First of all, a big thank you to all of the reviewers. You all have no idea how much it means to me.

And... here we are! The chapter you've been waiting for. The last line of this one is, "Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 74th annual Hunger Games begin!"

I'm really excited, but I'm also worried. I only have three chapters written after this one, so I have to get writing. Really, really fast. Enjoy, everyone!

The Beginning

I take a sip of the thick, Capitol-synthesized liquid, gagging after the delicacy of last night. Edward didn't notice that I had left. I'm thankful— it would be difficult to explain everything. For some reason I still feel like I have to be secretive around him. Coral mentioned that my mind was the only safe one, and he is no exception. Still, I can't help but feel that I'm already in breach of my contract. Family first, the Movement second.

Edward has been gazing at me all morning. Into my eyes, at my facial expressions, and, sometimes, straight into my heart. He's trying to read me. I must look like a foreign language to him. He hasn't said a word in several minutes. All of his concentration is centered on breaking into the safe that is my mind.

"Must you really drink that?" asks Effie, her unspoken "in front of me" still echoing over the dinner table. I turn to glare at her.

"Yes," I say. She sniffs.

"I was talking to Haymitch," she replies stiffly. Haymitch flinches, downing another glass of... something. He smugly glances and her direction and pours more of the spirit into his glass. I look back to Effie, harden my stare, and tilt my head slightly. Something about her comment has made me furious. I know she said it was at him, but it was at both of us. It was designed to set me off.

I feel a sharp pressure on my forehead, the kind of pain that makes me want to drop whatever is hurting. Like picking up the wrong end of a curling iron or touching a hot stove, I want it off of me. I bury my head in my hands, the burn changing into near agony. I feel Effie and Haymitch staring at me as a pained cry parts my lips and my fingers dig into my scalp, raveling and tangling my hair. How much fire can fill me before I die? I breathe heavily. The pain subsides as quickly as it came.

"Bella, I'm sorry," I hear Edward say. His voice sounds detached, like it's coming from somewhere else. I'm hurt? Shocked? Betrayed? I can't find the right words. "I was trying to break into your shield."

"Why does it hurt?" I gasp. He smiles sadly.

"That was Jane," he says. Hurt. Shocked. Betrayed. I thought I could trust her! "She's dead, don't worry." What? No she's not... "Remember in Volterra? When she tried to hurt you? Well, that attack... it followed you around until it found a hole in your shield. The one I made. I didn't think I could— is wasn't possible... it must be the modifications to the venom. They have made you slightly weaker. And the process wasn't natural... if you pushed away the shield on purpose, it wouldn't hurt like that. But I punched a hole in it." His words aren't really making sense.

"My shield?" I ask aloud. He looks crestfallen. He didn't mean to hurt me.

"I think... it's your gift. Mental powers don't work on you."

"But Al—"

"Their powers are physical. Mine's mental," he says. "I've been thinking about how we're supposed to reveal our gifts. And I think you're a shield. You're safe in your mind."

We both look back to Haymitch and Effie. "You think that's her gift?" he asks. Edward nods. "I think we should be sure. It doesn't sound very powerful..."

"In almost a century, she's the only person I've met whose mind I can't read."

"Huh. Have you read the minds of the other Tributes?"

"Yes. None of them are like her. She's powerful... and I think she could learn to project it."

"Project?" I ask. "Like, shield someone else? How would that work?"

"If Jane," he points to the corner of the room, "A vampire who can make people writhe in agony," he says to Haymitch and Effie, "Were standing right there and tried to hurt me, you could push the shield around me. And Effie and Haymitch, too. You could help all of us."

"But there won't be anyone like Jane in the Games. Right?"

Haymitch shrugs. "You never know. The enhanced serum gave every Tribute a power and the ability to control thirst. they all have something... like Glimmer. I heard a rumor that she can make herself irresistibly attractive with telepathy. It would be useful if you could help Edward... resist. And if someone did have a power like... Jenny—'"

"Jane," Edward corrects.

"Jenny," Haymitch insists, "You could save anyone you wanted. But like I said. We don't actually know what they can do until tomorrow morning—" Tomorrow morning. I'm a vampire and I'm nauseous at the thought. "— but we can guess."

I nod. "Any guesses? Judging by the interviews."

"And my chats with the other mentors," Haymitch dryly adds. "Marvel is a tracker. When you're in the arena, try to stay on his good side. And that guy, Thresh? Supposedly he has really powerful... intuition. Not like the future. But he just knows things. Like if you said something behind his back or something. Melanie, the girl from 5, is probably the most intelligent being on the planet. She'll be a tough opponent," finishes Haymitch. "But that's just gossip."

"And... Cato?" Edward manages. Is he... afraid of Cato? The room is so silent that I can hear Haymitch swallow.

"He's... a fighter. It's just a rumor, but..."

"But what?" asks Edward.

"He's probably one of the most powerful in the Games," says Haymitch. Edward just nods. There probably isn't any way that his telepathy would help now. We were both hoping that only a few of the Tributes would have powers, but if someone did their job on the serum correctly, everyone will have something entertaining.

At five o'clock, we gather around the TV. Tonight they announce our scores. Our new abilities aren't open to the public, so the Game makers broadcast a grade for each Tribute. The number, with one being irredeemably low and twelve being unattainably high, represents our potential in the Games. Usually the number is based on our performance in training, but this year it's on the promise of our gifts. It gives the general audience a starting point for betting. Most of the gamblers like to have something to go from, even in the beginning. It's most important for the sponsors. They have reputations to uphold and don't want to bet on a loser.

They broadcast our scores at six, but the people in the Capitol find a need to talk constantly. I sit quietly with Edward, waiting for the time to pass. By five thirty, I'm shaking. I didn't know that I was so nervous. My breath is erratic. Is it possible for vampires to have panic attacks? I gasp at the air, but it won't seem to fill my lungs. It's like water after not drinking anything for too long; not the cool, pleasant sensation, but the feeling that hurts when you take too much at once. I can't stop my rasping breaths. I don't need the air, but right now it feels like it's the only thing connecting me to the world.

Edward's arm wraps around me, and I feel more anchored. I have something to prove to me that this isn't a nightmare that I can wake up from.

"Bella, Bella," he murmurs softly. The humans can't hear it, I'm sure. He doesn't say anything after that, he just slowly rubs his hand up and down my back, steadily, methodically, rhythmically. Almost like a heartbeat.

Five fifty-five. Five minutes. I tick the seconds by with my fingers drumming on my leg. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. Haymitch told the Gamemakers about my ability, but it isn't anything special. I won't have a good score. They may not have done training, but I'm sure they noticed my clumsiness as I stepped onto the chariot, as I boarded the train... but I'm not clumsy anymore. There really isn't a reason for me to feel weaker than everyone else. But I do. Six o'clock. It's time.

For the training scores, they show a picture of the Tribute. After a bit of drama from the announcers, they show the score that the Tribute earned in training, with one being the lowest and twelve being the highest. Marvel is first. He earns a nine. Glimmer is second, with a five. Next is Cato.

"Cato..." begins Caesar. "Is a very unique boy. A very unique boy. Believe me when I tell you that his powers will awe you. Can I say anything else?"

The other man frowns. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Well then, without further ado, allow me to present Cato Pharr, with a score of. . . ten."

No. He can't get a ten. How can you have a ten when you haven't even trained for it? You can in these Games.

Clove doesn't fare as well. She only earns a six. I sigh heavily. Then District 3. Sierra Hudson earns an six and her partner, Michael, earns a five. Leona a seven, Lucius an eight. Melanie earns another eight. I suppose I'm not completely hopeless when the boy from District 6 earns a four and the girl from District 7 earns a two. Thresh earns an eight, and little Rue takes a seven. Then us. Edward. I clench my jaw, afraid of what fate might bring. Afraid of what it might not bring.

"And Edward Cullen is a very experienced boy."

"Man," I hear him mutter. He's seventeen, physically, but it must be frustrating to be called a boy when you're a hundred and ten.

"He has earned himself," finishes Caesar, "A score of... eight."

Worse than Cato. Two points worse than Cato. My breathing speeds up. I look to Edward, but he's glued to the screen. He's just as anxious for me as I was for him. Eight. I don't know what I can do to protect him if the sponsors are intent on letting him die. I'm trembling slightly as Caesar moves on to me.

"Isi has a rather unique gift. And one that will be very useful in the Games," says Caesar.

"Yes, yes," chuckles the other man.

"As you know, she is our last Tribute of the night... so, give a warm round of applause for Miss Swan, and the rest of our Tributes!" the live studio audience erupts with cheers as Caesar Flickerman and the camera pans out. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it's an honor to announce Isabella Swan, with a score of," he pauses. My breathing quickens. "Ten."

Bright flashes from cameras. Caesar spreads his arms out wide. He laughs. He swivels to face both sides of the auditorium. "There you have it, Panem! Isabella Swan, the girl on fire! And all of our wonderful Tributes for this year! Happy 74th Hunger Games!" he shouts. The crowd shrieks. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!" He laughs. He spins around on his heel. He nods, makes a clicking noise, and points at the camera. "Thank you. And good night." He spins around again. He walks off stage.

The anthem plays. The camera cuts to various sections of the audience as they wave flags and banners with our names. They chant names. Quieter, but still audible, is the sound of the anthem. They chant my name. They chant Cato's name. The Capitol loves me. Panem loves the girl on fire. Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten.

Effie shouts something with glee. She squeals. Edward gives me a hug. My knees straighten. I rise from the sofa. Haymitch puts his palms on either side of my neck. He pulls me into a hug. He lets me go. Cinna approaches me. He smiles at me. He tells me congratulations. Portia shoots me a grin. The Avox girl, Lavina, gives me a quick look. She doesn't want me to die. I'm glad.

Glad. It's the first feeling after they announced my score. My first thought. It bounces around inside my head but never reaches my mouth in time for me to say thank you to Haymitch and Effie and Cinna. It rolls down my throat and fills me, absorbed into every fiber of my body. It touches my fingertips and my toes. It's bringing me back to life.

Then shock. Ten. Ten. Ten. Ten. It isn't possible. It's not. The shock ripples through me, too. It's not a pleasant sensation, like the glad. It wants to topple me over. It hits me in the chest. I step backwards. It accumulates around my jaw, which falls open. The shock forces itself around my lips and amasses on my hand. To soothe the pain, my palm flies to cover my mouth. A ten. A ten. Ten. Ten. Ten.

Strategy. Logic is a strange sensation. Rather than ripple or gradually let itself be absorbed, fiber by fiber, it pulses through me like a heartbeat. Cato was also awarded a ten. He must have a powerful gift. Cato and I will be targets.I think Cato and Clove are together, judging by their behavior in the interviews. With Edward's permission, we should stay with Cato and Clove for as long as possible. If the two most wanted in the Games stay together, perhaps we can survive for longer.

With the advent of logic, my thoughts seem to become coherent again. Jane was right; I can survive this. The truth unravels before me. I have a future beyond these Games. And yet I see no resolution. Without Edward by my side, I know that I will be nothing. Vampires are like stone. We don't heal from those kinds of wounds. Immortality has its costs. I shiver, the hole in my chest again emerging. I feel it already.

The fabric I am made of is thin, especially near my heart. It's pulled so tight that it just might snap. The Games have a hold on one of my strings. They have but to tug a little and I'll unravel. I shiver.

The anthem finishes and the screen goes dark.

"Bella!" squeals Effie Trinket. "I'm so proud of you. I knew it. You're from District 12, and I just thought of something special. You know, if you press coal hard enough, it turns to pearls!"

Not true. Not that I'll tell her that. Edward smiles and congratulates her on being so clever. But I have my mind on tomorrow morning. How long do I have before I fall apart? I thought my panic would subside after they announced the scores. I was wrong.

"How long do we have until we leave tomorrow?" I ask. Haymitch glances down at his watch.

"About... eleven hours," he says.

A hush falls over us. Tomorrow at dawn they'll herd us into a hovercraft and send us out to the arena. The Games don't start until ten, but the trip will take quite awhile and the Capitol residents are late risers. I wouldn't be surprised if they party long into the night. Haymitch and Effie aren't coming with us to the arena. They'll be going to the Game headquarters to sign up our sponsors and work out strategy on the gifts. But Cinna and Portia will stay with us until the end.

But goodbyes must be said here. Effie takes Edward and I by the hand, flinching slightly at the temperature. Actual tears are welling in her eyes.

"Thank you, Edward, Isi. It's been amazing to sponsor you two. A privilege," she says. I nod to her. Edward strangles a half-chortle in his throat and disguises it as coughing. "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I finally get promoted to a decent District next year!" she exclaims. She presses a quick kiss to my cheek. Edward's "coughing" sounded more like a growl, and she stays away from him. She hurries out of the room. Haymitch clears his throat. We turn around to face him as he crosses his arms.

"Any last words of advice?" asks Edward. Haymitch considers this for a few fractions of a second.

"When the gong sounds, just run. Get outta there as fast as you can. You're not up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water. Well, blood in your case." He takes our hands in his. "And stay together. The sponsors aren't going to like it if you go your separate ways," he says. "Got it?"

"After that?" I ask. Haymitch sighs.

"Stay alive," he says. Last time he said that, on the train, he said it with a laugh. This time, it's so sober and somber that I want to cry. We nod. There isn't really anything else to say.

Portia moves to speak with Edward, and I take the opportunity to speak with Cinna. I'm shaking slightly. I'm terrified.

"Cinna," I say in what's almost a whisper. "Thank you." He smiles at me.

"Bella. You're going to be fine," he says. "You're going to be amazing." I swallow. "You're on fire. They're gonna love you."

"But what if they don't—"

"Make them love you. You've made sure they'll remember you in the arena. You're unforgettable. You know, I'll be honest. I wasn't so sure when I first met you. You were the clumsy little girl from District 12. And now... I've had a bad habit of underestimating you. Every obstacle you've faced, you've overcome. You're incredible. You've left behind Bella Swan and become Isabelle. Isabelle, the girl on fire," he says, tucking a lock of fallen hair behind my ear. I shiver. "You've done so much. And you could do so much more."

"I could do so much more," I echo. He nods and gives me a quick grin. I try not to let my dread show. This is his first year. I wonder how it will affect him when I die? If I die. With a score of ten, I actually have a chance. I don't want to live. Not without Edward. I can't face Panem alone. Never.

"I'm going back to my apartment to get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow, Bella." He exchanges a sad smile with Portia and leaves the room. No more Haymitch, no more Effie, no more Cinna. When Edward's stylist leaves, we'll be completely alone. And then we'll be able to fully embrace the likelihood of our impending deaths.

I know nothing about Portia. She is a blue haired, blue lipped woman who is dating Cinna. I don't know if she and Edward are friends, I don't know if she's nice or kind, and I don't know if she has the same rebellious spark. But now, as she pulls Edward into a brief hug, I decide that I will miss her, too. She has been silent for almost the entirety of our visit. But she has a comforting, friendly aura and a piercing, intelligent stare. I silently shake hands with her before she files out of the training center. Now, in the midst of utter silence, I've never felt more alone.

There is no spoken agreement about our returning to the roof. We don't travel at human speed as we fly up there. It's already agreed that we sit on the ledge. We don't speak. We don't sigh. We don't even breathe. I don't protest as he wraps his arm around me. He doesn't complain as I rest my head on his shoulder. I'm as still as a statue when the side hug becomes an embrace. He cradles me as I begin to sob. I resist the urge to let myself be buried in hopelessness. It occurs to me that Edward and I haven't said our final goodbyes, and nor do I plan to. It would be the same as typing The End on the last page of manuscript. I won't let go of Edward until I have to tomorrow morning. And, in my heart, I'll never let go.

He kisses me deeply, tenderly. He loves me, and I love him. He pulls me closer, closer, ever so close and we wait for time to pass around us.

Clouds roll in. Another storm? Strangely, they seem to part at the city's border. I hear a low hum and a dim glow. They've covered the Capitol in a forcefield. They wouldn't want their partying ruined by rain. It's too bright to be nightfall. Every building in the city shines like a torch in the night, towering high into the sky. They would scrape the clouds if it wasn't for the barrier of green light. I sigh, wishing I could sleep here. Wishing I could cry.

Dawn arrives too early. The sun hasn't risen above the horizon, but the cold gray light gleams onto us. I want to stay until I'm in direct light, but something leads me downstairs. I have half an hour. I take a shower and comb through my hair. I need my human minute. I brush my teeth that don't need to be cleaned and shave the stubble off of my legs that probably won't need to be cut again for another decade. Then I return to my bedroom.

I sit on my bed until Cinna comes to me. The sun hasn't yet risen. He gives me simple clothes to wear and guides me to the roof. My final preparations, I know, are to be done underneath the arena. A hovercraft appears out of nowhere. Edward emerges with Portia. As soon as I see him, I sprint to him and press a kiss to his lips. I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine that this moment will last forever.

It lasts for less time than my race to his side did, and I dart back to Cinna. He throws his arm over my shoulder like we're best friends. The real meaning is clear. That wasn't protocol. It's an aberration in a perfect code. Careful, Bella. I don't look back at Edward as a ladder falls from the hovercraft and I climb up.

I'm escorted into a room. It's almost identical to the snack car back on the Tribute train. I'm trembling. Even if I were still human, I would eat nothing. An Avox brings me a bottle of something. I recognize it as the very same as at the restaurant the night before last. I take it in my shaking hand and take a few sips. I may as well be drinking oil mixed with coal dust. It fails to drag me away from the harsh reality.

"Give me your arm," snaps a woman in a white coat.

"Why? What is it?" I ask. She takes a syringe and stabs it underneath my skin. I'm surprised that she has the strength before I realize that it wasn't her. The machine punctured my skin with what must be unimaginable force. The pain is sharp, but my curiosity distracts me.

"Your tracker," she answers. "We'll be able to locate you more easily in the arena."

I wince as she pulls it out.

The ride lasts for half an hour before the windows black out. We're in a holding pattern around what I assume is the arena. We land and Cinna and I return to the exit. We don't speak as we're lowered into the catacombs beneath the arena. Each Tribute had their own hovercraft and therefore their own Landing Room. Before we exit, Cinna whispers to me,

"Follow me. Don't speak. Don't ask questions. Try not to show emotion. This is being televised."

We leave the room and begin marching down a hallway. As we pass the first door, Edward and Portia exit and begin following us. We walk in perfect step. Edward and I because we're vampires and we can. Portia and Cinna because they've probably practiced this a thousand times. Rue and who I assume is her stylist steps out and begins following us a few doors later. Thresh is next. I understand. In flawless uniform we glide through the halls, Tribute by Tribute joining our crusading death march. We probably look like zombies with the placid, rock solid expressions on our faces. I keep my eyes on the back of Cinna's head, and Portia keeps hers on the back of mine.

After a short journey with all of us in sync, I notice the stylists beginning to change their walking pattern. The footfalls, so tightly choreographed, begin to sound like music. Suddenly Cinna steps to the left and slows down. I do the same as Edward and Portia begin to accelerate. I can't see, but I can smell. This happens with all of the other Tributes, too, one by one. Then Cinna makes a barely noticeable motion for me to go to his right. I do, and Edward steps to his left. The hallways are just wide enough for the four of us to walk side by side.

We come to an intersection in the hallways. Cinna and I take a left, Edward and Portia take a right. The rest of the Tributes continue walking. The footfalls continue, the low thrumming of war drums. Then Cinna and I, still side by side, find our destination. In the Capitol, it's called the Launch Room. In the Districts, we call it the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter.

Everything in here is new. I will be the first and only Tribute to use this Launch Room, just like I will be the only Tribute to use that slowly unfolding march formation. The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. They're popular places for the Capitol residents to vacation. They go for a month, re-watch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. They even can take part in reenactments.

They say the food is excellent.

I take another shower. Cinna braids my hair in my braids, the same ones I wore for the Reaping. I'm trembling. I gulp down the air like it's the only thing in my world.

"Remember what I told you last night," says Cinna. "You're going to be amazing. I believe in you, Bella."

I grit my teeth, trying to think of a response. "Isabelle," I reply. I've become more than just Bella. I have to be more. Bella is clumsy and weak. Isabelle burns with a bright flame, shining triumphantly. Even if I die, the embers never will. Bella broke down into irredeemable depression when her boyfriend left her. I am stronger than that now. I refuse to be extinguished. Cinna seems to read all of this in me. As he always does, he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and gives a small chuckle.

"You know, I'm not allowed to bet, but if I could I'd bet on you." Then he says something very quiet. "The Games will change everyone. But don't let yourself become something you aren't."

I nod to him. Then the clothes are delivered. It doesn't matter what the weather or clothes are. I'm not going to die of exposure to the elements.

Cinna opens the package. He had no say in the outfit. He doesn't even know what will be in it. All we know is that it will be the same for every Tribute. Undergarments, a crimson shirt, black pants and jacket. The boots are comfortable and made of fur. Everything looks slightly dated, like it's from a fairytale. I dress quickly. When I think I'm done, Cinna pulls my mockingjay pin from his pocket. I had almost forgotten it. With my new eyes, I can see a small inscription in its golden surface. Human eyes would have, without a doubt, missed it. The script is tiny, written around the rim. It's an entire stanza of a poem. I spin it between my fingers so I can read it.

The caged bird sings

with a fearful trill

of things unknown

but longed for still

and his tune is heard

on the distant hill

for the caged bird

sings of freedom.

I know a vampire must have written the words. No mortal could scribe something so small. A computer could not have made it either. It was too imperfect for a machine.

"Where did you get that?" I ask Cinna.

"Off the green outfit you wore on the train," he says. It's your District token, right?" I nod and he takes it from my hand to pin it to my shirt, hiding it just under my jacket. "It barely cleared the review board. Some thought the pin could be used as a weapon, giving you an unfair advantage. But eventually, they let it through." He pauses. "They eliminated a ring from the District 1 girl, though. If you twisted the gemstone, a spike popped out. Poisoned one. She claimed she had no knowledge the ring transformed and there was no way to prove she did. But she lost her token..." Cinna adjusts my jacket. "There, you're all set. Make sure everything feels comfortable."

I shuffle uncomfortably, but it's not the outfit. "Yes, it's fine," I say quickly. "Fits perfectly."

"Then there's nothing to do but wait for the call."

My nervousness morphs into pure terror. In less than an hour, I could be dead. My fingers trace patterns on my skin. My teeth chatter like I'm cold, even though that's impossible for an immortal. Still, I feel colder than I have in my entire life.

Lives.

Whatever.

"Do you want to talk, Isabelle?" Cinna asks. Isabelle. There's my new name again. Right now I want to be Bella. Bella is me. Isabelle, the brave girl on fire, is a stranger to me. I wouldn't recognize her.

I shake my head but hold out my hand to his. Cinna encloses it in both of his. We sit this way for a long time, him holding my hand still. I keep it in a fist so that I won't be tempted to squeeze his. I could break it. Then a female voice announces that it's time to prepare for launch. I walk over and stand on a circular metal plate enclosed by a glass tube. There's a doorway for people to enter, but in a moment it will shut. "Remember what Haymitch said. Run. Just get out of there, Isabelle." Isabelle, Isabelle, Isabelle. I have to be Isabelle. Bella would die in the Games. Isabelle has chance to live. "The rest will follow," he says. I nod. "And remember this. I believe in you. I believe you can win."

"Promise?" I whisper.

"Promise," Cinna says. I let go of his hand and turn around. The arena will be facing this way. Then the door snaps shut. I swivel around, petrified with terror. Cinna taps underneath his chin. Head high.

I lift my chin and stand as straight as I can. The metal plate begins to rise. For fifteen seconds, I'm in darkness. There is no light in here. Even I can't see. It's literally pitch black. The metal plate pushes me out of the glass tube. And then I'm in open air. This is the arena. I'm conscious of a strong wind, the flutter of snowfall, and the scent of pine trees.

Then I hear the legendary announcer, Claudius Templesmith, as his voice booms throughout the arena.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 74th annual Hunger Games begin!"

Next Time, On Heart of Ice:

It is more than likely that Edward is dead.

Cato probably hates me for having a score just as high as him, and he knows that hurting Edward is like slowly digging a knife underneath my flesh. He doesn't want me to die, and he doesn't want to rip out the part of my heart where he belongs too quickly. That wouldn't be painful enough. Everything about him seems to whisper, "Let my knife under your flesh and into your heart." Cato wants to kill me softly.

I particularly love that paragraph, it's one of the more poetic things I've ever written. Believe me, it's all uphill from here. No more long conversations or boring descriptions of emotions. It's all action, plotting, strategy, and a whole lot of fun.

EDIT: I have decided not to update this Sunday because I need the weekend to get ahead. The non-uploaded part is now 64,000 words, so I'm not as far ahead as I'd like to be. I'm taking a quick break from uploading, both because I need to and because I think this is a good place to stop. I'll post again on Wednesday, February 5th. See you then!

~Sun