Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Truth Within Lies

Eragon was alone when he woke.

He opened his eyes to stare at the carved ceiling in the tree house he and Saphira shared. Outside, night still reigned and the sounds of the elves' revels drifted from the flittering city below.

Before he noticed more than that, Saphira leaped into his mind, radiating concern and anxiety. An image passed to him of her standing beside Islanzadí at the Menoa tree, then she asked, How are you?

I feel… good. Better than I've felt in a long time. How long have I –

Only an hour. I would have stayed with you, but they needed Oromis, Glaedr, and me to complete the ceremony. You should have seen the elves' reaction when you fainted. Nothing like this has occurred before.

Did you cause this, Saphira?

It was not my work alone, nor Glaedr's. The memories of our race, which were given form and substance by the elves' magic, anointed you with what skill we dragons possess, for you are our best hope to avoid extinction.

I don't understand.

Look in a mirror, she suggested. Then rest and recover and I shall rejoin you at dawn.

She left, and Eragon got to his feet and stretched, amazed by the sense of well-being that pervaded him. Going to the wash closet, he retrieved the mirror he used for shaving and brought it into the light of a nearby lantern.

Eragon froze with surprise.

It was as if the numerous physical changes that, over time, altered the appearance of a human Rider – and which Eragon had already begun to experience since bonding with Saphira – had been completed while he was unconscious. His face was now as smooth and angled as an elf's, with ears tapered like theirs and eyes slanted like theirs, and his skin was pale as alabaster and seemed to emit a faint glow, as if with the sheen of magic. I look like a princeling. Eragon had never before applied the term to a man, least of all himself, but the only word that described him now was beautiful. Yet he was not entirely an elf. His jaw was stronger, his brow thicker, his face broader. He was fairer than any human and more rugged than any elf.

With trembling fingers, Eragon reached around the nape of his neck in search of his scar.

He felt nothing.

Eragon tore off his tunic and twisted in front of the mirror to examine his back. It was as smooth as it had been before the battle of Farthen Dûr. Tears sprang to Eragon's eyes as he slid his hand over the place where Durza had maimed him. He knew that his back would never trouble him again.

Not only was the savage blight he had elected to keep gone, but every other scar and blemish had vanished from his body, leaving him as unmarked as a newborn babe. Eragon traced the line upon his wrist where he had cut himself while sharpening Garrow's scythe. No evidence of the wound remained. The blotchy scars on the insides of his thighs, remnants from his first flight with Saphira, had also disappeared. For a moment, he missed them as a record of his life, but his regret was short-lived as he realized the damage from every injury he had ever suffered, no matter how small, had been repaired.

I have become what I was meant to be, he thought, and took a deep breath of the intoxicating air.

He dropped the mirror on the bed and garbed himself in his finest clothes: a crimson tunic stitched with gold thread; a belt studded with white jade; warm, felted leggings; a pair of the cloth boots favored by the elves; and upon his forearms, leather vambraces the dwarves had given him.

Descending from the tree, Eragon wandered the shadows of Ellesméra and observed the elves carousing in the fever of the night. None of them recognized him, though they greeted him as one of their own and invited him to share in their saturnalias.

Eragon floated in a state of heightened awareness, his senses thrumming with the multitude of new sights, sounds, smells, and feelings the assailed him. He could see in darkness that would have blinded him before. He could touch a leaf and, by touch alone, count the individual hairs that grew upon it. He could identify the odors wafting about him as well as a wolf or a dragon. And he could hear the patter of mice in the underbrush and the noise a flake of bark makes as it falls to earth; the beating of his heart was as a drum to him.

His aimless path led him past the Menoa tree, where he paused to watch Saphira among the festivities, though he did not reveal himself to those in the glade.

Where go you, little one? She asked.

He saw Arya rise from her mother's side, make her way through the gathered elves, and then, like a forest sprite, glide underneath the trees beyond. I walk between the candle and the dark, he replied, and followed Arya.

Eragon… Saphira warned him gently before pulling away from his consciousness again. If he hadn't learned his heart's lesson by now, maybe with the changes he had incurred this time he would.

Eragon tracked Arya by her delicate scent of crushed pine needles, by the feathery touch of her foot upon the ground, and by the disturbance of her wake in the air. He found her standing alone on the edge of a clearing, poised like a wild creature as she watched the constellations turn in the sky above.

As Eragon emerged in the open, Arya looked at him, and he felt as if she saw him for the first time. Her eyes widened, and she whispered, "Is that you, Eragon?"

"Aye."

"What have they done to you?"

"I know not."

He went to her, and together they wandered the dense woods, which echoed with fragments of music and voices from the festivities. Changed as he was, Eragon was acutely conscious of Arya's presence, of the whisper of her clothes over her skin, of the soft, pale exposure of her neck, and of her eyelashes, which were coated with a layer of oil that made them glisten and curl like black petals wet with rain.

They stopped on the bank of a narrow stream so clear it was invisible in the faint light. The only thing that betrayed its presence was the throaty gurgle of water pouring over rocks. Around them, the thick pines formed a cave with their branches, hiding Eragon and Arya from the world and muffling the cool, still air. The hollow seemed ageless, as if it were removed from the world and protected by some magic against the withering breath of time.

In that secret place, Eragon felt suddenly close to Arya, and all his passion for her sprang to the fore of his mind. He was so intoxicated with the strength and vitality coursing through his veins – as well as the untamed magic that filled the forest – he ignored caution and said, "How tall the trees how bright the stars… and how beautiful you are, O Arya Svit-kona." Under normal circumstances, he would have considered his deed the height of folly, but in that fey, madcap night, it seemed perfectly sane.

She stiffened. "Eragon…"

He ignored her warning. "Arya, I'll do anything to win your hand. I would follow you to the ends of the earth. I would build a palace for you with nothing but my bare hands. I would- "

"Will you stop pursuing me? Can you promise me that?" When he hesitated, she stepped closer and said, low and gentle, "Eragon, this cannot be. You are young and I am old, and that shall never change."

"Do you feel nothing for me?"

"My feelings for you," she said, "are those of a friend and nothing more. I am grateful to you for rescuing me from Gil'ead, and I find your company pleasant. That is all…"

In desperation, he suggested, "You could give me your memories and then I would have the same amount of experience and knowledge as you."

"It would be an abomination," she assured him. "Relinquish this quest of yours – it will only bring you heartache – and find someone your own age to spend the long years with."

His eyes brimmed with tears, taken aback that she would even say such a thing. "How can you be so cruel?"

She winced, sorrow pulsing through her. "I am sorry… I did not mean... Eragon. You and I are not meant for each other." Arya lifted her chin, her face grave and solemn and brushed with silver from the glimmering stars. A hint of steel entered her voice: "Hear me well, Eragon. This cannot, nor ever shall be. And until you master yourself, our friendship must cease to exist, for your emotions do nothing but distract us from our duty." She bowed to him. "Goodbye, Eragon Shadeslayer." Then she strode past and vanished into Du Weldenvarden.

Now the tears spilled down Eragon's cheeks and dropped to the moss below, where they lay unabsorbed, like pearls strewn across a blanket of emerald velvet. Numb, Eragon sat upon a rotting log and buried his face in his hands, weeping that his affections were doomed to remain unrequired, and weeping that he had driven her further away. Now he had no one.

Within moments, Saphira joined him. Oh, little one. She nuzzled him. Why did you have to inflict this upon yourself? You knew what would happen if you tried to woo Arya again.

I couldn't stop myself. He wrapped his arms around his belly and rocked back and forth on the log, reduced to hiccupping sobs by the strength of his misery. Putting one warm wing over him, Saphira drew him close to her side, like a mother falcon with her offspring. He curled up against her and remained huddled there as night passed into day and the Agaetí Blödhren came to an end.

A smile graced his mouth gently as he watched the morning dawn upon her skin. She wrinkled her nose slightly as the light woke her. Murtagh shifted pulling her in closer and allowing her to tuck herself against his chest, blocking the sunlight.

Humming quietly, she smiled, kissing his shoulder. "Morning…" she whispered, listening to the chatter outside. Her troops were already awake and moving. "I need to get up and check with the commander. I'll be back in a minute." Murtagh growled a little, tipping her face up and kissing her gently. Her lips parted slightly as she kissed him back, pulling away after a minute, smirking. "I'll be back in a minute," she repeated.

He watched as she got up, got out of the warm bed and stretched. Nyx rose to meet Kendra and trotted after her into the morning light. Sighing, Murtagh twisted and turned back into the pillow, laying on his stomach, fading back into sleep, his arm hanging limp over the side of the bed, ignoring Thorn's intrusion on his sleepy mind.

Kendra pushed the tent flap open, staring openly at the chaos in front of her. She strode to Aaron quickly. "What's happening?"

"One of our scouts thinks he saw a dragon."

Her heart skipped a beat. Kieran. "What color was it?"

"Red."

She let out a sigh. "If it is one of Galbatorix's Riders then we need to be very careful. Hopefully we're not enough of a target, if they don't know I'm here…"

"You said the Riders are both women, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then I will send scouts out looking for a woman traveling alone. It would probably be best for you to stay here until they return."

Kendra shook her head. "No, I'm going to look as well. If they do happen across her, I'm the best chance we have. Let me get my sword."

She turned and rushed back to the commander's tent, pushing open the flap and looking at Murtagh, her face softening. The scar across his back was visible as the blanket had shifted off his shoulders. Walking to the bed, she leaned over him and flinched. Her heart caught in her throat, staring at his palm and then back at his face. Kendra turned, grabbing his shirt and flung it at him, growling, her breathing heavy.

Waking with a start, he sat up quickly, pushing the fabric away as he blinked. "What… Kendra?"

"You should have left your gloves on, Rider."

Murtagh paused, looking up at her venomous voice. Panic rushed through his veins and he rolled to the floor as a dagger impaled the feathery pillow. He braced his hands against the ground, turning his gaze up to her, "Kendra, please… just-"

She walked around the table, keeping space between them. Nyx growled low and prowled beside her. "Get out."

He stood and inched towards the chair, collecting his belongings and watching her get her blade. Once it was in her hand, she unsheathed it and guided the point towards him. He swallowed with the tip of her sword at the apple of his throat. She directed him out of the tent, forcing him to stumble backwards, as his foot slipped. Juggling his sword and bow as he tried to pull his tunic back on, he couldn't seem to find words. Hitting the ground, he pulled on one of his boots as she stepped out into the sunlight.

"I can't believe you," she hissed, the anguish clear in her voice.

He stepped into his other boot and backed away from her, belting his sword to his waist, watching her face. "You knew what was going to happen if I got caught by him. I couldn't tell you… I didn't… I didn't want you to get hurt."

"And here we are." She shook with her blade still up at his throat level. "You lied to me. You were spying for him. You knew I was here! I should run you through right now, traitor."

A roar erupted from behind him as Thorn barreled into the campsite, thrashing his tail and growling at her. Nyx lowered his head and barred his fangs at the dragon, snarling. Murtagh, climb on now. You have what you need. Thorn bellowed at the wolf, watching as his resolve stayed, his snarl only rippling louder.

No, I don't.

Kendra watched him as he remained rooted to the spot. She blinked and lowered her sword. "Go…" He winced at her words and took a step towards her, eliciting growling from both Thorn and Nyx once again. "What I wouldn't give to destroy one of Galbatorix's Riders…" Kendra paused, watching his face. "If I see you again I will tear your heart out… Now get on your dragon and leave, Rider."

Thorn pulled his Rider against his side with his tail, forcing him away from her. Murtagh turned and climbed into the saddle, watching Kendra as Thorn beat his wings and pulled away from her.

You should not have lied to her youngling.

I tried to tell her the truth, but I didn't want to hurt her.

You only managed to hurt her more by your deception.

She lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the dust, staring after them until they faded into the distance. Kendra turned her face down as tears flooded down her cheeks. Bending down, she picked up a ruby scale between her fingers and held it in her palm, wiping away her tears with her other hand.

"Kendra?" She turned her face up to Aaron. "Are you hurt?"

"No." Her voice was calm through her lie. "I have to leave however, it's imperative that I return to Aberon as soon as possible."

"I'll saddle your horse." He insisted, trotting over to where some of the others were calming down their steeds.

Nyx sat down beside her, panting and leaning against her leg. She ran her fingers through his fur and sighed. "We should have killed him last night before we saw his face."

His room was without windows, perfectly fine, as there were numerous candles and magical lights flickering around the room. He looked over a passage in the book before him, then back at the diagram he was drawing. There was a knock at the door, forcing him to pause.

"Innes."

He paused, turning towards the door, walking over and opening it, blinking at Odette, dark circles under her eyes. "What?"

"I need you to do something for me…"

His face twisted into a sneer, but faltered when tears started pooling in her eyes. "What…?" Innes asked, defeated.

"I can't… my head keeps spinning. It's like I don't know which way is up. I need to talk to him… there must be something you can do."

The blonde paused, "Cordis?"

She nodded.

"I don't know… I've never tried anything before…"

"Please, I'll do anything for you. I'll give you anything that you want." Odette begged, clasping her hands in front of her.

Contemplating her offer for a moment he decided it wouldn't be bad to have her owe him something. In fact, that would probably be extremely useful. Looking her up and down twice, Innes scrutinized her before he stepped aside and let her into his room.

Odette curled up in a chair, her red hair cascading to her knees, looking around his room. This was the only one she'd never actually been in. Innes was extremely secretive, but now she realized he might just be disorganized. There were stacks of books everywhere, candle wax on the tops of tables. She honestly didn't know where he slept because there were two dozen books spread across the bed, scrolls and ink spills on the blankets.

"Okay…" he said finally, picking up a thin book, fingers leafing through the pages. "This should do it…"

Innes cleared some space on the floor and took out a knife, carving symbols into the floor just inside a circle. It was barely three feet across and he blinked at Odette, motioning for her to sit inside it. She did so carefully, her hair pooling around her feet. He sat down across from her, too close. Innes glanced down at the book in his hands, able to feel her breath a few inches away.

Looking over the book, he started speaking quietly, feeling a pull in his stomach. After a few minutes of quiet speaking, the candles in the room flickered and failed, leaving only the magical lights. He blinked and almost faltered, glancing up at Odette, her hair whipping slightly as she watched him intently.

Another few lines and she stiffened in front of him, tears dripping down her face.

"Cordis…?"

There was a bright blue-green light forming in between them, which then twisted and whirled around her head. She sobbed and reached for the streak of light, which responded by curling around her fingers. It flickered after a few moments before brushing against her face and driving itself into her chest. She started, eyes widening. After a moment, she convulsed and hit the floor, thrashing.

Innes jumped and backed away from her, the book forgotten. He watched as she lay on the floor, her eyes rolling up into her head. "Odette!?" He touched her arm and winced as she stilled and her eyes fell closed.

He had no idea how long he sat there staring at her, kneeling by her side. She felt cold to the touch and he didn't know what to do. If he'd killed her it had been an accident, but she still had a heartbeat, for now. Innes bit his lip and looked around his room, standing to try and find another book that might help him.

When he stood to move, she grasped his ankle tightly and hissed. "What did you do to us?"

He looked down at her eyes - the deep color of red wine. She was crying. "Odette…?"

The grip she had on his ankle was fierce, stronger than he ever remembered her having. "What did you do to us?" She repeated, her voice coming out with an echo.

"…Cordis?" He stopped, staring down at her. Red eyes. "What…" He looked at her red hair and pale skin, realizing with a start at what he'd done.

"Next time you send me off to the middle of nowhere… warn me that they might decide to attack me first." He threw the scroll on Rowan's table, walking off to fetch his lord clothes.

"Nice disguise…" Mark paused, looking at him over his shoulder. Rowan's face was deceptively calm and he blinked once. "…don't suppose you can make yourself look like anyone… can you?"

He smirked and flicked his hair out of his eyes, blinking once as his irises turned green. "Depends."

"Then I may have more for you to do and much less far away." Rowan smirked back at him. "Where were you two years ago? You'd be sitting on this throne instead of me."

"I wouldn't have taken it…" He insisted, shaking his head and ruffling his hair, turning it black again, dropping into a chair across from the thief, kicking his feet up on the table. "I'd never sit on a throne… your games are of little interest to me."

His gaze moved back down to the table, surveying his maps and planning. "You could have it you know… the brother of a Rider… grandson of Brom… even without them your power is nigh unmatchable. You could take Nasuada's hand with no difficulty… or even Kendra possibly… and when this war is over, place yourself high above the rest of the men in this world."

Mark threw his head back, letting out a loud laugh. "The day Nasuada sits on the throne we're all in trouble. And the day Kendra takes me as her husband she will be stepping over my dead body by sunset."

Rowan raised an eyebrow at him, surveying this man from the far north. He had little interest in anything besides helping – Kendra, Nasuada, himself – it was as though his own aspirations were nonexistent. He wanted nothing, except favors and information. Both, Rowan knew from experience, were worth more than gold and titles. "What are you doing after this war?"

"You mean if we live through it?" Mark asked, stretching his hands behind his back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Assuming we do, yes. If you want nothing… you have already turned down the notion of power, gold… titles. You seem to have very little interest in women, or your eyes are set somewhere far away…"

"When you figure out what I'm doing here, then you can let me know," he insisted, standing and going off to find his noble set of clothing. Mark left the Black Palace with his new uniform tucked underneath his arm. He walked through the dark, empty street and looked up at the stars, connecting them together with his eyes.

From around a corner, someone sprinted towards him in dark clothing, the hurried rush of guards clinking in the armor too far away. Mark turned as the thief leapt past him, catching sight of the wolf patch. He pivoted, rushing to follow them, grabbing their arm and shoving them down a side ally; his hand pressed against their mouth, pinning them to the wall, quickly muttering an invisibility charm. The guards slowed their march and cursed as they lost their target.

Mark turned and looked down at the woman in front of him, recognizing her from the underground, waiting until they'd left before speaking. "You probably would have gotten murdered you know."

"Thank you lord Marcus." She said, letting out a breath, holding herself up by hanging onto his wrists. "The guard saw me leaving the castle and I ran."

He nodded once. "You're fast, good. I'm glad you can outrun them, but don't always count on it. You're lucky they didn't have a good archer."

She paled and blinked. "Aye."

"You'd best get back down to the palace or change."

"They're guarding the entrance I know about," she muttered, casting her eyes down. "I don't know how to get back in."

"Then you'd best change," he insisted. "Find a shop and get a dress or something for you to wear and get somewhere safe for the night. Did they see your face?"

"No, my hood was up."

"Good. Now go, before they circle around." She nodded, checking around the corner before sneaking off. Mark watched her leave and sighed, shaking his head, moving again towards the castle. He glanced down at the bundle of black clothing under his arm and the wolf patch when he heard hurried footsteps coming from behind him.

"Halt!"

He groaned inwardly and turned to face the guards, his expression less than thrilled. "Yes, captain?"

"Lord Marcus, our apologies sir."

"You're forgiven, now what is the meaning of this?"

"Those thieves are running about and unsupervised, they are causing mayhem in the city. It's worse every day, just now-"

"Yes. I saw them, rushing away from you stomping after them. It's not surprising they slipped away from you. There are more pressing matters for you to attend to than a tiny guild of young men thieving… assassins perhaps, inside your city's walls? I know I certainly would appreciate any extra help running them out of their holes like the rats they are."

"S-sir."

"I'm sure Lady Nasuada would gladly reward anyone who helped find any of them as well." Since her brilliant idea of creating lace to generate money for their cause, the Varden had risen in standing with Aberon, and were now treated as full members of the city. They were also making significant loans and gifts to those they felt needed to be persuaded.

The guard captain saluted him, forcing his men to march off and leave him alone. Mark scoffed, finally making his way back into the castle and his room.

Once safely inside the confines of his cluttered room, he picked his way across to the bed, sitting on the edge. He put the uniform down beside him, rubbing at his face. Satisfied he had rubbed the weariness from his eyes, he reached over, and grasping the small orb Angela had given him, holding it in his palm. "Arya."

The elven princess appeared in the cloud of green smoke. She was on horseback amongst a few other elves, a convoy. They were returning to the Varden. Mark watched her and the other elves for a moment before letting the magic fade. It would be safer for Eragon to stay in Ellesméra. "It won't matter if there are six riders. It's better for him to stay alive than to call him away from his training…"

He set the orb back down after attempting to scry his sister. The vision of her in his mind faded as soon as he attempted to find her, leaving the smoke to swirl infinitely inside its glass prison.

The doors closed behind Galbatorix and Kieran stepped forward, pulling the knife from Mariah's hand, listening to it clatter on the stone floor. Shruikan rumbled heavily as he breathed, watching her. "Stop staring you giant lizard." He growled and snapped towards her, ice blue flames trickling around his maw. His scales scraped against the floor as he turned and lumbered to the balcony before flying out and away. The black dragon was all but a speck in the air within a few massive beats of his wings.

Guiding Mariah from the room, Kieran said nothing, holding her shoulders, catching her when she stumbled, until they reached her quarters.

"I warned you."

"I know." She sat idly where Kieran put her on the edge of her bed and watched as the older woman healed up her self-inflicted wound. Mariah watched her graceful fingers dance across her bleeding palm. "I just couldn't…"

Kieran growled, "I know you couldn't. Mariah… you are just like my damned sister. To stubborn… doesn't know when to quit."

"Sorry." She stared across the room blankly, able to see the faint blue icing over the edges of her vision. It was unnerving and a constant reminder that she was not in full control of herself. She shivered and fell silent.

"What are you sorry for now?" The princess asked, laughing slightly.

Mariah blinked. She was sorry for many things that she had done, the way she had treated Kieran prior, the way she had spoken to Murtagh before he left. He must hate her. Now, for her reaction to Cordis's death, for it had led her into a worse situation still. Now, Galbatorix had taken matters into his own hands, and her freedom had been stripped from her completely; in turn, Andrar, Murtagh, and Thorn as well. "You hate your sister… sorry you hate me too. I should just expect this of people now. I have done nothing but hurt those around me."

She stopped, "I don't hate you - on the contrary. And I don't think you're the doom-bringer you think you are. You are my friend… my only friend… aside from Nasreen."

"I'm sure your father will be thrilled to hear that."

Kieran grabbed her by the shoulders, her expression pained. "No more stupid ideas, okay? If he's got you… ensorcelled or something, then he probably can figure out what you're thinking ten times easier than before. Try not to let anything slip away. Alright? No more trying to escape or anything like that..."

Mariah dropped her head and stared at Kieran's feet. They looked so dainty even in their blood-spattered heels. "Alright Kieran."

"I don't want to lose you too." Her voice came out quietly and she hugged Mariah tightly, pulling her into her chest. Kieran pressed her nose to the top of Mariah's head, kissing her hair. She blinked against Kieran's collarbone and sighed when she heard the princess hold in a hiccup, hugging the older woman back tightly.

Kieran gave her a tiny smile and let her go. "You should sleep… you're probably exhausted."

"I am."

"Go ahead… I'll make sure no one bothers you." Kieran brushed her hair back away from Mariah's cheek and walked out of her room slowly.

Mariah watched her go, falling onto her back and sighing into her blankets, closing her eyes in a half-hearted attempt of sleep.

She felt her stomach drop out and into her throat as she fell. In freefall, she watched several dragons above her swirling around in the air, fighting. The wind grasped at her clothes and hair as she hurtled towards the ground, back first. Mariah twisted, throwing out her arms in an attempt to slow down, trying to call on her magic, but realizing she had no energy to draw upon. She was swept to her left as a gale rushed over her, looking up, she clutched at the hand of the Rider to no avail. They flew out of reach and she closed her eyes as the hard ground below cracked against her back.

Opening her eyes, she saw Eragon staring down at her. The battlefield was nowhere to be seen, and she felt fine, the pain from falling but a vague memory. He let a smile grace his features, pulling her to her feet. Mariah touched his face gently and smiled back, hugging him tight. "I have something I have to tell you." She looked at his face and hesitated, the words on her lips faltering as she realized she shouldn't say anything because someone might be listening.

Mariah opened her eyes as a door slammed in the hall. She crawled out of bed slowly, touching the doorknob to the adjacent room, able to hear footsteps. She pushed the door open slowly, peering through the crack. She stood, watching Murtagh clutching at his face, leaning against his door, breathing heavily. She stared at him for a minute, debating whether or not to go to him when she saw tears sliding down his cheeks. The ice invaded the edges of her vision again and she closed the door quickly.

Andrar brushed against her mind. Shall I ask Thorn what has transpired?

I feel as though it is something personal…

The two of you have shared much, despite your parting.

Mariah shook her head. Not tonight. Remind me to talk to Kieran in the morning.

Very well. Do try to sleep. She sighed and crawled back into her bed, laying on her side and staring at the window, watching the stars.

Everyone is so sad during this chapter... Eragon was rejected so hard. I forgot about how awful that whole scene was. Murtagh got rejected equally hard... princesses can be so mean!

With Love, As Always,

Mariah