Hi!

I hope you like this chapter! It's a little shorter and it it gives a bit of background on Jade's past. And gasp, Shishido comes into the picture. I mean he was already there, but now it's more obvious. I WANT TO WARN THAT SHISHIDO MAY BE SLIGHTLY OOC. This is because him being kicked off of the Hyotei team changes him greatly, and that's when he was introduced as a character, so this is what I saw him as. Brusque, slightly dark, mysterious, and not yet the hard worker who is willing to put everything on the line. Plus, this is what I feel like he might be around girls, but we'll see.

This chapter and the previous one go hand in hand, so if you don't remember what happened in the last chapter, PLEASE go back and skim over it! I was originally going to post these two chapters as one, but the chapter would have been very long and I hadn't finished with the second part. This way, it flows much better.

I was debating between "Black Widow" and "Exposing my Dark Side" as chapter names, until I felt like Black Widow was so much more cryptic. So enjoy Black Widow! Black Widows are known to be poisonous, and they have slow-setting poison; they also eat their mates after getting them to mate, so I felt that showed a little bit of insight to Jade's dark side. Her background and her past are being revealed slowly, so hold on for the ride (it's going to be a long one)!

Disclaimer: I don't own PoT, just the OC!

Please read, review, and favorite!

"I will have you know that I am an awful dancer," I murmur, trying to convince Shishido this was a bad idea.

"I will live," he smirks back. "If I'm not mistaken, it sounds like you don't want to dance with me."

"No!" I protest.

I bite my tongue to keep the words I actually want to say from spilling out of my tongue. I just do not to make you look like a fool.

Foxtrot music begins to play and my heart beats erratically. "Um, does the foxtrot go clockwise or counterclockwise?"

The corners of his mouth tug up, eyes sparkling, "Counterclockwise."

He slides his hand on to my upper back and the warmth of it burns through the dress. He ensnares my hand in his clutch, his large fingers dominating mine. His calluses rub against mine and we press our bodies closer together. Not touching, but close. His eyes are heated and I cannot tear my gaze away.

It is a few seconds later until I realize that he is gently leading me into a simple foxtrot, not looking down or past my face at the rest of the ballroom. Our steps turn into free-flowing unit, working together, almost giving me goosebumps. Keigo and I never danced this way.

I did not want to breathe. I felt like I was swimming a butterfly, skimming over the surface of the water, half flying over the choppy waves that parted for me. If I breathed, the fluid motion would end, the dancing would end and the counterclockwise turns and the swishing fabric had me enchanted. Picking up your head too early is a death sentence, and so is picking up your head too late.

But I did not want to breathe. If I breathed, the moment would end. So with baited breath, I stared back into Shishido's eyes, forgetting that I was at a party under the highest scrutiny possible, forgetting that this, this fervor was being watched by someone, forgetting that there was anyone around us.

In that moment, all I wanted to do was to keep dancing.

Shishido was a breath of fresh air in a dusty, moldy ballroom full of the richest people in Japanese society. Never mind the Atobes, or Oshitari, or Choutaru, or anyone on the Hyotei tennis team.

He was a different breath of fresh air. The Hyotei team would smell like a forest, standing tall and dominating in tennis. It was easy to get lost or forget who you are when you are with them, but there was that unmistakable feeling of independence and freedom.

Shishido was different. He would smell like the air after a fresh autumn rain. Unbelievably cold, and yet giving life, vigor. It was both calming and refreshing. It made you want to throw on your rain boots and run outside, splash in puddles, and look for the rainbow. Inside, there had been a storm raging for the last two months. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, but I was ready for the fresh, calm air. The Petrichor that was a combination of the earth and the blood that ran through the veins of Greek Gods themselves.

That is what Shishido was. And if I breathed, I would miss it. Yet that's all I wanted to inhale, his fresh Petrichor.

"Relax," he murmurs, face close to mine. His eyes are alight and flashing mischievously. Was this the same person who compared spoon sizes, who got me to stop choking, who ran after me? His long hair swishes against his clothing.

"You haven't stepped on to my feet yet," he teases. "Relax."

I take my first breath and immerse myself back underwater, not wanting to miss a single moment of the chandeliers' sparkle or the notes of the small orchestra. The violins and cellos played more than just a song; it felt Orpheus himself was playing his lyre, and everything was captivated in this one moment, one second. Time could have frozen and I would not have been able to tell.

Who was he? How was it possible that I feel like I was swimming, dancing under the waves, while doing a foxtrot in a ballroom?

I feel sparks dancing along our fingertips, and butterflies in my stomach. Perhaps it was the turns, but I felt dizzy. Could he tell how fast my heart was beating?

Even with the Promenade, where we are supposed to turn our faces away as we step, we do not. He leads me into the steps, dodging my feet on several occasions, smiling nevertheless. The guy leads, and leads he does, stepping towards me before I step backwards in a never-ending chase.

All too soon, the orchestra plays the last notes, shifting their instruments to get a moment of respite. For the first time of what felt like hours, we tear our hands and eyes away, mumbling about how we claimed each other to be good dancers (his statement of saying that I was a good dancer was out of formality, I'm sure), how the orchestra was, and something about the weather as we walk together towards the tennis corner where the rest of the Hyotei tennis team sat around a table. I could feel that my cheeks were flushed and Keigo glances up and smirks.

The voiceless words are directed towards me as his dark eyes flash. Did you enjoy yourself? It looks like you did.

I flip my hair to the front of my shoulder, wanting to hide behind the curtain of strands. If I said no, would you believe me?

If possible, his smirk grows wider as he sits back in his chair, satisfied. Obviously not.

I tower behind Atobe's seat, wanting to be away from the rest of the players who were talking. Mukahi was looking at Shishido the same way that Keigo and I do when we are communicating: somehow telepathically, even though our brains are disjointed.

Keigo looks up at me and mouths in English while waggling his eyebrows, "You find him attractive. You like him."

"No," I whisper back in German. "No, I do not."

"Denial," he sings as he lifts himself up from the chair. "Come on, I'm sure Shishido can spare sometime away from you. There are people you apparently required to meet."

I do not even bother responding to his jab about Shishido as we march off, arguing about something unimportant, just like usual.

"This," Keigo indicates to at least the fiftieth person he had introduced me to this evening, "is Ohno-san. He and his company dominate in advertising."

We bow to each other, I deeply, with my hands on my thighs and him with a jerk of his head. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Ohno-san."

"And what does your family do? I believe they will increase their influence in Japan, yes? I do believe I have heard of your family," he speaks pompously, clasping a Rocks Glass, a broad glass at the bottom full of ice and topped with an amber alcohol, presumably bourbon or brandy. I force myself to keep my nose from wrinkling in distaste; I hate alcohol and its influence on people.

"My family owns a company of investment banking, but in the last ten years, my mother had started a company of her own specializing in the science behind cosmetics; their work is primarily in the US," I smile back at him, as charmingly as possible as I recite a summary of what I represent from memory. My mother had told me to memorize the speech if someone asks me specifically about my family and never to say it in public, as I was child and I had no business working with the suave faces of Wall Street. When I was young, I whined because I wanted to be a big girl like Mom. She smiled, hugging me, dressed in the typical lab coat that she wore from work even though she was both founder and CEO of one of the dominating companies on the market and revolutionizing skincare.

Now, I never wanted to grow up.

"We were thinking of increasing our influence in Japan, yes," I lie between my teeth. In reality, until my brother took over the company, who know what would happen. My brother was not to take over the company for years until after he had become fully polished in the business and managing world, and that was several years to go; he had several years of college and tennis left before he topped the company. I know I had to join him someday in the distant future as well, or maybe I was supposed to work in Mom's company, I was not exactly sure. Did I want to? Who knows?

"Ah yes," he nods. "I believe I read about it a few years earlier when it invested money into Atobe Corporation."

No surprise there, our families were both great friends and business partners. Matter of fact, I remember when we were little, sitting around the Christmas tree in Portland (we switched off years to visit during Christmas) and Mrs. Atobe saying something along the lines of how there were very few real friends, and that our families would be the best of friends until the end.

Could my childish mind have clouded my judgment? It was very likely that it had done so, but I wanted to keep that warm memory untouched.

I smile back, unsure of what to say. "Well it has been a pleasure to meet you Ohno-san." Keigo and I are about to walk away until he asks a question that pentrates my very core.

"How about you play a game of poker against me?" he smirks all of a sudden.

I pause and turn. Poker? Could I even bear to play the game again?

"Or, if you're too scared to, you can just run with your tail between your legs," he taunts, changing from a pompous older man with a bushy mustache to a hawk, mercurial and stealthy, dive-bombing at prey.

I know better than to fall to a taunt, but something about the man unsettles me, making the creature in me growl. I hesitate before following him to a corner near the front of the ballroom which was surrounded by a small crowd about to start a poker game. I pull out a chair and settle into it.

I grab a poker chip, flipping it, letting it fall into my palm.

"It's funny," I say in English. "That last time I played poker, I was betting on lives, not money. Oh," I sigh dramatically, "how the mighty have fallen."

Keigo shoots me a warning look.

"What, Keigo? Do they too not deserve to know?"

He says nothing, deep in thought, knowing that it was not smart for me to play.

I sit with flourish, back straight and predatory smirk. "Men, it's time we play poker."

I hate the game. I hate poker. It was a game that brought out the ugliest traits, the lack of humanity. The men who sat around the table reflected that, sipping at the drinks in their hand, ready to blow their cash.

Most of all, I hated that I was good at closing the outside world from my emotions, that I could flash my icy side triumphantly while robbing money and lives, that I could be good at the game.

It is all in the matter of the façade. If you had a good one, you could win. Otherwise, you would be thrown to the wolves.

The only person who has beaten me was my brother. He could play like no other, much like his tennis. Just when you think he had been beaten, he would rise from the ashes, hand around your throat. He was the Phoenix, and not just on the courts.

He was dangerous, and many knew it.

In America, the rich ruled. They had the power, and I knew all too well the effects of that. My family was wealthy, yes, even ridiculously so. We lived a life that showed very little indication of that, of the frills and glitter that the middle-class ran after. From the outside, we were normal.

From the inside, that was preposterously untrue. Mom and Dad taught my brother and me to manipulate, to curl people around your finger until they had stretched too thin. They warned us to not show that side in public, or ever, unless if told. We were only told to do so when around the voracious upper class. The Atobe family was different, and I am not sure why, but I just knew they were. They fought their way to the top using the same tactics, but they were not part of the voracious upper class, or at least not to me. I have no doubt that they were, because that is what was required to stay on top.

There were times that I liked to pretend that side of me did not exist, that I could switch between the Coral Snake, one of the most venomous of all, and the Scarlet King Snake, friendly and harmless. But like Jekyll and Hyde, there was no true separation from the two, just a boundary that I crossed from time to time, sometimes willingly, sometimes not.

Yes, around my friends and those who I respected, I was harmless. I could play the young and innocent part, which in reality was not a part, it was the real me, or so I like to believe. Around the ruthless upper class? I was just like them, somewhere between predator and prey.

I did not like being prey, so predator is the only other option. I was not particularly lucky, but I could shut down my face, my emotions. I could bluff and get away with it.

Better to be hunter than hunted.

I shut down the teenage student, the one who loved the pool and playing tennis, and all things that a typical teenager does.

Sometimes the ones who seemed the most normal could be the most dangerous.

It was time for the Black Widow to play.

Keigo grips my shoulder as the dealer shuffled the cards. My stack of poker chips sat in front of me, colored pieces of plastic that could rob people of wealth.

"Why don't you sit in and play as well, Atobe-san?" a man asks to the right of the person who had challenged me.

Keigo smiles uneasily, "I am afraid that I shall sit this one out."

The man nods, turning his shrewd eyes towards me. I raise a single eyebrow, making him turn away. I cross my legs. I could scare myself by how comfortable I was at the poker table as the dealer slipped two cards in front of me.

"What's going on?" Oshitari's voice drawled behind me.

"She's playing poker, you dolt," Keigo huffs indignantly so that only Oshitari and I could hear.

"Good luck, Klysen-san," Choutaru echoed.

I didn't turn back, torn between my façade and the people I knew. Only Keigo could see me like this, my cold expression, icy glare, frost stretched across my mouth.

"Is she any good?" a brusque voice tore through. Shishido.

I could not answer as the players began to check their cards. I took a deep breath before taking a quick peek .

Ace of spades and ace of clubs.

I fully immerse myself in the façade as the Hyotei tennis players watch. The other players finish looking at their cards.

They were good. No one else had emotion on their faces, no surprise, no nothing. Just blank. They watched each other, waiting for a signal. The one to the left of the dealer suddenly barks out, "Raise!"

He chucks a few chips in, "Five-hundred."

Internally, I raise my eyebrows, but I know better than to let my eyebrows twitch in front of the sharp men. Five-hundred is low for the upper class, especially considering a little over one-hundred and ten yen equaled to five dollars. The starting bet would then equal about four and a half dollars.

"One-thousand!" the next man calls, throwing in more chips.

Oh, were they playing safe? I rake my eyes over his face, studying. The second man's right eye twitches ever so slightly.

Gotcha.

"Five-thousand!" Ohno-san calls, partially confident. Too confident. I am not shocked that the next person folds.

The betting raises and a few people fold before their eyes land on me. Without blinking, without any twitching, I slightly open my mouth. "Ten-thousand."

Around the table, the men say nothing. They aren't foolish enough to doubt a teenage girl. The stakes start to rise quickly.

The tenth person at the table pushes his poker chips towards the center of the table, mirroring my movements, "Call."

The dealer flips over the three cards at the top of the deck. A rustle of wool suits as men examine the overturned cards floats by my ears. I don't bother to check the cards, only the expressions. Only one has a floating glimpse of disappointment as he checks the cards before quickly turning his face into cold stone.

Too bad, so sad, see you next time.

I shoot a fleeting look at the cards in the middle, ace of hearts, ace of diamonds, and nine of hearts.

That made me have a four of a kind. Was it statistically probable that someone had a better hand than me? No. Was it possible?

It was always possible.

The six people, including me, left at the table started betting again as I watched their faces, their hands, their necks, anything that would give them away.

"Twenty thousand," the second man left at the table raises.

Bluff or serious?

"Fifty grand," says the third.

"Call," the next narrows his eyes, matching the money amount.

Everyone around the table hushes as they catch the underlying tension. Eyes dissect the people around the table, watching every movement, every breath.

"One-hundred," Ohno-san pushes in his chips.

"Call," I murmur, observing the faces and matching the one-hundred thousand yen bet chip for chip.

One-hundred thousand yen equaled the rent of a decent flat in Tokyo for a month. I made sure I knew the currency value before I left Portland.

The players around the table begin the next cycle of betting.

"I fold," one man throws his cards down.

The next shoves in more chips, "Five hundred grand."

The pile of chips kept growing bigger and bigger as the betting pool escalated.

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Call," I whisper, pushing in chips, stony-faced.

The two men left snap their gaze towards me. Did I really want to tangle in this?

Always.

Pick and choose your battles, and this was one I was fighting.

"Call," Ohno-san grinds out.

"Raise, one million."

"Call," I say, not breaking composure at the massive sum of money.

Gasps echo around the table. Were they really surprised? Did they not understand that people bet their lives away? I watched that happen in front of me. "Are you sure?" the dealer asks, brows furrowed. He had clearly not ever taken care of a party full of the wealthy elite.

"Fold," Ohno-san, the one who had first challenged me, pushes his cards towards the center of the table and walks away. I win, partially at least. The crowd around the table parts for him.

"Looks like just you and me, girly," the man smiles. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

I say nothing, just looking at the dealer.

"Fair enough," he smirks, black hair falling over his eyes. The young man's breath stinks of alcohol as he takes a swing from his glass. "Let's make this fast."

I arch an eyebrow.

I have to admit, his poker face is good. His eyes are narrowed, watching me the same way I watched him. He trails his eyes over me, and I suppress the will to shudder as his gaze grows hungry.

"Ten million."

"Twenty-five," I reply. The betting pool was now equal to over two-hundred thousand dollars. He was either fairly confident, or extremely rich. Probably both. Eyes bulged around the table as the betting pool turns into an enormous cash prize.

"Fifty million."

Were my cards really good enough to beat him? Did I even have that much money to pay up?

I pause, a fatal mistake, before saying "Sixty." That had to be over half a million dollars.

He smiles at me, knowing he has caught me. "All in," he pushes his chips towards the center of the table.

Either I match, or he takes all of my money.

I breathe before mirroring his movements. There had to be around one-hundred million yen from both of us, and more left sitting on the table from the people who had withdrawn. Estimated amount in US dollars? About a million total.

I had seen higher stakes though. Money wasn't the same has human lives.

He flips over his cards with a slap. My eyes linger on the nine of diamonds and nine of spades. He had a full house. I break composure with a slow blink, closing my eyes for a second. His face breaks from his façade too, smiling and daring me to face him again. I casually overturn my cards and separate the two with my fingers. His eyes widen as the dealer announces, "Four of a kind versus full house. The lady wins."

He breathes heavily, "Your payment will-"

"That is not necessary," I respond stiffly as I push the chair back and stand up. "Just consider yourself lucky that I played you instead of someone else." I had no need for stolen money.

Keigo sighs, now face-to-face with me. "You idiot."

I turn off the façade for the upper class and absorb my normal self, "You say that like you're surprised."

He rolls his eyes.

"Congratulations!" Chotarou smiles.

Oshitari has his normal bemused face on and Shishido frowns, "Were you willing to give him the money if you lost?"

I shrug, unconcerned as Shishido lifts a single eyebrow as my heart beats quickly matching his intense gaze. I, too, did not know what I would do had I lost. All that matters is that I did not, and I knew that I would not.

The last time I had been at the poker table, I had not been playing but I had been forced to watch. They had bet on deaths, on lives, on reputation.

"You idiot," Keigo repeats in German. "The last time you were…you could have-"

"This wasn't last time," I murmur. There were no more flashes of a certain tattoo that sent chills up my spine. No one was attacking my family this time.

"That is not the point," he hisses and then sighs, conceding.

I ignore him and ask the butler if he has any apple juice.

"Make that two," Shishido orders.

The butler looks incredulous as he walks off to find apple juice. Shishido and I look at each other because of the butler's expression, and we burst into a fit of laughter.

The party drags on until the late hours of the night, making me pause right before I rub my eyes until I remind myself that is improper behavior. Thankfully, as all things must, the celebration draws to an end, leaving me and the Hyotei tennis team left as Mr. and Mrs. Atobe shoo us away, saying we had school the next day.

"Why are they still here?" I ask Keigo in German, waving a hand around at the rest of the Hyotei tennis team, clad in shorts and t-shirts after changing, sitting in a broad room with several beds.

He frowns, "I thought that I would be gracious and extend my hospitality to them. After all, they should be honored to stay in an Atobe-"

I swat at him, exasperated, as he dodges, "Oi, the party is over. Stop acting fancy."

He sighs, "Sorry. You're staying over too, right? It is kind of late for you to go home."

"No Keigo, I am sitting in a t-shirt and pajama pants for no reason," I raise my eyebrows, amused and sarcastic.

He sticks his tongue out in a very un-Keigo-like manner.

I had ditched the dress and wiped off the make-up as soon as possible, throwing my hair into a loose bun and letting the maid take care of the dress and heels. I would normally protest, saying I would do it myself, but I had been too tired to argue. I sat in the room with multiple beds for the Hyotei tennis team, including ones for Taki, Hiyoshi, Kabaji, and Jirou, who I had barely talked to during the party. I don't even remember seeing Jirou awake, to be honest.

I hear a yell and I turn to see a pillow flying my way. Mukahi is hitting Shishido over the head while shouting a single word with every hit, making a muffled sound mixed with a "stop that!" and "omph!" from Shishido.

"JUST."

"ADMIT."

"IT."

Shishido grabs his own pillow and knocks Mukahi in the face.

"NO."

The two begin to promptly throw pillows at each other as I watch grinning and the Hyotei team laughs. Suddenly a pillow cuts through the air, flipping my way. I dodge it a moment too late.

They freeze as it hits me in the face, the plush head-cushion falling the the ground with a deadened plop. I pick up the pillow slowly, eyeing the two tennis players who watched me, not sure what to expect. With a battle cry, I charge in between the two and hit them over the head as all the tennis players pick up pillows and charge into the skirmish, laughing. With yells of "Gekokuju!" and "This is super lame!" and something in that recognizable Oshitari drawl, we are teenagers again, having shaken off the bindings and words of adults from hours previously.

It takes a several hours-when I wake up in a separate room-for me to find out I have feathers woven into my hair from the pillow fight.

A whine sounds at the back of my throat as I look at the Atobe choice vehicle of today, outside in the dark. It was six in the morning and the dark grey Lambhorgini calls to me with its glossy finish and unusual four seats.

"We had it specially made," Mr. Atobe shrugs. "Unfortunately, we have to go to work, so Charles will drive you," he hands the keys to the butler. "Unless, if you want to drive."

My eyes light up, and then I hesitate, "But wait, the driving age here is different from the States."

His mouth twists, "You're right. Never mind then, but you can always drive on the roads around the house. No one monitors them."

"Thank you!" I yelp, excited and bouncing on my toes, before I clear my throat and wipe the elation off my face. Mr. Atobe chuckles and waves before Keigo and I slip into the car.

Mrs. Atobe throws a bag into the car just as the door closes, "Keep the dress! It was tailored for you!"

I gasp, clutching the bag and protesting. She laughs at my expression and my inability to hand it back as she too waves while the car zooms off.

"Don't you have practice?" I frown.

"I was nice and canceled morning practice for today for the regulars," he waves it off. "But they have twice the afternoon practice."

I narrow my eyes and half-frown at his statement. Isn't that the same amount of time total? How was that nice? I twist my hand into confused girl pose, with my hand in the air, up, with finger partially outstretched in a wordless question. Um, what?

Keigo chuckles, "It's as nice as I get to them, okay?"

A comfortable pause fills the air before, "Speaking of nice...Shishido, huh?"

"Nope," I say automatically.

"Are you sure?" he grins. "Because you two looked pretty cozy yesterday."

I ignore his statement, "So, the weather is nice today," I answer pleasantly.

"Ah yes, nice like Shishido."

I grind my teeth.

"The chandeliers in your ballroom are pretty."

"Like Shishido."

He grins, his smug face repeating his words every few seconds with every phrase I say.

"I hate you," I groan finally.

"Like Shishido...oh wait," he furrows his brow as my lips quirk at the small victory.

Keigo waves to me through the window as the car zips away. He had to get to school as well, so I wasn't mad at him for not dropping me off at school and my apartment instead. I wouldn't have been mad regardless, as I usually like my morning walks to the pool. I open the door with the key that Keigo had just handed me before Charles the butler had driven him back towards his mansion.

I jiggle the key in the lock and it opens with a click, rooms still lighted from yesterday afternoon. I lock the door behind me and pull off the t-shirt I had gone home in and the bag holding the dress that Mrs. Atobe had shoved in my hand before Charles had driven off. I drape the bag over the corner of the sofa and I walk to the bathroom, searching for my school bag. I fish out the extra change of clothes and slip in my tennis racket and extra swim suits into the bag. I wasn't sure what Coach had in mind, but I knew I had to be ready for everything.

I throw on a chambray button down and tuck it into leather shorts, because he said to not wear just shorts and a t-shirt. I was hopeless at these kind of things, and I needed Keigo to tell if my clothes were appropriate for the occasion or not. My boat shoes sit next to the door and I pull them on as I walk out the door, slipping my iPod, phone, and keys into the smallest pocket of the bag. The sun's rays are peeking over the horizon, shooting beams of pink and orange into a slightly cloudy sky.

Memories of the night before swirl in my head as I trek to the school, tennis racket handles sticking straight up out of my athletic bag on my back. The names of all the people I had been introduced to had blurred together in the few hours of sleep that I had been permitted to have, but the one thing that stuck with me was that foxtrot and the feeling accompanied with it. A warm feeling bubbled in my chest as I thought of the pillow fight, of Shishido's dropped jaw as I hit him over the head, laughing.

It does not take long to reach to Rikkaidai but I had gone over the memories stored in my head several times over before I reached the school. I try to push the thoughts of the long-haired, unusually brusque, 'breath of fresh air' as I walk up to Coach Suzuki at the poolside.

"Good morning," I smile.

"Oh good, you didn't wear jeans and a t-shirt," he rolls his eyes. "I thought you were not paying attention to me when I was telling you everything."

I continue to smile, not wanting to say that, well, I had not been paying attention. "Anyways," I change the subject. "What school are we going to?"

"Seishun Gakuen," he says, looking up at the sky, at the pinkish-orange horizon as a gentle breeze blows small choppy waves on the pool. "We're going to Seigaku."

Please review! They keep me motivated and happy and I like to know if I'm going on the right track or if anyone has any criticisms for me! I've had a lack of reviews lately, so I'm not sure if the majority of people like the new track that the fic is on. I want to reveal a lot more of Jade's past and dark side as the plot starts building. Please give me feedback!

Thank you to the guest reviewers! I only wish that I could respond to you!

I redid my profile page. I now have the link to my Tumblr if anyone wants drabbles or anything else! Any requests are welcome!

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