I really screwed this up.

Beth doesn't even consider sleep as an option tonight. Not after what happened. Not after what she did to herself. And to Daryl. Besides, there's still work to do.

While Daryl stays on his knees, surrounded by the finally quiet dead, Beth drags her mother and brother away from the mangled bodies of her friends and neighbors. Their decaying flesh feels more delicate when the muscles aren't tense and wild to grab at her. She pulls the arrows from her mother, each one sickeningly squelching as she plucks them, ripping further through the flesh and tissue. "Sorry," she doesn't even mean to say it, but the word trembles out of her like a whimper.

Gathering her arrows, she tries to breath normally, fights back any urge to cry again. It's over. It was already over for her, so why does it feel like she just lost them all over again? Daryl won't look at the little corpse of the girl. As much as it stung her when he told her to stay away from him, she can empathize, and at the moment at least, being alone might not be such a bad idea for either of them.

But that's not an option either. He needs to get Rick and Shane and they need to talk to her daddy, and she needs to stay with the dead.

For several minutes, she can't bring herself to hardly move, besides little shuffling steps as she sorts through her arrows and Daryl's bolts. Finally she sways, nervous as she approaches Daryl on his knees, taking on the same caution she's accustomed to using when coming near to an unfamiliar horse. Gently she lets the feathers on the end of one of his bolts brush against his shoulder, it draws a soft line in the sweat and dirt. Heat rolls off his flesh, he's just as keyed up as she is, but he trembles slightly, even at this slight touch. "I'll wash them and get them ready to be buried on my own."

He takes his time to turn his head and make eye-contact with the bolts she's holding loosely beside his arm. He snatches them away from her and rises up to his feet in a swift, fluid motion that puts him right in her face, towering over her, keen eyes fierce and iridescent in the dark, though his voice betrays no emotion other than anger, "It doesn't matter. They're dead."

"It does matter," but her voice breaks trying to hold her own, for just a moment she's too tired. She closes her eyes, swallows and faces him, just about closing the distance between them as she jabs her nose right towards him. "They were people we loved."

"Not me! She wasn't mine. She was nothin' to me," Daryl growls back at her viciously, but he still can't even turn his head to glance at her, his jaw is throbbing as he grinds his teeth.

"That's a damn lie and you know it," Beth hisses back at him. "I'm cleaning the dead. We're going to bury them and have a funeral because that's what people do. When they can." Her voice crackles again, remembering her father in another life, his desecrated body left to rot amongst a horde of the dead.

Not this time. None of it. None of the horror. She pushes the thought from her mind, rejecting the threat of that other life.

Daryl doesn't seem to have anything more to say, but he isn't running off yet. He seems rooted in place, except she realizes he's leaning back as far as he can to make space between them, looking out at her through a heavy, lowered brow.

"No sense waiting now," her voice shakes, "Might as well go get Rick. Get Shane. Wake up daddy. Make him understand."

"Understand that they're walking corpses?" Daryl snorts, still furious, but trys hard to put on his usual flippant air, though his clenched fists and the snarl in the back of his throat give away just how funny he doesn't find anything at the moment. "If he can't see that for himself, he's a damn fool."

"I want you to quit bein' nasty," Beth says between her teeth. She'd forgotten how hostile Daryl used to be, back when they first met, she'd hardly talked to him, except when they didn't have a choice. She hadn't really gotten to know him until they had to flee from the farm and spend the winter on the road, before they made it to the prison. By then, he seemed to have managed to work through some of his anger. He liked being helpful. He liked protecting people. He was good at it. Before that time though, she did remember he had what her dad might describe as 'an attitude problem.' "He believes what he wants to believe. The world went to absolutely shit," she shakes her head, looking around the barn at the bodies again for an unnecessary reminder, "we all deal with it differently. Denial. Rage. Bein' a total jackass."

His lip curls and she immediately feels bad, because he isn't yelling anymore. She is. He looks exhausted. As angry as he is, he's like her right now. She needs to remember that. They feel the same way. Like absolute shit.

"I'm sorry," her shoulders slump a little as she tries to backtrack. She needs his help right now, and he needs hers, whether he realizes it or not. It's probably not a good time to call him out for having a chip on his shoulder. That won't fix anything. Besides, he doesn't need to be fixed, not until he wants to. It happened last time, all on its own, because he wanted to change. She can't force that. She just has to remember that the capacity for change is inside of him.

His brow rises slightly as he looks at her, eyes suddenly searching, for just an instant, before he seems to slip back into enraged stoicism.

"I just want this to be over." Says Beth in a hush, an inaudible sigh escaped between her teeth, "It can't be over until daddy understands."

"It ain't ever gonna be over," Daryl corrects her in a mutter.

She wanted to tell him she knew. She knew what he meant. This was the world now, until the end. They rest of their life would be a fight. She wanted to tell him that it was alright, or that it could be alright. They could be.

He sniffs, one hand violently rubbing at his chin as he turns away from her, ready to stalk off.

It wouldn't matter if she did say any of that right now. He wouldn't believe her. He isn't ready. "Please, Daryl."

Just as he reaches the ladder, he stops, turns his head just a little, so she could see the silhouette of his profile, but he doesn't look back at her. "Yeah. Got it."

She watches him go, still feeling like it wasn't enough. You've got plenty of time. Don't be impatient. He wants you to leave him alone right now. It's okay. But it isn't. It makes her heart break all over again as his words came back to her.

As red and orange light begins to trickle in through the wooden planks of the barn wall, Beth does her best to clean the dirt, and congealed blood from their faces, using the shredded remains of their ragged clothing to cover the more gruesome wounds that could reasonably be disguised. Her back aches and she feels raw and weak by the time she's finished. The sun was up. It was time to break the lock off the door so that the bodies could be taken out of the barn.

Outside, the day glares at her, accusingly bright, reminding her she hasn't slept a single minute, and that she spent all of the dark working on this secret. It was a task that needed to be done, and she'd wanted to do it well. But it only took a moment to work out that there was no good way, there was just the quick way. The quiet way. The way where she was the only one who got hurt.

Except then I had to go and drag Daryl into it.

She breaks the lock off the door and tosses the bolt cutters and the rattling chain aside. She has every intention of sitting cross-legged in the dirt until her father showed up. He'd have to show up. He'd have to deal with her. She was surprised that Rick, Daryl and Shane had managed to keep him occupied this long.

When footsteps finally did approach her, it wasn't her father who'd come.

Beth took one look at Maggie's tear-streaked face and understood that somehow, Maggie knew. Her older sister looked between the slightly open doors of the barn and her sister, mouth open a little, green eyes feral.

"I was just trying to remember some of the songs mama used to sing to me when I was restless at night, not sleeping," Beth confessed, "She only sang to you real quiet, after you were asleep."

"I was just pretending to sleep." Maggie's voice is raw, like she's been screaming.

Over the course of a few minutes, Maggie slowly makes her way to where Beth is planted on the ground with a rounded back and sleep-deprived, drooping gaze. Maggie tucks her feet under herself and sits beside her, staring at the barn. "Beth, what've you done?" the question comes out as little more than breath and a slight whine.

Realizing that Maggie is still shaking, still crying softly, Beth reaches out tentatively and when Maggie accepts one palm on her back, Beth curls in to hang off of her, feeling the tiny tremors course through her as she weeps.

"They're dead, Maggie. The walkers aren't sick people. They're dead. They can't come back. I couldn't let any of them stay like that." Convincing Maggie was never going to be as hard, Beth realized that almost immediately. Maggie is more ready than any of them. After the incident with the well the day before, Beth knows Maggie gets it well enough that this isn't just a severe case of rabies, but it's still got to be difficult to say goodbye. "You wouldn't want to be stuck like that, would you? I'd never want it. If I get ever get bit and I turn, you put me down. That's how it's gotta work now."

"But this." Maggie pulls away from her, shaking her head and leaning back far enough that she can get a good look at her little sister. "That was mom and Shawn. You killed them."

"I put them down."

Maggie's disbelief only seems to grow at that, shaking her head she looks back at the barn, recoiling slightly.

"It was the best way to do it. Quiet. Before anybody panics. You and daddy didn't have to see."

"But what about you?"

"I'll be alright," Beth says, and it's as if saying it casts a kind of spell and makes it real. She can do this. "You'll be alright too. And daddy."

Maggie looks doubtful at that, she rubs fiercely at the tear tracks under her eyes and swallows hard before she says, "I hope you're right. I only overheard a little. Rick and Daryl went into daddy's study. I heard Daryl say something about the barn… I didn't even stick 'round long enough to hear anymore. As soon as he mentioned the barn, I knew it must've been you who told 'em."

Beth furrows her brow at that, staring at Maggie. "You knew it was me?"

"You've been so weird these last few days," Maggie doesn't look at her directly, "And you were all covered in… Daddy didn't wanna see it, but you must've killed a ton of them in order to get outta there alive."

The day before, her father had pulled her aside to talk to her about going off alone to get the supplies. He hadn't wanted to believe it, he kept trying to downplay what she'd done. She'd heard it in his voice. It made her angry. It's one of her dad's coping mechanisms. He can't see her as anything but a sweet little girl who needs his protection, anything that doesn't fit in with that story in his mind would immediately be rejected, even when the evidence is standing right in front of him, dripping in walker guts. "Daddy will come around," Beth says firmly, "He'll understand. Rick and Daryl and Shane—"

Maggie cut her off with an abrupt and passionless, "Shane's gone."

It took Beth a good three seconds to be sure that Maggie had really said it. "Gone? What do you mean, gone?" Gone can be anything.

"He took off in the night, with Andrea."

Whipping her head around to look at the top of the RV, Beth realizes that the shape she'd thought was Shane on watch was actually just a shadowy collection of blankets and hat hanging off the chair next to a foolishly unmanned shotgun. "Took off, like, on a run?" she asks hopefully, because it doesn't make sense. Why would Shane and Andrea run away together? What had been different this time?

"No, like, gone," Maggie brushes the tears out from under her eyes fiercely and gives a shrug, "Glenn says he's not surprised. Andrea's been in a bad place since she lost her sister and Shane's been a little strange ever since Rick turned up. They don't wanna be a part of the group."

Our group. Beth's feels a sudden weight pushing her towards the dirt. "I gotta fix this," she murmurs, starting to head towards the RV and the camp Rick and the others put together.

"Beth—what?" Maggie appears beside her, "It's rough for them, I get that, but it ain't our affair and the other's will probably be gone as soon as Carl is well enough anyway—"

"No, they won't," Beth says sharply and she doesn't have time to hold her tongue or to try and come up with a clever way to work around Maggie's argument.

For whatever reason Maggie doesn't answer back to her, which makes Beth feel worse. They've both got to be pretty emotionally raw right now, if they're even past bantering for the hell of it, then they're in bad territory indeed.

T-Dog, Carol, Lori, Glenn and Dale are all up and standing together on the other side of the RV, each one looking as grave as Beth has ever seen them, in either life. They haven't mastered how to be hard and stoic yet, how to make it look like it doesn't bother them.

"Beth, Maggie, what is going on?" T-Dog is the first to notice them.

Dale looks particularly stricken, but if his mind is on his missing friends he tries to hide it by indicating the house with a wide glance and one tired hand. "Daryl has quite the temper, but I've never seen him like that."

"Daryl came and got Rick before the crack of dawn this morning and took him up to the house to speak with your father—when I tried to get…" Lori trails off, eyes darting between the sisters.

Oh no. Carol.

Looking at her, it's clear she doesn't know yet. Daryl didn't say anything to her. Beth finds that she isn't she sure can say anything either. It's got to happen, but not now and not like this. Tender. Soft. Bring her into this horror gently. It sounded insane when she thought about it like that. How was it even possible to be anything but brutal in these times?

"It's complicated," Maggie manages to croak. Her puffy eyes and shaking voice must provoke just the right amount of sympathy, because although both Dale and Lori look like they want to demand answers, their faces soften.

"Y'alright?" T-Dog's brow wrinkles in concern, and though something in his eyes says that he's still itching for answers, his shoulders relax a little, like he realizes that this might somehow be harder for the sisters than it is for the rest of them.

"We'll explain it all. It's over, that's the main thing," says Beth. It ain't ever really over. Daryl's harsh—but utterly true—words come back to her like a shot to the gut. She can't help but look at Carol again. "We can't lose Andrea and Shane. We gotta find 'em and get them to come back."

Everyone but Maggie looks shocked to hear her say it. Maggie only looks possibly more exhausted and depressed than she already did.

"Well—yeah, I agree!" says Dale, "But—" he stutters over his objection, face getting redder, until T-Dog cuts him off.

"We can't stop it," T-Dog shrugs, frowning at her, "We can't force them to stick around if they ain't willing to be a part of this. Gotta let them go."

"I don't mean drag them back in Shane's handcuffs—I mean talk to them. Dale, you could reason with Andrea, don't you think?" Beth asks hopefully. "If we could find them. Find out what the problem is—because—" Beth stutters over her own explanation for a moment too, as Lori's face goes pink. "We need people. All of us. We gotta stick together, that's how it works now." Oh hell, they're all looking at me like I'm crazy. Her heart sinks. It's only been two days. They aren't her family yet. They don't know her. They don't know this world. They don't know. "There are people. They're close. They might be a threat—hopefully not, but, you can't just go off on your own like that. Somethin' could happen to them!" Like one of them could end up kidnapped and forced into servitude by crazy cops.

For whatever reason T-Dog decides to help her out, even after a quick glance around at the group that must tell him that no one else is buying this. "You really think something bad could happen to them, out on the road, by themselves?"

"Don't you?" Beth holds out her hands, palms up, ready to start begging. "I'll go on my own, if I have to, but that's a fast way to get yourself hurt."

"Beth—I ain't gonna let you—" Maggie shaking her head.

"No," Beth anticipates what Maggie's going to say, but it shouldn't be her who goes. "Daddy's gonna need you." And he won't wanna talk to me. But she has to acknowledge in the same thought that it might be more accurate the other way around. She isn't sure she can face him right away. "I'm going. Are any of you coming with me?"

Dale nods almost immediately, looking grim, "I can't promise anything. Andrea doesn't listen to me much these days."

"I'll come too," T-Dog follows almost immediately.

Glenn looks like he's about to volunteer as well, but his mouth closes the second Beth meets his eyes. She cocks her head towards Maggie and he gives her a small, almost imperceptible nod, though his brow furrows a little, like he is somewhat doubting the silent message he received from her. They aren't very good at this yet, but all the same, Maggie will need a shoulder of support. Her dad and the rest of his people will be grieving.

"Alright, let's go quick. Hopefully we'll be able to catch them before they hit any roads where they've actually got real options…" every second they stand here lets Andrea and Shane get further away.

T-Dog heads for the truck at a jog, already fishing in his pocket for the keys. By the time Dale grabs a couple of guns T-Dog has brought the truck around.

Before Beth climbs inside, she pulls Maggie away from the others. "Listen, one of the walkers in the barn was Sophia. I think Lori would probably be the best person to tell Carol, and—and help her." Beth watches Maggie's face contort even more with grief as she speaks. Nope. It was never going to be easy, any way it happened. "She might wanna see her. She might not. I tried to clean her up as best I could and make her look peaceful."


For a few minutes of half-marching, half-sleepwalking, Daryl manages to get through his task without speaking more than a few sentences. He hates how he feels compelled to follow through for that girl after what had happened, after she'd sucker-punched him with Sophia like that. How long did she know Sophia was in there?

"Daryl?" Dale pokes his head out of his tent as Daryl strides past.

He must be making more noise than he realized. Dale looks like he's about to start talkin', sticking his nose in where it don't belong. "Stay out of it," Daryl grumbles, warning him with a sideways look. He can't see the man's blurry reaction in the dark but the old man goes quiet.

Daryl futilely thinks about trying to wake Rick up and get him out of his tent without disturbing Lori, but he's already being louder than he meant to. Stealth comes easily to him in the dark, except, apparently, after he's just taken a few too many hits. "Rick. We gotta talk to Hershel." He kicks the man's boot. Lori wakes up first.

"Daryl? What's going on?" Lori rubs tenderly at Rick's shoulder to wake him up. Even if it takes a minute to work, once Rick is awake his eyes are snap open, and he's fully alert. He immediately starts to stand up.

"Is it Carl?" Lori presses him when he ignores her first question.

"Get up." Growls Daryl, impatient. He can see that Rick's moving as fast as he can.

"Daryl," Lori is getting mad now at being ignored, "What's the problem?!"

Daryl leaves the tent, the paper in his pocket burns. One disaster at a time. But he oughta give it to someone. Andrea and Shane are gone. Which he's starting to think means they're as good as dead.

Through the door of the tent Rick pulls his pants and boots on, pretending like he can't hear his affronted wife.

A shadow lingers on his left. It's Dale, awake but silent, he peers at Daryl in the dark.

"Here," Daryl turns to him and digs into his pocket, advancing in quick.

Dale flinches, perhaps he didn't even realize that Daryl was aware of him creeping nearby.

Daryl grabs a hold of Dale's hand and shoves the paper roughly into his palm. "You deal with that." He stomps away from him, rolling his shoulders, but he can't kick the shivers. His heart's still firing wildly, his blood is still so strangely hot and ice-cold at the same time.

Rick meets Daryl partway back the house. Daryl is pacing restlessly, starts marching right away up the porch. "Looks like Shane and Andrea took off. I tried to get him first, but his car's gone and I found a note from Andrea wishing us the best of luck." Daryl can't even take in Rick's reaction. He moves on to the more important point, "That ain't the worst problem we got though. The farmer is nuts. He thinks the walkers are just sick people. He had the barn full of 'em. Over a dozen, including his wife and son."

"Had?" Rick's astute enough to catch that.

"Had." Daryl confirms and Rick swears, but he barely gets a few words into his diatribe about how they needed to show Hershel more respect and how Daryl really fucked this up when he stops abruptly. Rubbing the gruff on his face. One glance tells Daryl what's just happened.

Rick's figured out just how urgent it is that they talk to him. "We'll talk more about this later—we are not done." Rick warns him.

Daryl doesn't even have the presence of mind to realize right away that he's left Beth out of the explanation entirely. He didn't mentioned her. That would've taken more words and Daryl doesn't much feel like speaking, or maybe it's crazier than that, maybe he already senses what he's going to have to do.

"He'll think I murdered my mama." He can still picture her face perfectly, in all its china doll glory. She looked so vulnerable, so soft. Not at all the killer she is, for just an instant he's reminded how young she was, just a dumb kid in high school, who's lost her mom. The tightness in his chest chokes all other words before they can come out of him. He'll bring up her involvement when he has to.

He stays as silent as possible as Hershel meets them in his study. The Farmer is already awake. Rising before dawn isn't too unusual for a farmer, but Hershel's more hard core than that. He's fully awake. Dressed and eyes wide open. He doesn't even smell like coffee, just black tea. Rick starts to explain and Daryl looks at the ground.

"Hershel, we've got to talk about the walkers."

Hershel blinks at the word and Daryl realizes he's done that almost every time he hears them say it. All the same, he probably wouldn't have guessed what the issue was.

"I know… you hold out hope that there's a cure."

"Don't we all?" Hershel says, and his voice is still warm, because he doesn't know yet. "This plague is like any other before. There is a cure, it just has to be found."

"I hope you're right," says Rick and the emotional in his voice in genuine, Daryl realizes. He's never really allowed himself to hope for a cure. Seems like asking for miracles doesn't get you very far, but he can hear in Rick's voice that the man really does hope for it, when he lets himself, but as soon as that hope is audible it dies out with his next, carefully chosen words, "but even so, it can't bring back the ones who are already gone."

Hershel nods gravely, at first seemingly unaware of what they're saying, then his gaze goes narrow, like he's just seen some sign that makes him suspicious, "I don't think anyone would doubt that."

"The walkers… they're already lost. You understand? They're dead already."

Hershel's expression goes from cautious to hard, his jaw sets as he surveys Rick, and suddenly it's just the two of them, staring each other down, Daryl might as well not even be in the room.

"I heard all that nonsense on the television. It's just fear." He cringes at the disbelief in Rick's responding scoff, "They're still people—it's just like any other plague in history. Anything we don't understand. People get scared. They don't understand. They make the afflicted into monsters."

"No, Hershel that's not—" Rick falters, struggling to explain beyond just the obvious.

"One of 'em came at the camp," Daryl finally parts his lips and dares to speak, "The others tried to fight it off, ended up taking its head away. It was still snapping, still hungry, 'til I put a bolt through its brain. It's the only way to get them to stop." He glances up in time to see Hershel still looking unmoved, if mildly disturbed.

"You might think you saw a lot of things," he rationalizes in a growl, "Decapitation doesn't always make for immediate death. Takes a few seconds, they say."

"He was long dead," Rick says, voice going quiet and jagged at the same time, though he shoots Daryl a grateful glance, even if it didn't work, they've got some idea now of how to prove it to him, he's gotta see that they're dead for himself. "Way before the head came off, way before Daryl put a bolt through him—"

"—Does that make it easier?" Hershel's voice rises to a shout, "Does that make you feel better? To think that way, before you murder them?"

"It ain't murder. It's mercy—you gotta put 'em down, can't let them go on like that, eating their own, not remembering who they were." Rick pleads with him, but Hershel ain't getting it.

"You're lying to yourself," Daryl says suddenly, shaking his head, "Conditions in that barn ain't enough to keep a person properly alive. You gotta realize that. You studied medicine. You're just lying to yourself."

They're both silent now and staring at him. I mentioned the barn, maybe it was too early for that… Rick has gone pale, like he's not sure how to proceed now that Daryl brought that up. Hershel, on the other hand, seems to be frozen in rage, his mouth twitches before he says, in a deceptively calm voice, "The barn? What do you know about the barn?"

Shit. The stare Hershel gives Daryl tells him that he's about half a beat from being shot dead on the spot. "That's not life. That's rotting corpses in a box."

"That's my wife and my son—"

"They were. Now they're dead." Daryl shifts his weight, already scanning the exits, more out of anxiety than out of real fear.

"We've all lost people," Rick tries to soothe him too late.

Hershel has switched his focus to Daryl now, like he can sense exactly what he's not saying. "How'd you find out about the barn?"

Your batshit daughter. But the fury in Hershel's eyes gives him pause, and the tremor in her voice when she pleaded with him to talk to her daddy. Why'd she think her daddy'd listen to me any better? The girl doesn't need an ambassador. She needs a patsy. All at once Daryl understands, he's not here to explain, not really. He's here to take the fall. Of course, it's his choice, in the end. He could just tell the truth, or he could make this real easy for the girl, and real hard on himself.

Somehow already able to tell how this will end up, Daryl doesn't care. He doesn't owe the girl any favors, but there's no particularly compelling reason to stick around, 'specially now that they know exactly what happened to Sophia. "When I came back from lookin' for Sophia, I passed near the barn. I heard them. Growling. Restless inside. I climbed up to see for myself and figured out what you were doin'. Came back, after dark, and took care of it… found Sophia among them," he added, glancing at Rick.

Rendered speechless, Hershel starts to fall back into his desk chair, one hand cupping his forehead, trying in vain to hold his own head up as his body deflates on itself, wrecked. "You killed. All of them?"

"They were already dead," Daryl says again, this time through his teeth. The old man has got to get this.

"My wife—my son, even that little girl?" His voice rises up again, getting wet, "I didn't have any idea she was in there, even when you saw that little girl was in there—you killed them?"

"I finished it," Daryl ignores Rick's hand on his shoulder, trying in vain to lead him out.

"C'mon, this ain't right—I'll talk to him, you shouldn't even be here," Rick mutters.

Daryl rips his arm out of Rick's grip and steps forward to the desk, getting right in the grieving farmer's face, "You gotta snap outta this—your daughters need you, your people need you. There ain't no cure that can fix dead! A bullet or a bolt or a blade to the head is the cure!"

"GET OUT!" Hershel's fist connected with the top of his desk with more force than it seemed the old man should be capable of. "I want you off my farm!"

"Hershel let me—" but whatever Rick is asking permission to do, he gets cut off by Daryl's quick acquiescence.

"Nah, he's right! I don't belong here. You even think that yourself," Daryl faces Rick sharply, "I broke his rules. Ain't got no respect. Y'all don't need me." His heart beats even faster than when Beth threw her arms around him unexpectedly, faster than when he'd first smelled what was hiding in the barn. He's colder than when he'd put Sophia down. "I don't need you. Do just fine on my own."

The sun is almost up when Daryl's boots hit the top step of the front porch. He hears Rick calling out to him, but doesn't stick around to see if he'll come try and stop him. He still needs to fix this with Hershel, but he might come looking for Daryl later.

It won't matter. Daryl will be gone by full dawn.


I'm really sorry that my updates have been coming in so slowly! I wish I could say that there is some foreseeable designated writing time in my near future, but actually everything is getting MORE crazy as Iheadbacktoschoolyay :D I'm still going to make it a goal to update regularly. I want to say a big thank you to everyone who's reading and giving feedback! I'm sorry I wasn't able to reply to all your reviews last time, but just know that I love you guys and I so love the encouragement and I always try to take constructive criticism into account, so never feel like you can't offer feedback, I always appreciate it!

It's Only - ODESZA