing myself...it's so hard to picture what I'd do in situations like those she experiences. I'm getting a grip on her more and more though, so hopefully she'll start behaving logically (at least to me). Oh, I'm glad my little explanation thing helped, by the way. Though you might want to take note that Hermione doesn't know she can Sense...she has an idea that she can sort of do it, but she can't control it, for one thing. She doesn't know much about it, for another. I have two HUGE explanation chapters coming up next, however (well, they might be a wee bit shorter than this last one) which will reveal a lot of what's going on. Oh, and your single (yay! I'm getting better!) question: the first time Draco said, "This changes things" — that was him. He didn't know that Sense "chose" her...to him, he sees something new (not necessarily good) in Hermione. The second time he said it, it was the thing controlling him, turning it into something a wee bit sexual. Ah, so sorry I couldn't make it over to YOU, but I really wanted to post this chapter before I had to go back to school (tomorrow, unfortunately). I'll be there soon, I promise. Okay, I'll talk to you soon, my dear.

Slyswn: Ah no, I won't hit you, my dear. I promise. I like your reviews too much. You can come out now, dearie, I won't bite. Swear. Hm, I'm so glad you enjoyed last chappie! I was really excited by the reaction to it...it seemed pretty positive, on the whole. I hope this one didn't disappoint, loyal reviewer. Oh, but that reminds me...I have a question FOR YOU. Now now, no reason to fall out of your chair...but what exactly does your pen name stand for? Does it have a story behind it? I know I've misspelled it about a zillion times, but I'm interested. Of course, if you'd rather not tell, I understand. I can't wait to hear what you thought on the Masquerade though...tell tell! Now now!

Callista: Yay! You reviewed again! Happy dance now...yeah, you have to do it, too! I hope you keep reviewing, dear, I appreciate your comments and questions very very very much. Which brings me to today's little lesson: Who is taking over our dear Draco? Well, Callista, that's an interesting question...one that a bunch of people have touched upon but haven't actually ASKED like you did. And the answer is:...hah, you've got to wait to find out! (Not long now, actually, you'll find out next chapter though the purpose of it won't be revealed until the end.) So you didn't miss it in there, dear, don't worry. I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this newest little encounter...yum. A little action at last!

Angel: HELLO! A new friend! Yay yay yay! You brought up a couple of questions, too, that are interesting concepts. One of 'em I touched upon with Ally up top, but I don't mind a whit repeating it: the "feelings" between the two. There is physical attraction between them, though it is somewhat involuntary, but remember that they have nothing but disgust for each other when they are in full control of their bodies. I mean, think of the reaction Draco had when Hermione mentioned they should work together (Chap. 7)...I guess most of it was that he was afraid, but some of it was that he felt it would be downright unpleasant to work with her. It was quite an effort for him to propose it in this chapter. So don't jump the gun, my dear — actual admiration and friendship will come in its own sweet time. Now, the other thing...that was the last of the encounters for awhile. I know...sad, eh? There will be a couple more, but later on. In the next couple of chapters, there will be some pretty low-key incidents that you're going to have to decide whether its voluntary, controlled, or mere coincidence...eek! I just gave a preview! Argh! So, please keep those questions coming! You don't know how much I appreciate them. I'm so glad you're enjoying it, and hope that you will continue to.

Mrs-Accio-Firebolt: Me? A genius? Really? That compliment made my day...week even, after being so miserably sick. I was getting worried that you weren't going to review, my dear...I've already become addicted to you. Sad, I know. But true. I was so angry with myself over those stupid little mistakes...I couldn't believe I did that! I'm so critical (grammar and spelling-wise) in other people's fics, and I didn't take the time to proofread. As you can see, however, I'll be much more careful from now on, and fix those things you mentioned to me before. Feel free to notify me if you see another one in upcoming chapters, though. Hm, I suppose I really should get a beta...I don't know if you are or know anyone interested in being one. Sigh. Too many things..not enough time to do 'em in. And I'm so glad that the Lucius/Wormtail mini-chapters came through for you! You can see why they're fun to write...it's nice. If there was a way, I'd recap them like I do for the Hermione/Draco plot, but I can't figure out a good way to do that. (I sort of did it for the Fate scene though, just because it seemed necessary.) Now, as for your questions...I can sort of answer one of them. The rest you're going to have to wait and see (the purpose of the Sensing scenes will be revealed in two chapters or so...at least partly. You'll see where they're going.) But Hermione's exact function, I can expand a little on. I think that it's very similar to the Harry/Riddle diary scene – I had forgotten all about that – but not quite. The main difference is that Hermione really is there when she dreams (and it's taking place as she witnesses it; it's not a memory)...it's like the Matrix (have you seen that?): if you die in the Matrix, your body dies in the real world. I guess you could say it's her mind down there with them, but only when she Dreams (the rest of the time it's in her body, ready to be taken over...heh heh heh). Remember, Lucius heard her splash as she entered the blood flood (Chap.1/ Chap. 2), but he didn't see anything. So she's safe from them at least, but her fate is tied to theirs. They have no idea she's following, and probably never will. Hm, that explanation seemed to confuse more than it seemed to clarify. Ah, I'll think of a better way to put it, if you didn't quite get it. Okay, I think that's all. Can't wait to hear your thoughts on the Masquerade...it wasn't quite as plot heavy as the rest, si?

To everyone else who's reading but not reviewing, thanks for stopping by! I'd still love to hear from you, and would be very grateful if you would leave a little note or any questions you might have! (That means you, too, reviewers who haven't reviewed the last couple times. I've missed you terribly, and really value your opinions. Looks around meaningfully) Right, so get cracking!

Kisses to You All,
Alison