A/N: Woohoo! The last pieces of Cinder's memories! It's been a long, soul-crushing journey through these memories (I had to take many breaks when writing these), but I hope they'll be worth it. Pay close attention to this chapter (shorter than the others but still pretty long), as it will be important for the sequel!

WARNING: Abuse. Mild Sexual Content. Grotesque imagery. In that order.

Please read, review, and enjoy! :)

Chapter 31 - Cinder's Memories, Part 4

For the next two months after the incident, Verity shut herself up completely. She never talked. She never left the house. She hardly did any work. She didn't respond to her father's smacks and insults. She hardly ate. She either hardly slept or slept for days at a time. Depression settled deep in her heart, and she berated herself for every little detail about the event every single day. One ethereal watcher wanted desperately to speak to her; to tell her that she had to stay strong. Which watcher had felt this, one couldn't be sure. As entities, they were indistinct with everything around them, including each other.

Verity's last words to him choked her. Every night, her breathing became ragged as the dim light reminded her of what she'd done. None of her reasons or excuses could calm her until sleep came to her. Even then, it came to her in fits. Sleep took away her pain, only to have it wash over fully as soon as consciousness streamed in the next morning; if it could be called consciousness. Verity's once bright green eyes were dull and lifeless as she spent her days listlessly cleaning. The only thing she strove for was the chance to be forgiven by Jack, but that chance was never to come. His ghost would haunt her until she died. Except if it did, Verity would have been okay with that. The sullen emptiness that replaced his ghost was cold and menacing. Days, weeks, months went by before she began to speak again. Not that there was reason to speak anymore. She didn't speak to anyone besides Jack and Sophie. And Verity was fairly certain Sophie wouldn't even look at her if she were forced to do so.

Slowly, Verity recovered, but not fully. Nothing would ever be completely full, she was afraid. Nevertheless, after another drunken stupor of her father's she snuck out to breathe air she hadn't known in so long. Her face was kept solemn as she wandered through the clearing. Not a soul shared the space today. The village hadn't taken to Jack's death well. Despite being known as the childish one, Jack was valued. He could somehow manage to keep the entire village in relative harmony. But now, Verity could feel the stares from the dark windows of the other cabins bearing down on her. Now that Jack was gone, the neighbors rekindled their whisperings. Never shaking off the label of demon child or witch, the elders began to contemplate Verity's role in the boy's death. But today, she was going to ignore them.

Verity was almost out of the clearing when she felt footsteps rushing toward her. Slowing down to a stop, she waited before turning around. Whoever was coming up to her probably had a pitch for or saw with her name on it. They probably wanted some form of revenge, some form of coping mechanism. She closed her eyes and anticipated a blow to keep her view eternally dark. But nothing happened.

"Verity?" Jasper's voice was raspy. He must have run a mile or something. Verity turned her head cautiously but remained silent. "I... I know you were close to Jack," the bully began, suddenly harmless, "and... well, I'm sorry."

The rest of her body spun in his direction, so now facing her lifelong bully. Confusion rippled through her mind. Why would Jasper, of all the people in this forsaken village, apologize? Her eyes grazed his features questioningly, but she found no menace in his demeanor. Verity waited for him to continue. When he didn't, she nodded and began walking away once again. She didn't want Jasper to be the first human being she spoke to after Jack's death. "Alison says she misses you," Jasper called out in an attempt to make the redhead turn around, but it didn't work.

The woods, once cheerful and bright with their green leaves rustling in the wind, were now ominous and eerie. Each step on the old, dead, crunchy undergrowth jarred her concentration. Verity tried to imagine Jack walking alongside her, never making a sound as he leaped through the trees, swinging from them gleefully. A smile almost formed on her lips. Almost. His face wasn't clear, the unforgettable features already deteriorating in her mind's eye. The wind picked up violently for a second, and she wondered if Jack had somehow run by her. Stopping for a moment, she let the gusts play with her dress as her eyes swept over the nondescript tree trunks. One of them had been her and Jack's tree trunk next to the smaller grassy clearing. It was the one where they met, when both could afford to leave their respective houses. Jack often waited in the tree just above her head, while Verity had waited plainly in the grass next to the tree trunk. Verity's eyes glanced up from the trunk, half expecting him to be waiting for her. When his common silhouette was nowhere to be seen, she walked onward. Her heart was heavy─ it had been since that fateful day─ and it took tremendous effort to get as far as she did.

When Verity made it to the house, her left hand was balled in a fist and she held it against the door. The debate raged in her mind: should she talk to them or should she leave? Before she could decide, the door opened.

"Verity!" Sophie jumped up and hugged the frail redhead with all her might. She almost collapsed from the embrace, her bones weak and muscles frail. "Verity!" It sounded like Sophie had been crying. It had been four months since Jack's passing, it now being toward the middle of summer, but neither had gotten used to the missing pieces in their hearts. Letting her defenses fall, Verity reached down and returned Sophie's hug, tears escaping down her cheeks. She kept her tears silent, a cry quivering in her clumped throat.

"I know I'm not Jack, but I'm here for you, Sophie," Verity promised, wiping the tears from her own eyes while still captured by Sophie's hug.

"And I'm here for you," the little girl's voice faltered. Their hug lasted until each felt comfortable, and then they hugged some more. Both of them had to cope, and they found each other.

Verity didn't know what Jack's mother thought of her, not since he left her house that night. His mother said once that she knew what Jack was going to do for her, but when he came back he looked distraught, holding the rejected ring in his palms. But he didn't cry, she'd said. Jack didn't cry. Or if he did, none of them had seen it. Nonetheless, Verity snuck out of the house as often as she could to visit Jack's family. At first, it was hard because Sophie reminded her of Jack. But over time, Verity did everything that she could for the family. She brought them extra food, in place of her own meals, which they didn't know about. She took care of Sophie as often as possible and helped make a substitute grave site for Jack, adding more flowers to it every time she could.

The grave was below the tree root on the opposite side of the pond. Underneath, there was a small sand bar that was shielded from the elements. Jack showed Verity this spot one time during the summer, intending for it to be their new meeting place. He hadn't shown it to anyone else yet, not even Sophie. Verity had found that hard to believe, but Jack had given his word. It was a beautiful spot, hidden in shade but the sands were always warm. They sat there in the late afternoons, watching the sun set over the pine trees. Most of the time, they talked about the grand adventures on which they would go, but sometimes they just sat in companionable silence. It was never awkward and the tension never rose above who would have to go home first. But now that Verity looked back on it, she realized Jack must have been collecting his courage around her. And to think she'd been so oblivious all these years! After beginning to take care of Jack's family, Verity often came back here to sit beside the bed of stones they'd used to build a tiny heart-shaped grave. She would talk to him openly, reliving several memories with him as she stared forlornly at the pond while it lapped at her feet.

It had become late summer with hot dry air providing no relief to the drought that had overtaken the land. The woods had dried and there had been no rain for weeks. Even the leaves were beginning to droop. Crops were dying and all of the families were suffering. Verity was on her way to collect some water for her violently sick father. The pump creaked and it was much harder to pull the lever. She suffered through several pumps before giving up. Looking in the pail, Verity saw that there was little more than two inches of water. She didn't want to take more than she needed, but would this be enough?

Verity was on her way back to the house when she saw someone at her doorstep, knocking. With dread knotting in her stomach, she realized that Sophie was walking into her house. Looking for Verity, no doubt. The redhead clutched the bucket close and rocketed her way to the house, praying that her father had passed out again. As sick as he was, anyone that walked in the house would be mistaken for his good-for-nothing daughter. Sophie wouldn't stand a chance if he took notice of her.

Almost crashing into the doorframe, Verity set the bucket down and assessed the situation. Everything slowed down. Her father was by the fireplace, feeding it more kindling. It was summer, what was he even doing trying to light a fire? Sure, he was sick, but he wasn't that sick. Sophie had walked up behind him and began asking where she could find Verity. But the fire sparked to life as she spoke, causing her father not to hear. On instinct he spun around, a hot stick in his hand, and aimed to smack Sophie. He thought she was Verity. His grimy grimace was set in his features even after the stick made contact with Sophie's face. Verity rushed in and grabbed Sophie pulling her close. Before she could ask what Sophie was thinking, her father stumbled after them, raising his boot. Verity shoved Sophie away, hoping she'd land safely. The boot caught Verity's ribs, creating a sickening thud as she tumbled backward toward the door. His roaring yell echoed throughout the small one room house and he turned his attention back to Sophie. He wanted her to get out. She wasn't allowed here. But he was sick. He stumbled after her, hot stick in hand. Verity was still clutching her side when she ordered Sophie to run. The hot stick came down with a thwack, hitting the bed as Sophie ducked. Fear and panic widened her eyes as she ran in the opposite direction. The burning stick was meeting every area of the house besides its intended target. Verity sat up in shock to see that the bed, curtains, and table had set fire. But no one else had noticed yet. She stood up painfully as Sophie hid behind her, blocking another hit from her father's blow. The side of the stick caught her arm, scraping it, but the burning portion caught the door. It created enough friction to catch. The house was burning down.

Before Verity could warn them, another blow hit her stomach and she was thrown to the ground, grazing the burning table. The back of her dress was singed and caused a searing hot brand on her shoulder blades. Her father was delirious with fever and was distracted by the number of people suddenly in his house. Sophie had disappeared again, and the smoke was interfering with Verity's vision. Rubbing her eyes, Verity felt her way around the floor and called Sophie over to her. But the wrong hands found her and she was hoisted into the air. Her father was saying something incoherent, trying to insult her or punish her for being stupid. It didn't particularly matter. Being unable to see anything, Verity felt the ground shock her bones and her father was nowhere to be found. Her heart and lungs frantically fought to keep her conscious as she searched for Sophie. She screamed and coughed, screamed and coughed. The smoke was beginning to be too much, and Verity sunk to the floor. It was then that she saw Sophie hiding under their table, and Verity rushed over to grab her. Sophie leaped into her arms and Verity struggled to make her way back outside. She was almost out in the clear when the building's entire frame collapsed, crushing Verity's midsection. Later, the roof would fall and crush her legs, and a log would roll over and crush her arms. She would burn nearly to death. But at the moment, all she could feel was the white hot searing sensation that tore into her flesh and bones. Crying out loudly, she was blinded with pain. The ethereal watchers cringed, one in sympathy pain, the other feeling it all too tangibly.

Then someone took her hand and placed something in it. Verity tried to look up, but could barely make out Sophie's outline.

"You're safe, Sophie," Verity coughed painfully, "get out of here."

"Jack loved you," Sophie's tearful voice spoke up against the burning atmosphere Verity was being subjected to, "he'd want you to keep this." It was then that Verity felt the ring slip onto her finger again, and she passed out. The black edges in her vision grew and all sound was silenced.

The last thing she had seen had been Jack's ring.

The ethereal watchers believed that last scene to be the depressing end to the memory case's contents. But a few seconds more and the aftermath was revealed. The house had burned thoroughly, but that could barely be seen in the late night darkness. Something twitched underneath what used to be the entrance. Barely visible was a hand and arm, blackened and little more than bones and cooked muscle. The view closed in and they could make out a bulbous shape with sockets and a jaw. There was no hair. The grotesque form was barely recognizable. Taking into account that this was a memory replay, the ethereal watchers understood who it was supposed to be. The form twitched again, making a grumbling noise almost too low to hear.

"Help... me..." the burnt remains of Verity sputtered fitfully, "please... help..."

Then into view came Pitch. One ethereal watcher immediately tensed, wishing to go after him. Pitch broke apart the charred logs, already withering back to ash and dust, and tentatively pulled at the figure below.

"She's alive?" He muttered, narrowing his eyes. Snapping his fingers, several shadowy figures rose from the ground and awaited instruction. He pointed toward the girl and signaled for them to pick her up. They obeyed and carefully dropped what remained of the girl into Pitch's arms. The figure that had been Verity looked more like a zombie that had been burned instead of beheaded. It was certainly something out of one of those kinds of movies. One ethereal watcher heaved, terrified of the specimen.

Pitch took the body over to a puddle and settled it gently. One ethereal watcher swore that it had been snow, but the memory couldn't lie. The flesh sizzled and the thing groaned faintly. Pitch waited a moment to see the results of his actions, but nothing else occurred. Sneering, Pitch walked away toward a clearing. The ethereal watchers realized it had been Jack and Verity's clearing of grass, but the grass had withered upon the Nightmare King's presence. He angled his neck high into the sky, glaring at the moon.

"Don't you look at me like that, old friend," Pitch scolded the Man in the Moon, "she could see me. You have plans for her, don't you?" The ethereal watchers' hearts soared. If the Man in the Moon was going to revive Verity into Cinder, then she couldn't be bad! But the silence continued. Pitch became impatient. "Save her! I know you can!" Then another unpleasant answer went unheard. "But she can see me! She's the only one after you sent those damn Guardians who can see me! She can't die! I've waited for this for too long! One companion in this world is all I ask for!" The outburst was unnatural for the Nightmare King, and the ethereal watchers were guarded. One of them remembered this scene, which thoroughly confused them. She had been alive when this happened?

Just then, the heap of clustered ash began to move. It stood impossibly thin and indistinguishable.

"If you won't, then I will!" Pitch yelled suddenly and the charred remains began to stumble away in fear. Pitch opened up a part of his robe and called forth a small, spindly creature. It had beady white eyes against its all-black wispy figure. It flew around until it made contact with Verity's burned back and dove under her skin. Then the body fell.

That was supposed to be it. Verity had finally died after suffering for so long. The memories should have faded away, dissipated, returned to the present. The ethereal watchers were supposed to be back on the bed in the spare room at North's Workshop. But the memories continued. The burned body began to glow as new skin formed over the charred remains which were left to simmer under the surface of the new skin. Orange-red hair grew out from the newly formed head and she appeared human again. She was still unconscious when Pitch ordered more shadows to carry her away.

One ethereal watcher became hysterical, tugging at the connection between the other ethereal watcher. They had seen enough. They knew what was happening. The memory case wasn't stopping, which meant that Verity was still alive. Verity had been burned and buried alive, she had been dragged through the forest, her body had sizzled in a puddle, she had been reduced to sticky ashes, and she had been shot by Pitch's nightmare powers. But she did not die. The enraged and frightened ethereal watcher, in a powerful fit of panic, severed the connection between them and the other ethereal watcher in an attempt to halt the memories. But the other ethereal watcher was still stuck in the memory recall. They continued to watch.

Cinder awoke from the memory revelations in a cold sweat. The room was stifling hot, despite Jack Frost's cold body still lying beside her. She shot straight up and began to cry uncontrollably. She had been a helpless little girl with no faith in herself or others. She had been nothing but a coward. And worst of all, Jack had seen it all. Jack was there. He had been her only friend. He had tried to marry her just to help her escape, and she had said, had insisted on saying, no. Cinder was never Cinder to begin with. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had known her real name wasn't Cinder, but the reality hit her harder than Jack's ice powers that first night. Even her eyes, with one still a broken and sickly yellow, had once been a vibrant sea of green grass.

Her name, her entire being, had all been different.

Of all the thoughts that sped through her mind, these were the most pressing: she and Jack knew each other, she actually survived the fire, and memories were still being processed in her tooth case.

She was still alive.

She was still human.

And that's why every human on earth could see her.

And Jack was viewing them all. Twisting her head to see him, she realized that his hand still engulfed hers. Cinder tried to pull her hand away to break the memory chain so that Jack wouldn't see every little detail about her life up until this very moment. But alas, their hands were stuck together by some unnatural force. Looking at his face, she saw that his eyes were open. His features were indistinct, showing no emotion as his eyes glowed upward. The memories were still playing for him. Cinder tried ripping the case out of his hands, but to no avail. She didn't understand. His bits of memory were done, but he was continuing to watch? Did he really want to know? Cinder didn't believe Jack to be that kind of person, but what other option was she left with until he was finished and could tell her himself? Her stomach felt a pit grow larger. How was she going to face him after this? Without any solution immediately present, Cinder was at the mercy of her memory case.

The next scene that unfolded was Verity─ renamed Cinder by Pitch─ being taught to control the fire and heat that escaped from her being. Cinder didn't know why or how she had the powers, but it was clear that Pitch had tailored the fearling properly, using Cinder's burning body underneath the veneer of health as a power source. Slowly, her body became more fearling than actual flesh and muscle. Pitch used this to his advantage, sending her off on remedial tasks he could have done with a little more effort. He gave her a bucket and told her to fill it. Cinder hilariously failed several times, making the ethereal watcher laugh. Then she created a giant hole with lava forming in the bottom, and the ethereal watcher was in stunned silence.

Then the memories changed. Cinder was running and running and running without a thought in her mind. She smacked into a human girl─ the first clue that something was off about her. The human girl, Sarah, could see her. Invited her into her house. Soon, Cinder was a part of this family and happily away from Pitch. Ironically, this family was descended from the same family as Verity's: the Walkers. They were of her father's brother's line, but unlike her father they treated her kindly and affectionately. Cinder had even become close to the smallest girl: Rebecca. The ethereal watcher wondered why the other had left the memories so soon. These seemed so happy.

But Cinder wasn't coping with the fact that everyone around her was aging─ the second clue that Cinder was very, very different. At some point between burning in the house and being rescued by Pitch, Verity (or Cinder) had become immortal: all thanks to fearlings. When Rebecca, already thirteen, tried to calm her down, Cinder lit her palm and accidentally set fire to their house. They cast her out; tried to drown her as a witch. Cinder escaped and ran back to Pitch, striking some sort of deal.

The year was 1871. The ethereal watcher remembered the date: the Great Chicago Fire. The city had burned for two days straight in the middle of October. Jack Frost should have been there; it was far enough to the north that snow should have fallen. But it hadn't. The current scene was a few days prior. Inside a local tavern, a wooden bar was tended to by an old white man cleaning glasses. There was a waitress serving other tables in an old-time barmaid's outfit. The redhead's bustier wrapped around her midsection and over her shoulders, exposing her breasts in a white long sleeve blouse. Her skirt reached her knees in the front and trailed further down behind her. It was a scandalous outfit for the time period, but it helped bring in customers. Her hair was up in a bun, loosened by a long day's work. She glanced to the darker side of the bar and noticed a gentleman shrouded in the shadows. Fearless, she strutted up to the man and asked if he'd like anything.

The man appeared stunned that the woman had talked to him and motioned for her to sit down. His accent was readily Irish, which was also strange for this location. Cinder peered at her boss's position and decided that he would be busy for awhile. Sitting down, Cinder cupped her face in one hand and silently judged the man. Somehow, he already had a drink in front of him. Cinder didn't remember taking an order down from him. It had been a busy night, however, so she guessed it was plausible to be mistaken.

"How can you see me?" The man had a surprisingly young voice. He didn't sound any older than eighteen. There was something glowering just behind the man, and apparently Cinder saw it. She was momentarily in shock, but she quickly recovered and raised an eyebrow at the guy.

"You've a wolf with glowing eyes following you around," Cinder noted nonchalantly, placing a finger in the direction of the yellow eyes. At first, it had seemed like a fearling, but the creature stepped into the light and the identity was known. An abnormally large wolf stalked out of the shadows and sat down beside the table. The man pet the wolf and looked around the bar suspiciously. There weren't many other people still there, and those that were had their minds and eyes elsewhere.

"You can see him, too?" He wouldn't look at her.

Cinder smirked. "Are you one of Pitch's lackeys, too?"

At that statement, the wolf growled and took a step toward the redhead. Slightly unnerved, she scooted further into the booth and put a hand up, blocking the wolf's eyes. If there was one thing she was afraid of, a giant wolf bigger than a fully grown man was definitely on the list. The man across from her laughed and whispered to the wolf in an unrecognizable tongue. "This is Fenrir. Fenrir; um, may I ask you your name?" The man asked her.

"Yours first," Cinder eyed the situation warily.

The man clenched his fist on the table but complied anyway. "Lucas─ Lykos if you can pronounce it right."

"Cinder," the girl was still on the edge of her seat, remaining guarded. Her eyes flashed to the wolf, not trusting it in the slightest. "And I'll stick to Lucas."

"Fenrir; Cinder. Cinder; Fenrir. Good, you know each other now," the man took another sip of his drink as if the current situation was nothing new. "So, who's Pitch?"

Cinder glanced at the wolf and began to lower her hand. "My employer," she began to relax her tensed muscles. The wolf looked at her with curious eyes but made no attempt to move. He had become a statue, unmoving and emotionless.

"That old white guy?" Lucas pointed to the bartender, still washing the dishes.

"No, my real employer. I guess the people call him the Boogeyman now," Cinder eyed the man carefully. He had nearly jet black hair that shone more blue than any other color. It was an otherworldly color, much like the moon's. His eyes were a bright, wolf-like yellow. Other than the odd coloring, the man had normal features. He was handsome, sure, but normal.

Lucas narrowed his eyes and nodded slowly. "So that's why you see me. I don't look─ I don't know─ like anything you particularly fear?"

Cinder took a step back in her mind. "My job is to instill fear. I... fuel the flames, so to speak."

Lucas finished his drink in a few gulps and set it down quietly. "I must say, you do intrigue me. Normally no one can look at me without running away in fear. Fenrir here told me I looked like something they feared. Everything but my real form, essentially. It makes it rather difficult to find friends. Of course, Fenrir can control his appearance. He's had much more practice than I."

"How much practice have you?" Cinder raised an eyebrow cockily. "And what's the famous name they've given you?"

"Fenrir's never told me his age. But I've around five hundred, I'd reckon. I'm commonly the Shepherd's Boy, though I detest the name. Many know the story as 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' What's yours?"

Cinder frowned. "I don't have one," she pursed her lips. Lucas probably meant well, however, so she brushed it off.

The conversation continued for some time. They met up several times after that; same place, same time. No one ever paid mind to them, but occasionally other patrons would see the redheaded waitress talking to herself in the corner. The fateful day of the fire, Cinder asked if Lucas would like to accompany her on a job. He accepted, saying something about Fenrir needing to eat soon anyway. They walked out of the bar after hours, arms enfolded like a couple. They walked a few blocks to a farmer's barn and Cinder bent down eye level to the padlock. Plucking a pin out of her hair, she began to pry at the lock. After taking more than several minutes, Lucas walked up to her and asked to try. He rejected the pin and steadied his hand above the lock. Three seconds of pure concentration and the lock fell to the floor. Cinder was mystified as to how he'd done it.

"I..." Lucas didn't seem to be sure of himself in the slightest, "I... lied to the lock?"

Cinder was incredulous and highly skeptical but cast the incident aside. Once within the barn, they had Fenrir lure in several men in exchange for two cows to hunt. Then Lucas kept them cornered. Cinder was merely supposed to singe smaller objects around them; enough to instill fear and move on. But Fenrir's growl spooked her and Cinder's aim was misguided. The lantern next to her target caught fire and spread throughout the barn. They all escaped in different directions, and the city was on fire within hours. Cinder didn't see Lucas or Fenrir again for a long, long time.

It was just after Easter, in the year 2012. The ethereal watcher recognized it as just after the Battle of Easter, but the geographical location was the polar opposite. The desert surrounding Las Vegas was windy, pushing large pockets of dust this way and that. The club music could be heard from miles around. The view glided over to the main strip, where several risky places caught the ethereal watcher's attention. Inside, dance music was blaring so loudly that one's ears would be rendered deaf after a few minutes. And who was to be found at the bar, drinking more than her fair share? Cinder.

Pitch had disappeared mysteriously, and Cinder was celebrating her newfound freedom by ordering every drink she could get. She danced alongside many people, boys and girls, and paid little mind to her real environment. This same cycle repeated itself for a long time.

At some point, Lucas had come back, looking a little older than before, but not much. He still had the same jet black-blue hair and yellow eyes, but now he wore modern clothing and sunglasses. He had found that with the sunglasses on, without his eyes being visible, other people saw him as human. Cinder had instantly recognized him and called him over. They caught up. They hung out. A few months later and they'd found a cheap, dilapidated apartment together. They stayed in the same bed but never interacted beyond conversation and providing ease of drunkenness by way of holding each other's hair and making "hangover" foods. The ethereal watcher grew jealous, nonetheless, and wondered what else had happened. The memories kept being played, but very little changed. These people lived in the present, making enough to pay rent and spend the rest on whatever they wanted. Hardly anything varied from this for four years.

It had become that time between Christmas and New Years where everyone was excited but bored at the same time. The pair had spent their Christmas like they did every other day: drinking and buying whatever they liked, but this time for each other rather than themselves. Cinder had given him a new guitar; he was a musician at one of the local clubs. She'd performed with him, using her rustic voice to create such a powerful acoustic sound that even the ethereal watcher recognized the tune from another time. The boy had given her a necklace which she continued to wear. The ethereal watcher did not recollect the necklace, however.

The day before New Years, Lucas had motioned for her to come out onto the balcony in the cool night air. Cinder complied readily, expecting Lucas to have some sort of idea or conversation piece. They had become each other's crutches. Fenrir and Lucas had fought four years prior and had separated. Cinder was left immortal in a world without another soul to tell. They matched perfectly in their loneliness. Cinder didn't believe Lucas to be the type to go after her (or any girl), and so she trusted him. But something was different about him tonight. Being the boy raised by a wolf for over six hundred years, he'd become more wolf than boy. In becoming such, Lucas had similar urges. Male wolves, although able to breed at anytime, became particularly sensitive when others were. For four long years, Lucas had subdued the temptation by looking toward other partners to relieve it instead of Cinder. But this time, he couldn't find anyone. And he'd seen Cinder more than anyone else that day. Lucas's eyes were filled with lust and Cinder was caught entirely off guard.

Then he'd lied to her. As the Shepherd's Boy, lying was his specialty. And in the time between the Great Chicago Fire and now, he'd learned how to force people to believe any lie he'd told them. In this instance, one Cinder nor the ethereal watcher would ever forget, Lucas told her she wanted this, too. Cinder was powerless. She fell for it, she believed him. What came next was the tangle of skin, fingers spreading themselves over curves and places never explored before. The blush on their cheeks and chests matched Cinder's hair as they tossed and turned. The bed was beyond a simple mess before long.

But in the morning, Cinder realized she'd been put under his lies. Lucas─ Lykos, the Shepherd's Boy─ had used her for his own selfish purposes. That had been their one rule, their one line not to cross. And he crossed it.

That next day, Cinder made the trip across the country to reside in the Bennett household. She tossed his necklace out the bus window and never thought of him again.

Most of these last memories went about as expected. However, when Cinder had come back from erupting the volcano and rescuing Jamie, the fearlings insider her had consumed more than ninety percent of her true bodily remains. The last of Verity resided in Cinder's core. Cinder had grabbed Jamie and they were running when the ethereal watcher saw the shadows gaining ground. As the pair were climbing out of the vast cave system, the shadows grabbed Cinder's leg and pulled her back. For once during the viewing, the ethereal watcher turned their eyes away from the disturbing scene. Skin was pried open and fearlings slithered out of the flesh. Cinder cried out and flailed, failing to stop the pain. But resisting this was proven worse. They attacked her back, forcing Cinder's eye open and aiming something above her. If she wouldn't give over the last of her physical body, then they would take something else. Cinder couldn't see anything after that. At some point, she whispered Jack... before passing out. She was pulled into a portal by Jamie, who had been given the portal by Cinder just moments ago. They fell through and appeared again in Jamie's living room. A few moments later and Jack ran onto the scene. The ethereal watcher was stricken by the panic and fear in Jack's features, unknowingly being mirrored.

The rest of the memories played out without much processing. The ethereal watcher had seen enough. But they didn't notice that a similar black, slithering creature had wriggled its way into Jack's unconscious being during the last of the memory retrieval.

The seed was planted.

Pitch had won.

A/N: Okay, some explanation should be in order. Lykos/Lucas/the Shepherd's Boy/The Boy Who Cried Wolf is an OC I created some time ago (I have a set of one-shots about his life in case you're curious, but they are not necessary) and I really want to use him in this storyline. He's painted as a bad guy, but wasn't Cinder painted the same way in the beginning of this fic? I'll just leave it at that for now. ;)

Hope you liked the twist(s)! Jeez, I told myself I wouldn't write anymore cliffhangers... Oh, who am I kidding? Have fun waiting until the next chapter! *Laughs evilly*