In the dream, everything is ice cold, and Sadie knows that she does not belong.
This is not the world of her usual dreams. The red lightning is conspicuously absent, and the landscape is suspiciously flat. Void of anything other than the occasional chill blast of wind. Turning in a slow circle, she tries and fails to find any other signs of life. Anything to indicate she is not alone.
Somehow, the isolation is setting her teeth on edge. Her skin prickles with goosebumps. Her stomach churns, and she feels the burn of bile at the back of her throat.
She doesn't have a clue why she is here, but she suspects she knows who is behind it. A fact that is only confirmed when a chilling voice reaches her from somewhere she cannot yet see.
"Have you forgotten him already, little one?"
Sadie turns again, because the words seem to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, her heart slamming against her ribs because no matter how she may try to deny it, she knows exactly who the voice is referring to in seconds flat.
Eddie.
"He died for you, and you are already with another man."
"Go to hell."
The words come out gritted, and Sadie can feel that familiar anger burning to life in her veins. Her entire body tenses, waiting for the match strike that will set her aflame. Her fingers flex at her sides, and she can feel the coalescence of power against her palms.
It takes her a minute to put the pieces together, but the sudden sensation of something hovering just out of reach behind her causes a shiver to race down Sadie's spine before she turns again and comes face to face with the one thing she has been hoping to avoid.
Sadie is no longer alone.
"Do you intend to tell me that you now believe Eddie Munson's death means nothing?"
"It will never mean nothing."
"It already does. Or are you forgetting your soldier as well?"
Sadie cannot ignore the twist of guilt that wrenches within her chest, even though she clings to the knowledge that her dealings with the dark-haired, blue-eyed soldier have absolutely nothing to do with forgetting Eddie like a lifeline. She remembers agreeing to stay with David last night, even after Nancy had gone home. She can still see her friend's skeptical, almost worried glance at her insistence that spending more time with David would do no harm.
All of it had been a reckless decision. Sadie knew that from the start. But she had been so desperate to live up to the plan. To protect the interests of her ragtag group of friends, and ensure both David and his friend—Nancy's companion—remained convinced that nothing was amiss.
The wild anger she had known before Vincent found her in Wayne's backyard had fueled her movements even before she fully realized what it was. But there was something else, as well. That foreign part of her that left her missing spaces of time had been there, too.
All Sadie can seem to recall from before she woke in this frigid landscape is being alone in a room with David. A room she does not recognize. Him, kissing her. She did nothing to stop it.
Regret nearly chokes her because now she realizes what she has done. The gaps fill in, in her mind, and everything becomes clearer.
She knows she had succeeded in maintaining the cover their group needed so badly with David. She hopes that her actions will persuade the rest of his fellow soldiers to believe in that cover as well. That her decisions, reckless though they may be will convince them that she, and her friends, are every bit as at a loss in what is going on in Hawkins as the military seems to be. If his superiors think they are just a bunch of clueless kids, they will not look into their actions any further. This is what they want.
But it clearly comes at a cost.
"He will hate you for this, Sadie. You know it. You are already starting to hate yourself."
"You can't—you can't hate anyone if you're dead."
"And perhaps his death is not as permanent as it seems."
Sadie's breath stills in her chest as her entire body goes rigid, the chill in the air seeming to seep its way beneath her skin until it dulls the fire of the anger she had known before. And she doesn't want that. The loss of that fire makes her feel almost bereft. Like there is nothing left to keep her upright.
Some small, stupid part of her acknowledges a flare of hope as a result of Vecna's words, though. It is a sensation she is not fully willing to part with, despite knowing how impossible it is for Eddie to be anything other than dead. Gone. Forever.
It's been months, and still, she misses him like it was only yesterday. That gaping hole in her chest is still there, roaring to life, when she least expects it. And it is stirring again, right now.
"You cling to your grief like a shield, Sadie, but your actions prove it is no longer sincere."
"Stop."
"Relinquish the shield. Give in. Your humanity is only holding you back."
"Stop. Please—please—stop," Sadie pleads, her hands lifting to press against her temples while a burning pressure builds behind her skull, "Please—"
"You are already fading, little one. You know it to be true. The longer you resist, the more painful it will be."
Shaking her head, Sadie increases the pressure of her hands against her skin, trying to force the voice out, because the figure that had been hovering behind her is gone once again. It's like she is going insane. Losing her mind. She can no longer come to terms with what is real, and what is not.
Laughter echoes in her mind, and Sadie falls to her knees with an anguished cry, desperately clawing for the fiery anger from before, despite almost instinctively knowing it will not come to her aid. Not now.
"Resistance is weakening you. Give in, and make yourself strong."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You do. You simply do not want to see it."
"No. I don't—I don't understand."
"Sadie?"
The familiarity of the second voice causes Sadie's head to snap up in seconds, even in spite of her desire to push Vecna out of her mind for good, because in spite of the curdling anxiety in her gut, she's wanted to hear her name spoken like that for what feels like forever. Tears burn at the corners of her eyes, and one slips down her cheeks before she can stop it.
Sadie knows that voice. She tries to convince herself it is only a trick, but fails. She fails, because it is warm, and reassuring, and when her mind finally allows her to recognize the new figure that is standing right in front of her she can barely breathe.
She cannot breathe, because what she is seeing cannot possibly be real.
"Why are you fighting this, sweetheart?"
"What are—what are you talking about?"
"You know."
"I don't."
"You do," The shadowy figure resembling Eddie insists, stepping closer, and crouching down beside Sadie to look her in the eye, "Because he is right. Every day you grow weaker trying to fight it."
"Trying to fight what?"
This is insane. Sadie knows that it is. She has no business talking to—a ghost—when she should be more intent upon trying to get out of this dream, or hallucination, or whatever it is, and returning to the real world. But the small voice at the back of her mind reminds her that the real world is a place without Eddie. A place she is no longer certain she truly wants to inhabit.
Something the Eddie-figure that wavers before her seems to sense in an instant, if his next words are any sort of indication at all.
"Give in. Give in, and we can be together again."
"That's not—no, it's not possible."
"It is."
"You're dead," Sadie retorts, her voice cracking over the words, because even as she knows they are true, she wishes she did not have to believe them, "We can't—there's nothing left for us."
"Is this because of the soldier?"
"You're not real. You're not real, you're not—you're not real—"
"And he is," The voice that is so much like Eddie's spits out, this time mingling with Vecna's voice such that it sends fear racing straight to Sadie's heart, "Did you ever love me?"
"Eddie—"
"Or were you just stringing me along for something better?"
The words slice through her like shards of glass, and Sadie can do nothing but gape as she watches Eddie's figure flicker at the edges. Her brow furrows, because flashes of another, far more intimidating figure become apparent in between glances at Eddie's face. She feels the faintest hints of her former anger coming back to life, because even knowing this Eddie is not real, she knows who it is that is using him against her. Who is ripping him away from her yet again.
Sadie pushes herself to her feet with her hands clenched into fists at her sides, ready to strike. To do anything, because now Eddie's face is looking more and more like Vecna, and her heartbeat hammers in her ears. She wants to destroy him for everything he's done, and for once, she feels as though she might actually stand a chance.
She knows it is foolish. That she is not strong enough to take on Vecna alone. But even knowing this world she inhabits is not real, she feels the power rushing to her palms again. She can see its familiar red glow.
As though the figure senses this sudden resolve, though, all traces of what allowed it to resemble Eddie fade away, leaving Sadie to stare at the monster responsible for tearing her life apart at the seams. The light against her palms burns brighter, and her fingers twitch as though preparing to strike.
But then the figure—Vecna—speaks, still using Eddie's voice, and all of the fire that fuels Sadie's sudden stroke of foolish bravado dies for a second time.
"Whore."
It is just a word. One single, stupid word. But Sadie feels as though another hole is being punched through her chest, and as Vecna's features blur to resemble Eddie's once again, she can do nothing but scream.
Waking, finally, and bolting upright in the bed, Sadie clutches at the guitar pick hanging around her neck. Her breath comes in gasps, and black spots erupt in front of her eyes. A man's frame stirs beside her, and she forces herself to flee from the confines of the sheets over her legs, tossing them back and stumbling over to a trash can resting beside the door.
The contents of her stomach resurface, and the man in the bed moves to join her, strong hands resting on her shoulders, seemingly oblivious to how her muscles tense on instinct not long after the contact. And even though Sadie knows that the soldier is speaking to her—trying to question her—to see if she is alright—she cannot reply.
Instead, she huddles by the trash can, her entire body trembling while she tries to ignore the rushing of her own blood in her ears.
While she tries to pretend a singular word is not running on a loop in her mind.
Whore.
…
"The eagle has landed. I repeat, the eagle has landed."
The words sound staticky through the speakers of the walkie, where it sits at the center of the kitchen table in the abandoned two story home they inhabit, but the meaning is unmistakably clear. The same message is likely echoing in a room wherever the other group of their friends resides, as well.
It signifies that the first part of their plan is in action. And even in spite of his attempts to talk Dustin out of using that stupid code-phrase, Hopper cannot help but smile.
For being a bunch of kids, these guys sure knew their fair share of ways to create diversions.
"Copy that, Henderson. Over and out."
"You didn't say the rest. Over," Dustin persists, the indignation behind the words causing Joyce and Eleven to stifle their laughs, while Hopper simply rolls his eyes, "And use my code-name!"
"Kid—"
"Use. The. Code-name."
"Fine. Copy that, Compass Genius. Mission is a go. Over and out."
"Much better, Rambo. Mission is a go. Let's kick some ass. Over."
Rolling his eyes, Hopper turns away from the table, aware of Eleven's laughter even as she tries to bite down on her lip to stop it. Mike sits beside her, holding her hand, and Joyce remains on her opposite side.
All three of them carry looks of extraordinary determination, even in spite of the small bit of humor afforded by Dustin's antics, and Hopper can't exactly fault them for giving in. It isn't exactly like they've had a hell of a lot of time for amusement, and he knows better than anyone how badly Eleven is chafing at being kept away from her friends.
Compared to the last time, she is slightly more accepting of the necessity, though. And even though her enthusiasm for this latest plan of theirs is concerning, Hopper knows he couldn't exactly keep her from it. Not when trying to dissuade her would only make her that much more likely to go at it alone.
"You ready for this, kid?"
"The plan is working."
"That's not an answer."
"I'm ready," Eleven confirms, nodding while her smile fades, and her eyes glint with something that would almost frighten Hopper, but for the fact that he knows none of the girl's ferocity is directed at him, "Sadie?"
"With Wayne, Creel and Harrington. The others are gonna stay at each of the gate-sites long enough to make sure our soldier friends stay occupied."
"And you're sure they will. Stay occupied, I mean," Joyce pipes up, doubt and worry mixing in her expression as she looks from Hopper, to Eleven, and back to Hopper once more as he replies.
"They will, Joyce. We've got this."
Jim holds Joyce's gaze for a moment or two longer, trying to provide every reassurance he cannot seem to put into words in just that look, alone. And she seems to accept it, after a while, even if she still doesn't look particularly thrilled.
He turns back to Eleven, then. Looks at Mike, who is still clutching her hand. His teeth grind together, and he forces aside any and all trepidation, because he knows they have to do this. They have to take this shot.
If people of Hawkins are being lured into a trap they cannot possibly comprehend, like they were last summer, they need to shut it down. Sooner rather than later.
And as much as he wishes it was not the case, Hopper knows that one of the only ones that can help them figure out how to do that is the young girl sitting with legs crossed on the kitchen floor.
"Okay, kiddo. Let's do this," He says, moving to the far side of the room for a moment to check the tape player set-up for what feels like the hundredth time. Truthfully, he isn't all that surprised that Madonna is the kid's choice for what to use to bring her back to the world if the worst should happen while tracking the flayed. She'd been obsessed with the songs ever since he started allowing Max Mayfield to come to the cabin over the summer.
Thinking of what happened to Max only makes Hopper that much more determined to get to the bottom of what is going on now, though, and he knows that Eleven feels the same way. He knows that she wants justice for her friend, because he can see it in her eyes as they hold his gaze when he turns back to face her and she offers him a grim sort of nod before she speaks.
"Let's kick some ass."
"One of these days I'm gonna talk to Henderson about his language. I think he's been a bad influence on you."
Eleven smiles, and Hopper bends to sit on the floor nearby, aware of how Joyce has taken the girl's other hand, and is now squeezing it tightly in her own. For a moment, he simply watches them. His family. A family he never thought he would get the chance to see again. But as soon as he recognizes Eleven's expression turning skeptical as a result of his introspection, Hopper forces his attention back to the matter at hand. He repeats Eleven's previous words, and watches her close her eyes after taking a last, steadying breath.
"Let's kick some ass."
…
"Sadie. It's time."
Vincent's words reach her over the low hum of the empty refrigerator in the abandoned home they are, for all intents and purposes, squatting in, and Sadie swallows as guilt threatens to form a knot in her throat. During the journey to their newfound location, she had said nothing to anyone about her dream. When asked directly about how things ended with David the previous evening, she mentioned nothing, save for what anyone could have discerned by asking Nancy.
Truthfully, she is ashamed. Ashamed of letting things get as far as they did with David. Ashamed of her desperation to do—something she cannot even begin to understand.
She doesn't know if it was really her, choosing to spend the night with him. Or if it was something else. If it was that blackness that continues to creep up on her, occasionally, stealing memory and random snippets of time.
Either way, though, there is little she can do to change that particular turn of events, now. What's done is done.
Even if she tries to tell herself that maybe what happened with David is just her way of reclaiming some manner of independence—of choice—after everything with Andy, Sadie isn't entirely sure she can believe it.
And if she can't believe it, how can she expect anyone else to do the same?
"Sadie?"
"Are the others—did they—"
"They're fine. Apparently, Will, Sinclair and Henderson want to stick around to ensure they do not need to create any more distractions."
"And Jonathan, Nancy and Robin?"
"Doing the same at the opposite end of town," Vincent supplies, his brow furrowing as he watches Sadie's small nod, and almost immediately picks up on her distraction no matter how she clearly tries to conceal it, "You do not have to do—"
"Yes I do."
"Sadie—"
"I do. I have to do this," Sadie interrupts, silently grateful for the sudden steel behind her words, because she can read the lingering doubt in Vincent's expression as clear as day, "Let's get it started, yeah?"
Not even giving her uncle the time to reply, Sadie brushes past him and heads for the small living area adjacent to the kitchen, her fingers flexing absently at her side along the way. She prays that she will succeed in schooling her expression into something sure. Confident. Unperturbed. And as she pauses for only a moment just outside the doorway to where Steve and Wayne are waiting, she draws in a steadying breath.
Steve still remains on the floor, watching her, and she can tell he is looking for any sign of second thoughts in her demeanor. But Wayne simply stands and moves to meet her, his gaze holding nothing but concern as he clasps both of her shoulders in weathered hands.
"You alright?"
"I am."
"Got worried after you didn't come home last night."
Sadie's lips thin as every eye in the room rivets upon her, her cheeks flushing no matter how she might try to avoid it. She tries to offer Wayne a reassuring smile, but it seems to get stuck in more of a grimace, instead, one of his eyebrows lifting as she skirts around him to sit beside Steve instead.
"I'm fine, Wayne. I promise."
"Wait a minute. You didn't come home?" Steve interjects, shifting to stare incredulously at Sadie, even in spite of how she is rather obviously refusing to look him in the eye, "Where the hell were you?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Nance made it home. I'd say it kinda matters."
"Except we—kind of have a job to do right now," Sadie presses, settling herself into what she hopes will be a somewhat comfortable position with her back against a covered sofa, while her legs stretch out in front of her. She makes the mistake of catching Vincent's gaze as he moves to sit across from her, ready to step in should she need aid once everything begins. And even though her guilt only seems to increase as he narrows his eyes at her, Sadie forces herself to remain steady. Tries to continue looking him in the eye.
Even when he speaks, she does not look away, but she can feel the sudden pressure of her fingernails digging into her palms all the while.
"We will discuss this later, Sadie."
"Of course."
"You're seriously willing to just—let this go?"
"My niece is right," Vincent states, ignoring Steve's obvious skepticism over the reply, in favor of keeping his attention on Sadie, and noting the way she seems to shift just a bit beneath the scrutiny, "We have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment."
"And the safe-guards you mentioned?" Steve questions, clearly not thrilled at the forced change in subject, even knowing the time constraints they face just as well as any of the rest of them, "They'll—they're gonna work, right?"
"We have every reason to believe that they will."
"What about the song?"
In contrast to her attempt to keep her reaction to Wayne's mention of her absence at his cabin the previous evening a secret, Sadie cannot hide how her entire body goes rigid in response to Steve's inquiry. It's an innocent enough question, and she knows he cannot possibly be aware of the implications behind it, but for her, the idea of hearing that song—the one that used to be her favorite—sends ice water hurtling through her veins.
She doesn't think she can face it. And it hardly seems likely that the familiar lyrics of "Don't Stop Believin'" will bring her back to herself.
The joy that song used to bring her is centered almost entirely around Eddie. It had saved her from Vecna before because of Eddie.
And now, Eddie Munson is dead.
"That is ready to go as well."
"Actually, I—I'm really not sure it will—work," Sadie cuts in, the words trailing off in volume as soon as she realizes Steve, Wayne and Vincent are all staring at her as though she has suddenly sprouted an unnecessary extra limb, "It—I mean it was—I can't—"
"It was your song with Eddie."
Wayne's voice seems to crack around the words, and Sadie bites her lip when she recognizes the unmistakable sheen to his eyes as he continues to meet her gaze head-on. But she cannot nod. She cannot speak. She can't do anything other than remaining frozen in place…
Or at least she can't do anything until Steve's startled words break her immobility and force her to react, if for no other reason than to ensure her part in this task is not negated altogether.
"We can't just—you aren't actually gonna let her do this without something to bring her back, are you?"
"Steve—"
"No. No, Sadie, you can talk a good game about having this under control all you want, but this? This is just a death wish."
"Look. We can—sit here, arguing about a song, and whether it may or may not be helpful, or I can just do this, and get it over with," Sadie begins, holding out a hand to stall Steve's impending protest, while a pang of something not all that far from warmth spreads through her in response to his apparent concern, "Vincent is here. He was with me before, and everything—"
"If you say everything turned out fine, I swear to God—"
"It didn't. It didn't turn out fine. But—I survived, then. And I—I'm stronger, now."
Steve spends another minute or two looking as though he is still scrambling for other reasons to object, but the ever-growing furrow between his eyebrows seem to indicate the effort is largely futile. And even though the look he is giving her is hardly warm, Sadie takes some small manner of reassurance in the fact that he appears willing to let the matter be, at least for now.
"You're gonna be the death of me, you know that, Carver?"
"You have her. You're sure you have her, right?" Wayne inquires, then, looking to Vincent for reassurance, even though the younger man is still watching Sadie, as though determined to find something in her expression that no one else can see, "Song or no song?"
"I can keep her safe."
"You'd better."
Vincent does not appear to take offense to the insistence, instead choosing to reach out to clap a hand on Wayne's shoulder before offering him a solemn nod by way of reassurance. And Sadie takes a last look at them, seated with her on the floor. Wayne. Vincent. Steve. She takes more courage than she likely deserves from knowing she is not alone.
Even when she takes another breath and closes her eyes, Sadie draws from that reassurance, Wayne's next words causing her to bite down on her lip again while her eyes sting with unshed tears.
"I ain't losin' you too."
His hand seizes hers, and she squeezes almost immediately, hoping to provide him as much comfort as he has always given her.
And then she throws herself, headlong, into the abyss.
…
When Lieutenant David Clark finally steps back from the carnage at the western border of Hawkins, he cannot shake the idea that all of this is nothing more than a simple distraction to keep him—and his fellow soldiers—out of the way.
Or maybe that's just his frustration talking. Because none of his companions seem to believe the same. And they weren't the ones forced to leave a beautiful woman far sooner than they might want.
He still can't believe it. Can't believe that Sadie had come back to his temporary living space, rather than insisting he drop her off at home as Nancy had with Cal. He can't believe she had moved closer to him when he kissed her, rather than pulling away as she had any other time he made contact, before.
Something had been different about her, last night, though. She was more brazen. More sure of herself. He'd even managed to trick her into a smile or two that actually seemed to be genuine.
David can still recall asking if she was sure she wanted this, because regardless of his own needs, he truly never saw it coming. And she'd said yes.
Sadie's hands had been desperate. Urgent. Needy. And her unanticipated lack of reservation had removed any remaining vestiges of his own.
The rest of the evening had passed in a blur, and even now, David still cannot remember parts of it, as though intermittent pieces of his memory are just—gone. But even then, he would not change any of it for the world. He had the girl…
And even with what happened after—even with how, at times, it seemed like she was almost thinking of someone else while they were together—he wouldn't be able to bring himself to regret a single minute of it.
Neither of them had committed to another evening together, and David suspects that Sadie's sudden illness, and her evasive behavior around whatever had woken her played a large part in that. But he is absolutely certain that future arrangements will be made. After all, it doesn't exactly look like the military will be pulling out of Hawkins any time soon.
They have time.
Still, it would be a lie for David to pretend he isn't somewhat—disheartened—by Sadie's occasional distraction. By how withdrawn she'd become in the aftermath. And that is perhaps a large part of what makes their presumed victory at the border seem so stale, his lack of any outward reaction provoking one of his fellow soldiers to jog over to confront him head-on.
"Clark. You good, man?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," David assures, accepting the hand on his shoulder that Cal gives him, and returning the gesture with one of his own, "You look like hell, man."
"I look better than you."
"That's—not possible."
"Sure it is," Cal jokes, turning to squint over the lingering remains of smoke and ash that are floating down to the ground from the explosion that had drawn them here to begin with, "You're covered in ash. And you look like you didn't sleep at all."
"Maybe there's a reason for that."
"Yeah. The ash is from—"
"I'm not talking about the ash."
It takes a moment, but David can see exactly when comprehension dawns in his friend's expression. He can see when Cal's eyes widen, and a grin toys at the edges of his mouth. And he is unable to restrain a smirk of his own in response, a soft laugh escaping as Cal finally manages to reply.
"You didn't."
"Looks like you owe me fifty bucks."
"We make it out of this hellscape alive and you'll get your money."
Chuckling again, David falls into step beside Cal as he turns to move towards the armored vehicle parked a safe distance away from the blast zone, side-stepping corpses of the monsters that had been drawn to the sound and the burning flames along the way. And he can tell his friend is starting to experience the same suspicions that still linger in his own mind.
Something Cal only confirms when he frowns and slows to a stop just a few steps away from the vehicle that will take them home.
"This was a set up."
"Funny you should mention that," David quips, his fingers flexing as he follows the line of Cal's gaze as it roams across their surroundings, "I've been thinking the same thing."
"Doesn't make sense," Cal mutters, looking at the destruction that surrounds them—at the other soldiers still milling around, extinguishing fires and eliminating any lingering threats—while simultaneously dragging his fingers through his hair, "Why the hell would anyone want to derail us? We're here to help."
"They would want that if they had something to hide."
"Like what?"
"Like that secondary target we were briefed on before coming out here in the first place."
For the second time, David watches as comprehension flares in Cal's expression. And when his friend turns toward him to speak again, he is prepared for the questions that will be asked.
"Well how the hell are we gonna prove that? How do we even know where to start?"
"We start with the photos we were given before we arrived. We keep a closer eye on the people in them," David supplies, lowering his voice because another grouping of soldiers is heading their way, and he isn't exactly inclined to have anyone else know of his plans, particularly as they will likely try to stop him once they do.
"This mean you're gonna stop trailing after the Carver girl?" Cal asks, moving to step aside so that the approaching soldiers can clamber inside the vehicle beside them, "She's not in those photos."
"Just because she's not in the photos doesn't mean she has nothing to do with it."
"So that's a no, then."
"Oh come on, Cal," David laughs, nudging his friend in the side with an elbow, his amusement only growing as Cal offers him a resigned roll of the eyes, before he clambers into the vehicle before David can do so himself. Despite doing so, Cal can still hear the remainder of his companion's words, and cannot seem to restrain his own snort as the bravado behind them sinks in.
"Since when have you known me to be unable to multitask?"
What Cal does not notice, though, is the flare of blackened veins spider-webbing their way out from beneath the collar of David's shirt.
…
Hello, angels! And welcome to another new chapter in Sadie and Eddie's sequel! I know, I know. Sadie may or may not have made a questionable decision, here. And I hope that none of you object too much? It's all a part of the plan, and she isn't always thinking her own thoughts, so to speak. And I'm hoping to be able to show that as things go on, it will be more and more difficult for her to hide it (and for her to pretend she isn't aware of what it means, as well). So hopefully it all begins to make sense as things progress? I promise, there really is a method to my madness, even if it may not seem like it right now!
As always, my heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, favorite and review this story thus far! And special thanks to mistyagami and RoseThorne for leaving such lovely feedback the last time around! I appreciate the support so very much, and I really do hope you all continue to enjoy where the story goes from here!
Until next time…
MOMM