Initially, I could almost forget the chaos and tension of the day before. The alarm to wake us is met with quiet groans and the creaking of the beds as people start to move. While the paintballs seem to leave bruises and some people are a bit slower and stiffer in their movement, it seems no different from a morning following a good training. The lights are dim and I can hear water running, so someone must have woken up early to shower, and all credit to them for being able to get up before the alarm.

I am mostly running on muscle memory as I pull on the clothes I laid out the night before, occasionally pausing to drag my hand across my face in an attempt to wake up and rub the sleep from my eyes. As I lace up my boots, I glance around and see that half of the others are just now throwing off their covers.

I head out and towards the dining hall and there are several members seated at the tables and hanging out while they eat. There is a table to the far end of the hall that is empty and so I head over and take a seat facing the wall, not wanting to talk this early in the morning. I grab a banana and a bar of some sort, I overheard someone call it a granola bar, and simply try and zone out while I eat. After a few minutes however, my peace is broken as two people walk up and wait for a moment.

"Might we sit here?" Edward asks, Myra cautiously standing slightly behind him.

"Sure," I shrug, "so long as you don't want a long conversation."

Edward laughs and leads Myra into the seats opposite me. They each grab their breakfasts and whisper to each other quietly and I continue in my silence. I can hear some noise behind me as the others are shuffling in as I finish eating and with a nod of my head I rise from the table. Myra and Edward both nod before returning to their conversation. I take my time walking down the hallways to the training room, relishing the soft glow of the lights and the quiet and dulled sounds that echo through the hallway.

Upon finally entering the room, I am mildly surprised to find myself to be the only person here. There is a table at the entrance with a collection of what appears to be throwing knives neatly lined across the top. Across the room are several targets, lined up against the back wall with another larger target on a stand slightly separate from the line of targets. It is much akin to our lesson on guns, and I can feel my hand twitch, knowing that my hand will likely ache by the end of this lesson. Luckily throwing knives shouldn't hurt as much as the recoil of a gun.

Curious, I approach the knives, hovering a hand over as I contemplate picking one up to examine it before coming to the conclusion that I might be in a fair bit of trouble if I mess something up. Instead I examine them while they lie on the table, noting that the edges seem too fresh and sharp for them to be dulled for practice. I don't know why I would anticipate dulled knives in Dauntless, but I can't stop the thought that it is almost certain for someone to get hurt. If not from ignorance, then simply from clumsiness, though on the other hand I guess the danger could still be the same even with a dulled knife. But someone dropping one of these knives wrong, with the sharp point and seemingly weighted handles, would almost assuredly end with the knife piercing a foot quite gruesomely.

As I straighten up and back away from the table someone strides into the room, startling me further from the table. Eric also seems startled as he quickly looks over, but he seems to relax a bit realizing it's only me. The tension that still holds his posture reminds me of the day before, and the loss seems to be bothering him a lot, so I already mentally prepare myself for a more brutal training and more criticism than I would normally expect from a training session, not only for myself but also for the others. While I do my best to avoid being too invested in the others, as I know that we won't all make it, there is a camaraderie that can't really be avoided, and listening to each of the others get berated can be bothering long-term.

There is tense silence for a moment as the two of us stare each other, and I am not entirely sure if I am supposed to say something, leave, or something else entirely. As the discomfort grows, my eyes dart around the room and I lower my head. As I start to turn to head somewhere, though exactly where I even plan to head is beyond me, Eric clears his throat and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a quiet whistle at the end. I find myself rooted in place immediately, my eyes finding Eric's as I wait for whatever it is he plans to say.

"Why are you here so early initiate?"

My brain takes several moments to truly process the question. I am reminded of the first day of training, in between sessions when Eric found me at the edge above the Pit. One of the first casual interactions I had ever had, and with a leader of Dauntless. And while he had been kind, and engaged in something akin to small talk, I still find myself startled by such a question, said in a tone that would indicate no malicious intent, no waiting for a chance to get out a jab. Simply an inquiry. Something neutral when it is obvious he is still seething.

"I see no reason to wait in the dining hall."

"You could use the opportunity to make friends here," he offers, but his expression has changed slightly. There is something akin to appraisal on his face. And though I don't really mean to, I find myself tensing. My arms cross and my weight shifts to the center, a stable stance, a comfortable stance.

"I get along well enough with the others as it is."

"You hold everyone at a distance more than anyone I have ever seen. What are you afraid of?"

My eyes narrow, and my jaw begins to hurt with how tightly I clench my teeth. My stomach is turning and my skin starts to chill, though my palms feel sweaty already. And I am honestly unsure what has me so unsettled, but Eric is watching closely and I don't doubt for a moment that he has noticed at least a few of the tells of my spiking anxiety. I realize my best option is distract him. And so I take a breath into my chest and hold it, letting it bust some of the tension away.

"Who says fear has anything to do with it? With the training I don't have the energy to spare on people that aren't guaranteed to be here in a few weeks. Why waste the time and energy?"

Eric slowly wanders over to the knives, standing in front of me. He picks one up, rotating it in his hand before holding it steady and running a thumb against the edge, testing the sharpness. And immediately I am conflicted between standing my ground and fleeing to the far side of the room. And as much as I shun Four's advice and guidance, the small part of me that still hides in the back of my mind, the part that still looks at him and sees the older brother I idolized from my childhood, still clings to his words. And his words come whispering back to me.

You can't trust anyone in leadership here.

And I can't tell what to trust. Because Eric, while manipulative and frightening and threatening in some of the worst ways leaders can be, has yet to show me a reason to not trust him here. But, as much as I may hold Four at a distance, I still want to trust him. I still want to believe that some part of him is trying to protect me. And if I pause and allow the silence to linger for a moment, I still see my older brother when I look at him; I look at Four and see Tobias and the horrors that we protected each other from. I want to believe that in spite of whatever one might consider our relationship now, Tobias is still working to keep me safe and protect me from the dangers I may face. But for the life of me, I can't tell what it is specifically this time.

"Dauntless is a very isolated place," Eric's voice cuts through finally, "which is ironic considering how we act like our faction is our family."

He turns his head slightly, angling his face in my direction with the knife still in hand, finger resting against the edge.

"You can't really be sure you will make it through the next test, the next challenge, the next fight. We don't know we will make it tomorrow. We are fighting to make it to the top. You can convince yourself not to have any attachments to anyone here, and honestly? Most people do. Secrets run shallow here, because you have no one to tell. Your fellow initiates, your class, are likely going to be the people you are closest to here, because you at least have one shared experience that is sheltered by your shared ignorance for a while. Don't waste that Kat."

And I am left speechless. What exactly am I expected to say to that? Such a candid statement, especially one that reveals such isolation and arguable weakness has me stunned. And while I have largely trained myself to mask my feelings and emotions, I am sure there must be something that registers on my face. But Eric seemingly chooses to ignore it as he gently places the knife back on the table. There are some slower footsteps echoing down the hallway, and so I know it is only a matter of minutes before some of the others make their way into the room, and so I head back towards the entrance, assuming the interaction to be over. But I am caught by Eric as I make my way past, his hands cold on my arm.

"Four is your brother. It took me too long to connect the dots."

When I look at Eric, he is the one who is masked, expression cold and shallow. And while it is a simple observation, one that as he mentioned should have been fairly easy to distinguish, I am annoyed by the statement. And it takes just a moment to truly process why I am so bothered.

"If that fact changes the way that you interact with me, or changes your view of me as an initiate, know that I will take that as a personal insult. I don't need your pity, and Four is more than well aware that I despise coddling or favoritism. So rest assured I am not relying on any connection to succeed. I am more than capable of achieving success on my own merit."

The corners of Eric's mouth twitch, and for a tense second there is silence where Eric's hand tightens around my arm. And then a swift exhale escapes his nose, and he shakes his head. His hand releases my arm, and he straightens, though at the sound of the footsteps right near the door, his posture stiffens. But just as I am barely within earshot of his soft voice, Eric makes a final statement.

"Oh believe me, the thought never crossed my mind. I'm not blind, I've seen the way you interact. But don't make me remind you again, watch how you interact with your superiors."

It is Edward and Myra first, followed by Peter and his cronies that enter the room, making a large amount of noise the moment they cross the threshold of the room. And it is hard to believe that this many people were just in the hallway considering the change in noise. The chatter quickly dies however, as people notice Eric standing stiffly on the opposite side of the room again, a sour expression on his face. The others slowly enter as well, with less commotion than the initial crew, noticing the dark cloud brewing at the other end of the room. He migrates to the center when Four comes in, keeping a fair distance between the two. And while it is unlikely that the two would have a confrontation in front of us, I can't help but shift my weight nervously in the few minutes before training begins.

"Tomorrow is the final day of this first round of initiation, which also means tomorrow will be the last day for some of you. We will continue fighting tomorrow, but today we will be doing target practice. Take three knives, and watch as Four gives a demonstration."

Even though Eric gave the order, it is like we are glued to our spots. No one moves, but instead stands without a twitch, eyes on Eric as if waiting for him to say something else. And he grants that, but not in a way we wanted.

"Now!"

It cuts through us, and several of the others jolt. We make our way to the table, picking up three knives. Some take more care than others, taking a moment to adjust to the weight in their palms. And while we should be fairly used to handling weapons, some of the others seem uncomfortable with the feeling of the knife handle, having gotten used to the weight and shape of the guns we used before.

Some of the others are whispering to each other, casting nervous glances to Eric who is still brooding at the far wall. And while I am sure he feels the stares, he chooses to ignore them, instead keeping his eyes trained as Four paces in front of the wall of targets. And Four must also feel the tension and poison in the air, as Eric continues to glare at Four's back. But he never addresses the stares, and comes to a stop facing a target, twisting the knife in his hand before shifting his stance and taking aim. The knife leaves his hand in an arc, and spins end over end before embedding deep into the target with a dull thud. There is a breath before Four repeats the action a few more times, each knife landing in the middle circle, though at different points. Four's posture is consistent, and his releases seems identical every time. I map out the action in my mind, trying to analyze as much as I can to best implement the action for myself.

And without much hesitation, we are told to head to a target and start our own practice. And as soon as we have lined up, some people begin immediately throwing while others take a moment to evaluate. And the thuds of knives hitting the target provides a steady hum of background noise that is both grounding, but also mildly distracting as I try and focus on my posture and movement. The staccato of Eric and Four's footsteps pacing behind us is also mildly distracting, but I close my eyes, take a breath and try to simply focus on the weight of the knife in my hand and how the weight shifts as I rotate it to throw it. It takes a few minutes to truly adjust, as the knife is so different from the gun, and honestly I am still not entirely adjusted to holding weapons in general. At least with fist-fighting, my body was something I was used to. At different points, I went through the motions of throwing the knife without the actual release and kept my eyes closed to truly feel the experience, but I was caught off-guard two separate times as Eric and Four each stopped behind me to watch. When I open my eyes, I glance down the line and see Tris taking a similar approach, but whereas I am being left alone with Edward and Will on either side of me too focused on their own targets, Tris seems to be having trouble with Peter and his jibes.

But I see her do her best to ignore him, and when she finally throws it hits the target, though it doesn't actually stick. I turn back to my own target, I don't have the time to waste worrying about her. Based on what I've seen thus far, Tris is more capable of handling herself than I have been giving her credit for. Taking a final breath the steel my nerves, I point the knife at the target, aim and finally throw my knife. It hits the target at the edge of the outer ring and the tip barely sticks into the target, but what matters is that it sticks.

Slowly others start to make progress as well, and steadily the others targets along the line are adorned with knives. And there is a rhythm building as we throw, hit the target, then pause as we all head to the target to retrieve our knives and then the cycle repeats. However, after several cycles, Al still had not managed to hit the target, and Eric is slowly bristling with every throw he misses. Eventually, Eric pauses and waits behind Al, watching only him as Four keeps an eye on Eric.

And in a manner of minutes, Eric is snarling at Al. And while Al tries to ignore him, which is a dangerous move but also probably the best option. But when Al throws again and misses by an even larger margin, Eric is growing even quieter and the tension along the entire line is rising as the attention moves to solely being on Al. But the discomfort leads me to try and tune it out and I try and continue my throwing, and others try to do the same. But it all stops when Eric's voice cuts through.

"Go get it."

And we all pause. But Eric turns to look at us all, as we wait to see what is happening.

"Did I tell you all to stop?" His voice is quiet and controlled, and for once I am terrified. Eric knows exactly what he is doing, he knows exactly what he is putting Al through, and he is ready to watch Al get injured to teach him a lesson. And again, I am reminded of just how dangerous the man is. No one wants to be on his bad side, and anything even mildly similar to a challenge should be avoided. So everyone slowly turns back to their target and the throwing begins again. Eric turns back to Al, who looks somehow both indignant and terrified. I am attempting to keep and eye on the interaction out of the corner of my eye, and the others seem to be doing so as well.

"Get it? With everyone throwing?"

"Yes." There is no room for misinterpretation in Eric's short answer. And if Al has any sense of self-preservation then he will do as Eric says, because as much as walking into the line of fire may be a dangerous action, at least that might earn him some respect or at least some leniency. But instead what follows can only be a lapse of judgement on Al's part. And with every word that leaves his mouth, the tension in the room rises exponentially and I can see the others flinching.

"But they're still throwing."

"Your point?"

"I don't want to get hit."

"Well unlike you, your fellow initiates seem capable of actually hitting the target. Now go."

"No."

There are quiet gasps and one or two knives miss their target almost as if following a cue, though it is almost assuredly due to the shock causing people to lose form. Eric's demeanor is icy when he leans even closer into Al's face. There is a deadly silence only broken by the occasional thud of a knife against a target. And the voice that follows is silent but pierces the room far more cleanly than any weapon we've seen thus far.

"Are you afraid?"

"Of getting stabbed? Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am."

I had heard rumors of what happened to Christina when she admitted defeat in the ring earlier. And that wasn't for an outright admittance of fear.

"Everyone stop!" Eric didn't really need to shout. There was a hush over the group already, but Eric's mood is not one for cutting anything short, and everyone seems to agree as no one says anything. Throwing ceases and many people lower their arms. Someone down the line goes so far as to drop their knife to the floor. Eric glances in that direction but otherwise doesn't acknowledge.

"Everyone out, except you," he directs the last part at Al, and there is a quick scramble as everyone tries to follow the directive, though there are a few who hesitate with nervous glances to Al. And once everyone is clear of the ring, and in turn clear from Eric's fury at least for the moment, there is a buzz. While some are nervous, any people are glancing between Eric and Al, bouncing on their feet awaiting what is going to happen. And there is already a sheen building on Al's steadily paling skin. While he is still putting on a brave face, his façade is shallow and his nerves are coming to the surface.

"Go to the target."

There is a moment where Al seems glued in place, but it doesn't last long. While he is likely scared of what is to come, he gains nothing by upsetting Eric any more. Instead he does as told, walking slowly to the target and turning to face us, clenching and unclenching his hands in a comforting motion I have seen too frequently from another person, someone who is standing off to the side, watching while fiddling with a knife in his hands.

"Hey Four," Eric calls to him and his jaw sets even harder, "Care to give me a hand?"

While Four makes his way over to Eric, Eric turns to face Al who is still nervously watching from the targets.

"You're going to stand there in front of those targets until you are brave enough not to flinch."

Four continues to play with the knife in his hand, eyes flicking up to watch Eric and then Al. And he has yet to lose the tension tightening his posture. After a pause of silence, Eric glances at Four waiting for him to start.

"Is this really necessary?" There is control in Four's tone, and he is trying to make himself seem nonconfrontational and uninvested, but it doesn't work. Eric is already worked up. Eric has been wired with nerves and tension from the moment everyone walked in the door, and Four always seems to bring out the absolute worst in him, for reasons I can't even pretend to know. Eric closes the short distance between them and leans in close, Four leaning back slightly in response and that seems to bring some satisfaction for Eric. Something is spit out from Eric's lips, too quiet for me to hear from across the room, but it is obvious by the way that Four's face flushes that it wasn't a pleasant exchange. There is no hesitation now as Four turns to face Al without another word. Eric's mouth twists into something that isn't quite a grin and walks back to his original position before also turning to face Al. And like that is the queue, everyone in the room turns to look at the largest initiate, and in this moment while he is doing his best to look brave and valiant, I can't help but realize just how small he seems. The pale pallor of his skin and the sweat starting to bead on his brow catch the light, and the way his shoulders slump just enough to show him curling into himself.

And his eyes are just so young. So young and timid and naïve and my chest hurts. Because as bitter as I am that there are people who can afford to be soft and unbroken, bitter that someone else got to experience what I wanted and craved all my life, that doesn't mean I want that ripped away. Not like this. But I am consumed with the conflict of knowing what to do. Am I coward to sit back and say nothing? Is it cowardice? Compliance? But I am saved from my dilemma when someone else calls out.

"Stop."

A gasp rips through the crowd and gazes turn to Tris, who has a twisted set to her face. A quick glance to Eric and Four show two vastly different reactions. Four looks both irked and nervous, but Eric looks somehow both contained and furious. It is obvious that Tris has about a minute to explain before Eric rips her to pieces.

"It doesn't take much to stand in front of a target. It proves nothing except that you're a bully. And, if I'm correct, that is a sign of cowardice."

There is absolute silence. A deadness fills the air before it ripples to life and a mean smirk pulls at Eric's face. A quiet scoff leaves him as his eyes squint.

"Then it should be no problem for you to take his place."

Again there is nothing, but after a pause Tris moves, making her way to the board and towards Al. Al's face has regained some color, but a furrow has settled between his brows. Whispers follow Tris as she walks forward, but she doesn't seem to pay them any mind, solely focused on making it to her friend. When she reaches him, he seems to scramble for some reassurance or thanks, but Tris simply shakes her head and gestures for him to head back to Christina and the others.

Four's shoulders are held even more tightly, his jaw set in a way that looks like it might hurt.

"You flinch, Al is back. You understand?"

She doesn't reply aloud, only offering a stiff nod. There is barely a beat before Four is throwing the knife. I glance over at Eric who is watching with rapt attention, trying his hardest to catch her flinching. But there is some disappointment in his face when I hear the thud of the knife hitting the board. Looking back at Tris, her eyes are closed and while she seems steady, there is a quiver to her breathing.

"You done Stiff?"

While it may come off as demeaning or taunting to others, there is genuine concern in Four's voice. And I find myself hoping that Tris will take the mercy he is offering, though I know Eric would not hesitate to leap at the opportunity to call Tris a coward.

"No."

Of course Tris wouldn't take the chance. It seems that when she is committed, she will not back down. And again I find myself realizing that I have underestimated her, and I must come to terms with the reality that I know little to nothing about the small girl in front of me.

"Eyes open then," he says with a tap between his brows. And I realize this isn't an interaction for us to hear. His goal is to get Tris to focus solely on him. And so instead I turn my attention to Eric, to gauge what his reaction is. But it seems that after failing to see a flinch the first time, his attention has faded. And as the second and third knives fly, Eric seems less intrigued, though there is a look of appraisal as he glances between Four and Tris. However, suddenly, his eyes dart to the side and catch mine. Caught off-guard, I avert my gaze, but finding myself looking back only to find him still staring at me from the corner of his eye. His brow raises right as some gasps echo through the group and we both glance toward the front as blood drips down from Tris's ear.

Four had cut her. And a glance in his direction shows that it was likely on purpose. And from the grim set of his features, it was to teach her something, though exactly what, I can't be sure. Eric lets out a sigh, making his way to the front and clasping Tris on the shoulder, a smile on his face.

"As entertaining as this is to watch, I think we've had enough bravery for today."

After a short pause, Eric turns and strides out of the room without another word. The others slowly file out, and Tris is still standing in front of the target, hand at her ear still. Some of her friends are casting furtive glances at her while Four cleans some knives.

I don't know what consumes me, but I make my way up to Tris, and in an echo of Eric's actions from earlier, I place my hand on her shoulder. When she looks at me, I pause, unsure of what I could possibly say, and so I eventually settle on just offering a nod. There is some confusion at first, but after another moment her face settles and she offers a nod of her own and I turn and leave the room. And my thoughts are racing and yet make no sense. And while I can't pinpoint why, I can't shake the unsettled feeling in my gut. The timing was just right for the hallway to be mostly clear as I make my way to the dining hall, but as I pass a side hallway that I hadn't even noticed before, a voice calls out suddenly .

"Initiate."

Eric straightens up from where he was leaning against the wall. And I stand still for a moment, unsure what he is wanting. But after a silence that lingers for a moment too long, I realize he wants me to come to him, and so I walk over into the hallway. And while there is nothing inherently threatening about following him to the hallway, following the events that just occurred, I can't shake the level of unease as I stand across from Eric.

"Did you have something to say?"

I refuse to look him in the eye. There are too many things that have happened in the past few hours that resemble things that I don't care to remember. And so I stand in silence, staring at the wall just over Eric's shoulder. And while he has the patience to wait for a few minutes to see if I respond, eventually he lets out an irritated sigh.

"Speak initiate. I'm not going to read your mind."

And finally my fear abates for just a second and I find myself speaking without thinking too deep.

"What was the point?"

"Excuse me?"

This time I do look up. And while I prepare myself to see anger or irritation, I simply find intrigue. And here in this moment, the Eric that stands in front of me seems to different from the one in the training room. But for some reason that does not offer the reassurance I would hope for.

"What was the point of what happened? Why force an initiate to do that. Tris was right, it felt like bullying." I catch myself, realizing what I said could be taken as an accusation, "I'm just trying to understand."

Again I expect to see anger in his eyes, but instead there is a controlled calm to his features. He glances to the side, seemingly pondering his response, before turning back to me.

"He admitted cowardice, aloud. And if we let that pass, we are doing you all a disservice."

He pauses, glancing around my face to see if I am following. Clearly I am still not understanding.

"If you don't pass initiation, you are rejected and become one of the factionless. And the way you pass initiation is by proving your worth to the faction, by proving to us you are brave. We don't have the space or the patience to tolerate someone who is willing to admit that they don't belong here. And the Stiff needs to realize that we have a certain way of doing things here. We have leadership for a reason. This isn't like Abnegation, leadership is earned and respected here. The decisions we make as leadership are to be respected."

And while I understand what he's saying, I still can't completely shake the feeling in my gut. But it makes sense, and I can't deny that Four's persistent warnings have led me to being more skeptical than I may have the right to be. A warm weight settles on my shoulder and I look up, realizing my brows are furrowed. And when I look at Eric, I am caught off-guard by just how soft his expression is, for just a moment.

"Kat. I don't know what exactly has you so unsettled, but you're safe here. Our ways seem archaic, and at times we make choices that seem barbaric, but you're safe here. I plan to make sure of that."

I can't help but trust him, though only to a certain extent. But his reassurance, when combined with how earnest he seems, calms me. I offer a nod that has his shoulders lowering a bit, releasing some tension that I didn't know was there. I'm not sure why he seems so invested, but I can't deny that I am grateful.

"Thank you," I whisper, and his grip on my shoulder tightens for a moment before releasing. And he begins to walk past me, down the hallway to I don't know where. And I stand in silence, listening to his footsteps echoing away. But soon enough, other footsteps seem to get closer and as I go to leave the hallway, I am met with Four, who has a confused set to his face, which quickly twists to annoyance.

"What are you doing?"

"None of your business Four."

I go to walk past him and he reaches out to grab my arm to stop me. I try and rip my arm away, but a sound leaves his mouth that sounds hurt, and despite myself I turn around to look at him, and he looks so tired. And again, I am struck with just how young he looks. How haunted he looks. And I finally am willing to acknowledge how hurt and alone he looks.

"Listen," he looks up as I speak, "I don't want to talk right now. But, visiting day is soon. We can talk then. I promise."

The flurry of emotions that cross Four's face is exhausting before it finally settles on relief, and I am filled with guilt, knowing that my pushing him away all this time has been eating at him. But I also can't deny the anger that has festered in me. But that is unfair to him, and I am realizing that I can't just keep going about blindly listening. I need to understand on my own. And I can't deny, that part of me that lingers at the core of my being that still sees her brother in the shadow of him before me, craves to spend a day with my brother. And so when he nods, I return it and stride down the hallway.

Howdy y'all! Quick thank you is in order for you all staying with the story, even with my infrequent and rather chaotic uploading schedule. I cannot express enough just how grateful I am. And I can only hope that the few uploads I do make are even a fraction of the level that you all could hope for. So thank you for sticking with me.

Some dialogue is pulled directly from the source, some is changed slightly. I am trying to stay true to the source material, but also wanting to make it true to Kat and also not completely plagiarize. And I also want to say that if Eric seems OOC, a part is because in the original series Eric is portrayed as something of a flat character, but also because I want to make it less unpleasant for Kat to be close to him, what with her history of unsavory male figures. And that is a topic that I hope to delve into deeper in the future, and flesh out. So I hope you all continue to stick with me! Thanks for reading and I hope you all are doing great! Stay Fierce!

~ChildOfLupus