NOTE: This chapter is written in the first-person; Amy is speaking.

I felt genuine pain on Halloween night; a pain that would never seem to go away. It was heartbreaking, mind-numbing, and too intense for words—I had no words. Clara was dead.

I came home an hour or two after killing Michael at the perfect place and time. I smelled a strange stew boiling on the stove in the kitchen. Britta wasn't there, but as soon as I walked up the stairs, I heard crying. Then I sensed death; after, I saw the old lady holding the hand of my sister's dead body. I saw those green eyes look up at me, beet red and bordered with pressure marks.

"You are home," she wept.

I walked into the room, wrapping the shawl I had taken from Clara closer around me as I fell to my knees and felt whatever was left of my sanity slip away. Tears were running down my face; I screamed out to whoever was watching us above. I never was religious, but I knew someone was watching. By that point, I knew there was always someone watching us—yes, I mean the ghosts in the house.

I saw marks on her neck. She was choked to death. When I told Britta, she just wailed out like crazy.

"OH, NEI!" she shouted, sobbing heavily.

"It's this house!" I screamed, reaching to touch the other of my sister's dead, pale, livid hands. "Clara…oh my…no!"

After all that crying, I still couldn't believe she was dead. Yet at the same time, I could. She was life; I was death—a perfect polarity of two of the biggest mysteries of existence. You're born, you live your life, and then you die. Death is the only predestined thing in everyone's lives. It can come at anytime, but it still has to happen one way or another. There's no escape from it. It's the ultimate fate, the be-all and end-all, the greatest victor of all.

Our Aunt Julie once said—"what's set is the beginning and the end. What's in between is yours."

Clara barely had an 'in between'. She was actually trying to achieve that. She had just turned twenty-two toward the end of September, was a college student who had to stop going because of my own issues, and she had firm goals for her future. She wanted to earn her degree, open a flower shop and eventually have a family one day. The latter came too soon—she was pregnant because the man I fell in love with raped her.

After she died, I felt like it was all for naught. Maybe karma was biting me in the ass finally?

But I got revenge for her; you would think that because she was older than me that she would be stronger-willed. I guess that wasn't the case. We were opposites in that way, too.

Then again, I guess you could say I did the world, as a whole, justice by killing Michael. At least he didn't die in this house—he would have been trapped and got his revenge as well.

Speaking of this house, I wonder if Clara was lingering in the air as we wept over her dead body.

Three days later was November 3. I had taken it upon myself to do the unthinkable—inviting the whole of the New Orleans Coven, including Cordelia. Britta and I made arrangements to have Clara cremated. It was my idea, because I thought that returning her, in ash form, to the earth and its elements would have been what she wanted. I also felt the need to give back—Clara brought me back to life twice, so now I was giving her life in return. Ash makes great fertilizer, so I knew that wherever we would scatter her ashes, a beautiful garden of earthly delights would take root in their place. Clara would be in them; my sister. That is eternal life at its very finest.

As much as Cordelia had made my sister and I angry, I was still happy to see her. I gave her a huge hug when she came to our memorial scattering of Clara's ashes. I felt her tears going on my shoulder. I had been wearing my black lace gloves to prevent from killing any of them. I needed that like a hole in the head. She was wearing a hat with a veil piece attached to it, but was wearing black like the rest of us—Britta held Clara's urn.

Then I saw Zoe Spencer, the Supreme of the coven, with her two children, Andrew and Noelle. Andrew was about Clara's age, but Noelle was his little sister. She was the splitting image of her mother—they both had large, brown doe eyes that sparkled like chocolate diamonds, and lips that were rosy like a porcelain doll's. Their hair was light brown, and was straight. It reminded me of Violet a little bit, actually. Noelle was twelve, I think. I had known them both for a big chunk of my life. Zoe had asked me about the gloves, and my response was simple.

"You don't want to know," I said with a chuckle.

Then I saw Queenie, the obese black witch who had been with the coven for a decade or two now. She was the Head of the Council of Witchcraft. She had this power that could make her into a human voodoo doll. Intense shit. She had brought her son, Marcus, along—he was about five.

Then, there were the members of the council—Robert Dunwall and his wife, Melissa, the headmistress of Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Youth; Leland Parsons, who died and was resurrected by my sister during the Seven Wonders (at the time, we were too young to participate but we watched the trials); Christina Scheer with her average-looking face and even better-looking seven year old daughter, Lillian.

We all took turns saying our goodbyes and sharing fond memories—I wanted Leland to shut up because he kept rambling about how Clara resurrected him.

Cordelia kept crying and crying, talking about how great of a daughter she was to her.

Britta expressed that she is simply in a better place, and it was she who distributed the ashes on the ground.

Christina and Robert both shared memories of how she would make the academy look beautiful every summer with her agrokinetic powers—yeah, I guess that's what plant-growing is called.

Melissa shared how she helped Clara hone her healing powers. They first began to manifest after Aunt Julie was murdered along with our mother and father. Eleonora died the same night. Melissa was responsible for restoring Cordelia's sight—why hadn't she become Supreme?

As soon as we left, it began to rain. It was already cloudy as it was, but as soon as the procession walked away from where we scattered Clara's ashes, I saw sprouts spring up gradually. I nodded with approval before leaving with the others—I knew that Clara's power manifested even after death.

At about 7:00 that night, I was napping. Britta had cooked for me, and she had made extra knowing full well that I was pregnant. I didn't even eat all of it, not just because it was bland, but because I had plans to get rid of the baby.

My third abortion.

I'd have to be in San Fran by the end of that week in order to catch the doctor at his clinic. Two bags were packed upstairs and I planned on taking the bus to the train station the following morning. I didn't even plan on leaving a note—Britta didn't have to know where I had gone. Maybe I'd lie and say I was visiting friends?

I probably could've had the option of talking to Nora about possibly having her husband do it, but he's a ghost. I wouldn't trust a ghost touching me down there.

So as I napped the same night as the memorial gathering, I felt fingertips moving hair from my face. My hair was still short, so it wasn't too messy. I trudgingly open my eyes to see her looking down at me. Her hair looked to be glowing a bit, as though she had eaten one of those golden apples that kept her young.

Oh, and the bitch still wouldn't share her apples with me.

"Amy," she whispered to me. "Wake up. You will not get sleep during nighttime if you nap like this."

I sat up and stretched, yawning before resting my hands behind my head. She sat on the couch as I continued to lie down.

"What?" I asked.

"You have slept too long," Britta told me.

"Only two hours," I answered, shaking my head.

"Fair," the old hag said. "The baby needs sleep and food."

"Britta," I finally said; I knew I was pushing my luck. "Can you stop? You know, ever since you've found out I was pregnant, you've been babying me. I can't even smoke a goddamn cigarette with you up my ass!"

"And I cannot turn my back without seeing you pack your bags!" she hissed.

I just looked at her; she was getting aggravated with me. I grew a bit nervous.

"Why do you have bags?" she asked me.

"Why do I have to tell you?" I questioned. "It's none of your business."

"You will not leave here," Britta said firmly.

"Oh, and what are you going to do?" I asked, snapping back at her. "You're not my goddamn mom, and stop acting like it!"

"I know what I will do," she replied; she wouldn't quit! "I will make you stay." She paused for a minute, and I rolled my eyes. "You believe me to be a fool, barna, but I have existed far longer than you have. You are leaving here to kill that baby."

"Oh, shut up, you old hag!" I screeched, getting up off the couch and looking down at her; I felt like I had her by the balls. "You're a hypocrite! You had an abortion once!"

"It was not up to me," Britta sneered back, "and if it were, I would have just given it to an orphanage." I felt her coming closer, and even though she was shorter than me, she had a strong, unbeatable presence. I was actually a little scared. "Killing it is not the answer. I would know myself. Do what is right, barna." She paused, and I could hear her taking a breath with a gulp. "Marry the man, or give it up."

I looked her dead in the eye, their green color sparkling with annoyance at me. However, I had to stifle the urge to laugh in her face.

"Marry him?" I asked with disbelief. "He's dead!"

She looked at me, and I could tell she was looking for an explanation. How could I give her one? Then again, it was all over and done with and all for naught, right? I killed Michael for revenge because he sexually assaulted my sister, who died the same day.

"Dead?" she asked.

"Yeah! You didn't know?" I questioned, crossing my arms over my chest. "I killed him, okay? And you know what, he deserved it!"

"Why?"

"Because he raped my sister," I explained.

I saw the poor old lady wince back in fear, looking up at me like she had seen a ghost, Well, maybe she had, but that's not the point here.

"Yeah," I added, "that's why she was pregnant. I got revenge for her. I don't want to hurt people, but if people fuck me over or with my family, they will have messed with the wrong witch."

"Clara…is dead…and the baby died…" I heard her mutter tearfully. "W-Were you…uh—"

"Raped?" I asked, finishing her sentence. "No. I actually wanted sex. Same guy, too. I was hurt, but…oh well." I paused for a minute. "I just don't want a baby. Period. So I'm going to San Fran by train tomorrow and going to the abortionist there. I'll be a few days, so don't hold up."

As soon as I try to leave the room to grab a snack in the kitchen, I hear her accent calling to me, but she wasn't yelling. She was surprisingly calm.

"You will not go," she told me. "That is an order."

"Yes, I—" She cut me off, walking closer to me as she made intense eye contact with me. The look in them was just…weird.

"You will not kill that poor child," she repeated. "You must deal with the consequences of your actions. If you cannot have what you want, want what you have."

Something struck me about those words; that was when she went through the other entrance of the living room. I saw her look back at me straight-faced.

"You will need help unloading those bags," Britta added. "I will help you."

I don't know if she coerced me with her powers or I was driven to obey by my own free will, but either way, it worked.

The Wicked Witch of Sweden was officially on my case 24/7. The only good thing was that I had someone to talk to if I was moody or needed someone to sit with. Neither of us worked, but we lived on whatever Cordelia had left for us. Rumor had it that my grandmother, Britta's daughter, had a shit-ton of money she had inherited from some old guy in New York. Long story short, it belonged to my Aunt Eleonora before it was left to my sister and I. Cordelia adopted us, so she had rights to every penny before we did. A portion was used to buy the house. Everything else was used to cover necessities and Clara's college tuition.

Now, the remaining amount, still pretty big, was there to support us.

But Clara wasn't.

Her and I would have been pregnant at the exact same time, with the same due date, the same kinds of cravings…maybe the same gender of baby?

I know very well that death comes to everyone. Some of us are lucky, like me and Britta. Some, not so much; like my sister.

I remember when I was resurrected the second time around, I was willing to give anything and everything to feel something again, especially pain.

Now I take that back—this is the worst kind of pain anyone can feel. I would much rather die, be locked up in a coffin and buried six feet under than to bear another minute of this pain ever again.

My sister was dead and there was nothing I could do.

A/N:

This was very sad, but Amy is beginning to mature (thankfully) instead of being a drunk, promiscuous hedonist.

Will she have a safe pregnancy?

Please leave a Review, and be sure to Favorite and Follow if you haven't already! I plan on ending this in a couple more chapters including an epilogue…and after that, this "series" will have officially come to close.

Thank you guys! Stay tuned! :3