I am ENTHRALLED by the number of reviews the last chapter got! You guys bumped up from 89 all the way to 120! You're all BEYOND amazing, love you all followers, favorites, reviewers...

I guess I haven't been mentioning it often lately, so I'll mention it now: This is not a happy-go-lucky story, as you can probably tell.

I was going to update this on Sunday, but real life is so aggrivating and sometimes takes away a huge chunk of my daily energy.

Thank you's are placed at the bottom. Now settle in.

Third Person Pov

Even though his cold voice cut into her joy, it still remained with her, less than before but it was there nonetheless. There was always a catch. Of course. Why hadn't she seen that coming?

She was scared, but she waited for him to speak once more. His words 'very well' thundered in her ears. Prim...

"Ever since the first time we've made love, you've become different," he said (she thought, How dare he called it making love?!). "More cold. More impassive each time. Like you're completely devoid of any emotion."

He smiled to himself, noticing how she cringed when he said "made love." He didn't love her. He just enjoyed her reaction when he said it.

I think that's what you are, devoid of the good emotions. But try as she might, she couldn't dub him completely heartless, if he was going to let her see her family. And he did keep his promise when she had expected him to break it. He could've broken it so easily, and she'd never have known (well, on second thought, maybe she'd have found out from Lavinia). But he kept his word like her father always did, and Katniss admired her father to no end.

"So from now on, I want you to be more...interactive. Show me some affection."

Katniss couldn't control herself this time. "You want me to show you affection? After all you've done to me?!" she cried indignantly. Monster Man!

He ran a hand through his hair, his patience dangling by a thread. "I do not mean feel affectionate towards me - I meant you are to show me emotion when we are making love . "

There's those awful lies again, she thought. He wanted her to what? For a moment, his words made no sense, and they went in one ear and out the other.

"I thought you wanted me not to put up fights with you?" she spat at him. Or tried to. It came out a wheeze. She clutched her throat. Was she sick? Sickness was serious back in District 12.

"I didn't say for you not to put up fights with me, I want you to obey my orders. I don't care if you cry or scream or thrash or put up a fight - hell, that's sometimes hot. Just don't fucking lie there lifelessly when I pound the fuck out of you next time."

So there would be a next time, and many more next times. But she was willing to do anything as long as she could see her family again. So they had a deal (Katniss extended out her hand to shake but immediately drew it back, cheeks smoldering after Cato said, "I don't need to shake hands to make a deal. You're from District 12").

"Oh, and I forgot to mention," he said as he threw his cloak over his shoulder, "You may see them, but you may not speak or interact with them. You will see them, but they will not get to see you."

She felt a jolt of anger. Who didi he think he was?! However, just as quickly as it came, it'd disappeared. She nodded. Seeing them and not talking would be better than not seeing them at all.

Or at least she thought.

The glass was cold against the tip of her nose. So cold, in fact, that it seemed to be wet. Her breath fogged up the glass. She quickly wiped it away, not wanting to miss out even a second of them.

They're down there, in that small dim room called the library, all three of them, huddling together, not daring to wander too far from each other, while she's up here, forced to watch through a small window with unbreakable glass. Katniss's heart ached when she saw their lips moving - she wished she could hear what they were saying. She wished they could hear her, see her. She wanted to run down to them and to embrace them, hug them, touch them, never let them go.

There's Gale, who's lost a lot of weight but still looking like her best friend, pacing around the room, determined expression set on his scowling features. He wants to protect Prim and Mother, Katniss thought to herself with longing.

There's her sweet Prim, oh what she wouldn't do to give her Prim a hug and wrap her arms around her like Prim is doing with their mother. Her mother is wrapped within a blanket...she must've been sick, but she looked healthier than she'd ever been in 12. Prim had taken good care of her. Her sweet little duck... Everything I've gone through is worth it for this moment.

And Gale! Gale, how was he doing? How noble of him to protect her family, even though that's what they'd always done. His familiar scowl reminded her even more of the home she was deprived of. Home, laid among ruins...

A pit of anger bubbled up inside her. She banged against the glass. If only one of them would have the sense to glance up. Please, glance up! Please!

They didn't even turn around. Honestly, she hadn't known what she had been expecting when she did that. It was upon the impulse of dismay, and she would've been glad if the glass had shattered and she'd fallen two stories down below, inside and with them.

But they didn't hear her. Instead, the two guards who'd escorted her here did, and upon hearing her, they each grabbed one of her arms and began dragging her back.

"WAIT! PRIM! GALE! M-MOTHER! WAIT! NO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!"

"You shouldn't have banged our glass, your filthy rat," spat the burly one, "His Majesty's gonna have it with you."

She tried to kick them, kneel them, wiggle away. It was no use. Their grips were firm and their faces set.

And so she was forced to watch the only ones from home disappear in her sight...once again. This time, they didn't even know that she had been there. But perhaps that was better. She would be the only one getting hurt.

She didn't think of this at the moment, but when she looked back, the simple, short moment of seeing them was probably worth it.

Katniss Pov

I don't know how much time passed - days, weeks, even perhaps months. It was a constant struggle.

I should be gaining a lot of weight. People brought me large amounts of food-it was much more than I'd ever had, and there seemed to be millions of different kinds and it was all delicious and I'd eat because I don't know when I'll see food again (even though there's plenty here and it's delivered daily, old instinct remained with me, probably one of the only things that remained with me). I'm also in bed most of the time, there's nothing else I can really do locked up in his chambers. There are plenty of nice things to look at, but looking only gets one so far. I've stared down most of the paintings, imagined the artists who'd painted them, tried to see into their realities. The one painting I avoided was of him - how contemptous of him to execute an artist because he didn't like their portraits of him.

That was what I did in the day. In the nights, I wept. Some nights he was especially rough because he'd come in angry and drunk, and I'd be in for the one of the roughest nights of my life. He never whipped me, but his bare hands made just as good beatings.

Sometimes it's agonizing to the point where I'm digging my nails into his buttery back as hard as I can. And sometimes I'd feel a scar or two along his smooth skin. I wondered where they came from. I wondered who'd dare inflict them upon him. (And realized he probably gained them in battle. Of course. 2 is infamous for their "natural born" leaders and well-trained kings, generals, and soldiers. Careers, the other kingdoms called them, along with 1 and 4. They fought amongst themselves when it came down to it, but usually they teamed up together to wipe out the rest of us.)

Sometimes in the midst of pain, in the darkest hours of the night, when I have nothing else to cling onto, I cling onto him. Even though he is the cause behind my pain, I need something warm and real and alive to sooth my aching soul, in which the flame of life flickers out every so often.

And sometimes, when he went out and left me trapped in the dark room alone, when I felt especially depressed or melancholy, I sang childhood lullabies to lure myself to sleep. They washed over me like a waterfall and came back to me easily in my yearning for the long-gone past with silent tears dripping my eyes:

There is a meadow filled with light

I sometimes go there in my dreams

It's far away but that's okay

There is a meadow filled with light

The roses there are soft and sweet

The night is never cold and bare

Nobody ever starves to death

Nobody likes to hurt me there

There is a meadow filled with light

I sing myself to sleep

And then I'm off at last

I know a place where no one cries

I know a place where no one dies

Everybody there is safe and warm

Here in a meadow filled with light

But sometimes - just sometimes - it takes me away, if only for awhile. Away to a world with no wars, no suffering, no death. A world where it only consisted of man and woman and something beautiful between them. I loathed myself for thinking this way, and after that one time, I didn't allow it. Maybe if I did, I wouldn't have been in so much misery.

I cried. I sang. I schemed. I kicked. I wondered.

"Why? Why did you pick me?"

It came out barely a whisper, but it's something I've always wanted to ask him since that day. Out of thousands of girls he could've tortured - why me? I haven't got an outstanding personality or an outstanding physical appeal, I've always been told. So why did he pick me? Because I slapped him? Is that it?

I was expecting him to kill me. I was in my mind praying for a quick death. Never in my life would I have expected this.

I've never kissed anybody before and if someone made me to sleep with them, I would've pointed my arrow at them. But it's not like anybody ever showed that much interest. To speak more harshly, most of us in my kingdom just barely scraped by. If there was one thing a guy desired more than a speckling of food, it was to get into a girl's pants before he and she both perished. I was a hunteress. Nobody would've ever wanted to share a short, starved life with me, even though I ate better than most in 12. The only thing I've ever really been concerned about is putting food on the table, raising my sister, and protecting my kingdom.

That must why I'm passionately curious about the king's interest in me. If I were to speak no lie, I do think he has a handsome face and a nice body (okay, the nicest I've ever seen). He seems to be well-liked in 2 (at least from what I've seen with Lavinia). I could go out on a limb and add that if he weren't such a monster on the inside, I would find him quite attractive. But there is a difference between being attractive on the inside and looking nice on the outside. Even so, I don't believe a man like him would pay any heed to me back in 12. Not that it particularly matters much to me.

"I've never been considered particularly, well, beautiful," I said pathetically to him one night. Oh, Prim, if you could listen to me now! Listen to how weak I sound!

"I know," he replied. "I've seen better, but there is something about you. Your face may look ordinary at first sight, but upon closer look, ordinary turns extrodinary. You have this fire in your eyes."

And so my nickname - Fire Girl - was born. The foolish, young woman part of me felt a warm flattery in my chest - he thought I was pretty. I could feel myself flushing whenever his cold blue eyes were on me - like they were gazing right through me, and it made me insecure. Where is the warrior within me? What happened to the girl who built all her walls? I'm not a Fire Girl if my flame is extinguishing. I told myself that because I came from gray, dreary District 12, I'm not used to seeing sinewy golden muscles with chiseled faces. That this was my rampaging hormones kicking in - I wonder how much of him is even real? The build, the muscles? I told myself the only reason fluid came between my legs and I screamed his name in the nights was only because he was a man most women would drool over, testosterone at its finest, a beautiful face with something ugly underneath it.

I was known as a survivor, a warrior back in my district, but ultimately, even I know that I've got my weaknesses. After all these hard years, I'm reminded that on the inside, I'm just a girl of not even twenty. And sometimes, I can't do things alone.

"I assumed you would be the hardest to break," his breath warmed my ear, "And I take pride in challenges."

So that was his plan - devour the strongest. If the strongest falls, so will the others. I don't know if I'm the strongest, but I can begrudingly admit I am not my rightful self.

I sometimes am mesmorized as he explores my body. It left me feeling dirty and sinful, and then I'm reminded one of those toothpick, skeletal girls from the Seam in District 12, whose eyes are as empty as their bellies, and the only escape from death was to put a price on themselves - their body, for a small pile of coins or a bite to feed their family or a morsel for themselves. Shame wells in me as I remember how I was almost one of them - almost.

But amidst the moments, I tend to forget everything as I saw the patch of light that illuminated his golden hair, and lit up just the right part of his eyes, and their gaze into mine, and somehow I felt too immbolized to pull away. I know I'm doing this for Prim, but deep down it feels wrong. I'm sleeping with the enemy - literally. I didn't ask for this - didn't want it - can't control the fire. I can't control my body, and that makes me loathe myself way more than I loathe him. He is my enemy, after all.

I had always thought that if I would ever do this, it would be with him, a nameless and faceless person who has earned my respect and love. In one of my broken girl fantasies, I'd do this out of love, not - not out of protection, fear, or lust.

If word ever got out, I'd be considered trash in my district - even lower than the poor, dying creatures that haunt the sooty dirt roads of the Seam.

If I could be honest with myself for one moment, if I could ever brush past the proud exterior, I would tell myself that this isn't the worst deal I could've made. Things could be much, much worse. He didn't have to keep his parts of our deals. He could have broken them, and then keep Lavinia away from me, and I'd never find out about it. He could have left people to starve in the prison - he at least feeds them once a day, I've heard. He could break his deals right in front of me and laugh in my face. But he doesn't. As long as I don't give him reason to, he won't hurt me too much.

Something in my mindset, or should I say a part of me, wanted to convince me that it doesn't feel so bad. It keeps my family alive. It keeps Prim safe from him. He doesn't do this to others. He doesn't rape me anymore. I don't resist. I don't pull away. And I don't lie limp. I respond to him, even if my body is sore and my heart is aching. I let him. In the shady corners of my mind, dark thoughts clouded: if I didn't have this, I wouldn't be able to experience this kind of pleasure, I would've never had anything like this, because no District 12 boy would be able to afford me this kind of bliss. Yes, it's pain, but there's bliss thrown in - a bliss one would not understand if they were not in my shoes, a bliss too scarce to scoop out of the pain. And...he's not old.

And I guess I should be mollified that I don't have to do this with hordes of men - only one. At least this way I am not a whore.

I found out that if I do good, if I obey, if I please him, he kissed me tenderly everywhere on my body. The light butterfly kisses made my sore body tingle with warmth. They seemed to erase the bruises and welts I've earned through time. Shame filled me for yearning for them - but then I ask myself, if I can not yearn for them, what else can I yearn for?

And I never had an answer.

I ached with longing to see my family again. I've only seen Prim, Gale, and Mother that one time. Lavinia hasn't come. No one has come. Except for him.

And he would just nod when I asked him how my family was doing. I decided I'd want to take its meaning as they're okay. But I'm not sure.

"You're mine," he'd often whisper into my ear, a whisper that chilled me to the bone and made my spine rattle and my teeth chatter and shake.

And I replied back, "Never." And then I'd have earned myself a good backhand or a good yank on the hair, which my throat is exposed until I can feel his teeth drawing drops of blood.

I'm growing more unsure each day. And in the nights, I weep.

But no one was there to dry my tears. So they kept falling.

Like me.

"Full house."

Cato threw his cards in their faces with an expression of triumph planted on his face. The other men sitting round the table applauded, insincere smiles planted on their faces. They were afraid what he would do if they beat him.

After the coins were scooped up and most of the wine glasses empty, the men left, one by one, pleasantly shaking his hand, saying pleasant words, smiling pleasant smiles as they hurried out the door.

Only Cato and General Brutus were left.

General Brutus was not one to particularly believe in the nonsense of manners. He believed himself the most trusted king's advisor and a great companion. He didn't fear the king so much as the other men. Cowards, he sneered inwardly as he let out a huge burp. After four glasses of wine...

King Cato didn't pay any heed to it. He was deep in thought on his comfy little armchair, sipping his glass of wine.

It burned at the back of his throat, but there had been anything tastier. Or more satisfying. Or more relieving. The burgandy, velvety fire was his second consultant.

This was what hell tastes like.

He said that to Brutus.

"I am sure then that heaven tastes like heaven, Your Majesty," Brutus replied with a small bow.

I'd know, Cato thought dirtily with a knowing smirk, but it quickly disappeared.

"Brutus."

"Yes, Your Majesty?" hiccuped the general, downing his fifth glass.

"How fare the prisoners?"

"They - they in the dungeons just like you ordered, Majesty." HICCUP.

"I am most inclined to ask if any one of them in particular...stands out to you?"

A look of surprise flitted across the general's hazy face. "Not - particularly - Majesty - " -hiccup- "- perhaps - " -hiccup- " - the one that wasn't imprisoned..."

Cato's lip curled. "Yes...her. What kind of prisoner do you make her out to be, Brutus?"

Brutus looked quite surprised now by this particular question. "One of them rebels, Majesty...you know, spittin' fire, won't take nobody's shit. But all them District 12 prisoners look the same to me: starving, worn, beaten-down faces drowned in misery..."

Cato glanced in the other direction, not wanting to listen anymore. The girl's head kept on appearing in his mind.

Shit. He tried to shake her off, but she clung to his fucking mind. And he was sure he wasn't drunk.

Anybody in the kingdom would tell you he wasn't an alcoholic. And he wasn't. No. He was just wealthy. Enjoying the occasional glass of wine or two. Who drank wine instead of water just because he could.

And he took her, just because he could. He was king. He fought for power. And he earned it. So why shouldn't he be able to revel in all power and glory he held? Why should he not do whatever he wanted to do?

"Your Majesty?"

"Speak, Brutus."

"Pardon my rashness, just the opinion of your loyal servan', Majesty, but with your power and majesticness you can hav any woman ya want; ya don't have to put up with dem 12 coal sluts - "

"Be silent!"

Brutus shut upped.

"That will do. You may go."

He didn't need to be told twice.

Cato stood there, his back to him, his chest breathing up and down. He didn't remember the last time he got so worked up...at Brutus. And why the hell was he angry again?

Over the years, he'd come to enjoy the power he had over people. Power was something associated with pride in District 2. And with pride, honor. He was born into it, he trained with it, he lived in it. And he's worked for more. It had all been leading up to this; all those difficult years of throwing away a proper childhood to grow up into a ruthless ruler with power to bend. He's worked hard and long for this, and maybe he's finally gotten himself a victory prize.

He very much deserved to enjoy it all; dominating his prize and taming it into submission. He earned this. So why did watching her cry not fully satisfy him? Why did seeing her face covered in tears, like fresh-cut roses after spring rain, do nothing for his ego, like his father taught him? Why that everytime he saw her soft-as-a-petal body, scattered with welts and bruises, he had wanted to kiss them gone (he inflicted them, right)? Why does his arms want to wrap themselves around her, of their own accord, when she looked as if she had fallen and wouldn't be able to get up? The weak do not deserve his pity.

His mother -

His hand gripped the crystal goblet so hard, it shattered in his hand. No, he would not think about his mother. Pieces of glass fell about the room. Forget the roses. Forget the tears. He'd shatter her, just like glass. She was only his to break. Another enemy to destory, more power to gain. Nothing more, nothing less. And when she'd finally recognize herself as his, he would throw back his head, and he would laugh in triumph - like master over slave, like king over prisoner.

The fireplace crackled and seemingly, burnt a bit brighter.

Adding the final touch to her fiery red lips and placing the heavyset of jewels into her groomed hair, she finally dared to gaze at her reflection. Pleased with what she saw, she smiled into the mirror. Oh, that felt quite weird. She had not smiled in awhile.

I think this would be his favorite, she thought. She peered closer into the mirror as if to verify her beliefs.

Giving a small sigh of content, she leaned back into her cushioned chair. Her gaze flickered to the gardens outside. Beautiful. The roses were in full-bloom among the greenest of green grass. Thick bushes and healthy, spurting trees dotted the grounds, their branches heavy with fruit and berries like jewels. Oh, and the horses would be allowed to graze soon, too! She hadn't been outside in awhile.

Patches of sunshine fell on her skin as she crossed over and stood in front of a window. The little critters were starting to come out, and the grounds would soon burst with life. She smirked. Leave it to the other kingdoms to think this one desolate and void.

She cross back over to the glass table sitting near the foot of her bed, where sat a bowl of fruit upon it. Sinking into a chair, she absentmindedly picked up her carving knife and set to work on a half-finished apple. In the bowl sat some of her recently finished creations: a pear in the shape of a swan (with extending wings), butterfly plums, an assortment of berries resembling a flower basket, kiwi stars, and roses made out of oranges, both fruit and peel. Oranges were nice, but apples were much more appealing (and easier) to make roses.

She was almost finished slicing the last petal when a knock sounded at her door.

A frown tugged at her features, but a hopeful thudding claimed her heart. Setting down her rose-apple, she made her way to the double doors, smoothed out her embroidered gown, and adjusted her jewelry. Cautiously, carefully, she opened the door, her smile widening along with her gate to the outside world.

The king stood there, dressed in a rich, flowing set of robes. His crown was neatly placed in his tousled blonde hair, just as she remembered last seeing it. She quickly moved over so he and his muscles could come in.

She bowed, trying not to trip over her spiky heels. "Good day, I am honored by the presence of your visit, Your Majesty." She swallowed, her heart thudding giddily.

He kissed her hand. "Good day to you too, my dear Clove."

"You've finally come. Why were you away so long?" Any other District 2 woman with her bluntness and it'd be off with their heads in a few seconds.

"I wished I could have spared some time, but with the unity of the kingdoms and business to take care of, it's been a mess. It is my that hope we wed as soon as fate allows, dear betrothed."

Wait, BETROTHED?! WHAT?! What's Clove doing here?! And how is she betrothed to Cato?! Why did he not want to think about his mother? How much more sanity remains with Katniss? How's Peeta doing? Questions to ponder...

I have revealed about Clove! Of course we'll learn more about this mystery in the next chapter

Katniss's song is a parody of the Les Mis song Castle on a Cloud...beautiful song.

Katniss's lament took the longest to write and edit (I had started on it before writing Chapter 5) and actually means a lot to me. I spent a lot of time working on it. ~Fun Fact~ To finish this by tonight, I stayed up late...and had a few hallucinations, lol! I can change the genre of this to horror because of this chapter.

~On Clove's fruit art, I LOVE fruit art and think it's one of the coolest things ever (google it if you've never heard of fruit art).

Oh, BY THE WAY, this may be a little early, but KUDOS to anybody who's paying attention to the smaller details!

And of course, KUDOS to my brilliant, amazing, fabulous reviewers out there! 121! You guys have been generous! If we get a good amount of reviewers this time like the last chapter, I'll try to update sooner than the usual time!

Absolutely Adorkable- thank you SO much that meant a lot to me :)

crazy101kitty- Thanks a lot, reading that made my day! :)

The Giggling Gummy Bear- Thank you for reviewing, hope this chapter captured your interest as well. Peeta will come in the next few chapters

Jenefra- LOL That made me laugh :) Exactly what I'm thinking all this time, really! Thanks for reviewing, hope you like it

HeyoMyFellowReaders101- It WILL change, believe me. More of Cato's background is being revealed, and I'm so excited. Thanks for sticking by all this time and reviewing every chapter :) (LOL, I flipped out too :D wait, I updated, say whaaaaaaat?)

Abigail25- Thank you so much, love your reviews :)

IDreamofLullaby's- Completely understandble, but I wonder if you'll hate him as the story goes on? :) Thanks so much for reviewing, and aww, thank you!

.theCHipmunk- THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH for your amazing review, made me smile so much :) I am honored, and hopefully I can continue to entrall amazing readers like you!

Guest- No, it doesn't sound crazy, I appreciate your review :) I loved all the figurative language in your review, and I intended to make Cato and Prim seem that way...thank you so much!

wolfshifter101- Yes there is! Hope you liked the chapter, thanks for reviewing :)

BlackDove085- Thank YOU also for bringing such great inspiration :) We all had to start somewhere, and look where you are today :) I never thought I'd be talking to such honorable Catoniss authors, but here I am! BrieflySweet thanks you for the love and happy writing of which she always returns, and would likewise love to hear from you as well.

Drunken Assassin- I'm glad we got that cleared up, the story will turn into something more :)

sundragons- Thanks for your help, wondering if the catch was something you had expected :)

dragonflame- I won't make this a Peeta/Katniss story, I think there's enough of those. Of course they'll be "others" trying to keep Cato and Katniss apart...but can they? Aww, I'm sorry, stay strong for us! I always love your reviews, and it's ok, it's kinda late for cookies but never too late for reviews :)

Tory a- Thanks a lot, I can't express how much that means to me :) Thanks for just taking the time to read/review, you are awesome and I appreciate it so much

Inescapable void- Thanks for the long review! I'm sorry about them...I did warn in the 1st chap but I should probably warn again huh thanks for bringing that to my attention. I'm actually a poetry writer, I like to tell stories just how they are, details and all. LOL :) Thanks so much for always reviewing, really appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed typing it...getting it out of me. And to be honest about the soup, I confess, I never did say whether he put something in it or not ;) Katniss had only his word to go by at that moment

thepinkmartini- Thanks for always reviewing! Appreciate it :) I love writing bits and pieces of the character's backgrounds! Hope you liked the chapter, thanks so much!

Sweet Violent Lightning- Wow, I was really touched by your kind review :) Thank you SO much! I really appreciated it, was so sweet. If you like reading this, I'll always love writing it!

Dark-Spectacles : No problem, just this one review has gotten so much appreciation from me I cant even put it in words :) Thanks for your time, you were really sweet and you made my day. I'm sure you're talented, you already have a talent with words! I dunno why, but I like cliffies lol :) they excite me to write, thanks, really appreciate it by the way

Guest-Why, yes, yes it does!

Hidden in DReams- Wow, I don't even know what to say. Collins is a litery genius and to be compared to her is just...extrodinary. Thank you SO much! :) I dunno if I actually did, I tried to make them stay in character at least if for a bit, but I am SO glad you liked it and blessed the story with your kind review! You've just made my night, a special shoutout to you for your kind and sweet review. Thank you for reviewing, really appreciate it!

Also additional thanks to reviewers Did My Skirt Just Get Shorter, Guest, another Guest, xxCherrydawnxx, Vampirebooklover09, meg grimm, hungergameslover4567, rayleen14, and catnipgirlonfire

P.S. A SHOUTOUT TO JAWSOME, I still think you're as wonderful and as brilliant as ever, and can't wait for you to get back. don't know if you're reading this, but if you are, kudos to you, my friend!

PP.S. Thanks to sundragons for her idea