Bright Line

Chapter Ten: Antecedent

"He killed me! That's not fair!"

"...If he had really killed you, you would be a lot quieter."

"Shut up, Rae, I had it under control and he distracted me and it's all his fault. Robin! Tell Cy that doesn't count!"

Robin looked up briefly from the research spread across his lap, not really taking in whatever image was on the television. "That doesn't count, Cyborg."

"You can't take sides; you didn't even see it happen!" Cyborg pointed his controller at him indignantly. Rainy afternoons often disintegrated into trench warfare at the Tower. Inevitably, someone wanted to play the Gamestation, and then they would fight about whether or not they should play, and which game they should play, and who would be which character…

He shrugged, realizing that Cyborg was right. "Sorry, Beast Boy: I didn't see it. You'll just have to have a rematch." Robin hadn't even known what they were talking about when he answered, anyway. He'd been making more than a few hasty, poor decisions lately and often worried that his lack of concentration would carry over to fights. Luckily, there hadn't yet been any reason to test that theory; things had been quiet.

After nearly two weeks, Raven still hadn't mentioned the disk. She'd just become more and more withdrawn around the others, staying in her room whenever possible. Robin was, for all intents and purposes, the only person she spoke to without insults, and it had become incredibly easy to set off her powers. She'd bent Cyborg's fork in half last night at dinner because Starfire was "laughing too loudly." Robin was worried about her and felt more than a little guilty, because he knew why she was having issues. Often, he'd wondered if politely asking her about it would count as "rushing her decision." It was obviously destroying her from the inside out and he couldn't let it continue. But he also couldn't risk making her angry enough to destroy the disk.

Cyborg and Beast Boy finally settled on some kind of compromise that involved restarting the game, to Robin's relief. He did not want another explosion. In the first place, it led to possible grudges that he didn't need carrying over into their work, and more importantly Raven would sense it—and that could be disastrous.

He set one heavy folder aside and picked up another. Raven might have taken the disk, but she'd said nothing about him being forbidden to research. If there was any trace of information, anything to indicate who Slade might be targeting… He wondered if the others would say anything if he got up and left. The only reason Robin was out here was because Starfire had pleaded and Cyborg had given him an odd look, saying something about how much he'd changed in the past few weeks. Maybe he'd been out here long enough to satisfy them. It was just easier to think in his workroom. Fewer distractions.

A tiny hand got in the way of his highlighter and he'd drawn a yellow stripe across it before he realized. Terra squeaked out an apology and jerked her hand away—why was she apologizing? He looked up at her in confusion; her eyes were trying to disguise some unknown emotion but failing to hide the fact that she was hiding something.

"No, I'm sorry; I wasn't paying attention—didn't mean to highlight you," he reassured her, wondering how many times he was going to have to use his miniscule attention span as an excuse for poor behavior.

Terra giggled nervously. "It's not a big deal." She stared at her hand as if hoping it would tell her what to say next, the streak of highlighter thick and visible on her skin. Robin waited for her to say something, and it took six seconds for her to break the silence. Eyes darting from one side of the room to the other, Terra shuddered and leaned close to Robin, balancing her hands on the arm of the couch, pale hair falling into her face.

"I need to talk to you," she whispered, voice dry, almost cracked. Panicked.

Robin set the folder aside. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Terra said quickly. Too quickly. She glanced over at the television screen again, where the others were fully absorbed in the game (or mocking the game, in Raven's case), then turned back to Robin and the fear in her eyes wasn't disguised anymore. That's what it had been. Fear. Terra swallowed and leaned even closer, and Robin felt his lungs catch when she got too close. "Yes." He could feel her breath on his cheek and the word was so quiet he was sure no one else had heard. He was also sure that she didn't want anyone else to hear.

Nodding, Robin moved away from Terra under the guise of turning to look straight at her. For some reason, he could almost tolerate it when Raven touched him—it helped that she hardly ever did it and never without warning—but this was certainly not generalized to the rest of the team. "Do you want to…."

"Hallway. Please." Terra rose with the words, already walking towards the door.

Robin watched her leave the room and waited several minutes to follow, ignoring the occasional appearance of a questioning blonde head in the doorway. Terra obviously didn't want anyone to know about this conversation and it would raise suspicion if they left together. The waiting was good, because it kept the sick panic down to a manageable level. Robin hadn't seen Terra this desperate or serious since she'd asked him about Slade while he had the flu, and he'd never heard that low, hurried tone that almost sounded more like a rush of wind than someone speaking. Whatever she wanted to discuss, it wasn't how much she loved Starfire's cooking.

After he was reasonably certain that no one would connect Terra's exit with his, Robin said something about research and left the room, folders in hand.

Terra was waiting for him, leaning against the wall, hands around her knees, staring. The unsettling thing was that she wasn't really staring at anything. Neck pressed into the wall, she was solemn and silent and just existing. It reminded him of something. Robin couldn't think of what, though.

Her head snapped around when he stepped into her line of vision, and she smiled weakly up at him but didn't stand. Robin wasn't used to looking down at people to talk to them.

"Terra, are you alright?" Asking took effort because more than half of him didn't want to know what the answer was, because oh god if this was worse than asking why Slade was bad, then it had to be apocalyptic. What have I done, what have I done, what have I done—

"I have some questions about…doing it."

Robin stared at her, immobile, completely confused. Finally, he recovered enough to ask for a clarification. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you know…" Terra focused on the toes of her shoes. "Does it…hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" He wondered absently if she was talking about something to do with fighting. Terra hadn't really been seriously injured yet and Robin wasn't exactly eager to explain to her exactly what could happen in a battle, but she'd gotten this far not knowing…it had probably been on her mind since the fight at the hospital, and maybe it was time someone told her—

"You know." Terra twisted around to look straight at him, one leg folded under her and palms rested on the floor. Her lips turned up slightly as if she were trying to repress a giggle, and then snapped back into seriousness. "It. Having…having sex. Does it hurt when you have sex, you know, with a guy?"

It took him a moment to believe that she had really asked it, that those words had really come out of sweet, little Terra's mouth, that she was actually sitting there, staring up at him with honest confusion and a little fear but mostly utter faith that he would have an answer. Of course Robin would have an answer. Robin knew all about sex. Because he was a slut. Because he had let it happen. Because he had—

"Well, does it?"

No, Terra. No, Terra, it didn't hurt. Because I'm a disgusting, twisted person who likes having sex with my enemy, are you happy now? It should hurt. It should hurt because it's wrong and evil and it should hurt but it doesn't because I'm sick. He tried to think of something to say other than the damning words in his head. "Terra, you are way too young to be worrying about this."

She laughed, but it was saturated with some emotion that shouldn't be in a laugh, something foreboding and overwhelmed. "Maybe."

Jaw clenching, he suddenly determined why she was asking this, and he didn't like the answer. "Has Beast Boy been pressuring you?"

"Oh no, no! He totally hasn't! I just…wondered." Terra curled her legs up to her chest again.

"You're too young to wonder!" He couldn't let them do anything stupid. He just couldn't. They were kids: innocent and clean and they had no idea what they were getting into. It wouldn't be as bad for them, of course—this shame was his and was something they'd never have to deal with, thankfully, but they still didn't understand.

Terra shook her head imploringly, eyes wide. "Be quiet," she hissed. "Please, please don't say that where they can hear…and I'm like a year younger than you, y'know." Terra twisted her hair. "But, Robin, does it?" It was no more than a whisper.

As if his age had anything to do with it. He was filthy. And anyway, he didn't think he'd be old enough to want to think about it again if he lived to be a thousand. Robin tried to keep his breath steady, didn't think he was doing a very good job, and focused on how Terra's face was getting fuller. Her cheekbones didn't protrude dangerously anymore and he'd stopped worrying that she'd have to be hospitalized for malnutrition. Feeling like he had enough control to speak, he lowered himself to the floor so he didn't have to keep looking down at Terra (it was an unfamiliar angle). "Why does it matter if it hurts if you aren't planning to do it any time soon?" His next question almost didn't get asked because he was afraid of what she might say, but in the end he decided that he had to know. "Why are you even asking me? This seems more like a Raven or Starfire question."

Terra tucked her hair behind her left ear. "Oh, no reason…I just…umm…thought that maybe you would know, or whatever."

He felt his heart stop beating. Did Terra know? She couldn't, it wasn't possible. Terra couldn't even show up for training on time without six dozen reminders. But…if even Terra knew… Was it really that obvious—could you tell by looking? If you could tell and if Terra knew, then…oh god, Bruce must know, when he called and got mad, and… Robin bit the inside of his cheek, shoving the thoughts away and telling himself that he could control this, could make himself bleed whenever he wanted, and after several, shallow breaths he was able to answer.

"Look, I'm going to have a talk with Beast Boy."

"Robin!"

"Terra, you don't have to defend him. I know the only reason you could have possibly gotten this idea in your head was because he put it there, and that's unacceptable. I'm not going to let him pressure you into doing something that you'll both regret."

She blinked. "Why would we regret it, though? It's that bad?"

"That's not the point!" Robin sighed. He should have realized this might happen—with Terra being so romantic and watching too many movies with Starfire, of course she'd have some ridiculous notions about the way things were supposed to work. And anything Beast Boy said on the subject would only exacerbate the problem. "Terra, it's fine. Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"But…"

He considered. "Is there something else besides Beast Boy?" Maybe she'd read something that had disturbed her, or watched the wrong news broadcast.

A sharp intake of breath, and Terra was on her feet, moving more quickly than Robin had thought she was capable of. "No, there's nothing else. I think you've answered all my questions now, thanks, Robin!" She giggled emptily and spun, walking backwards towards the living room, waving.

"Terra, are you sure that—"

"Thanks for your help!" The words were louder than the rest of their conversation had been and Robin knew that the others had heard, and she disappeared through the doorway before he could make her come back and tell him whatever it was she was hiding. Because she was hiding something. And it had to do with sex. Robin didn't know if it involved Beast Boy or not, but he was taking no chances on that matter—he'd have to have a talk with him.

Not now, though. Later. Because now, he felt sick and he just couldn't face Beast Boy, not if he was going to be authoritative like he had to be. Robin thought that this might count as something he was supposed to talk to Raven about, but… Well, she knew, anyway. She'd seen on the video. Telling her though—he didn't know if he could. If he should. If it would just finally change her mind and get her to see how disgusting he really was.

He finally decided that he just needed to be alone for awhile, and then maybe he could figure out if Raven had been serious when she made that deal with him, and if this was really something she actually wanted to know about. Robin took his research and headed back to his workroom.

It was Raven's room, not the Pentagon.

Since the beginning, without it ever having been actually said, it was common knowledge that those who went into Raven's room didn't come out with all their limbs. Robin knew everything about the Tower, and he definitely knew that there was nothing unusual about the floor plan of her quarters, nothing otherworldly or extravagant about it. If he really felt like it, he had override codes that could get the door open—not that he'd do it, but he could. And yet…somehow, he really didn't want to knock on her door and his brain wasn't listening when he catalogued all the reasons why he was being irrational. It was Raven's room. You didn't go into Raven's room.

Am I five years old? Is there a monster in my closet, too?

But he knocked on her door because he had to, because what he wanted had stopped mattering three months ago, if it had ever mattered. She'd told him he had to talk to her, and if she destroyed the disk because he didn't keep his word, Robin would have no excuse. They had to talk about Terra, about her strange question and what that might mean, because there was something there and he needed to figure out what it was. But that wasn't even really why he was knocking, he realized suddenly. It was…he couldn't classify it. Robin didn't want to talk to Raven and yet he did, he was supposed to tell her that he was afraid for Terra, except that wasn't at all what he wanted to tell her, and…it was…

It was complicated. That was the best answer he could supply, anyway, and he had no room to think about it anymore when Raven answered the door.

"Hey." Her face was barely visible through the small opening. Raven had mastered the art of getting an automatic door to open only four inches.

"Is this a bad time?"

"Do you need to talk?" she asked, voice controlled.

He hesitated, then finally nodded. "It's not anything important, really—and it's not that I need to talk, just that…"

"It's not a bad time," said Raven, stepping back and letting the door slide open fully. Telekinesis, he figured. He was starting to recognize the small changes in Raven's expression that meant some measure of her attention was occupied by her powers—and which ones she was using.

Robin told himself for the hundredth time that he had to do this, and followed Raven into her room, door closing mechanically behind him. Somehow, it seemed wrong that nothing exploded when he crossed the threshold. Her room was messier than he would have liked, but there wasn't really anything otherworldly about it; she had books everywhere, old and weathered with papers stuffed between the pages. The overhead light was off, as he'd expected, though Raven turned on a purple lamp by her bed before sliding easily into a chair, watching him, waiting.

This was another of the mass of contradictions that overshadowed her presence, made her more than what she was, that her room was forbidden and yet still just a room. He felt the idea wrap around him as he entered, not sure whether seeing it at last made him able to see her more clearly or simply skewed his idea of her further.

He finally accepted that Raven wasn't going to say anything else, so Robin squashed an irrational urge to find out what was in some of her more unique books and made himself focus on the issue at hand. "Terra asked me something today that…just wasn't right, somehow."

"In what way?"

He shook his head. "I don't really want to say what it was, but I'm worried about her. Something's not right, it's just not." The more he thought about it, the more he wondered where the nausea and nameless fears were coming from, something that had been festering in the back of his mind ever since Terra had first joined, actually, and he just hadn't been able to put a label on the problem. Now, he still couldn't put a label on it, but it had gotten to the point where the fact that there was a problem was unmistakable—and that it was probably something big, too big to handle on his own. Robin had learned his lesson about handling things like this on his own.

Raven closed her eyes and seemed to be concentrating on something, but finally looked at him again, eyes alert and serious. "Is this on the order of what we talked about last month, after the fight with Cinderblock?"

Depends on whether or not you think that sex has anything to do with Terra plotting our gruesome deaths. "I'm not sure—I don't think so, but nothing makes any sense anymore, so I wouldn't rule it out." And if it did have something to do with the odd sense of "something's wrong" he'd been picking up ever since Terra had joined, well, Robin wasn't sure if he could handle that. The idea that she might be hiding something from all of them related to her worries about men and sex…he was afraid to think about it. Flat-out afraid. It was an undeniable truth that there was no use hiding.

"If you're not ruling it out, I think I need to know what it is," said Raven. She shook her head when he opened his mouth to protest. "And yes, I know that you aren't in the business of breaking confidence among team members, and neither am I, but this is getting out of hand, Robin, and if something happened I'd never forgive myself if I'd had the ability to stop it." She paused, staring at him as if she dared him to challenge that, then seemed to make a decision. "I'll tell you if you'll tell me."

"Tell me what?"

"Remember, after the Cinderblock fight, when I told you that I'd been picking up some emotions from her that didn't belong? Remember when I said I was going to leave it alone because I wasn't sure? I'm still not sure, but I am sure that it's not going away and it's not getting better. She feels guilty, Robin. Conflicted. Remorseful and confused and ashamed, at completely inappropriate times, and lately she's been giving me just as many headaches as you have."

"I'm sor—"

"Don't, Robin. I need to know what Terra asked you. And I also…" She readjusted her cloak with uncharacteristic nervousness. "I need to know why it bothered you. Because I think there's something bigger going on here than Terra," Raven said gently.

"No, it's Terra; I'm just worried about Terra."

Raven tapped her forehead. "This says otherwise."

He felt cold. It was what he had come here to say, when he was honest with himself, but he couldn't decide if the need to have Raven say it was okay outweighed the risk of her never speaking to him again. "You're too good at that empathy, you know," he muttered, voice dry.

"And you promised you'd talk to me," she accused.

She was right, and Robin couldn't go back on his word, so even if Raven was going to hate him forever, he had to say it. "Yeah. I did. Okay. Terra asked me if…" Robin focused on a candle on Raven's desk, unable to look her in the face. "She seemed very concerned with whether or not sex was painful, and she was so sure I would know that—" He felt himself becoming quieter with every word. "If even Terra knows, then everyone must know, and besides, I couldn't even answer her because…because…"

"Because it didn't hurt you?"

Robin stopped speaking, just stared at her, unable to move or act or breathe.

"Thought that might be the problem," said Raven. "We were going to have to have this conversation sooner or later."

"We are not having this conversation."

"And yet, we are." But the bite that usually would have been in the words was missing, and she shifted as if considering standing up, then decided against it. "Look, I…" It was one of the first times Robin could remember seeing Raven uncomfortable. She swallowed, looking down at the floor. "You don't have to explain. I know, remember?"

He blinked, took a step away from her, fully prepared to leave her room and never talk to her again because he knew that had to be what she wanted from him. "I'm so sorry, Raven—"

"No!" Her head snapped up at that, and she had to take a shaky breath before continuing desperately. "It's okay; I didn't mean it that way, just listen to me for five seconds, please!"

"Listening," he said, trying to keep the panic at a manageable level.

"Look, I know what you think. You're just about to choke me with what you think, actually." She bit her lip. "But, Robin, you have to understand. It was rape. It doesn't matter if your body enjoyed it, it was still rape—it's not your fault."

"Yes it was." Of course it was his fault, Slade was the enemy, and moreover Robin was disgusting because no one with an ounce of good in them would ever—

"No—no, it wasn't, and we can fight back and forth about this all night but it still won't be your fault. Bodies can be forced to feel things, Robin. I can't believe I even have to tell you this. Him making you—making your body enjoy it, that doesn't mean it wasn't rape—in some ways it makes it worse! And no, you're not disgusting; there is nothing about you that could ever be disgusting, okay?"

"I didn't say that out loud," he protested, trying to ignore the way Raven picked nervously at her cloak, twisting it in her hands. She looked so…unnatural. And maybe in some alternate universe where Raven actually got nervous and upset and had no idea what to do, maybe then what she was saying would be true and it really wouldn't be his fault. But this wasn't an alternate universe.

"You're not listening!"

"You're lying! I don't know why you want to even try to convince me that that's how you really feel, but it's not going to work."

Raven didn't respond for at least three seconds, cloak slipping through her fingers, forgotten. Finally, she narrowed her eyes and stood, crossing her arms over her chest as she spoke. "I'm lying? I really do think you're the foulest creature in existence and you shouldn't be alive? Fine. Okay." She stepped closer to him and Robin flinched but was able to stop himself from jerking away. "You want to know how I really feel? This is how I feel."

"What are you—"

"Don't," she said dismissively, taking his hands. "Try to relax, alright? I'm not going to hurt you."

Robin spent exactly two seconds wondering what hallucinogen Raven had been poisoned with. Then, without warning, his thoughts weren't his own anymore. In most situations, Robin always knew precisely how to categorize exactly what something was like, but this…this was so outside his normal realm of experience that he almost couldn't— Someone was…not so much thinking for him as feeling, like a sudden realization that you were the passenger in your own car and you didn't know the driver. No, no that wasn't right. It wasn't his mind. These weren't his emotions. They…it…

Raven's.

Except it wasn't, not really, because there was no way Raven could feel this way—he only had to experience the strange meld of lies for a brief moment to understand that. It was…it was just too…positive. Fear and uncertainty and oh-god-am-I-doing-the-wrong-thing, yes, but mostly unconditional respect and a fair measure of awe, coated with some kind of inadequate gratitude, debt that could never be repaid and how-can-someone-like-him-even-exist-isn't-he-ever-selfish-I-can't-even-fathom… No. No one should ever feel that way about him, no one ever could, it had to be a lie, had to. He pulled his hands away, and though he suspected that that didn't have much effect on whatever illusion Raven was projecting, she stopped of her own accord, some unreadable expression on her face.

"Are you alright?"

"Just stop lying to me, will you! I already know I'm worthless; you don't need to keep proving it to me over and over." Of course, if Raven felt like proving it to him ad nauseam, he had absolutely no right to tell her she couldn't, but…it just hurt so much to have to feel that, when he knew it couldn't be true.

For a moment, Raven looked completely shocked, not responding, almost as shocked as she'd been on the night he'd first told her about Slade. Then, she recovered and her eyes flashed with anger that was almost tangible. "That's what you think? Is that what you really think?" He took an instinctive step back, knowing full well what happened when Raven was angry. "You really just want to be miserable, don't you? I share with you in the deepest way I know how and you say it's a sham? Then enjoy your anguish, because there's nothing else I can do to convince you, and I don't care!"

She shouted the last word. Actual, raising-of-the-voice shouting. And Raven never did that. Ever. Behind her, her bookcase rattled dangerously, sending a glass statue of a dolphin (why did Raven have a dolphin statue?) crashing to the floor, shattering. Breathing fast, she clenched her hands into fists and Robin recognized the familiar look that meant she was fighting a mental overflow.

A fight that she couldn't fake.

Robin found himself wishing for Raven's powers, at least the teleportation, because phasing through the floor currently sounded like a wonderful plan. He'd been wrong, he'd been so wrong, it was real—it didn't matter how impossible it was, because it was real, and the guilt was almost unbearable but he couldn't think about that right now, he had to help Raven. "Oh god I'm sorry, Raven, please, I didn't mean it, just—" The clock on Raven's desk levitated into the air, spinning maliciously, along with a few of her heavier books. Robin wondered if she was about to hurl them at him. "I believe you, Raven, I swear, please just don't hurt yourself!"

"No, that's not—I know," she muttered clumsily, holding her forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "I know that, but calm down and stop yelling or my door's going to have a new hole."

It took him a moment to realize that his emotions were the problem, and once he did he had to bite down a wave of new panic, because how could he stop feeling? Robin gritted his teeth and forced himself not to think about the shaking bookcase and the clock and Raven's pained expression. Stop it. You convinced her. She doesn't hate you. He listened to himself breathe in and out, and when that didn't work made himself think about statistics. The estimated standard error is equal to the square root of the sample variance squared over N…

"Hey—I'm okay now."

Relief washed over him. "I'm so sorry, Raven."

She began levitating the shards of broken glass into the trash can, offering a grim smile. "What you said was thoughtless and idiotic, but I lost control. I think we're about even."

"Well, I'm sorry, anyway. Let me help with the bookcase…"

"Okay."

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Robin stacking books neatly back on the shelves and hoping there wasn't some specific order to them that he wasn't aware of, trying to make sense of what Raven had shown him, what was true, irrationally, impossibly. And he found that once he accepted the validity of her emotions, he wanted them to be true, so much that it terrified him, because really seeing that firsthand had been so…seeing that someone else, that Raven thought he was okay—better than okay, even… God, he never wanted that to go away.

"So you did mean it, didn't you?"

Raven set the black clock upright and began resetting the correct time. "I'm not even going to respond to that."

As soon as she'd answered, he realized how right she was, how ridiculous the question had been—because it was true and there could be no question of whether or not she had meant it. It was…you couldn't doubt the full sincerity of that, and if you could, it would be absolutely nonsensical to believe that words would explain what Raven's powers couldn't. "Point taken. What exactly was that, if you don't mind saying?"

"It's the other side of empathy. I don't use it often, obviously, because I'm not exactly a fan of showcasing my innermost emotions for everyone to see," Raven said. "I can project what I'm feeling just like I can sense what others are feeling. They see my emotions and nothing more; I can't fabricate them. You can understand why I was just a bit annoyed when you dismissed it."

"I know, and I'm really sorry…"

"It's fine—well, it wasn't fine, but I forgive you." She finished with the clock and turned to face him, eyes tired. "I believe that you're incredible, Robin. One day you'll believe it yourself."

And when she said it, when he thought about what her mind had felt like, he wanted to believe it, for the first time that he could recall…and almost thought that maybe it would be okay if he did. "I…umm…thank you."

"Any time, provided that you don't insult me," said Raven. Resting one hand on her desk, she returned to the original topic, almost as if it had never been interrupted. "I don't think Terra knows, Robin. I really don't. I think she's obsessed with Beast Boy and it's been on her mind, and she thinks you know everything because you're the leader, so she asked you."

"But why would I know that?"

Raven shrugged. "It's Terra. Who knows. Chalk it up to one more thing in her head that makes no sense."

Her meaningful look made him feel cold, though it was almost welcomed because at least he could worry about a problem that had nothing to do with himself. It was…almost like he could finally see something else besides the hatred and the shame and all the things he should be feeling, because someone else didn't think he had to feel them, really believed it, said he was okay. "What do you think we should do?" The words sounded more like himself than anything he'd said in months.

"Be alert, let me see if I can get a better picture of what's going on with her, and don't let her do anything stupid," said Raven.

"…You don't think she would, do you?"

"Would what?"

Fair question. Robin didn't really know what he meant, exactly. Something hung just out of reach, a piece of information that would fit everything together if he could just grasp it and figure out what to do with it, and he knew it was there but no amount of analysis would force it out of hiding. "I'm not sure. Don't think she would…anything, I guess. Anything stupid."

"I really, sincerely hope that we won't have to worry about that."

Robin did, too. He was just reasonably sure that they would.

Note to the esteemed readers: Please bear with me in the coming weeks, as I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to keep the weekly pace of updating due to real life getting in my way. Also, the next two updates will be Cognitive Dissonance only, due to differences in the timeline (CD9 and CD10 take place before BL11). CD11 and BL11 will be out at the same time. Finally, I'd like to note that I've been getting some really great, anonymous reviews that I'd love to respond to, but I can't do that if you don't provide an email address. I don't want y'all to think I'm ignoring you, so if you leave an anonymous review and you want a response, please leave an email address! Thank you very much for all your support so far! If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I love hearing from you all.