Chapter 18

While She Slept

—Before the Dream—

Lara Tyler's face was still…as still as that of a corpse, her slight frame nestled gently in a bed of moss and greenery at the base of a benevolent oak tree. Only the faint and measured rise and fall of her chest indicating the fragile intake of breath betrayed the fact that she was not yet one ready for burial, though Bartimeo was haunted by the knowledge that in her present state she was little better off than dead. A prick from a Grá-Codladh (more commonly known by its Latin name: Noctus) Rose always sent its victims into a deep slumber—much like that induced by the enchanted spindle in the Tale of the Sleeping Beauty—and its effects were all but incurable. Only the deepest of loves could reverse it, the strongest of magics. And by the time a lover ardent enough for the cause could be obtained to kiss her awake, the girl's remaining hours would be long since spent. It was all over. Lara Tyler had lost. She had no chance of completing the Challenge of the Labyrinth now, and it was all his fault. He had failed her. Failed to protect her. Failed to guide her.

The king had indeed gone too far this time. A Cursed Peach was one thing, at least its victims had a fighting chance…but this? The damage done here was almost certainly permanent. This had the potential to be life-destroying. Petty as he knew it was, the dragon could not shed a bitter sense of betrayal at his king's actions. Bartimeo had always been His Majesty's oldest supporter, harboring a special fondness for him from his very first sighting of the then Prince Jareth, only a small boy all those centuries ago…a small boy with luck-child eyes and hair of gold that sprouted every which way like the feathers of a disheveled owl. Even before his seemingly miraculous ascension to the Labyrinthian throne, Bartimeo had always believed that the brooding young man was destined for greatness, though in what form the dragon could not have said. He'd always carried a feeling in his fiery heart, and it was no secret that the gift of Prophecy ran firmly through his family tree. But Fate in all her cruelty was reminding Bartimeo just how blind he truly was for here, now, Jareth was proving himself to be just as callous, reckless, and unstable as the neighboring Sì governments loved to believe.

The dragon sighed as he studied the face of his poor young companion, watching her eyes moving back and forth behind gently closed lids as they chased after some faerytale or other. What a waste of such vibrant life… Bartimeo had grown alarmingly fond of the girl in their short time together, particularly after witnessing her admirable display of both courage and cunning during her altercation with the Balthasar. Who could have known that there was so much behind that youthful face? Despite the commonality of her outward appearance, the girl had proven herself clever and inquisitive, with a deep love of learning and a keen interest in all that the dragon had to say…and how wonderful it was to finally encounter someone of intelligence upon whom he could impart pieces of his accumulated wisdom. True, she could be a bit prideful, impulsive, and rough around the edges at times, but she was still very young…age and maturity would do her good, and time could only expand her potential. She was a Thursday's Child, after all. Underground Prophecy tended to favor Thursday's Children, going so far as to consider them "blessed with great destiny" or even "burdened with glorious purpose." No one quite knew why…such was simply the way of the Underground. And while there was little if any hard evidence in history to attest to any truth behind the old wives' tale, already there had been indicators in young Lara's case to support the theory. Had not the Wise Man mentioned that the fabled Storyteller had taken special interest in this particular tale? Had he not suggested that the Labyrinth herself wanted the girl to succeed? Or perhaps these were simply the demented ramblings of a narcoleptic old man... The dragon just didn't know what to think anymore, and this troubled him beyond words. He had always been immensely proud of his ability to know things. All he could say for certain was that Thursday's Child or no, Lara had been a radiant spirit, and he already felt the loss of her deeply. Anger broiled in the inferno of his belly, and he tasted sparks on the back of his tongue. How dare he? How dare Jareth force his victory in such a way? How dare he even attempt to subdue the will of such creature?

"Clutch," the dragon said, unable to keep troubled tones of sorrow from his voice. "Go to the Goblin City, please, and bring back the finest and cleanest blankets you can find. We don't want her to be cold when…when night falls."

Clutch, whose goblin tears had not stopped flowing since the girl succumbed, nodded shakily and he managed to squeak out through his sniffling, "I…I's gonna make her one of those fancy glass beds. Ya know? Like the one the Snowy White princess was sleepin' in after tha witch gave her a bad apple. Miss Boss needs a fancy glass bed to keep her face pretty forever and ever…."

A glass sarcophagus…. How appropriate. Bartimeo was doubtful that the little goblin could be successful in creating such a thing, but the dragon could see little harm in him trying. Besides, getting rid of Clutch would award him a moment's peace to think…to plan.

"If you wish it, I won't stop you. Just don't be too long…and don't forget the blankets."

"What about tha poison flower? Do ya want me to tear it up?"

"No, Clutch, don't touch it. We can't have you falling asleep on us as well, can we? I'll dispose of it myself. Those thorns shan't be able to pierce through these scales of mine."

The little goblin nodded soberly before retrieving the girl's battered longsword from its place of abandonment in the grass, placing the handle in her limp left hand and closing her lifeless fingers around its faded ebony, whispering, "Clutchy will be back soon, Miss Boss. You have good dreams." He then stood and bowed low to both girl and dragon before scampering away in the direction of the Goblin City.

"Dear Lara," the dragon murmured, watching as Clutch disappeared through the trees. "How did you reach into our hearts so easily? How can you sleep your life away when you've so much yet to live for?"

He shifted his gaze to her face again and reached out with a wingtip to brush a wayward strand of that soft, dark hair back from her pale face…much too pale. Smoke curled from the dragon's nostrils as he tasted afresh his anger at the injustice of it all, and he vowed then and there that this would not be the end for her. While he could no longer help her to complete the Challenge, he could at least ensure that she would have a chance at life. That she deserved. First, he must dispose of the Rose…and then he would be away to the Castle to seek an audience with the Goblin King. If anyone could overturn the spell by force it would be he. For what little good it may or may not do, Bartimeo knew that he had to try to reason with him, he had to try and draw upon the wisdom, the compassion that he knew dwelled somewhere beneath his king's arrogant pride. Bartimeo knew that it was unlikely that Jareth would yield victory to the girl…but perhaps he would consent to allowing her her life. Perhaps he might even allow her to be reunited with her niece and nephew, though they would almost certainly never walk the World Above again. And if Bartimeo failed in that venture...if the king chose to harden his heart beyond all recognition and damn the girl to her cruel fate… Well, then. It would be all the more clear what the dragon must do. He would scour all the Thirteen Realms, searching Aboveground and Under it until he found the one person who could free her, the one person who truly loved her. If such a person did not yet exist, then perhaps he would be able to find such a person as could be taught to love her. He could think of no better Quest for the undertaking. It would take time. It would take careful planning, preparation, and experimentation. There was much yet for him to do…but he would move Heaven and Earth to see those stormy eyes open again. If nothing else…what a grand story it would make.

The dragon left the girl's side and took up the Grá-Codladh in his talons, unable to stifle the snarl that curled his scaly lips. He hated this kind of faery magic…too often had he seen it abused. Way back in the Prosperous Ages, when the boundaries between the Underground and the World Above had been much thinner than they were now and the Aos Sì had been likened unto gods, it had been a popular (if very, very foolish) practice among folk both Fae and Common to test the depths of devotion between two lovers by the plucking of a Noctus rose. One of the lovers would be encouraged to impale themselves upon those devilish thorns, and once the Sleep was induced, it would fall to the one who remained awake to see if he or she could rouse the Sleeper with a kiss. If they could not, it was not love, and the life of the Sleeper would hang in the balance until true love could either be found or forged…. And just how many eyes were closed forever?

Bartimeo snorted sparks and shook his head, blinking shadows of recollection from his molten eyes. It did little good to reminisce now…Lara needed him to ensure that she did not meet a similar fate. Turning his eyes upon the girl once more, the dragon became suddenly aware that he couldn't just leave her unguarded…not with the chance of any number of feral Underground beings stumbling upon her and doing only God knows what to her. It wouldn't do to wait for Clutch to return, either… With such limited options, Bartimeo turned to the one being he trusted above all others...one whom he felt confident could protect his young friend better than any soul in Creation. The Labyrinth herself.

"My Lady?" he asked tentatively, extending his thoughts toward the gentle thrum of life that dwelled beneath all things here. "Could you—" Before he could even finish his request, he felt her reply.

She will come to no harm.

How ready she was with her words. Relief spread itself warmly through the dragon's scaly limbs and he thanked the Lady, comforted by the knowledge that she did indeed mean the Champion well. He then took to the air, intending to carry his vile cargo as far from the girl as he could before destroying it. He had only covered a very little distance, however, before the Labyrinth nonverbally expressed her desire for him to wait a moment, to hide himself in the trees and to keep his eyes on the girl for there was something that she wished for him to see. Bartimeo landed in the upper branches of a nearby ash, startled by her request. When he made to inquire as to what exactly he was meant to be seeing, the Labyrinth merely indicated that he should focus on the dark places between the trees at the clearing's edge, and, sure enough, Bartimeo found his attention drawn to the subject of her sudden interest. A figure had appeared in the forest there. A figure watchful, tall, and thin. The dragon looked on in astonishment as Jareth the Goblin King (having obviously been lying in wait for the dragon to leave the girl) detached himself carefully from the gloom of the tree-shadows and gilded across the small clearing toward the sleeping Champion, his footsteps perfectly silent and his black cloak trailing behind him like smoke on water.

Bartimeo suffered a thrill of panic and spread his ready wings, intending to dive back to his companion's side and defend her however he could, but he felt the Labyrinth express her disapproval at this plan of action.

You said she would come to no harm! he mentally accused her, briefly forgetting himself and to whom he was speaking in his concern for the girl.

The Labyrinth was unperturbed by his vehemence, and patiently directed him to Watch.

Bartimeo readjusted his careful grip on the Noctus and obeyed, concealing himself in the ash branches and observing the scene before him with eyes as sharp as an eagle's.

Jareth stood over his conquered foe, dark and somber as a graveside mourner whilst he studied her in perfect stillness. Just when Bartimeo began to wonder if he meant to stay there forever like some shadowy sentinel frozen in time, the king descended, sinking slowly to his knees on the mossy earth. His movements were cautious…almost uncertain as he lay himself gently down beside the girl, positioned so he could gaze upon her face. With a graceful sweep of his arm, the king cast his cloak over the girl's sleeping form, covering the both of them to the shoulders in its glittering midnight folds. The girl stirred slightly as he did so, responding to his presence by inclining her face toward him and breathing a gentle sigh. Though her eyes remained closed, even from his distance, the dragon could see that an almost imperceptible smile played about the corners of her mouth. She was at peace. Bartimeo could feel a peculiar sadness tugging at his reptilian heart as he looked on, watching his king reach out a gloveless hand to stroke the sleeping features of the Thursday's Child, displaying a gentleness that seemed almost foreign to him as his fingers lingered about her lips, tracing the shape of them. A moment later and the king had withdrawn his hand, closing his eyes and joining her, the dragon had no doubt, in her dreams.

So then…that was his plan? Jareth suspected himself capable of a love deep enough to wake the Sleeper? Bartimeo would have been lying if he said he wasn't shocked and indeed almost moved. He had known his king for a very long time…and he was familiar with his patterns. Jareth had always been something of a slave to his tumultuous feelings. Always proud, always a bit spoiled, and always swift to indulge his heart's desires. Oddly enough, despite all this, Bartimeo had seen him take such a powerful interest in a girl only once in all his years of service. Certainly, His Majesty had been "involved" with women before…there had been a number of fine ladies of the Aos Sì who had drawn his eye from time to time, but the then Prince Jareth had never been truly invested in any of them. A result of his arrogance and the nonchalance of youth, apparently overcome by time and circumstance for after his rise to the Labyrinthian throne such frivolous behavior on his part had all but ceased. His Majesty seemed to have given up on the idea of companionship altogether, spurning again and again the offers of matrimony made by many a Sì king and queen on behalf of their daughters and choosing rather to focus on his new role as Monarch and Wish-master.

But, all that had changed when the fabled Sarah Williams made her run. Though it was still considered an Underground mystery why the king fell as fast as he did (and for a human, no less,) Bartimeo, despite never having seen the girl in person, was confident enough in his observations of Jareth's behavior that she had made an impression far greater than that of anyone before, Aboveground or Under it. He had dared to imagine that young Sarah could have enchanted Jareth enough to initiate the stirrings of true affection so long lain dormant in him. Indeed, the dragon had never seen him in such a state over a woman. Young though Sarah had been, Bartimeo had hoped that she might at last be the one to end the king's long spell of isolation…but, no. Fate had again shown her hand and dictated that it was not to be. Against all odds, Sarah Williams completed the Challenge of the Labyrinth. And when the king had presented her with promises and pledges of all the wonders he would gladly work in her name, she rejected them and declared him powerless over her, dealing Jareth a near crippling blow to the heart in the process.

Fond as he was of her, the dragon could not have guessed that the king would consider Lara a suitable replacement for the long lost Sarah…but looking down upon the sleeping figures below, he found himself too easily convinced otherwise. As swiftly as she had worked her way into his own reptilian heart, it would stand to reason that her unassuming charm could have a similar effect on the Goblin King. But oh, what a dangerous game… The dragon suspected that the king was even now weaving a dream world within which he planned to manipulate the girl's perspective and paint himself as the object of her every desire. Didn't he know that he needn't go to such great lengths? Large portions of her heart already belonged to the Labyrinth…and to him. It would have taken an absolute fool not to recognize that she was already half smitten with the king, her girlish attraction toward him having become so obvious to the dragon that he could not help but tease her for it, much to his current shame.

What do you think of this? he asked the Labyrinth, curious to know her take on such delicate matters. True to her nature, however, she chose to remain ambiguously silent.

The dragon sighed, taking one last long look at the Champion and the King. If Jareth could but learn to hold the girl in an open hand and prove to her that he was so much more than she initially perceived…if he could but stand before her as the man that Bartimeo had always believed him to be… Well then. Perhaps the Labyrinth would gain a Queen in place of a Champion. But as it stood, if the king was not very, very careful…he would almost certainly lose her forever. Just as he had lost his Sarah.

Poor Jareth. This was not a faerytale… Why couldn't he understand that?

—After the Dream—

Jareth crashed back into consciousness with a wild gasp, dizzy, disoriented, and feeling quite as if he had just been upflung from the great depths of a fever dream. He was lying on his back in his own chamber, staring blindly up at the royal blue canopy above his bed with sweat beading his skin and dampening the rich silk of his shirt. It took several stunned moments for him to come to himself enough to realize what had just happened to him.

The girl. The girl had destroyed the dream he had woven for her. She had rejected his gift…rejected him.

He wanted to scream until his lungs were raw. He wanted to leap to his feet and tear down the sky, obliterate the universe, anything to put an end to the hauntingly familiar waves of pain and humiliation that threatened to overcome him with every breath. Instead he closed his burning eyes again and lay as still as he could, hands fisting the bedspread beneath him in a white-knuckle grip as he allowed himself a moment—just a moment—to experience everything his tortured soul could suffer. The fire, the ice. The pleasure, the pain. Oh, why this sting? Every beat of his heart was jagged in his chest, blissful agony reinforced by the spectral image of the girl dancing behind his eyelids, a vision in white, loveliness incarnate. Not perhaps a beauty surpassing that of her predecessor, but one of a differing variety…and one which had swiftly grown so desirable under his eyes. How well she suited the look of magic, all softness and starlight with jewels winking their resplendence in her hair and the pearly brilliance of her garments gracefully accentuating the shape of her slender body. That much he had done right at least. His Lara was not designed for the rags she chose to clothe herself in, and even though his earlier conversation with young Calpurnia regarding her aunt's preferences had hinted that she mightn't be all that comfortable in Underground finery, the results had spoken for themselves. She had been radiant. He wondered if the girl knew that she belonged to a time entirely different from the one she had been born to. He wondered if she knew that she had been made for another world.

Perhaps he ought not to have tried it the way he did…he had time on his side, after all, and it certainly would have been wiser to let things play out a bit more slowly. But…he had wanted to dance with her, and he was not one to deny himself his desires. How rewarding the experience had been… How enticing the grace of her movements, the touch of her hands, the soft shape of her lips so gently parted as she gazed adoringly up at him…

If not for that bloody song, he would be with her now. If not for the song, she would be his. Where had it come from? Her memory? Her imagination? Regardless of its origins, the lyrics had successfully triggered the girl's innately suspicious nature. They had woken the she-wolf, and her instinct was to bite. A thrill of excitement shivered its way through his body, igniting the more primal aspects of his nature as he thought of her words and actions after that damned song started its haunting strains. The Champion had proven that not only could she be beautiful…but she could be powerful. She could be dangerous. There was within her such a propensity for rage, Jareth had seen it in the winter fire of her eyes…and it was intoxicating. He relished the authority in her voice when she had rebuked him, shuddering again at the memory of the dream dagger she had conjured and the icy trails she had traced over his skin with its frigid edge. It was almost too much.

He would have told her if she had but stopped to listen that he would sooner cut off his right hand than cause her harm. Didn't she know that he could promise her the world? That he would sing down the very stars for her? The plan had been to paint her the perfect faerytale…and when her heart was his, he would have risen from his place beside her in the forest where they lay sleeping. He could have broken the spell, he knew he could have... Kissed her awake just like in the Old Tales and whisked her away with him. And she might have loved him in return, truly loved him, and his own happiness would at last have been complete. Why not? Stranger things had happened in the past. Stranger things would doubtless happen in the future.

Calm yourself, Jareth… She's yours. Winning her to you may take a little bit longer than you would like, but she's yours all the same.

Allowing himself a smile, Jareth sat up slowly and passed his hands over his tired face. He was exhausted, there was no denying it. It had been just as taxing to conjure the dream for Lara as it had been for Sarah all those years ago…taxing, and yet so different. Sarah had wanted so much, had wanted so badly to be the dancer in a dream with all eyes on her, drinking in her beauty. She had wanted to be swept off her feet like a faerytale damsel, and he had been more that happy to oblige. He had tried to give her a taste of it all, to introduce her to the society he hoped she would soon be joining. And even if opulence hadn't suited her in the end, she had suited it. She had suited it most deliciously. Unfortunately, she had been abruptly woken by the sudden realization that she was unprepared for such focused attentions…that being the center of it all was, in fact, smothering. In hindsight, Jareth knew that he ought to have been more casual, but how was he to understand the fickle contradictions of a teenage girl's developing mind?

With Lara, instinct warned him to tread carefully. As volatile as that temper of hers could be, one wrong step could (and did) overturn the whole charade. He had known without needing to search her mind for answers that she never would have enjoyed the crowded atmospheres of Sarah's crystal ballroom, that she would shun opulence in favor of intimacy any day. Having her wake in a secluded forest had been a safe plan. Sending Goliath, a lucky stroke of genius for which he largely had young Calpurnia to thank as she'd been the one to hint at Lara's fondness for horses. The rest, had fallen into place naturally. There was no need for the many Revelers of Sarah's dream…Jareth's eyes had been enough.

It was all going so well… Why did it have to come undone? What prompted the manifestation of that song? He felt certain that he recognized the voice which produced those eerily beautiful tones, though he could not have said where from. The Elf Knight…how well he remembered the story now. How well it had served the girl in her manipulation of the dream. It made sense, he supposed, that a mind like hers would recognize the danger of losing itself and seize control. That her subconscious would throw her a lifeline, even if it was only through a song, of all things. But, what he couldn't understand was how the song had manifested, where the dagger had come from, how she had managed to control Goliath so easily, and why he had been so rudely expelled from the Dream. The girl would almost have required a magic of her own to accomplish all that…

No matter. This was but his first attempt…there would be others. That was the wondrous thing about the Rose. Now he had nothing but time. He could visit her as often as he wished. In her sleep. In her dreams. And one day, she would see reason. She would see… But, if against all odds she did not…if time and again, she proved too stubborn to yield and receive her only chance at freedom, well…to hell with her, then. He had won, had he not? The children were his and the Chime of the Thirteenth Hour was but a formality, now. Let her sleep forever if she so chose. Let her body slowly be devoured by time, absorbed and covered over by the forest itself until true love came to wake her. And who would bear her such love? he wondered. Bartimeo? Clutch? He almost laughed aloud at the idea. Who was there in all the world capable of loving her as well as he could?

He decided to leave some whisperings of himself with her while he waited for her time to run out, just a handful of echoes and traces of his presence lest she be lonely while she slept. They still shared enough of a connection for him to do so, did they not? He needn't refresh the bond with another crystal just yet. In his mind, he reached for the fading gossamer threads of magic suspended between them, drifting and delicate like the wisps of a broken spiderweb.

Oh yes, he could still feel her, the echoes of her presence warm and inviting. But…something wasn't right… She was stirring. She was waking! How? Lara Tyler was overturning the Curse of the Grá-Codladh.

"Impossible!" Jareth leapt wildly to his feet, blind and in a panic as he tried desperately to cling to his failing connection with the girl, her traces slipping away through his fingers like sand, like water. He was losing her. She was waking. She could not possibly achieve such a thing herself! Not without love's antidote. Not without a magic of her own. Jareth found himself almost gasping as he tried to choke down breaths of solid air, winter blackness flickering at the edges of his vision as he seethed and paced, wracking his brain for explanations and clawing at his chest as if that could help to still the frightful hammering of his heart.

Only then did he notice the dagger. The king froze, staring at the foreign weapon which protruded from one of his bedposts as if it had sprouted there, its tip buried deep within the intricate scrollwork just above Jareth's eye-level. He easily recognized it as the very dagger that Lara had pressed against his skin just moments ago. It had followed him out of the Dream, an illusion made reality...but certainly not by his design. No…oh no, this was more than mere dream manipulation… There were far greater forces at work here than a common girl. And as it was, Jareth could think of only one such force.

"Why did you wake her?!" he roared aloud. "Why are you helping her?!"

The Labyrinth's answer chilled him to his very marrow.

Because the Thursday's Child must not lose.

For a long moment, the king was stunned. Had he heard that correctly? He couldn't possibly... Thursday's Child? No… No, she could not be. When the king spoke again, his voice sounded…defeated. Dry, raw, and thin. Like that of a dying man. "Did you…did you say 'Thursday's Child?'"

The silence that answered him was more insulting than any rebuke. He felt betrayed. He felt abandoned. How could the Labyrinth choose her over him? After so many centuries...after all he'd endured... Thursday's Child?

Desperately, he called a crystal to hand and summoned Lara's image, needing to see her face…needing to study her very essence for any truth behind the Labyrinth's words.

Jareth, be reasonable! Just because she's a Thursday's Child does not mean that she's The Thursday's Child…

Her face…he told himself that her face would hold the answers. But…he could not See. The image was blurred. He couldn't keep the crystal focused on her and he couldn't fathom why. It was only after the clouded sphere dropped from his twitching fingers that he realized his hands were shaking. They would not be still. He could not control them. How he wished he could stop his hands from shaking. He closed them tightly into fists and pressed them to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut and trying hard to reclaim his whirling consciousness. The tides were turning and sweeping him away with them. The future was dark and he had no idea what might lay there. For the first time in such a very long time, Jareth felt afraid. He felt as if all the world was crashing down, like he was trapped within one of his own cold crystal spheres, all composed of fire and ice and all awash with torturous images…snatches of prophecy know only to him…signs and happenings…whispers and rumors of his own condemnation… It could not be her. Why did it have to be her?

He cursed her image, wanting to cast away all memory of her and her doom laden title, wanting so to hate her…but oh, his rebellious heart. If only it was still under his command. While all the girl was and all that she'd done to him was not magic, not truly…it felt close. It felt damn close. Just as he had been damn close to...to what? Happily ever after? Such a thing was not for him, hadn't he always known that? He felt ashamed, embarrassed, lost...and the pain was excruciating. How best to deal with such emotions? Redirect the flames. Convert them into anger. Pure, boiling anger.

So be it, then. So be it! Fate be damned! Lara Tyler be damned! He was no slave to Destiny. The future was his to command, no one else's. Labyrinth or no Labyrinth, Thursday's Child or no, victory was not yet so firmly within her grasp that it was out of his. Much yet could happen, and he would give it his all. Time to pull out all the stops.

Reeling with exhaustion, Jareth dropped his hands to his sides and turned his tortured gaze upon the dagger…her dagger. It shone silver against the darkness of the mahogany into which it was embedded…cold and resolute as the seal on a death warrant.

Author's Note: Greetings, Friends!

Let me begin with a very special shoutout for Guest, who left me such a lovely review:

My dear, thank you so very much for your kind words and reassurances. I can't tell you how it warms my heart to know that you are enjoying my creation. I am very proud of my Lara, and knowing that she is loved by even one of my Readers makes me very happy indeed. I will do my utmost to continue crafting a story worthy of your praise :)

Now then…here is my first entry for the year 2023! I meant to have a new publication out weeks ago, but alas…this chapter was not a part of the original design. Remember when I said that I had the bones constructed for all the remaining entries, and that the end was in sight? Yeah. Apparently that was a lie. The story got very angry with me when I tried to force it into the lovely little box that I had all planned out for it…and it's been retaliating with a violent flood of plot twists and fresh details that simply demand inclusion. I find that I am powerless to refuse. So. Please, continue to bear with me, loved ones… At this point, I'm just as curious as the next fellow to see what comes along.

As always, my Readers, I thank you for your patience and attention. Questions, concerns, and comments sarcastic or benign are still more than welcome and always greatly appreciated. I should dearly love to know what you all think…

Perfect Peace be with you all,

FireDancer