A HUGE thank you to everyone that has reviewed thus far, I'm really grateful that people are even bothering to read my work - it's very surprising indeed - and thank you for your constructive criticism, it really makes me giddy and stuff (I like flames, okay? It's not my fault I'm a wee bit masochistic… right?)

Now let us dive head first into the spectacle of gore and vio-lence! (*maniacal cackle)

-And there we go again with you creeping out the audience. Real smooth there, slick.

Wha? It's you! What are you doing in my author's note?

-Preventing you from acting like a complete fool. After what you said on your Bio, I came here to check if things are alright. Obviously, my gut was right, you're causing pandemonium again.

Your gut is my gut! This makes no sense at all!

-That's why I'm the illogical part of your brain.

When has that been a thing?

-Been keeping it real since '09, sonny boy.

Yeah, well… just… let me write my story! (*huffs)

-As you command(*smirk)

If there was one thing constant in Lordran besides the ever-growing population of hollows, the shining sun, and a near overabundance of souls that seemed to slip and slide like water through an undeads fingers, it was the cool breeze that the giant landmass offered. It was gentle when it brushed against Priscilla's face like motherly fingers caressing her cheek. It cooled down her rush of emotions whenever she was teased by her undead savior, and occasionally - though not very often at the same time - their flame-wielding companion that would utter a small jib of words that would either diffuse the situation or antagonize it further. The air in Lordran had also made a habit of lifting her mood when she was feeling downcast or worried by flinging her white hair in maddening directions that distracted her bubbling mind and forced an uncontrollable giggle from her lips that lightened the hearts of the humans that were with her.

The wind was always a pleasurable constant to her and Priscilla took a liking to it better than the harsh bite that the Painted World would offer with its endless Winter and flurries of dirty snow. Other than provide her with unending repose, it didn't choke her of oxygen like the blizzard world had. Here in the sun or the rain she could inhale as deeply as her lungs would allow and speak annals of words and phrases until her throat was raw from use. In the Painted World, it had felt vastly different because of her height and the fact that the ruined city was situated on a massive cliff-face. The altitude had robbed her of the plentiful supply of breathable air Lordran possessed, and her height had only added to her misery; leaving her winded and gasping softly when fighting intruders or generally walking around to pass the time, and it had amazed her that she had lived there for over a century knowing the conditions were hazardous to even a goddess.

She supposed that she owed it to her father that she had survived so long. It didn't take a Dragon School Scholar to figure out that having the genes of an everlasting beast ensured your endurance and survival chances were increased by the thousands due to their monolithic bodies and unparalleled longevity that overwhelmed even the god's. The scales that dragons wore were also enchanted by unknown magic that kept them alive even during the worst of circumstances; ranging from suffering mortal wounds, to slowly dying of starvation, to just general old age. The pale scales that adorned the cross-breed's body and the abominable blood that flowed through her veins were proof enough that she was already prepared to survive eternity in a world concocted by a maniac before she had actually entered into it.

She sighed softly as she sat waiting for her companions, scythe propped up against the rock form jutting out like a brown-faced guard at a royal ball. There wasn't much room for her to really stretch out onto as she gazed at the parallel cliffs of green joined by a simple oaken plank, so she had tucked her slender white legs into her chest as she enjoyed the breeze of the higher platform whoosh against her face and whistle to the west, flying by like a drifting bard. Her arms encircled her shin's and she sighed out a thin puff of icy breath as she felt the edge of her gown being pulled by the wind and looked up to see the frilly material billowing out like a fair coat at her feet.

She had continued to shrink as Argon had theorized and was currently half the height she was when she had met the undead. She wasn't mad or angry or sad at the revelation that her height was merely an illusion, in fact it was quite the opposite. At least now she would be able to fit in with her companions and not draw attention at every friendly face they encountered, undead or otherwise, it was a relief not to be taller than her male friends. When she had thought about it more carefully, she was slightly embarrassed at the notion. How would she have even been able to cuddle against the masked man one day when he came up to her waist in height? Moreover, she didn't think he would enjoy it when she would have to be the one to lean down for them to actually kis-

Wait a moment.

She stopped and blinked dumbly. Why had she been thinking about scooting closer to the undead at night? And why had her mind flown to him and her locking lips? She blushed, closed her eyes and shook her head at the foreign thought.

They would never do something like that. Argon was her savior, but moreover her friend. They had bonded well and had formed a relationship that wouldn't necessarily lead to anything romantic; after all, he was always formulating jokes and sparking interesting conversations with her, he would never understand the feelings she denied she had for him… right?

Priscilla became slightly saddened by the thought and pouted like a stubborn child. She knew it probably wouldn't end up happening, but at the same time she didn't want it to not happen. Argon was special to the goddess, and she knew he felt the same towards her in return. Maybe they wouldn't end up as anything more than friends and when their journey would end, he would probably just say something foolish to her in good humor before he relinked the Flame. Yet in her heart, she yearned for something; before he entered the Kiln, she still wanted to experience his warmth up close during the coldest of nights when she attempted to feign shivering and ask to cuddle with him. She had the urge to wrap her arms around his pale body and press her rose-colored lips against his undoubtedly tasty-

Wait, wait, waaait a moment…

She blinked again and shook her head in frustration. What was she doing? She shouldn't be thinking about this right now, what was even wrong with her thoughts today? She turned a bright shade of scarlet and her eyes widened in shock.

Was she in heat? She was, wasn't she? It explained the out of character imagination and indecent urges to be intimate with her friend and companion. But did half-breed dragons like her even go into heat? She was also half goddess after all so maybe it was that time in her life when she became increasingly needy for companionship? She was nearly two centuries old, though she was loathing to admit she was a day over a hundred-and-ten. Yes, maybe that was it. What was it that the servants of her mother had always said? There was no greater love than a goddess's desire?

Priscilla shook her head again and sighed out, the fast approaching wind taking the sound away from her mouth and into the vast valley in front of her. She was thinking about her height, not Argon, she berated herself.

Her clothing was indeed twice the size of her now, and she had done her best to remodel the apparel, albeit with much hesitation. She still treasured it above even her scythe and her tail. It was a gift from her aunt, Velka, the only god that had bothered to visit her in the Painted World, even if the dark god was breaking the rules of her grandfather, and as such she felt immense sentimentality towards the filigreed garment.

Priscilla had first attempted to tie the hanging edges around her calves to allow a better way to walk when it began bunching up at her feet, tripping her more than a few times. Thereafter she had decided to roll up the sleeves and pin them up, but the material was so thick and heavy that it just fell back down over her hands whenever she swung her scythe and ruined her attacks, leaving her vulnerable to injury.

And so, with a heavy heart and a pat on her shoulders from both human companions', she had severed the fabric's sleeves and bottom edges so that she could actually move freely again, and Laurentius and Argon had offered to store the cut fabric in their respective storage spaces to which she had kindly declined. She would have to move on eventually, her aunt was gone now, and she needed to begin anew without any ties to her miserable past.

She frowned as she thought, and a strand of white hair flew into her face, wrapping itself up around her right cheek and tickling her neck. She was still shrinking, and the masked undead estimated it to only stop when she reached the height of an average human woman, which meant the cut gown she was wearing right now would soon need to go too, it had already began hindering her movements if the torn ends flying in the wind past her small feet was anything to go on. She supposed Argon wouldn't mind lending her a pair of human-sized attire if she asked him, or even Laurentius for that matter…

What was more worrying was the state of her undergarments. She hadn't said anything to the two men for obvious reasons. Some things were just too personal for other's ears anyways. Her chest bindings had unraveled a few times, but they wouldn't be a problem if she kept re-tying them. It was her underwear that threatened to run away with the wind, however.

What was it that Laurentius had called them? Knockers? No, knicker's? Something like that.

She exhaled again, frosted air spilling from her lips again as she waited for said pyromancer and masked undead. They had returned to Firelink for only a few moments to briefly speak with the warrior in chainmail that sat, dejected as ever, at the shrine's bonfire, which for some odd reason lacked the living flames it usually did. Apparently, he had found another method of traversing into the lower levels of Lordran without venturing into the Depth's again; a place, Priscilla noted, that made their fire-wielding friend shiver uncomfortably at.

According to the monotone undead, there was an old lift system below the bonfire that led to the ruins of New Londo, a place they would find one of the Lord Soul's, were it not currently submerged in a dam of murky water. The place Argon had decided to go to in question was the plague-infested city of Blighttown, a 'cesspool' if she remembered the warrior correctly. Knowing that there was a quicker route available for the trio to journey through unhindered had been a pleasant sense of elation, what had occurred after they had walked down the flight of stairs to the right of the Crestfallen Warrior, however, was a morose experience indeed.

They both stared bemused as Argon removed his mask from his face, blind rage sweeping across his normally passive features with startling difference, a deep growl emanating from his chest like the roaring of a white waterfall. He stood transfixed at a set of rusty iron bars that barred the way into a shallow, dark cave that held nothing more than bloodied rags for clothing pooled at its entrance. Atop the pile of clothing that looked like it would suit a more feminine body rested two items that gave off what little light it could to attempt to illuminate the expansive darkness of the hole in the rock face. Laurentius had made a move to reach for said objects but was stopped by his undead companion that beat him to it, uncharacteristically dropping the porcelain mask onto the moss-covered ground of the jutting out piece of earth, thoroughly shocking both pyromancer and goddess as they gave each other pensive glances before turning back to the man in question.

He had been oddly quiet since their arrival at Firelink after seeing the dying embers of the bonfire and had only opened his normally chattery lips to ask necessary questions to the crestfallen warrior. When they had climbed down the stairway to the chainmail undeads right, the two were ecstatic at the prospect of going through a route that held no foes to face and exhaust themselves with, eagerly racing each other like children - though they both knew that Priscilla's height advantage would name her the victor of their short game - but had abruptly stopped when they noticed the absence of their masked companion absent from their bubble. Their questions had only been answered when they cast a backward glance to witness a stoic Argon shaking with unbridled anger at the center of the rock face before joining his side utterly confused and quite miffed. The undead never got riled up, no matter the circumstance.

The first item he held in his hand was a dull, cracked orb - slightly larger than a soul capsule - with what looked to be a reptilian eyeball encased in crystal. Red crystal to be precise. The trio eyed the orb pensively before Argon dumped it into a pouch impatiently, muttering incoherent words as he lifted the second item from the clothing pile; amber eyes flaming with a sudden ferocity as he found what he was looking for and another menacing growl fled from his lips. Priscilla's senses began to fill with adrenaline and tensed up at the killing intent her companion was emitting.

Her emerald eye's flashed to the pure white ball in his hand. Well it wasn't a ball to be correct, just a mass of small fluffy tentacles and white light that blended into one full ball of energy. The hand-sized thing gave off a familiar feeling of mourning and pain the more she stared at it, and only after she had raised a clawed finger to prod it gently did realization hit her and force a gasp form her lips. It was a Firekeeper soul.

"Anastasia." Argon said through gritted teeth, causing both companions to look at him.

"She was the Firekeeper trapped in this hell hole by those damnable villagers of her hometown. According to Cresty upstairs; they had tortured her for her fate, and when her screams began to annoy them from days of lashings, stoning's and starvation, the bastards had severed her tongue before shipping her off to Lordran to suffer like the wretch they made her to be."

Priscilla's heart clenched painfully at the news, knowing all too well the cruel fate life dealt people - her own not being a cool walk in the garden either - but to understand the pain this unknown woman had been through drove stakes of anguish into her chest. It didn't matter how bad one's destiny was, to be treated worse than scum by your own village - and for a human no less - was a fate worse than simple isolation and imprisonment, it was outright inhumane. Not that she quite knew how it was to be human, anyways.

"She didn't need to die. She didn't deserve this, not one bit…"

"You know who did it, don't you?"

Argon's face softened, and he gave Laurentius a sad look in reply, his hands protectively clutching the soul to his chest, as if it would be blown away by the wind at a moment's notice. The pyromancer sighed and placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. The bags under Argon's eyes seemed to grow more hollow, whether from the exhaustion or the curse they had no clue, just that he seemed to break out of his sorrow to sneer at the cave, eye's narrowing as the sun dipped and casted light into the cave displaying the now dried blood that adorned the hole in splatters and crooked stripes. To the end of the cave he noticed a shard of golden metal reflecting the sun back onto his face and Argon burned with an uncontrollable rage as his theory was proven correct.

"Lautrec, you bastard. I'll kill you…"

The black veins on his chin began to slowly move upwards towards his sideburns and the corner of his mouth as he turned from his friends and reattached his mask to his face after retrieving it.

It had been the second time that Priscilla had ever seen him want to kill so eagerly, and quite frankly it scared the goddess. He hadn't been in hollow form but the psychotic tinge in his voice seemed to return from before and for a moment she wondered how much the man had endured to gain all that encapsulated rage strong enough to change his personality completely. He had briefly spoken about his past - by not saying more than a few words about it - but most about him was lost to her as snow was to the harsh winds of Winter. Other than the appearance and attitude he gave before and after her rescue from the Painted World, Priscilla admitted she knew little to nothing at all about the ambiguous and enigmatic being that was Argon. She knew he was from a land near to Carim, the pale skin tone and defined features held more than enough weight to narrow that down, even though her knowledge of the outside kingdom's was vague at best. She also knew that Argon's upbringing was of nobility, if his manner of speech and certain fighting styles were anything to go on; his vocabulary spoke annals of time for a mere human whilst the methods of which he wielded various weapons possessed a specific poise only native to those of high standing, even though he boasted to fighting dirty at any and all costs.

Her thoughts broke as she heard two pairs of footsteps approach her position next to an old but sturdy gate and stood when she noticed a familiar mop of semi-long raven hair pop into existence followed by the throaty chuckle of their swamp pyromancer. She reached for her scythe and twirled it behind her casually as Argon and Laurentius appeared from the musty-smelling ruins of New Londo.

Their crestfallen informant on the place had been to the tee in direction and explanation, although he had also failed to mention that at the entrance to New Londo housed over a dozen or so hollows. It was at least pleasing to notice that they were harmless if not antagonized, but a warning would have been useful, nonetheless. Then again, Priscilla wondered if the short-haired man even cared about their well-being, preferring to be left alone and wait at that crumpled pillar until all time ended.

"I was beginning to worry that the two of you had been spirited away by the inhabitants of that city." Priscilla said as the pair of men reached her, taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air that the valley offered. Laurentius was about to open his mouth to speak when Argon beat him to it.

"Do I look like Chihiro to you?"

They stared at the masked undead for a moment with frowns on their faces and he chuckled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch his head.

"Uh, sorry… it's a story you wouldn't have heard before."

He laughed again and rocked on his feet like a child and Priscilla simply smiled at him. The moments whereby the undead did remember something from his past, he would blurt it out without hesitation. Whether it was because of excitement or if he feared not saying any would cause him to forget again was unknown to her. Quite frankly, she was just pleased he was able to share anything with the two of them at all.

They had found a Dragon Scholar locked behind bars in the corner of the flooded city and befriended him after he had seen the Magic Ember their pyromancer was carting around before he begged to use it to enchant armaments. Priscilla had decided to wait for the pair of undead to converse with the smith, Rickett, taking Argon's master key to unlock the gate that lead to the valley and opting to rather wait for them in a place that didn't dampen her mood and senses alike. She was glad that his time spent with the smith and Laurentius had peeled away his anger and rage.

"You're a tad bonkers, you are." Laurentius stated, still giving him a curious look to which the undead simply shrugged at before moving passed them to cross the simple oak platform that creaked under his weight.

"You chose to aide me in my suicidal quest, don't say I didn't warn you. Now come on."

The pyromancer chuckled as he followed his companion, casting a frown at the large cavern further to their right before sighing heavily, only to immediately gasp at the stench that assaulted his nose before lifting a hand to try and block out the horrid attack on his nostril's.

"I fled from the Depth's only to enter into a diseased town that smells like sweat and filthy sewage… you really are trying to turn me hollow, aren't you?"

"Aw don't be so negative, you'll insult your hometown." Argon smirked beneath his mask as Laurentius sent him a glare, turning to look at a nervous Priscilla that stood timidly at the foot of the makeshift bridge.

"I-I don't think this oak will be safe for me to cross." She said, prodding a clawed toe at the wood that creaked in response, reaffirming the cross-breed's hesitation.

"Whaaaat?" Argon exclaimed as she turned to look at him, slitted eye's stuck in an innocent frown. "You've shrunk to just over half your size and you still think you can't make it across!"

Priscilla narrowed her eyes at him and he smirked again, this would be funny.

"Well it is a shame," he began and ignored Laurentius' warning glance, he wanted to mess with the goddess a bit. "if you were still a tiny, tiny smidge taller you could have easily jumped across without any hassle at all, the predicaments we find ourselves stuck in these days…" he shook his head feigning exasperation.

The cross breed pouted at him, he knew jabs at her height was still a sore spot for her because he teased her senseless, this was just the final nail in the coffin as she placed a determined look on her face and took a few small strides backwards until her back was up against the wall. Laurentius immediately widened his eyes at the obvious ploy she had fallen for.

"Now wait my lady, just take a breather and think about this for a mome-" it was too late to finish his sentence as he saw the cross-breed goddess run a short distance before leaping into the air, hair and gown flying in multiple directions as her body glided through the sky.

The momentum she built up would have taken her the whole way too were it not for the wind rushing horizontally that pushed her off trajectory and caused her to descend much faster. Panic filled her eyes at the realization that she had fallen for the childish prank and that she wasn't going to make it. She lifted her scythe above her head before slamming it into the rock below them as her body slammed into the side of the valley wall painfully, leaving her hanging by a blade. Laurentius shot him another glare as Argon crumpled to the floor in uncontrollable laughter. He rushed to Priscilla's side and hefted her up, noting that she wasn't as heavy as Argon had teased. A sigh escaped from his mouth as the goddess finally stood, pulling out her scythe and glaring daggers at Argon who just laughed harder. The pyromancer didn't have a chance to say anything as she simply inhaled deeply, letting air fill her lungs to the max and expelled a torrent of ice at the undead.

"Did you see your face?! Ha ha ha ha-GAH!"The ice breath knocked him off his feet and kept him suspended a foot above the ground against the cave wall.

"So-o c-c-c-c-cold!"

She walked passed his frozen form, a triumphant smirk on her face before she harrumphed at him and turned her nose forward. Laurentius for his part simply rubbed the hair on his chin and sighed like an old man. These two were going to be the death of him one day, he swore.

While Laurentius was an orphan raised in a bog off the coast of whatever wasteland bordered his village's home, and was extremely proficient in crossing swamp's, mud and generally wet regions without the need for the rusted iron ring Argon seemed to require when travelling through waist high water… he was not exuberant like said masked undead when their group had descended from the rickety wooden lift mechanism operated by a lone hellhound before treading in actual poisoned muddy water. In fact, the first thing he had done to the masked man after unfreezing him was raise his gloved fist and smash it into Argon's exposed gut, a satisfied grin on his face when he wheezed out an apology before collapsing face first into the muck. The pyromancer may have been raised in a swamp but it didn't mean he enjoyed trekking through every damn one they came across in Lordran like some overjoyed regiment scout eager to please his superior.

The way down had been nothing but a nuisance from the start. First, three giant lizardmen had nearly eaten him whole when they couldn't club him to mush; then some weird mutated creature with multiple limbs had shot him in the chest with chaos fire - a most unpleasant experience that had both melted his tattered robes and left a funny zapping sensation in his body that he could taste on his tongue - and he didn't even want to remember the man-sized mosquito that had sprayed acidic blood onto his shield, melting the armament he had adored ever since Argon had gifted it to him at the Parish. The pyromancer had imagined that the worst was behind them until he had thereafter been shot in the groin of all places by a bloody poisoned dart. It had taken almost a full hour of placating from Priscilla to calm himself and forgive Argon since it was only the journey that was perilous, and not the guide. At least they had found another Firekeeper soul in an old chest within the cavern that decayed lizard had stood garrison at.

The lift they had taken down was primitive at best, and they had to take it one at a time, least they risk falling to their death's only to be revived and repeat that horrendous process again. Then again, the swamp as an individual factor wasn't as bad as Laurentius had imaged. Sure, there were more of those chaos fire-spitting leg creatures and peskier mosquito's that expelled blood instead of ingesting it, but when they were taken out of the equation the bog the trio trudged through seemed almost peaceful. You just had to block out the hiss the thick muck would make when stepped on or the noxious gases that rose in the air like dirty clouds.

The pyromancer was even about to forgive Argon for all the troubles they'd faced so far with just a slap on the wrist. That was… until they came to a stop before a humongous white mount of fleshy tentacles and more giant lizardmen anchoring boulders in their hands.

"This is where you get off."

Laurentius' eye twitched and turned to give him a pointed stare. He had suffered being pummeled, sprayed, darted and flamed to death only to be left before an imposing splotch of sickly white goop with a melting hole for an entrance and told he was to go on some quest he didn't even know the nature of?

Priscilla noticed the air around them tense and quickly acted. "Ah, Argon… perhaps you should explain as to why we are leaving Sir Laurentius here so suddenly?"

Thank whatever god still remained on this miserable kingdom that she was able to read the room unlike a certain ambiguous undead.

"Hm?" Argon said before looking down slightly confused, as if what he had said was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I thought it was pretty clear, Laurentius here will brave Izalith and collect one of the Lord Soul's."

Said pyromancer gaped at him, murder in his eyes while the cross breed tried frantically to calm him down, her hands moving around wildly in the air as she again attempted to ease everyone back to square one, herself included.

"You're more than bonkers, mate. Now I understand completely, you're just bloody insane."

"While I don't disagree, I'm actually thinking tactically here."

"And how exactly," Laurentius seethed through his clenched jaw, "is sending me to my eminent death alone a tactical decision?"

Argon nodded and moved further into the center of the island they were all standing on. He flicked off toxic muck from his boot as he did so and stood adjacent to a washed-up corpse just short of reaching a tall ivory pillar, ironically not stained with dull greens, browns and yellows like everything else here.

"We know there are a total of four Lord Soul's scattered throughout Lordran, all a substantial distance from one another." He began to which both Laurentius and Priscilla nodded in understand, the pyromancer still quite skeptical as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"That explains why we're here then, since Izalith is said to lie in the furthest corner of Lordran, underground." He said with a huff.

"Precisely." Replied Argon, absently prodding the undead corpse with a foot before looking up. "It's also one of the reason's I've opted for you to go at this one alone. We need to split up. Each one heading to an individual Lord Soul."

Priscilla looked at him pensively, lower lip caught between her teeth as she tried to wrap her head around the concept. It made sense to part ways. Each person heading to a respective Lord Soul to lessen the load and quicken the journey before the Flame died out completely; it would be the most anticlimactic occurrence if the Flame were to die before they had even collected all the soul's necessary to open the Kiln. At the same time Laurentius frowned at the masked undead.

His plan was clever but impractical on two points. One, they were comprised of a trio, there weren't enough people to head to all the Lord Soul's in time; and two, just a single person wouldn't be able to take down a possessor of a Lord Soul because it was just suicide and utter stupidity. Nobody he knew of possessed the power to face a great Lord alone, never mind the Witch of Izalith of all people. He wasn't the great Salaman. He couldn't hold a candle to his predecessor! What's more, even if they did end up braving and collecting the three Lord Souls needed, their last one was still submerged in a city full of water. It was basically impossible to do, and he had heard rumors of ghost's living there that couldn't be harmed by conventional weapons. With that revelation, how in the world were they even meant to succeed in a quest given to them by a slimy serpent and a feminine-looking god?

"I know you have your doubts," Argon reassured and motioned for them to follow him as he walked around the square pillar. "But in your case, you won't exactly be working alone. We have an ally for now."

Laurentius frowned again at his cryptic words before they turned the final corner of the massive pillar to find a slender woman dressed head to toe in charcoal robes with gold rims on the sleeves and edges. A large cowl blocked her undoubtedly fair features from view if her pale toes were anything to go by, poking out from under her daintily.

"Ah, I see you've returned." She spoke in a soft voice as crisp as the morning air as she raised her head Argon's way. "And I see you've brought company. How delightful."

Heyo all, my apologies for the delay in updates (although I'll remind myself that I don't exactly have an updating schedule), I've been a tad busy with work and the like. Can you believe how difficult it is to find an office fan with metal blades that doesn't knock against the fan cage all the time? Terribly frustrating.

I left out the battle and fast-pace action in this chapter to focus on the supposed 'calm before the storm' by making the trio reinforce armaments like you would if you were playing the game. And yes, I've made Priscilla short, about a few centimeters taller than Ciaran (is that how you spell her name?). I thought that by doing so, I could flesh out more humorous scenes and fluffiness in later chapters, plus I'm just really waiting to write up a scene with her in black leather(don't look at me like that, I think she'd look good in it and for the fact that it'll cause Argon to act like a shy schoolboy… Or something like that).

Besides that, I just noticed that the ampersand I place between the 'read and review' message hasn't shown for the past five chapters. 0o0

I'm so sorry about that (the ampersand is that fancy 'and' symbol, in case you were wondering)

Please do R and R (that doesn't look right but it'll have to do), I'd love to hear any opinions, ideas, and thoughts you may have about this story.

Thank you for reading!