squee

Slkdfhawjeae.

I got so excited over this chapter…I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. The words just ran out of my fingers (and not all of them looking like the meaningless jumble above), half the time I don't even remember writing it at all.

Song for this Chapter: we have two here. First, there is Swans → Unkle Bob. This one represents mourning. It's a beautiful song with emotional male vocals over a breathless acoustic guitar melody. Love it. The second is Don't Mess With Me → Temposhark. This song is immensely dark. I chose it because it's angry, yet determined and very very very VERY dark. These two songs are practically opposites—a very appropriate approach for such a torn chapter.

To make up for my lack of James in the previous chapters...I give you this:

Chapter 38: Sigh and Release

The morning mocked the expressions of all the Tortallans. It was a brisk and crispy rising, with birds chirping and a web of sun rays that shot through the thick trees of the Scranran forest. All of them had been up all night, riding as far as they could to get away from the Scranran guard. It was therefore no surprise that all of them were in no mood for the bright rays of a cheery morning sunshine. This party of Tortallans, however, had disheartened emotions for more than one reason.

They had failed. Romeli was dead.

James rode his horse with a heavy trudge that mirrored both of their emotions. He was unbearably tired, his eyes nearly closing with every step forward that his steed took. But every time sleep seemed to advance, his eyes shot open when the flashes of memories overcame him. Her dead body in his arms…blood forming in a puddle underneath him, drenching his hands and clothes…the arrow protruding out of her chest…

His eyes shot open, his heart wracking and tightening in pain as the visualizations formed and left his mind once again. God, he loved her. If only he had actually told her that he loved her. Now…now she was really gone.

He had changed his clothes since last night, unable to bear the feeling of her blood on his chest. Those last moments of her he could remember more than ever.

He gripped onto her body tightly, holding her on his lap as blood and rain dripped down the both of them. He held his lips to her soaked hair as tears welled over and slid down his cheeks. He knew that if somehow he stopped that archer, she would be free right now.

"James…Jameson," called a stern voice from the outside of the garden. There was a trample of footsteps, obviously of more than one person, that grew louder with every beat of the rain. Eventually they came to a halt as they reached the entrance of their desired destination.

"Oh Gods."

He was not sure at that very moment whom had come into the garden to collect them, but he didn't have the desire to really care. What had become apparent to him was the rush of cold that had now swept over him as the warmth from her body was quickly fading away. Was it necessarily angering that not even the slightest prayer could save her now? Well it was not only angering, but terrifying to the point of disbelieving awe. He had always known there was perhaps a risk to her bargain with the King, but never had he actually thought she would die…and after being so close! She was literally flying away to her freedom, and she got bloody shot through the heart.

"Gods no," he whispered as more tears fogged his eyes. He tried to bring her closer to him, almost desperately, as if the warmth of him would make her limp body rise again. "No…don't do this to me. You are. So. Close."

Had she perhaps known that this would happen all along? Was all of this, the will power, the planning, just a hoax to get us to believe for just a little bit longer that we had a chance? Perhaps such an idea would be cruel, but such an idea, as foolish as it was, was definitely not out of her courageous character. When he had last spoken to her, really spoken to her, at the apex of the war when she had given away her life so easily, she looked like it was over for good. That last look she have him, her last words "For Tortall" had sent dead shivers down his spine. Perhaps she had already known of her absolute demise. She really had given away her life so easily. The thought was sickening, but at the same time, if that was the case, her strength and discipline were beyond his comprehension.

Maryann crouched down across from him. Her eyes were strong in the shadowing haze of rainfall, but there was no mistake in the tearful glaze underlying them. "Jameson, you must listen to me. We have to get out of here."

He withdrew quickly, pressing her stark dead against his chest with a fearful expression. "No…no…, she's not dead. She can't just die." His voice was serene and absent, sending a haunted thrill down his own spine.

The spy shook her head, pain rippling through her face in a sudden spark. She exhaled shakily, attempting to calm not only his emotions, but her own. "Let her go, James. She's gone."

He recoiled at the thought, as if he were a creature of the night, suddenly blinded by the sun's golden tresses. How could he do such a thing? After everything they had gone through, all the confessions they had announced to each other. Letting go of her was like letting go of a piece of his heart…one that could never be replaced. It was almost like every event they ever underwent flashed through his eyes in a matter of seconds. The day they met at the ball, when she rescued him in the forest, the events a the forts, and now she was lying dead in his arms.

Dead…she is dead. It no longer was Romeli is, but Romeli was.

He let the idea flow over him in a wave of acceptance, letting his grip loosen on her cold body. She was so close, just not close enough.

Maryann let her eyes fall in a quiet remorse as she grabbed the body from him and held her in her arms like she would a baby. Romeli's head leaned against her shoulder…as if she were merely asleep. But the arrow protruding from her chest gave away her demise.

More tears welled down his cheeks as her body left his touch. He did not sob, finding that his mourn was beyond the act of spasms. He watched Maryann gain a better grip on the body as she herself fought back a wave of tears. A man, though he did not recognize his face through the sheets of rain, helped him sturdily to his feet until he gained his feeble balance. He was soaked in her blood, giving him a haunted feeling that was beyond any traumatic memory.

With a strong motion of her head, Maryann motioned the group out of the garden to their escape point.

He shivered heavily, shudders of pain flowed to his heart and gently faded away again. Though he was surrounded by Tortallans consisting of soldiers and friends alike, he had never felt so alone before. He was the only one to see her fall; the only one who witnessed that horror.

They took a break around noon—their first stop since their hastened flight the night before. As the group dismounted and tied their horses and wagons to a selection of trees, there were barely even any whispers or crackles of broken twigs. Half of the reason was because until they were out of Scanra, they were not safe. The other was nearly implied; they hadn't the heart to talk because they had failed. They were a country with a low morale, trudging back to their borders with empty…no, dead…hands.

The lunch they served was nothing special, but very filling. Rumors had it that they would be riding for as long as they could physically handle to get ahead and hopefully lose any pursuers. He didn't necessarily mind, though he dreaded such a long ride.

He ate lunch alone within the confines of a thick willow tree. The moments he had by himself he savored in content silence. He was never one to mourn over his own problems…he just needed some time to himself. Unfortunately the meal was nothing close to warm, for it was only jerky, bread, and a collection of cheeses and dried berries. He shouldn't be complaining of course…at least he wasn't dead.

Good Gods, he thought as he shook his head with closed eyes. If only everything could just leave my mind… He took a bite of his bread and chewed it bitterly.

"There you are," said a voice followed by a rustle of leaves and twigs as The Lioness entered his "willow getaway". "Haven't you heard of the buddy system?"

He decided not to reply. Usually he would snap at her with a witty remark, but the only reply that came to his head was nothing less of grumpy and rude. Instead he acknowledged her presence with a nod and returned to his meal.

Alanna sat down with her mirror cradled in her hands and ate a little bit, enjoying the silence that engulfed them both.

"Are you taking things okay?" Her expression was not overly sympathetic, something James would never admit he was thankful for—but it had a tinge of concern.

He recoiled, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions that he had not yet let out. He had not spoken since that night, making his voice weaker and raspier than he had expected. "How do you think I'm taking it?" he demanded, his eyes refusing to look into her own. "I was so convinced she was going to make it. Everything was going fine. And now…I didn't even get the chance to tell her I love her."

"I knew it. You did love her," she accused with a grin.

James twitched. That was completely uncalled for.

Alanna noticed his sudden darkening of emotions and smiled weakly. "James, I'm really sorry," she told him truthfully. "But you need to let her go eventually."

He looked up at her with dark eyes, his brows furrowed in emotion. "You're telling me to let her go—to let her go when she died in my arms less than fifteen hours ago. Honestly, how could you ask such a thing from me?" His voice cracked and he gulped down a lump that began to grow in his throat.

She looked down. "You're right," she said nodding. "Don't rush yourself with this, but think it through. Her death was a traumatic one."

"You didn't see her die," he whispered angrily.

To say the least, Alanna was taken aback by his sudden change of emotion. But he was right; she had not seen her die like he did…but she sure as hell knew what it felt like. James too, seemed to realize this. His anger slowly melted away and he sighed wearily.

"I'm sorry," he said truthfully as he looked into her violet eyes. "I just can't get her out of my head, and it's wearing me down."

She clasped his shoulder firmly and gave him a warm smile. "It takes time. Do not live in denial that she is gone, but live and look to the future in her footsteps. Forgetting her will only bring pain, but do not enclose yourself in only her memories either." She gave him a final nod before standing up to let him swallow her words in peace.

Too weary to worry about his pride, he bent his head to his knees and let a wave of tears overwhelm him.

They did not stop their ride for four more days, and they would have continued if it weren't for the horses' sake. They were clear out of the way of any Scanran guard and a safe distance from Rathausak where they had escaped from. It would be only a couple more days until they would return inside Tortall's borders once again.

The break that they were going to take was to be particularly long. They had set up camp in the early noon and weren't going to leave until everyone was refreshed.

To the surprise of many, there was no bickering over the matter of Romeli's body. Both Daine and Numair agreed that they could bury her in no other place but Tortall, and everyone could not help but agree. Though preserving the body had taken its toll on Numair, he knew that his struggles were for the best. They planned to have the funeral back at The Tower in the forest, where she would be a peace at least. Currently, she rested in a solitary tent on a cot. It was open for everyone to pay their respects, though no one stayed for long, probably because none of them could yet come to terms that they had lost.

James never visited the body.

Deep down inside he was starting to grasp the fact that Romeli was really gone and was not coming back no matter how hard he would plead to the Gods. Though his mind was starting to sink into the reality that she was….dead…, it did not lessen the pain that decided to form in his chest. It constantly throbbed, reminding him every minute of what happened, and what he was now going through.

He would never get over Romeli Salmalin.

The thought let shivers crawl down him as he sat in the confines of his tent. He had met her just over a year ago, but already she was like his drug. He had become addicted to her, the way her lips always curled in a hesitant, almost mischievous smile, and her hair always seemed to reflect the very essence of the sun every time it reflected on her. It was nearly funny…though now was hardly the time to consider anything as humorous…how she was so much more stronger than he was. Her powers, her capabilities, even her fighting skills and will, were miraculous. If he had ever been put through the same harsh circumstances that she went through, he would immediately crumble.

And yet they worked so well with each other. At least…they did.

He held his head in his hands, trembling with grief and surprisingly…anger. But it was mostly the grief that had him at a loss of what to do next. How was he supposed to carry on when she was gone?

And they were so damn close to her freedom. He practically had her happy and safe in his arms. Now…the last time he saw her was when he was soaked in her own blood.

He shuddered as the smell rippled through him.

Now more than ever did he feel so alone. There were at least twenty of them there, and none of them had the same connection with her as he did. Even her parents…she had more than once voiced her frustrations about them, though he was positive they felt similar to how he did now. Even then, they did not see her fall. Thought their chests were probably tightened with angst, they were not haunted by the disturbing images of her curled body…an arrow rooted painfully in her chest…

His eyes snapped open. He hadn't realized he had fallen into another weary daydream. He attempted to calm his ragged breath with little success as droplets of sweat formed on his brow despite the cooling weather. This could not be healthy. Either he was weak (unable to force himself to push ahead and leave her behind. Even the thought of it made him wince), he underestimated the pain that could be felt at losing a life, or he was deeper in love than he had thought. His suspicions believed that it was the latter.

This brought up a ripple of concern.

If he was just admitting to himself that he was actually deeply in love with her, how was he now supposed to let her go?

Bloody excellent timing, James.

He sighed deeply, only now just admitting that he was in much deeper of a situation than he had thought. For a minute he even considered living in denial—either in denial that she ever died, or even existed at all. Both seemed like a reasonable escape from the pain that surged through him now—and more than anything, he wanted the pain to go away.

Once again, he was being weak. At this state of his sanity, he hardly cared. It was not always about strength, it was about tactics. He could not always live like this could he? He would be drowning in a pool of self-misery and fading memories as the years wore on.

Alanna was right, he had to let her go, and it was better sooner than later. It would be painful at first, but for the sake of himself…perhaps even for both of them, he had to do this.

He had to forget that she ever existed.

He knew it would be hard. Forgetting completely about the person that half completed him could not be successful without struggle. But he could not wallow in himself. He could not afford to hurt his father, his sister, his brother…just because for once the odds were against him.

He took a large breath, enjoying the pins of pain in his chest as his lungs reached their maximum capacity. He let out the air shakily, obviously too weak to keep his breath even and steady. It would be harder than he had expected—was their any way that he could push her completely out of his life?

Really, the idea of it all seemed rather simple. It wasn't like she was really alive, and he certainly wasn't in denial that she was dead at all. He was simply moving on—no, not moving on…starting over. He was forgetting completely about the…factors…in his life that had been swept away from him. It had to be the only solution, for he could not find any excuse to hold himself to her any longer.

Just a sigh, and a release.

He closed his eyes as he attempted to level his breath that had not stabled since…well…the moment was no longer important. Not anymore.

Reluctantly, he let himself shift through all of the memories he had of her. He was surprised, as his mind ventured through the chasms of painful memories, that most of the ones he had of her were more or less…joyful.

He would have to let go of those too.

Saying that passing through all of these memories of her was painful was an understatement. Every time his memory flashed to her perfect features on her face, a knife was jerked into his heart with indescribable anguish. This was not natural…no one should be allowed to witness this much emotional agony…

Funny. It was terribly ironic how his picturesque memories fell on his first witnessing of her Chaos Thoughts.

His mouth shut in a grim, tight line.

He watched silently as memory after memory wiped through the visions of his mind. The day they had met at the ball, when Quinn had attacked her, when she had saved her father from his death, the tattoos and the gods that she had confessed to him about, when she had saved his life in the forest, her elegant dragon silhouette in the night as she frantically flew home after Jonathan had sent her away…

It was hard—witnessing so much and holding it all in only to have it thrown away. How could he let this all go from him?

It was only a sigh and a release.

He was selfish—as it was human nature after all. Honestly, he doubted he could let all of her just fade away from him without a fight. He needed one piece, one thing to grasp to and remember as he grew older and she…did not. But even in his memories, her perfect face absent of any visual flaw, could not be exactly recreated in his mind. It did not hold the same sparkle…and this troubled him deeply.

It grew even more painful as all the time wore on and each memory grew darker. It all crashed on him, making his breath ragged as his heart skipped to find a sane beat to follow. His mind did not know what to do with itself as the pictures flashed past him. And because his mind was lost, so was his heart.

When he had been kidnapped and she barged in with frantic all-knowing eyes, how she literally stopped the war—letting the pain rip through her on her hands and knees, the single tear that escaped his face as she put the knife to her face with cold eyes, how she had sacrificed herself and become a slave willingly, their last goodbyes.

A tear escaped his eyes. He wiped it away furiously, he himself in a trance as they become more overwhelming.

His sense of loss as he trudged home to tell him friends, the excitement and the dread of coming to see her again, the horror of watcher her emaciated body drag itself to the table to give them food—decorated in scars that were more than physical, her blank face as she passed him in the hallway, the look she gave him—indifferent and yet full of regretful compassion—seconds before she killed him, her mangled body, bleeding and fading as her blood pooled over him and made him faint…

Just a sigh…and a release.

He inhaled stiffly, nervously, unsure of himself and whatever choice he was going to make. He was not reading for this…such a life changing choice—he wanted to wait, but he knew that would only make things worse than they already were. And changing time was not an option anymore…and it never was.

The frosty air captured in his lungs was piercing his sides. His lungs were not screaming, but the uncomfortable sensation began to nest in his chest and make him bite his lip. He was not ready to release.

He was not even sure if 'release' was the correct term. Could he honestly say that her death finally released him from her grasp? Surely that was not the case here—he was merely disregarding that her existence even affected him at all. That he even knew of her in the first place. Perhaps in doing this he was acting selfish, ignoring her life—no matter how quickly it passed—so that the pain that had already festered itself in his chest, beating poorly through his veins as it followed the strained beat of his mangled heart…would fade away.

No…James was not selfish.

Perhaps saying that made him slightly conceded, but if he was sure of anything anymore, he was sure of at least this. He was not releasing himself, he was releasing her. And therefore, release was nothing short of the best term he could think of.

Whatever afterlife there was out there for her, it was severely important to him that she was free. Finally…after so much struggle and torture, and perhaps not just from Scanra, she would be able to lift herself away from the world with nothing tying her down. He was positive that that could be the only thing she really wanted, and that alone would make him happy. The pain inside him would not fade for a while, but even a human memory could not hold out for long. By forgetting about her, no matter how much agonizing struggle it took, he would finally let her achieve that freedom.

Ah. There was the burning now.

Without hesitance, for his exhalation was more of a reflex than anything, he let the previously captured breath out of his lungs in a flow of frosted air.

Just a sigh, and a release.

Surprisingly he felt significantly lighter than even minutes previous to his outburst of air. He was purely convinced that such an action of erasing such memories would bring more pain to his life than he could even be prepared for. His prediction had not differentiated much, but even still…the trickling feeling down his spine made him feel numb—made him believe that what he was going was right and clearly within the limits of him mind.

It was a new start from here on out.

He thought quickly, the voice inside his head that represented each of his thoughts was clearer than it had been since…a while. All he dad to do was keep himself busy. He could not afford to let his mind get the best of him.

James quickly hopped out of his tent, viewing it more as a place where dwelling thoughts could only hurt him, than a place of slumber and privacy.

The camp in itself was a dreary sight, which did not make his hopes lighten in the least. Soldiers were hauntingly quiet, and not just because they were in enemy territory. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed Numair's sallow skin that always unhealthily stuck out in a crowd nowadays.

He forced his mind to not come across the reason for it.

Fuck it, time for a detour. He originally planned to head to the food tent. At the time, stuffing his mouth with anything edible seemed like quite the enjoyable recreational sport. As he grew closer to the food however, his stomach churned uneasily. He gave the tent that breathed out the smell of traveling food a final look before turning around to go somewhere else. Throwing up would only remind him of why he had come there in the first place.

No…he did not have any reason for coming there. None at all. It was merely his stomach, weakened from the travel and unable to house the rough foods that it could previously.

He hadn't the heart for sympathy, simply because the camp itself has turned into a center of doom and despair. The last thing he needed was someone asking those stupid three words:

'Are you okay'.

James shivered at the thought. No, he needed to speak with someone who was more than willing to move on with things, and would understand him completely without any slight inquiry.

Maryann was not far from him now. As he walked nearer to him, he noticed that she looked quite entertained with the way her dagger fell every time she threw it lazily into the trunk of a fallen tree that was perpendicular to the live one she currently leaned on. Her eyes showed no sense of despair or mourning. If anything she looked indifferent, her eyes showing a crease of wisdom and experience as once again she threw her dagger on the log. She was even more flawless in hiding emotions than he was with his scant amount of Yamani training.

Even then, he was thankful for said training as he approached her.

"Queenscove."

She acknowledged him without looking at him as she grabbed the dagger once again. Her eyes looked impassive, but there was a weariness behind them that, at first glance, was merely from the traveling.

Perhaps she was just that. She was just tired from the constant travel. Or perhaps she was going the same thing as he was now.

He sat himself next to her smoothly. She gave him a single look before throwing the dagger down once again. Both of them sat in a moment of silence. Maryann seemed to be completely at ease, but James was slightly tense, the silence obviously making him uncomfortable.

No, he could not let his plans fold now. Not so quickly.

To his relief, Maryann spoke to him soon after she grabbed her dagger again. She held it in her hands easily.

"Nice weather," she stated simply. To be perfectly honest, the weather did not look nice at all. If anything, the frost that decorated the trees and the grass made the forest look intimidating. The cold was enough to put anyone in a foul mood. Fall was coming soon and the green leaves were beginning to brown.

He nodded in reply. "Perhaps. It isn't exactly my style."

She let out a bitter laugh and gazed up at the sky—the sky that was currently blocked by the web of the treetops.

He sucked in a hesitant breath, knowing that what he was going to attempt to say next would bring up topics he did not exactly want to talk about. Ever. Not that he was even sure of what he wanted to say.

"Maryann." He started the sentence without ever actually finishing it. Perhaps it was because he was waiting for her returning acknowledgement, but most likely because he was regretting ever starting it at all.

She must have sensed a hint of desperation within the voicing of her name. Her brows furrowed in slight concern, and her face gave off a hunt of saddened weariness as she looked down.

"It's going to be hard you know," she pointed out. Neither of them bothered looking at the other. "her life has left an imprint on all of ours."

It took a strong effort to refrain from clutching his heart as it began to tear apart and slowly fall to pieces. "Who's life?" His tone was dry, uncaring. The effort needed to create such a denying mood was not worth half the pain that proceeded afterward.

Maryann's brows rose slightly in the spans of only a fraction of a second. Soon they lowered and she tucked her emotions into a calm complexion. She was familiar with his current tactics. She had witnessed many people attempt the same thing—a good portion of them were successful, and therefore she did not see a problem with it.

This time she looked at him, thought her eyes were indifferent. "I don't see anything necessarily wrong with what you're doing, James, but I need to speak my mind with this. There are many different ways that people cope with death, and I guess it all depends on who you personally are. Your path—denying that anything having to do with her ever existed—is nothing short of the hardest thing you can chose to do in this situation, James. If you do succeed in this—and people do, you know—you can't turn back. And when I say you can't turn back, I mean that no matter how hard you will try to regroup and find those memories, you can never fully grasp them again. Do you honestly want that for yourself? I know a personal friend who thought she could turn back and get those memories again, and she got herself a one-way ticket to an insane asylum. You can't turn back, you know. You're lucky because you still have time to remember. There is another way, no pain, more time, happiness. Just remember the good memories and bring them to your future. Remember her morals and strength, and it will be like she is with you. That, Jameson, is what I do, and that is why I am what I am."

He nearly gagged at the cliché ideals.

"Could we change the topic please?" he asked through clenched teeth. He could not see himself with that future, what Maryann had. He could not back out, because Maryann was wrong. There was no more time left, and he was just fine with that.

Maryann nodded, her face concealing any trace of emotion. She leaned her head back on the trunk of the tree and let a lazy smile plaster itself on her lips. It was impassive, wise, uncaring, and yet aware of everything at every second. It was no smile, it was her grin—there was no doubt in her mind that she was famous for it.

"Ever wonder why you always seem to lose a single sock in the laundry?"

James sighed and felt his heart finally begin to loosen. At least, he was relaxed—he was free.

Day One:

The morning had brought a cool peacefulness over him that he forgot could ever be felt by his body. Perhaps it was the dreamless sleep he had underwent through the night. His chest and feet were still heavy, but it was nothing compared to the lively shivers of peacefulness that ran through his body. He kept himself busy. Doing everything…do anything.

Day Two:

Another day brought even more ease to his shaken body. Instead of keeping himself busy to keep his mind from sidetracking, he kept himself busy to be busy. His mind was mostly a blur…most likely because it was in the process of sorting. He shrugged off his current numbness because it did not matter. He promised himself to live in the present only, because it was the one thing that was bearable.

People stared. Alanna was disappointed. But he no longer cared of her approval. Who needed a knighthood anyway.

Day Three:

He woke with a frown. The forest was brighter than usual, almost like it was fake, or at least a figment of his imagination. For the first time, he forgot why they were traveling at all, and when he attempted to remember, he realized he no longer cared.

The reflection of himself looked slightly different, thought he could not exactly grasp the reason why. It had to be his hair…something about it had changed.

It was not his hair, but his eyes. They no longer held a sparkle of curiosity or ease. His eyes were dead.

He had forgotten about her altogether.

I don't exactly know what to say, so I'll just hurry on and get to the replies.

Don't forget to review. They really inspire me, more than you think.

Replies:

Booksquirt: squee. Thanks so much. Actually, your review had me really thinking about that for a while. I think, I've always really wanted to get this story out there. It's going to take a lot of editing, but publishing it is definitely a dream of mine.

Nanook1844: oh please gurl. "tears of love over her wound and they';ll have an everlasting bond that no one can break??" I don't roll like that, you know me. Yes, she only got shot once…hahaha. Um. Well except for the fact that the arrow is currently through her aorta. Thus, the amount of blood everywhere—I literally said it was pooling out of her. Haha. Pickles and chocolate? Nice combo…I could go for a milkshake myself actually. Oh shoot…I think I forgot that guys name…oh!! Fredrin. That's it. No, he didn't shoot her—no one in particular shot her. Will Maggur stay dead? Sheesh, woman!! I killed him!! Honestly. I can only kill off so many characters and bring then to life…what, I've already risen James, Numair, Romeli, and…Romeli again. Haha. Bah. You talk about Emperor Mage like I've never read it—it's one of my favorite books, silly. (gives a really big cookie)

Silver-star-0: haha. To be truthful I don't like milkshakes that much. I haven't had one in a while actually. Pointless?? Pointless??!?!!? It saved her life!! Haaha. I can't fool you…? Good one dear silver-star. I laugh. Yea…writing that almost sex-scene was pretty gross. I had to stop mid-way through because I couldn't handle it. Haha. Bah! Bring him back to life?!?!? Ridiculous. Mmm. Yea, I was going to put all of those songs on my website for you to listen…but I think I forgot to. Haha. Whoops. hahahaha!!! I quoted you!!! Your metaphorical problems thing. I put it on my profile. Yes, dear. It was long. Silly thing.

Katsukoprincessthief: yay!! I threw you off guard!!! Yea…I hope she lives too. Hahaha. I haven't decided if I should bring her back as a zombie or not. and yes…the bedroom scene was incredibly gross. I couldn't handle writing it.

Kuyaga: dude…for real. Haha. I know, the whole milkshake scene was incredibly random. I was like…really depressed that day or something I believe, and then I got this random mood swing and I was like 'OMG NO MORE WRITER'S BLOCK.' It was intense. Summoning milkshakes would kick ass. Bah. You put quotations around the word dead like she isn't. silly you.

Captain Cheese: CHE!!!!! Yes…the length of my chapter was incredibly intimidating. I was too scared to edit it. Thank goodness this one was shorter, eh? Nope. No hidden cameras. I don't roll like that…I do it old school. yay, I made you suffer. Hmm. I guess this story is like Romeo and Juliet, except more sex, violence, magic, curse words, and suffering. Mmm. She does have the pitless gift, but the thing is that the incantation was sucking it out of her eternally. It's like…the thing was pulling the life out of her, making it dwindle down further and further but never actually reaching the end—and that's probably worse than death itself. Incredibly painful, as you can imagine. Yay she died? Well that's the first reader who reacted like that…hahaha. Smexy scene is later.

Julie Virginia: well I may bring her back as a zombie. I haven't decided yet. (wink). Aww. Here now, don't cry. Well actually, go ahead and cry, because it makes me feel like I've achieved my goal in emotionally straining you, but at least take a tissue. Oh yea…that chapter took super long to write…gah.

Whispers Of Doubt: I updated quicker than usual!! Yay. Thanks!! I'm so glad that you said something like that. It truly is flattering. (pats head).

X17SkmBdrchiczxx: haha. You were laughing?? Well I can see how parts could be humorous, but the whole time? Haha. That's impressive. Yah…I loved writing that 'James coming back to life' convo. I dunno how I write so long honestly. It's just because I've been planning that chapter for at least 2 years…and I wanted it to be long and perfect. Yay milkshakes.

Aravilui: yes, indeed I am alive. Hoorah. Yup. That was pretty much the best cliffhanger evah. It made me happy. Ack. I don't think I could ever kill James…well okay…maybe later, but not when they're so close to getting into their relationship. Course…Romeli had to do…not so sure what I'm going to do about that. Yay for the 'aw' lines, they sorta just flowed, and I was like, wow…this is epic. I'm a morning person actually. Well not lately. I'm not an anything person haha…I'm just…there. I dunno. It's silly. HAHAHAHA. "you are the only boy I know who would let your friend kill you while strapped to a chair". I thought I was a genius when I wrote that.

Thanks for reading!! Hopefully I'll be updating soon again!!

Moosie