A/N: Wow what a response you guys! You must have really missed Maggie, huh? Anyway that's all from me, enjoy x

December 19, 1991

The next time Maggie woke, she half expected to see orange flames flickering behind her eyelids again, so she kept her eyes screwed shut.

But sensation trickled back all the same: dry air on her skin, stiff sheets, and the sound of mechanical beeping and far-off conversations. She remembered the echoes of fear and flashing lights and dozens of voices and hands.

Maggie felt pain waiting around the corner for her, like a monster with dead eyes and metal claws.

Her eyes snapped open and she instantly winced as the bright light in the room spiked through her retinas. She mumbled, rolling her head to the side to avoid the light, and heard hushed, urgent conversation from somewhere in the room. A door opened and closed, and footsteps hurried to the side of her bed.

Maggie opened her eyes again, more cautiously this time. The fluorescent white light filtered in, and the blurry image of a hospital room began to come into focus. She heard a soft noise to her right and slowly turned to look.

Tony stood there, staring at her with a look she had never seen before. His eyes were shot with red and his face full of shadows, his hair was all messed up, and his shirt was wrinkly and stained. He gripped the plastic rail on the side of her hospital bed with white knuckles. He looked almost like a stranger.

Tony stared down at her for a few more moments, his eyes flicking over her in her bed before they landed once more on her face. His brows drew together and his chin wobbled. "Hey, Maggot," he croaked.

Maggie absorbed information about her situation in slow drips and dribbles. Tony and Mr Jarvis were at the hospital with her, each of them damp-eyed and shaky, and her doctors and nurses streamed in and out of the room, occasionally telling her something new but mostly just running tests and telling her she was so brave, or good, or strong.

The medicine was good for pushing away the pain, like swaddling a knife in cotton wool, but it made her head fuzzy and confused. She sometimes forgot what people told her, and had to be reminded - they said that was the concussion.

The information, when she learned it, made her stomach feel like it was shriveling. Concussion. Burns. Lacerations. Extensive bruising. She could see that for herself - she saw her face in the reflection off a metal tray, once, saw the angry red gouge over her eyebrow, and could feel the bandages and plasters all over her skin. She had a horizontal purple bruise across her chest where the seatbelt had slammed into her skin, and another dark band around her upper arm where - where... her thoughts skidded away from that memory.

Nerve damage. Spinal injuries. Broken right fibula and tibia. Infection.

Maggie felt so frustrated as she heard the doctors murmur to Tony and Jarvis as if she couldn't understand. And she didn't, really; she understood all the words but she didn't know enough, hadn't learned enough, to understand what they really meant. She could certainly tell that moving was much more difficult now than it used to be - she could feel everything when the doctors poked her legs and back with a rubber-tipped tool to test sensation, but when they asked her to move her legs she could hardly do much through the pain, and what little she could do looked jerky, uncoordinated. They stopped letting her see her right leg after a little while, when it started to get red and swollen.

She needed the doctors to explain it all to her like she was a child; just a five year old child, confused and scared.

It's going to be difficult for you to walk for some time, if at all, Maggie, they told her first. We're not sure the extent of the damage. But anything can happen with a growing body. Her stomach plunged. Tony, standing silently to her left, reached out and took her hand.

A day later: We're really sorry, but the infection in your right leg has gotten too bad to manage. Do you know what amputation means, Maggie?

She knew that word.

Maggie hadn't asked for her parents since she'd woken up. And as if taking her silence as a cue, no one spoke to her about them. Tony was a silent, red-eyed ghoul in her hospital room, speaking only to discuss her health or to tell her It's going to be okay, you're going to be okay. Even though he didn't speak much, he was there, every day and every hour, and that gave Maggie a relief that no words could have.

Mr Jarvis was there too, sometimes with his wife Ana, and he filled the silence by talking about how well Maggie was healing, and the weather, and how nice the nurses at the hospital were. He was old and grey now, almost eighty, and Maggie noticed that his hands never stopped shaking.

Rhodey visited a few times, bringing Tony food and fresh clothes and trying to talk to Maggie like he used to: upbeat, friendly. But it felt too much like pretending, especially when she noticed the way he looked at her when he thought she couldn't see.

Maggie's battered and broken body had become the single source of conversation and attention around her. It was easier to push away the memory of how she'd gotten these injuries, to instead think about how they were going to heal. Even not having Mom and Dad there was easy enough to forget about - she'd gone days without seeing them before.

But then, two days before her surgery, some of the nice nurses put Maggie in a wheelchair so she could go outside for a few minutes to get some fresh air. It hurt, but Maggie didn't tell them. She wanted to get out of the room. They didn't see many people as the nurses rolled Maggie through the hospital, but the few who did stared at her before their faces flashed with shock and pity.

Maggie was able to ignore this until they brought her back to her hospital room, and on the way past the nurse's station her eyes skimmed over a newspaper beside a stack of clipboards. Dad's face in black and white stared back at her, jerking her attention back to the paper and to the headline above his picture:

HOWARD AND MARIA STARK DIE IN CAR ACCIDENT ON LONG ISLAND
MARGARET STARK, 5, ONLY SURVIVOR

Maggie's breath got stuck in her chest. The nurses had already rolled her wheelchair past the nurse's station and into her hospital room, talking about the weather, but Maggie had frozen up where she sat swaddled in her blankets. She tried to draw in a breath, but her lungs seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. The blood rushed from her face, and when she reached up to her throat her hand was shaking.

The nurses realized something was wrong when Maggie managed to draw in a sharp, short breath that came more like a gasp, and then began hyperventilating: she gasped for breath, fought for it, but her lungs felt as small as deflated balloons.

"Maggie? Maggie, try to breathe for me," the nurses called, but they sounded so far away. She kept gasping for air that didn't come, and her vision narrowed to a pinpoint. Someone lifted her and put her back in bed, and there were people shouting now. She lurched sideways, making pain zing from her right leg up to the base of her neck, and vomited on the floor. Her whole body shook uncontrollably, and when someone slammed an oxygen mask over her face she saw her breath come foggy and staccatoed on the inside of the plastic.

There was no more running from the memories. Flashes of firelight glinting off silver metal and blood smeared on the road and dead eyes filled her pin-pricking vision and flooded her body with fear.

When the familiar heavy press of the medicine washed over her and closed her eyes, Maggie slipped under with relief.

Tony sat by Maggie's bed in the stiff-backed hospital chair, his chin on his hand and his brow heavy as he watched his sister. They'd put her back under the morphine an hour ago, while he was out discussing funeral arrangements. It was looking like Maggie wouldn't be able to come to the funeral - she was still too sick, especially with her surgery coming up, and the world wanted to celebrate the life of Howard Stark - they wouldn't wait for one little girl.

He'd come back to the nurses telling him Maggie had had some kind of panic attack. They seemed confused about what had set it off. Tony told them that he could think of a few reasons, and they left him alone after that.

Maggie looked so small in her bed. She'd always been small in his eyes, but seeing her like this, swamped by her hospital sheets with wires and tubes trailing from her elbows and the mask over her face… she looked tiny. And broken. When he'd first seen her, in the early hours of the morning after the accident, he'd stumbled back and bumped into one of the bustling nurses.

She only looked a little better today than she had then: the bruises still lay dark and ugly on her skin, the gash over her eyebrow had scabbed over, and they'd shaved part of her hair off to treat glass lacerations on her scalp. Her skinny arms were bruised and scraped up, and yellow from all the antibacterial swabs they kept giving her. And under the sheets, he knew the story was worse. Her shattered, wounded, and infected leg, soon to be removed below the knee, swaddled in bandages, and the invisible nerve damage in her spine.

Tony let out a shuddering breath and dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, Maggie," he said into the silence of the hospital room. His only reply was the soft beeping of Maggie's heart monitor.

His last words to mom and dad had been angry, bitter ones. If he'd acted differently then, held his tongue, might that car never have lost control and plunged into a tree? Would mom and dad still be around? Would Maggie be… be whole again?

Because he knew this was worse than the physical damage. Maggie had changed. The talkative, irritating, curious Maggie was gone. She'd barely spoken since she woke up. And when the drugs weren't leaving her droopy-eyed and mumbling, her eyes seemed to drown in fear.

He couldn't believe he used to feel even an ounce of jealousy for her. For what? Being smart? Because their parents had been proud of her?

The door opened quietly, letting in Jarvis. He'd been running all over New York ever since the accident, handling all the administration and legal stuff that Tony hadn't had the strength to do. Tony knew it wasn't fair: Jarvis was an old man, had been more or less retired before the accident. But Tony didn't have anyone else. Well, he had Rhodey, but Rhodey didn't know how to handle a nightmare like this.

Jarvis cast an eye over Maggie as she slept, then circled the bed to come lay a hand on Tony's shoulder. "She'll be alright, Master Stark," he murmured, in that firm and reassuring tone. "She will."

"Yeah, after they chop half her leg off."

Jarvis drew in a long breath. "She's young. She'll do a far sight better than you or I would, if we lost our leg. As long as we're there for her."

Jarvis's tone was resolute, but Tony sensed the question there.

"I'll be here," Tony muttered. "I'm staying."

Jarvis's grip tightened incrementally on his shoulder, before letting go. "The police still want to speak to her before the surgery. To close the matter."

Tony grit his teeth. "Do they really have to? It's pretty clear she doesn't want to talk about it."

"She can say as much or as little as she likes. They just need an interview."

Tony's head dropped again. He heard, very faintly, the sound of Maggie's breaths against her oxygen mask. "Fine."

December 21, 1991

"Hello, Maggie," said the police officer with the dark hair and broad chin the next day, smiling at Maggie, who sat in her bed propped up by some pillows. "My name is Officer Williamson, and this is Officer Cooper." He gestured to the blonde man to his right, who had a notebook on his knee. They both wore black uniforms with silver badges on their chests. "We hear you're healing up, that's excellent."

Maggie didn't say anything. Her surgery was scheduled for tomorrow.

Tony, sitting beside Jarvis on the other side of the bed, shifted restlessly and muttered under his breath.

Officer Cooper looked up. "You don't have to be here if you'd prefer not to be, Mr Stark, Mr Jarvis."

"I'm not leaving," Tony said, in a sullen voice that Maggie was used to him using with - with dad.

Cooper and Williamson turned back to Maggie.

"We're really sorry about your parents, Maggie," said Williamson with a furrowed brow. "And we're sorry, but we're going to have to ask you about that night, for a witness statement. Do you understand?"

Maggie nodded, but she could already feel the tell-tale symptoms of fear spiking in her chest. She forced herself to take long breaths, like the nurses had told her after she woke up from her panic attack. She wondered where all that glittering anger had gone.

"Okay," Williamson smiled. "In your own time, tell us what you remember."

Maggie felt her jaw lock up as if someone had frozen the muscles in her face. Her eyes went wide.

"I know this must be difficult, and I know your doctors told us you might not be able to remember much." Williamson said gently. Whenever Maggie's thoughts turned back to that night, her memories did feel disjointed and blurry. But some things were as clear as if they'd been frozen in time. "How about we walk you through it?"

Before she could answer, Cooper said: "So, the car lost control and crashed into a tree. Do you remember that?"

Maggie swallowed, and nodded.

"A fire started," Cooper continued. Maggie nodded again. "That must have been really scary. You got out of the car?"

"I got out," she whispered. She clenched her fists, feeling the bite of gravel in her palms. Hearing gravel crunching under footsteps that were not her own.

"And your parents were…" Cooper took a breath, and said gently: "They were already gone, weren't they?"

On the other side of the bed Tony tensed up. Maggie did not nod. She could see them: Dad's face, all messed up. Mom, not making any noise.

"So you got out, and you started crawling-"

"There was a man," Maggie breathed.

As if finally speaking about him had conjured him, she could see the metal-armed man: his eyes fixed straight ahead and his face blank as he dragged her along the road. She reached up to touch her arm.

The police officers shared a glance, and Tony and Jarvis frowned.

Williamson cleared his throat. "Yes, a man and a woman found you on the road, Maggie. They brought you to hospital-"

She shook her head tightly, her whole body rigid. "There was a man at the car."

"Okay…" Williamson said. "Can you describe him?"

Maggie's mouth opened and closed. "I - he… he was wearing black. All over. He had a metal arm, and-"

Williamson and Cooper were both frowning now. "Can you… describe his face?"

"Empty," she whispered. She felt flames flickering against her skin.

"Hair color?"

"Dark."

"His eye color?"

Maggie shuddered as panic crawled up her spine. She could hardly speak or breathe past the tightness in her throat, reminding her of yesterday. She fisted her hands in the hospital sheets and forced herself to breathe through her nose. "His eyes were dead."

His face had become a monstrous pit in her memory, shifting like ice bathed in flames.

Cooper leaned forward a little. "Maggie, this man you say you saw… who did he look like? Did he look like someone you know? Maybe… your father?"

She shook her head again. "He doesn't look like anyone."

Tony and Jarvis were staring at her. Cooper cocked his head. "And… what did this man do?"

"I…" she furrowed her brow, trying to sort through her blurry, pain-riddled memories. "I didn't… didn't see it all. But I think he made us crash. He hurt… he hurt mom." Tony's eyes closed, and when she glanced over at him she saw his face utterly wracked with pain.

"Did he do anything to your dad, Maggie?" asked Williamson.

"I didn't see. His face…" Horror swelled in her throat, blocking words, and she gasped for breath.

"Maggie," came a voice, but it sounded like they were speaking from the top of a well and she was down in the depths, enclosed in icy blackness, too tight to breathe or see. She could hear machines beeping and Tony's far off voice, and then a warm hand landed on her chest, shocking her into drawing a huge, gasping breath. She scrabbled at the hand on her chest, recognising Tony's callused fingers, and a moment later the fuzzy grey spots in her vision cleared.

Everyone in the room was standing, Tony with one hand on Maggie's chest and the other by her head, his eyes wide and desperate, Jarvis standing back with his hand stretched out, and the two police officers hovering over her, their notes forgotten. The door burst open and two nurses rushed in.

"She started having trouble breathing again," Tony told them, his voice shaking, "I don't-"

The nurses hurried to Maggie's side and started fussing with the oxygen mask, but she was already forcing herself into long, deep breaths.

"How are you feeling?" they asked her.

"I'm okay now," she whispered. "Just got scared."

They stopped trying to fit the oxygen mask. They asked a few more questions, then tried to get the police officers to leave - it's easier if we just finish this now, said Cooper, and then they left the room again.

Everyone was back in their seats, even Tony, though he looked poised to launch up and help Maggie again if she needed it.

Cooper set down his notepad. "Maggie, are you sure there was a man with you at that car?"

Maggie nodded, trying not to think too hard about her memories to avoid getting scared again. "Yes. I saw him. He grabbed me, he tried to take me away."

"And then he left you there?"

She nodded.

"Why?" asked Mr Jarvis, weakly, and Officer Williamson shot him a warning look.

"I don't know," Maggie answered. "He just left."

Williamson and Cooper looked at her with expressions like she'd seen on everyone else in the hospital: pity. Cooper closed his notepad, and they shared a glance.

Williamson nodded, once, then turned back to Maggie. "Thank you for helping us, Maggie. We're really sorry for what you went through. And we hope you get better soon."

And with that, they left. Tony and Jarvis followed them out of the room, shooting glances back at Maggie in her bed. The door shut with a click.

Maggie fisted her hands in the hospital sheets and glared at her legs. She demanded them to move. Her left foot jerked and pain lanced up into her spine. Her right leg ached, bone-deep and feverish.

She heard muffled voices from the other side of the door, and strained to hear. Sometimes she could hear the nurses chatting at their station, if they were talking loud enough.

"We see this sometimes…" she heard. "Children inventing physical villains to blame."

A lower voice, inaudible, followed by:

"Yes, amalgamations of things they can understand, to help them process. Mixed with the head trauma and medication, this is probably…"

Maggie grit her teeth and glared up at the ceiling. There's that anger.

When Tony came back in, looking years older, he shut the door behind him with a sigh. When he turned he saw the determined stare Maggie had pinned him with.

"What, Maggot?"

"They don't believe me, do they?"

Tony sighed again and dropped into the seat next to her. "No. I'm sorry, Mags, but you know… your head got hurt, and I'm sure you were scared, and in pain." He dropped his head into his hands. "Sometimes there's no one to blame."

Maggie glared at him. "But I saw him! I spoke to him!"

Tony's head rose. "You spoke to him? What did you say?"

Her hands curled into fists. "I asked him why he was doing this, and he said I was his mission. Then he dropped me. And I told him he was my mission." The words felt hot in her stomach, her throat, like she'd swallowed lava.

Tony eyed her for a long moment. His dark eyes gleamed with tears. "You're angry," he said.

Her eyes burned. "Someone killed mom and dad!" Her words went high and twisty at the end, and she hated herself for sounding like a scared little girl. She wished, for a moment, that she could be as calm and imposing as the metal-armed man. She saw the way Tony watched her, with sadness. "You don't believe me either, do you?"

Tony sighed. "I don't know what to believe, Maggie." His eyes flicked over her, as if cataloguing her injuries. "But for now, you… you've gotta get better. Let's get you better."

December 22, 1991

While Maggie was under general anaesthetic having her lower leg removed, Tony sat on a lawn chair at the Woodlawn Cemetery watching his parent's coffins being lowered into the ground.

He'd fought against the timing, but the funeral was set and the doctors wouldn't reschedule the surgery. You won't need to be there until after, they'd told him. You'd only be waiting.

It wasn't like he was doing anything here either, though. Rhodey sat by his side, and they both watched as family friends, politicians, veterans and scientists gave eulogies. The New York Choral Society sang a hymn. Obadiah talked about Stark Industries, and dad's legacy. Jarvis spoke about his fifty-year relationship with 'Mr Stark', about how he'd met Maria and about the course of their relationship, and then:

"Mr and Mrs Stark brought into this world two of the best, and brightest children I have ever known," Jarvis said, his voice shaking. His frail fingers tightened on the sides of the flower-adorned lectern. "Of all their accomplishments and accolades, nothing can stand close to the lives of Tony, and - and Maggie." Tony saw Jarvis's face go ashen. "This loss for them is… incomparable. But I know that they will grow to be wonderful, brilliant people, no matter where they go in life. I - they…" abruptly, Jarvis broke down in sobs. He trembled like a stalk of grass in a hurricane, and moments later Ana hurried up to the podium and led him away.

Tony didn't move. He stared at the two simple gravestones in the grass. At least we're not burying her, too.

Though with the state Maggie was in, who knew how long it would be until he was back here again?

He didn't hear the rest of the service, until the celebrant invited the attendees to stand and walk about, maybe lay flowers on the grave. There were going to be public mourning events throughout the city for the rest of the day.

Tony stood, turned, and walked back to the carpark. Rhodey followed him silently.

When Maggie woke up missing a part of herself, she didn't know what to feel. It wasn't like she'd be walking around anyway, even if she still had her whole leg, since her nerve damage was too bad. She threw up from the anaesthetic in the recovery room, and spent the next few days in a haze of medication and pain again. They kept the leg in bandages, but they let her see it when she was well enough to lift her head. It looked funny, seeing her shortened, bandage-swaddled leg beside her whole (if slightly damaged) one. Like an optical illusion.

Tony came back and told her about the funeral. Maggie hadn't really wanted to go, anyway. She didn't like the idea of mom and dad being put in the ground.

She tried to tell the police about the metal-armed man again, when the two officers returned to give Tony some things they'd recovered from the car fire: mom and dad's wedding rings, dad's pager, some tools that had been in the trunk. But even as Maggie tried her best to insist they listen to her, she could see they didn't believe her. They thought her smart brain had cooked up a way to make this make sense.

But it didn't make any sense, didn't they see? Why wasn't anyone looking?

As the physiotherapists started to get her moving with some gentle leg exercises in her bed, and fitted her for a long-term wheelchair, Maggie turned to Jarvis and tried to convince him to believe her about the metal-armed man. But she started to feel bad about the raw grief she saw on his face every time she brought it up.

Visitors started to filter through her hospital room: some of her nannies, dad's colleagues (who seemed stiff and uncomfortable), Obie, even Aunt Peggy who Maggie had only seen a few times before.

Aunt Peggy was the only one who asked her about the car crash, her eyes shrewd and her voice gentle. Maggie wished her head was clearer, but she was on a lot of medication after the surgery. Besides, she didn't see what help an old woman could be, anyway. Aunt Peggy kissed her forehead and left her a SNES console as a present.

Maggie kept trying to talk to Tony about it, but as her hospital release date drew near he'd gone down an obsessive route of prosthetic research and design. He wanted some way to fix her. He didn't want to entertain ideas of monsters in the darkness.

So the metal-armed man became Maggie's personal demon, haunting the dark corners of her room. He waited for her in her nightmares, always appearing in a flash of metal and flickering flames.

A day before she was supposed to be released from hospital, over a month after the car crash, Maggie mentioned the metal-armed man for the last time. It was just a passing mention to Tony, hoping he would at least acknowledge her. He'd been sitting in his usual chair in her hospital room, sketching blueprints.

Maggie had kept her voice steady as she said: "The man from the car, I think I know what kind of motorbike he drove."

Tony pretended he hadn't heard her.

Maggie pressed her lips together and swallowed any further words. After that day, she never mentioned the man again.

The others thought she had seen the errors of her hallucination, that she'd given it up. But deep in her core sat the memory of dead eyes and a gravelly voice, a vice-like grip on her arm and the silhouettes of her burning parents. The memory burned inside her very identity, a smoldering ember, fueled by her own voice whispering into the darkness:

You're my mission now.

Peggy Carter, soon to be the ex-director of S.H.I.E.L.D., called her number two after her visit to the St Mary's Hospital for Children.

"Pierce."

"It's Carter," she murmured, settling back in her carseat. "I've just come from the hospital. I followed up on what Mr Jarvis mentioned."

"And?"

Peggy sighed. "I don't know. She mentioned there being a man who hurt her parents, but the way she described him… he sounds like a ghost. She's hurt, and terrified, and confused."

"Naturally."

"But we've no way of checking what she says, do we? There's no footage available from the camera at the site of the crash, we have no idea what Howard was working on at the time, and the police are satisfied that it was an accident. I just… I don't know what to do, here." She closed her eyes. She was too old for this. She missed her friend. The images of Howard's children - the battered, withered Maggie and Tony's haggard face at the funeral - were burned in her mind.

Pierce let out a crackly sigh. "I really am sorry for your loss, Director Carter. I'd say the best we can do is flag the file with a query assassination, but other than that…"

"I know," she replied, nodding to herself. "The word of a traumatized five year old isn't enough to base an investigation on." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "But I'm terrified I'm making the wrong call. I'm… I'm too close to this. What do you think?"

There was a long pause on the line.

"Alexander?"

"I think we have to let this go," he eventually said, his voice low and gentle. "And maybe you might think about taking some personal leave. Visit the grandkids."

Peggy smiled sadly. "I haven't taken a holiday in ten years, Alexander."

"This isn't a holiday."

Peggy closed her eyes.

Officer Williamson stood out the back of the police precinct, a cheap phone pressed against his ear. "Yes," he said into the receiver, listening carefully. "Yes, there's been no alarm raised. The girl appears to have some memory of the night, but the story about head trauma and imagination seems to have been sold across the board. Doctors have even put the memory issues in her file. And last I heard from the plant at the hospital she'd stopped talking about it, so I don't think we need to worry about suppression."

He paused. "The girl? No, they don't know if she'll walk again. Mission failure, I'm afraid."

He paused again, nodding to himself. "Thank you sir. Hail HYDRA."

January 20, 1992
Siberia

Five thousand miles away, in a concrete bunker hidden beneath the frozen tundra, the Winter Soldier's screams echoed in a missle silo. The ice was still melting from his bones, and lightning scorched behind his eyes.

His handler watched dispassionately, until the scientists gave him a nod.

"Zhelaniye." [Longing] The Soldier's body shuddered as the metal plates of the Memory Suppression Machine unclamped from his face. "Rzhavyy. Semnadstat'. Rassvet." [Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak.] The Soldier's face contorted as he heard the words - it was always this way with the first few, as if the words made him physically recoil.

"Pech'. Devyat'. Dovroserdechnyy." [Furnace. Nine. Benign] The Soldier's harsh breathing calmed. "Vozvrashcheniye na rodinu. Odin." [Homecoming. One] A familiar blankness flooded over the Soldier's gaze. "Gruzovoy vagon." [Freight car].

The handler waited a few moments, until the Soldier was utterly still. "Dobroye utro, Soldat." [Good morning, Soldier].

The Soldier's expression did not change. A steady, reliable weapon. The handler felt certain that whatever failures had occurred on his last mission, they would not be repeated. The Soldier looked into his handler's face.

"Ya gotov otvechat'." [Ready to comply]

Until next week! Also for my Spanish-speaking readers, the lovely Tanza_Chan313 on Wattpad has done a Spanish translation of the Wyvern.

Reviews

MyCelestialFury: Thanks for your patience as I took a million years to get around to writing this story! I'm so excited to share it with you guys :)

Ashleythomp: Thank you! I'm super excited to start posting this :)

Guest: I am indeed back! Shady in name and deed ;)