Chapter Eight
Jareth
September 24th, 2002. Day 7 of the quarantine
One week.
With a little more than three to go before the quarantine would be lifted, there was much he wished to have happen. Sarah's words from the night before haunted him.
Spending quarantine rolling around in the sack sounds like a lot of fun, but you would take it too far.
Jareth, I want to trust you.
While he swam in the subarctic sea, he had heard those words over and over, chasing him. He swam until his whole body was shaking with fatigue and, with a thought, pulled the aisling apart, depositing him in Sarah's living room. She had retreated to her chamber. He could hear her through the walls.
He had spent the rest of the day in an exhausted slumber, rising in the first hours of the morning to find Sarah in the same condition.
Now, she was beginning to wake, though he could feel her trying to stay in the comforting warmth of her dream. He felt it, when she dreamed, like a caress of fur against his cheek. When he had chased that sensation the other night she had finally let him in. After years, she had finally granted him access. He had heard her words like the softest of whispers. Jareth.
How he had wanted to use that access more than he had. To turn the dream into a seduction. To pour power into her, enflaming her desire and stoking her lust. He could taste it on her when she kissed him. She wanted him. Even the first clumsy, rough kiss had said so much. He could have had her, in that dream, yet something held him back. Kept him invested in letting her set the pace.
I want her to come to me, he realized as he watched the sun rise over the deserted streets. I have been in pursuit for so long, it would be nice to feel the same from her. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, where the mating brand was tattooed across his skin. It chafed, that bond. He wanted to tear it off his skin. He wanted to go back to a time when he had never known the name Sarah Williams.
At the same time, there was a part of him that was infinitely grateful it was her. She was a flame in the dark. She was hope.
Jareth walked away from the windows and began preparing their breakfast. Sarah was stirring now, and would soon be up and ready for her coffee. He set the machine to brew while he made a three berry sauce to go atop the pancakes cooking away on her griddle.
Sarah's door opened, and she padded in through the hall, legs bare and an oversized t-shirt on over her shorts. Rubbing her eyes, she lifted her nose as she entered the kitchen. "I smell coffee and—wow, what is that? It smells amazing."
"Pancakes with a berry sauce. They'll be ready in another five minutes. May I pour you a cup of coffee? I don't want you in the kitchen."
Sarah blinked and took a few steps back. "Sorry, yeah, that would be nice thank you." She rounded the corner and sat at the bar near the sink instead, forearms resting on the countertop. He could see her watching him from out of the corner of his eye as he quickly prepared her coffee the way she enjoyed and slid the mug toward her. "Thank you," she said again.
Jareth smiled but said nothing more, finishing his work with the food with a quiet efficiency of someone used to working in the kitchens. And he did. Cooking relaxed him. It was a strange habit for a fae, he knew, and yet making something so brief and complex always captivated his attention. Sarah, for the most part, allowed him free rein.
He handed Sarah the flatware and dishes needed. She took everything and set it up correctly as the last of the pancakes finished cooking. His slid a stack of them onto the counter along with a glass pourer of the wild berry sauce.
"This looks amazing," Sarah said as he rounded the corner to join her.
Jareth looked her over as she helped herself, pouring a liberal amount of the burgundy sauce on her steaming pancakes. He did much the same, watching her as they ate. She made a few small sounds of pleasure as she did, and shot him a smile.
Her meal was near complete. Her shoulders were relaxed, her posture open and trusting.
"I wish to court you."
Sarah choked, covering her mouth with a cloth napkin as she hunched over her plate. Eyes watering, a crease formed between her brows as she sputtered. "What?"
Jareth was torn between laughing at her and attempting to help her somehow. His smile was sharp. "I want there to be no question between us—I want to court you. And I think you want that, too. Or did I misread it when you were moaning into my mouth?"
Sarah's cheeks flamed a sudden deep crimson.
Got you now, he thought.
"I didn't mean, of course I was acting like that you were—"
"Kissing you? Being kissed by you? Believe me, precious, I know the difference between someone who is kissing because they are obligated to, versus someone kissing because they want to." He kept himself away from her, not even letting their knees touch though they were so close. "You admitted it last night. You want me. So, let me show you how a Goblin King treats someone high in his affections." He canted his head to the side while Sarah continued to ogle him, the last of her breakfast forgotten. "Do you accept?"
"Accept?"
He leveled his mismatched gaze on her. "Yes. Do you accept my courtship?"
"I—wow. Hold on a minute. I need to understand. What does this mean? I know the fae are tricky bastards, so—"
He bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt not to snarl. His words were clipped, instead. "Must you always see the worst in what I present to you? I am not asking for your body, or your love, or your devotion. I am not asking you to fear me, love me, do as I say," he said the last words with a mocking cadence. "Simply asking that you be open to my advances. You run away, Sarah. Run away when I need you staying put."
"You're asking me to give in."
"I'm asking you to be open," he repeated. "Stop assuming every time I reach for you, I'm intending you some kind of harm. I will be blunt—I do not love you. But I do care for you, and want to know you more than these years of fleeting meetings have allowed. What I have seen of you in the last week has…" he swallowed and looked away from her curious gaze. "I wish to know you better."
"So you can take me to the Underground. So you'll have an heir, and a queen."
He looked at her once more. Her mouth was set in a grim line. "Eventually, I hope for that, yes. I will never deny it. But I am hesitant too, my Sarah. This," he lifted his left hand, though it remained gloved. "Binds me. I know you had no say in it, but I must abide." He softened his voice. "In many ways I'm glad that it's you. Especially as I get to know you on deeper levels. This has all been fairly surface-level conversation and depth so far but you must see." He wanted to reach for her, but he didn't want to be the one who broke that barrier first. "You must see that there is potential here. Do you deny it?"
"No," she breathed. Her gaze remained fixed on him. "I can't."
"Then what are you afraid of?" He put the weight of their bargain behind the words, hungry for the answer.
She swallowed visibly. "Is this because of what Toby told you? That I was afraid?"
"Yes," he said.
Sarah glanced away, fiddling with her fork. "I'm afraid because—I've told you before. Because when I'm with you I lose my mind. I forget myself. And I don't want to live in the Underground. I don't want subjects. Every time I've envisioned my future, I've been here. Not here-here like this apartment, but in this world. My world. Yet, when I'm with you..." she trailed off for a moment, and he let her have her silence. She bit her bottom lip before continuing. "When I'm with you, I want to be with you. When we kiss, I want more."
"That could be arranged."
She shot him a look. "I know you're willing—"
"I certainly am."
"—but I still have misgivings." She flushed again, catching his eyes.
He smiled. "So accept my courtship, Sarah. We'll progress at the pace you're most comfortable with. Just—accept me."
"But what does that mean?"
He turned so he faced her full on. He lifted his left hand toward her, suspending it in the air between them. "Take my hand, Sarah."
He saw her hesitation, but after a pregnant pause she placed her smaller hand in his. "What are you doing?"
Closing his fingers over hers, Jareth gave a brief squeeze. "Take off my glove."
Again that hesitation, but she did as he asked, setting the glove down on the counter between their plates. The tattoo looked stark in the early morning light. She placed her hand back in his without being asked.
"Close your eyes."
She narrowed them first, but did what he asked, tension back in her shoulders and the set of her chin.
Jareth let his magic unfurl. Soft at first, and then a greater push, he let it wash over her through the connection of their fingers. He knew the sensation, to her, would be like phantom fingers running along her skin. Like the softest brush of silk. Indeed, while he watched, gooseflesh rose along her arms and legs, and her eyelids fluttered open as her mouth parted in a gasp.
"What are you doing?"
"Letting you feel some of the magic of this bond," he murmured. "Pleasant, isn't it?"
"It—" she gulped air as he let more wash over her. "Is it always like this?"
He ran his thumbnail along the inside of her wrist. "It could be. Let me in, Sarah. Give a little. I ask that you trust I am not trying to conquer the conqueror, as you so eloquently put it. I just want to know you, and for you to accept me. Just accept me."
She closed her eyes again, and through her wrist he could feel her pulse. He knew fright was not the only emotion she wrestled with. Her chest rose and fell with her breath, and beneath the thin fabric of her sleep shirt he could see her nipples harden. She opened her eyes, green orbs luminous. "Okay," she breathed. "I accept. I'll try."
Jareth smiled and withdrew his hand from hers, noting a hint of reluctance as he did. "Thank you, Sarah."
She let out a huff of breath. "Don't make me regret it. I feel like I'm in the middle of that children's book. If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. You won't stop, will you?"
"No."
"Thought not." She sent him a furtive glance, color rising in her neck and cheeks once more. "What now?"
"Now? How about another movie? I believe you mentioned that my education was missing a few prime examples of human cinematography."
Relief flashed across her features.
You thought I'd demand more, he thought. You may want to trust me but you don't, still.
Yet when she had selected the movie—The Seven Samurai—she invited him to sit next to her on the couch, and their entwined fingers turned into her head resting against his chest, and his arm thrown about her shoulders.
"You're so warm," she murmured. "Fae must burn hotter than humans."
"We do," he agreed, voice soft so as not to break the spell that kept her so close. "It doesn't bother you?"
"No," she said quickly. "The opposite. I like it. Always have." Her fingers traced the edges of his talisman, fingertips playing with the sharp points. "Jareth? I—"
Whatever she said he never heard, as the shrill ring of the telephone cut through her words. Jareth swore as Sarah pulled away, reaching for the cordless on the stand next to the couch. "Williams," she answered on the second ring. There was a slight pause, and then, "What? When?" He could hear another woman's voice on the other end of the line, and a few of the words she spoke. Hospital. Doctors. Heart attack. His own heart sank. Sarah was trembling. He put a hand on her back.
She spoke with the woman on the other line—her stepmother, he presumed—for a few more moments, listening more than she spoke. When she hung up the phone, she was pale.
"My dad had a heart attack," she said, and there was a glassy quality to her stare. A stare aimed directly at the opposite wall, containing nothing. "They won't even let Karen in to see him. She was kept from the ambulance. No one is allowed in to the hospitals who aren't there on official business. Or aren't sick." Her voice was without inflection. "He's in there, alone, and he's had a heart attack. The doctors are pushed to the breaking point, so apparently it's been hours since she was able to get any updates."
Jareth moved to the edge of the couch and gently ran the back of his fingers down her arm, bringing her attention to him. He summoned a crystal. She flinched a little when it appeared, but then she drew closer, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "One could say that dreams are my specialty," he said. "If your father sleeps, there may be a way for you to reach him. To see him."
"How?" Her voice trembled, and he could see that she was on the verge of tears.
If he were more like his brethren, he would have her. He could taste her desperation on the air. Scented it like blood in the water. This was when the fae made their deals. I will take you to your father, if you will join me in the Underground every full moon, he could demand. If he could get her there, even temporarily, he could leverage something else to buy more time. And more. Eventually, she would never see the Aboveground again.
That was the way it was supposed to be done. It was tradition.
Instead, he handed the crystal to her. "Hold this and think on your father. If he sleeps, we will see his dreams. From there it is simple enough for me to cast us into the dreaming."
"Cast us?" She held the sphere delicately between both hands, cradling it. Her eyes lifted to his, green and shining with unshed tears.
He wanted those tears to fall, so he could drink them with his lips. "I am not allowed to leave your home while the quarantine remains in effect," he said. "But I can transport a part of our conscious minds into your father. I will need to go with you, so I can pull you back. Our bodies will remain here, asleep. It's much like what I did to reach you when you dreamed."
She licked her lips and looked down at the crystal once more. "Okay." She closed her eyes and concentrated. The orb in her hand darkened, no longer reflecting the surrounding light. When she opened her eyes she frowned at it. "It's just—black."
"He is asleep, but not in a full dreaming. We can still reach him, but he will be more likely to recall the events. There may be some difficult questions for you to answer later." He warned, leaning closer, so he could study the crystal. "You would have to explain me."
"I want to see him," she said. "Please."
Again, that instinct. That pull to drag from her some promise. He had the one bargain to tie him to her, but the more bargains there were, the more likely it was he could possess her.
You would take it too far.
Her words reminded him that this was not the way he wanted to go. He had asked for her acceptance, and he would prove that her faith was not ill-placed. For all that Sarah saw him as the villain to her heroine, he had never wished to harm her. Not since he had first caught a glimpse of the howling depth of pain within her. A pain he wished to soothe, as she had long come to soothe his own.
"Lay down," he instructed. "And keep hold of the crystal. I'll send you first, but I will follow close behind."
She did as he asked, stretching out on the couch without complaint or hesitation. She clutched the crystal in both hands as he rose and knelt by her head, reaching out and putting a hand over her temple. "Do I need to do anything?" She asked.
"Relax."
Her eyes slid shut, and Jareth treasured that moment. Here, in its purest form, was the reason he could not extract more promises and bargains from her. Why he could not prey upon her as his kind was known to prey upon mortals. Sarah's trust, little enough though it was, was nothing short of miraculous.
He placed his hand on the crown of her head, closed his eyes for a moment, and sent her consciousness toward the beckoning pulse from the crystal. Settling into a more comfortable position, he followed a moment after.
Sliding into a mind was similar, in Jareth's opinion, as dressing in clothes not your own. Things pinched and tugged in areas they normally wouldn't, and something felt off about the world. A queasy uneasiness that was difficult to shake.
It was dark. Above, below, around. He stood beside Sarah, hand out to aid her as she oriented herself in the dimness. There was light, but its source was difficult to ascertain. "Steady, precious," he murmured. "Your father is this way."
Sarah sent him a look that was difficult to interpret, and they started walking. Soon, appearing out of the gloom, came a figure. He was tall, but his shoulders were stooped, and he listed to one side.
"Dad?" Sarah called when he came in sight. "Daddy?"
She ran for him, and soon the other mortal was turned around, and Jareth could see him. He was balding, with thin wired glasses and an open, concerned expression on his face. "Sarah? What? How are you here? I'm asleep, I think. Aren't I?"
Sarah clasped his hands as Jareth drew nearer. "Yes, you're asleep. I had to come see you, and Jareth—"
"Who's this?" He interrupted, eyes leaping to Jareth's. He moved to pull Sarah behind him. "Who are you?"
Sarah resisted her father's attempts. "Dad stop it. This is Jareth. I'll explain in a moment." She raised their joined hands. "Are you okay? Do you know? Karen told me you had a heart attack but the doctors won't let her see you."
"Are you here?" Robert asked. "And this is a dream?"
Sarah smiled a little. "You're catching on quick. Yes, it's me. Today is September twenty-fourth. We're a week into quarantine. How are you?"
"I'm fine," he said, then grimaced and pulled his hands from Sarah's. "That's not entirely true. My whole body hurts and my chest feels like it's going to collapse in on itself, but the doctor said that's usual after what happened."
"But you'll be okay?"
Robert smiled and patted her on the cheek. "I'll be fine. They said I was very lucky. Now, who is this man?"
Jareth, having stayed silent and off to the side while the two had their moment, swept into a shallow bow. "I am Jareth, King of the Goblins, lord of dreams and master of illusion."
The man blinked for a moment and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Robert Williams. Attorney at law for Hamilton and Roe."
"Dad, you're retired. And you're taking this remarkably well," Sarah said.
"The real test will be after he wakes up," Jareth replied. "Will you recognize this for what it was? Or will you deny everything, as mortals often do?"
Robert drew himself up and took a step toward Jareth. "Mortal, eh? What's the meaning of that? What, you're—you're not mortal, so you're..." he trailed off, brow furrowing.
"Immortal, yes," Jareth said. "A-mortal, if it matters, which it doesn't. I'm difficult to kill, but time will not take me on its own. And yes, that does make you and I quite different."
The step Robert had taken toward him was taken back. "W-what do you want?"
"Dad, it's okay," Sarah said, reaching out and touching his arm. "Don't let him scare you, he's a bully sometimes." She shot Jareth a look, but he kept his gaze locked on Robert. He smiled.
"He brought you here? Is that it, is that how you know him?"
"No, I—" she let out a frustrated huff and turned to Jareth. "Do we have enough time for me to tell him the story?"
Jareth studied the dream, tilting his head to regard it. "This sleep is deep. He will be here for a while."
Sarah turned back to her father, and began telling him about running the Labyrinth. And to Jareth's surprise, she left little out, and owned up to the mistakes she made as she traversed his realm. Yet still, Jareth loomed like a specter over her tale. A sinister shadow. He turned away from them both, pacing a ways away. There was little to distinguish one area from the other, except that the further away from Robert he wandered the spongier the ground beneath him became. If he kept going, he would get to the point where he would be sucked down into the recesses of the man's subconscious. An area where one could do a great deal of damage if they were so inclined.
He turned his feet away, seeking solid ground. By the time he reached the two, he found them both cross-legged on the floor, though Robert stood as soon as Jareth approached. "Sarah told me everything. You've been stalking my daughter for long enough. You need to leave her alone."
"Stalking?" Sarah demanded, rising as well. "Dad, that's not what this is, it's—"
Robert scoffed, cutting her off. "I've been about in this world a lot longer than you, and I know stalking when I see it. I've helped enough wives with their crazy ex-husbands."
Jareth sneered. "I'm not some cuckolded fool."
"No, you're worse," Robert started toward him, taking several steps before stopping outside what Jareth would consider his personal space. The man was perceptive, Jareth would give him that. "You feel like you have a right to her, like you're entitled to her. I've seen people like you before, and it always ends in pain, mostly for the woman. I won't let you do that to my daughter, I don't give a fuck who you are."
"Dad!" Sarah yelled.
Jareth held up a hand. "It's alright, Sarah. Your father has a point." He flexed the fingers of his left hand, the brand seeming to pulse and itch a little. "Sir Williams I am, for the moment, unable to leave your daughters domicile. Furthermore, I am the only one who can return her consciousness to her body at the moment, so I need to stay near her for her own safety." He paused. "Given I cannot leave, what would be an acceptable treatise we could strike? Your daughter accepted my courtship today, did she tell you?"
"Yes," Robert said in a growl. "Stockholm syndrome."
Jareth clicked his tongue. "That's a stretch."
"She should never have accepted you as a—"
"Suitor? Perhaps. Yet, she did."
"You only want her because of that bond!"
How much had Sarah managed to tell the man in so short a time? "There are many reasons why I pursue your daughter. Consider, if you will, what that means. I am a fae. I am a monarch, a master of illusion, and a lord of dreams, yet it is to Sarah I turn my sights. Think of how incredible that makes your daughter. How rare someone like her is."
"I know damn well how precious my daughter is."
A smile. "Yes, I'm sure you do."
"Hello?" Sarah asked, color high on her cheeks. "Still here, in case either of you care."
Jareth gave glanced at her. "What of you, precious? Do I frighten you? Would you have me leave you alone?"
"What? No!" Sarah said in a rush, and flushed an even deeper shade of red. "I mean, I—you can't leave the apartment. And you're not a stalker. Dad, he's not a stalker."
Robert grumbled something Jareth couldn't quite catch, even with his superior hearing. From Sarah's wrinkled brow, she couldn't make it out either. He rubbed his chest and made a face. Sarah rushed to him.
"Dad, are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Fine. Just—" he waved a hand in dismissal. "Go. I need to rest. Really rest. If I even remember this when I wake up."
"You will," Jareth said. "I assure you."
"If I remember it, I'm going to call until I get Sarah on the phone and know she's alright."
"I'll be okay," she said, her voice soft. "I will. I promise."
"I wish no harm to come to her," Jareth said.
Robert snorted, shaking his head, and looking away. "Go," he repeated. "I need to rest."
Jareth reached for Sarah, and she startled a little when his hand came to rest on her shoulder. "I'll send you first," he said. "You won't be able to wake me."
"Okay," she said, and the next moment she was gone.
Robert turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Want to threaten me now that my daughter is gone?"
"No," Jareth said. "I do not make threats. I state facts."
"And what are those?"
He took a step forward. "The fact is that your daughter is it for me. I can have no other. It is its own blessing—she is a marvelous woman—but it also is a curse. I cannot have your interference. What will it take to broker a treatise?"
"You talk like she's a contested piece of property," Robert spat, face twisted in pain as well as anger. Jareth could feel it, too. The man needed rest, and soon, so he could heal. "That is where the problem lies."
Jareth summoned a crystal, letting it dance across the back of his hand to his palm, back and forth, over and over again. "What are your dreams, Robert? I can grant you anything."
"Not interested."
"Surely there's something? Time? Power? Prestige? Name it."
Robert spat on the ground between them. "Get out. You haven't heard the last from me, Goblin King. There is nothing you could give me that will make me turn my back on my daughter."
"I would never ask you to," Jareth said, voice softening a little. He held the crystal still. "I care for her, too."
"You think you do." Robert grasped his shirt over his chest and groaned. "Leave me alone."
Jareth did, withdrawing from the sleeping mind of the older man and returning to his own body. He blinked his eyes open to find Sarah staring down at him, hands on her hips.
"Why did that take so long? Did you threaten him?"
Jareth sent her an exasperated look. "Must you always think the worst?"
"Answer the questions, Jareth."
"It took so long because I wanted to talk to him. I did not threaten him." He rose, brushing at his leather vest and tight trousers.
Sarah stepped forward, and unlike her father she slid passed his barrier of personal space and kept coming, until she was close enough that she could place a hand on his chest, near the symbol of his power. "Thank you," she said. "I know it turned into something of a drama fest there at the end, but it was good to see him. Talk to him. He's going to be okay."
Jareth's hand covered hers. "Yes. He will be."
She slid toward him another half step, biting her lower lip. He watched the movement with a hunger that roared through him. Gods, he wanted her. He would wait if he needed to. He would court her and ensure he was playing by her rules, but a part of him wanted nothing more than to possess her. To know she belonged to him, body and soul.
His fingers twitched. She turned the hand that lay beneath his and grasped his fingers. He did not understand what she was doing for a moment, until the glove started to slide off. He began to protest, but as soon as the air touched the exposed skin of his palm, so did her lips. Sucking in a breath, Jareth grasped her waist with his left hand and pulled her tighter against him.
Sarah made a low sound and lifted her head, eyes half-closed, and she raised up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his.
Jareth felt the force of the kiss like a shockwave. The very first she had ever given him, freely.
The one time they had kissed all those years ago, he had started. Every other time had been because of the conditions of their bargain. But this?
Her hand slipped under his hair to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as her tongue darted out to taste him. He could not help a slight smile as she pushed him back gently. He fell onto the couch and their contact was broken for a brief moment before she straddled him, finding his mouth once again with a sigh, her body settling against him.
Hands falling to her waist, Jareth felt his body respond to her nearness. Her warmth. The beguiling scent of jasmine and almonds. Her dark hair fell in a sheet to shield them from the rest of the apartment, and all was her. Tasting, feeling, touching nothing but Sarah. His Sarah.
She stripped off his other glove, flinging it on the couch, then guided his hands under her shirt.
"What are you doing to me?" He asked in a thick voice when she broke the kiss with a gasp. "Sarah—"
"Sh," she put a finger to his lips. "I've had a very emotional day, and it only began. I want to make out with this guy I'm seeing, do a little light petting, and then deal with the rest of everything. Sound good?"
He pressed his forehead to hers, smile widening. "Whatever you say, precious." His hands traveled up her back, and he felt her shudder as goosebumps rose down her arms.
"I'm beginning to be okay with that nickname," she breathed as he lay open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat. "Jareth, please..."
He smothered her words with another kiss, and she returned it with abandon. Jareth reveled in the feel of her, skin to skin, pushing a little light magic into his touch so her body came alive with trembles, until she moaned against his lips.
They tangled together, and Jareth lost some sense of time. It seemed to slide forward, liquid and graceful, as her thighs squeezed his waist and her fingers slipped beneath his shirt, sliding up to his shoulders and grasping him tight. He kept his hands away from some of her more interesting places, content to let her set the pace. Content this small miracle was occurring. His adversary. The girl who conquered the Labyrinth, now grown and in his arms.
Right where she was supposed to be.
Author's Note:
Thank you to everyone who has commented or left kudos or messaged me directly. You all rock my socks off. And thank you to those who poked at me for an update. I know this was a long time coming, but I do present you with one of the longest chapters yet. Hopefully, that'll make up for it.
I am working under a deadline currently for the second book in my original fiction series. It's due to drop in September, and I still have the last bit of the rough draft to polish off before editing and sending things off to my beta readers. This is to say: I'm terribly busy right now, and this fanfiction may not be updated for some time. You're probably looking at another month, at least unless the bug bites me again.
Which was another reason this was so late. 31 Days and 32 Nights started as a story worm: "What would happen if Jareth and Sarah were stuck together in quarantine for thirty days?" But that can only lead one so far. I spent some time plotting out where I want this story to go. Now that I have a framework of sorts, writing the next number of chapters should come a little easier.
Thank you again to everyone who is showing this story so much love. It's been a big mood-booster.
xoxo,
CrimsonSympathy