I had a great time in London. We saw Hadestown (I had my heart ripped out and I cried for three hours), ate great food, saw friends, had a nice time. I'll be back before long...

I am also *drumroll please* early! It's been a while hahaha. I've been working my butt off to make sure I could bring you this chapter today! Also, thank you everyone for your awesome comments on the last chapter! I still need to reply to them x

This is a chapter I know a lot of you have been waiting for.

Enjoy xx

.

.

.

.

.

Anya couldn't remember when she fell to her knees, when she lost all sense of herself.

Anya gasped exactly once before her body shut down completely, and everything around her was gone. Her physical senses had shut her out, and Anya fell away from the light, away from the horrible sensations of nausea and breathlessness, away from the multitude of voices asking her if she was all right, does she need any help, do they need to get a teacher -

No.

Something dark crawled out of her heart, a formless entity of smoke and ash and pure terror, and it swirled around her. The air crackled with static electricity.

All the faces from her nightmares flashed in her mind, their eyes all looking at her in pure fear as they realised what she was.

There was no command given, only instinct in its rawest form: the instinct of survival and self-preservation. It was a command of the utmost authority, the ultimate self-defence in a defenceless state.

Panic and fear bubbled upwards and outwards in a rapid burst, breaking out of her like an obsidian supernova. Black tendrils of fear found the closest minds and closed around them, submerging them alongside her.

If she wasn't already a slave to her own fear, it would have terrified her to know how easy it was.

The storm clouds thundered at her. Voices tore at her mind; a cruel laugh that she hadn't heard since her childhood; a threat from the greatest evil she had ever known; the disparaging remarks from a caretaker; her own thoughts and fears haunted her, pressing down on her, and Anya couldn't move from the fear of it.

How long had she been like this? It must have been hours, months, years. It was supposed to protect her, it was supposed to keep her alive, but it was beyond anything she had ever imagined, to the point that she could neither control nor stop it.

On and on, it continued around her, with no respite in sight.

Please.

Her voice disappeared into the void, like smoke on the wind.

Someone help me.

Their cries echoed like voices of the dead.

What's happening to me?

Somebody, help!

Make it stop… please…

All the while, the embodiments of Anya's own fear clawed at her, a sickening twist from how the storm was supposed to protect her - because if it could take down the people around her, the potential threats, then no-one could hurt her. Even if it paralysed her in the process, too.

This… storm. This power, this fear… it was all hers.

The only question was: how to stop it?

She didn't have the answer.

A flicker of… something.

Anya.

The swirling slowed, as if it was listening. Connected to her senses, somehow. The voice sounded urgent, as though it was focused only on her. They only said one word, but there was a softness to the tone that made her heart ache. She wanted to hear that voice again.

Anya, listen to me.

Something pricked at her senses. A familiar scent that she wanted nothing more than to fall into.

It's going to be okay.

The smell of cinnamon wrapped around her, its heady warmth lulling her to a sense of safety. Cinnamon… and library books. She imagined it was the smell of being in a library on a sunny day. It was the smell of the sun's rays breaking through the clouds, and being wrapped in the comfort of it all.

You can let go now.

It was the smell of home.

Yes, that must be it. She was home. She was safe now…

A sensation of being picked up, of being carried. Swaying.

I don't know what to make of you, Forger.

She couldn't tell who the voice belonged to.

But I promised Boss I would help, so…

Oh, good. They weren't dangerous. She didn't have to wake up.

Something crushed into her lungs, and Anya's eyes flashed open.

"Hurk-"

"Yor, give her some space! She's waking up!"

Anya groaned, blinking against the lights above her.

"Mama?"

The arms around her trembled, and squeezed her even tighter.

"I'm so glad you're safe!" her mother cried into her. "We were so worried…"

Fatigue pained her, but Anya managed to return her mother's embrace, and found that she, too, could not stop her trembling.

"Mama…" It came out as a whimper, before she sniffed, and suddenly the tears came pouring out. "I was so scared…"

"I know darling, I know," Yor murmured, gently stroking Anya's hair. "It's all right, don't worry. We're going to take you home."

Home.

Anya's heart ached, though she didn't know why.

"The school called us," said Loid. He leaned forward from his chair, and held Anya's hand, gently prising her fingers from the fabric of Yor's jacket. "They told us what happened."

"They did?" Anya wondered, genuinely puzzled. Her memories were a fog, but there's no way the school could have known…

"You'll be glad to know that they managed to evacuate the building, and locate the gas leak. It's been fixed, but they said that you and everyone else here can go home and rest while the effects wear off."

Oh, Anya froze. They don't know.

They didn't know that it was all because of her. They didn't know how her power had completely taken over her, that she lost control…

Wait.

Anya's brow furrowed.

Everyone else?

Anya turned her head slowly, afraid of what she would see - and her heart stopped.

Students occupied every bed in the school infirmary, and around them, their families stood in various states of distress.

"I really thought-" one girl hiccupped. "I really thought it was real! I felt so awful! It was like I was trapped in my worst nightmares…"

Her mother soothed her. "Shh, my dear. It's all right now. Everything's all right…"

Anya's chest tightened at the family on the bed next to hers, but if she listened further, she would realise that many of the beds in the infirmary were having the exact same conversation.

Oh, no. No no no.

"This is my fault," Anya whispered as the tears continued to fall.

Yor was quick to rebuke her. "Of course it's not your fault!" she said, and moved to sit in her own chair, although she kept a hold of Anya's other hand. "How could it be? Gas leaks can happen anywhere."

Anya turned back to her parents, the guilt burning in her eyes.

"Mama, Papa," she croaked, struggling to hold back her tears. "It wasn't a gas leak."

Loid's hand tightened on hers in sudden and frightened understanding, and he lowered his voice, quiet enough so that only the three of them could hear it: "We'll talk about this later." Then, he squeezed Anya's hand a final time, and returned to his normal speaking volume. "Go back to sleep, Anya. We'll take you home, so you just get some rest, okay?"

Anya nodded wordlessly, her eyes closing of their own accord.

After showing no signs of waking up, Loid agreed to carry Anya to the car, while Yor took her school bags. Perhaps old habits died hard, because even though Yor was more than capable of carrying her own daughter, they both knew without discussing it that it would look a little suspicious.

Yor walked in step behind her husband, somewhat lost in thought. She was worried about what happened to Anya, of course she was, and at the same time, Yor couldn't help but wonder how much of the day's events were a long time coming.

Anya had been miserable for days, ever since she and Damian had their argument, and from what she could see, it wasn't getting any better. At home, Anya could barely focus on her homework, she barely ate, and even worse, she stayed inside her room all the time, even when Loid tried to tempt her with hot chocolate, or when Spy Wars aired on the television. Bond had not left her side the entire time, and he stayed close enough to lick the tears off her face whenever Anya thought that Yor wasn't looking.

In short, Yor wanted to help, but she had no idea how.

That is, until she sensed a presence, watching her. Watching them.

Without turning her head too obviously, Yor surreptitiously scanned the surrounding area for any trace of bloodlust, opening up her senses, but there was nothing.

Well, maybe it wasn't bloodlust. Maybe it was something else.

Yor relaxed, concentrating on her detection skills, and she very quickly located the presence.

There! She felt that familiar rush of victory, and inclined her head ever-so-slightly so that she could see him from the corner of her eye.

He had been trying to hide himself behind one of the school's pillars, but Damian would have known better than to think he could hide from her. He likely understood that Yor would have already sensed him, but she knew how prideful he could be, and she pretended to look at the surrounding buildings while she noted him in her periphery.

The pillar did not hide his presence any more than it could hide any one of her targets, but seeing him there gave rise to a small hope in Yor's heart.

It was only from afar, but he was clearly looking to check on Anya's condition, to make sure she was safe, and if he still cared about her enough to do that, then maybe…

An idea came to Yor, then, and she hurried after her family, finally relieved that there was something she could do after all.

Yor Forger threw back her shoulders in an attempt to at least look a bit more composed, like she didn't have a hidden purpose for being there. Inside, her heart hammered in her chest, and her palms had become rather clammy, but she tried to put it out of her mind. She hadn't exactly told Anya or Loid where she was heading, but with a telepath for a daughter and a spy for a husband, Yor wondered if they had figured her out. If they had, it wouldn't be a problem, but she had hoped for a little privacy…

"Are you sure he is in? Maybe I can come back later…"

The matron of the Cecile Hall Boys' Dormitory waved her hand with a smile, as if to swat Yor's concern away.

"As I said, that boy hasn't left this building in over a week. I'm sure he'll be happy to have a visitor!"

The matron said the next part under her breath, but of course, an assassin's hearing is second-to-none, and Yor caught the embittered words:

"It's not as though they would see their own son..."

Yor pretended she didn't hear it, and she let herself be led by the matron, all the while trying to calm her nerves. It was strange. She knew that she didn't have to feel so nervous - didn't she and Damian have a good relationship, after all? After so many self-defence lessons, so many times having him over for dinner, so many times welcoming him into her home, Yor knew that Damian held her in positive regard. He had even stayed with them over the Christmas period, and they gave him his own room to stay, asking nothing in return. He was practically part of the family.

But.

Damian's place in her family was on rocky ground. He and Anya had come to an impossible impasse. From what Yor could tell, both Anya and Damian had every right to feel broken hearted for their own reasons, and while she did not want to acknowledge it, Damian certainly had every right to want to step away from the Forger's for a little while. It hurt her heart to think that Loid's actions over the last twelve years had led to this, and while she knew that the outcome was somewhat inevitable, she had hoped that there was a peaceful way through it all.

Yor also could not forget what Loid had shared with her: the results of what he had learned from all of his covert assessments on Damian, including the breakdown after his parents didn't come to his Imperial Scholar ceremony. It was horrifying to think about, and Yor hoped that this time, there was some way that she could help.

A knocking sound brought Yor back to the present.

"Damian! You have a visitor!"

A shuffling sound behind the door, along with a muffled groan. In the corner of Yor's eye, she also caught the bright yellow sign of the room next door, which said 'closed for repair'.

The matron walked away, leaving Yor by herself, and it wasn't long before a very dishevelled teenage boy opened the door, rubbing his eyes. Yor noticed that the bandages on his arm had been removed, and she tried not to stare at the shallow lines that had scabbed all over his skin.

When his eyes landed on Yor, he stilled in surprise.

"Mrs Forger? What are you doing here?"

It made sense that he wasn't expecting her, since she didn't call ahead and arrange a time like she usually did, but it gave Yor a better opportunity to see how Damian was really doing. One side of his hair stuck out at odd angles, likely from lying on his side for too long, and his eyes had sunk into two dark circles. When was the last time he slept, or ate? She wondered, trying not to let the worry show on her face.

Embarrassed at her sudden appearance, he tried to obstruct the view of the doorway, but beyond him, Yor could see the mess that was his room: clothes littered the floor, and books and papers spilled over the desk, with some islands of paper contained on his bed and windowsill. Knowing him, they were likely his assignments, or the notes for his press conference. Some pen marks decorated his chin, and Yor remembered the times he would be chewing his pen at her dining room table, focused on the essay questions in front of him. She wondered just how much he was studying and working to distract himself from the outside world, and just how long it had been since he left his room, if the closed curtains and stuffy air were anything to go by.

Maybe she should have come sooner. Yor had hoped that a week was enough time for his injuries to start the healing process and be less of a risk, in which case, she had a good excuse to use to try to talk to him.

Speaking of…

Right. This was what she came here for. Yor took a deep breath, and gave Damian her best smile.

"It's time for your self-defence lesson!"

"Ehh?" Damian whined, not impressed. "It's been… over a month…"

"Exactly!" Yor interrupted, trying to put as much energy into her voice as possible. She needed Damian to believe that she had no ulterior motives. "You need to brush up on your skills! It only takes a few weeks for your body to start forgetting what it has learned!"

He gave her a sardonic look that said something along the lines of 'as if I would believe that' .

"Right… and your visit has nothing to do with my fight with Anya?"

"Nope!" Yor said cheerfully.

"Fine," he sighed in resignation, and cast her one more suspicious glance. "Let me just get dressed."

"Strike!" Yor shouted, and her fist hurtled towards Damian's face.

It was too fast, and on instinct, Damian bent backwards, hoping to evade the impact of her punch, but then her legs were moving, and Damian barely flattened himself in time to avoid her vicious kick.

"Being on the floor puts you at a disadvantage," Yor said sternly, but she did not stop her movements, and Damian rolled himself into a crouch, doing his absolute best to dodge every attack.

I can't even block a single one! He panicked.

It had only been a month since their last lesson, and already he had forgotten how fast she was, and seeing the force of her attacks moving through the air awakened his survival instincts to run, hide, survive . His body moved without his conscious input, aware that any attempt to block Yor's attacks would only leave him bruised and sore, with avoiding the attacks being the only safe option.

He leapt back onto his feet, and jumped up when Yor swept out her leg in a low kick.

"You can't evade forever," she noted calmly, and spun round with her arm raised, another punch incoming.

"Strike!" she shouted again, but this time, Damian had seen it coming, had known where Yor aimed, and diverted her strike away with his forearm, batting it away with all his strength, gritting his teeth against the impact.

Well, the impact could have been a lot worse. Yor's training was ruthless, even though she didn't use her full strength against Damian (a fact he was forever grateful for), and yet it was a challenge to dodge and block her attacks. Damian put so much energy into dodging and blocking, that he hadn't even managed to land a single hit.

A flame roared inside him, one that only grew with every missed punch, every block, every dodge, and as he continued to push every single muscle in his body beyond their limits, he felt himself getting angrier and angrier. Adrenaline fuelled his body, and his mind, and the anger only grew.

It didn't escape Yor's notice. His attacks had gotten faster, and even though he had not yet landed one on her, Yor had to draw more strength to divert his increasing attacks. Not only that, but he had been putting more power behind his punches - she could feel the adrenaline in the air, and noticed it in the way that Damian had been solidifying his stances before each hit.

He's been keeping all this anger in, she noted sadly, blocking another punch with the back of her hand.

Yor knew from experience that it was possible to have conversations without words. The quiet and fond looks between a married couple, the unsaid agreements in a family - with practice, and by knowing a person, it was easy to understand the unspoken signals between close friends and family.

She also knew that it was possible to have a conversation through fists, whether it was through a friendly spar, or a life-threatening fight, or a training session, and Yor had spent a lot of time training Damian since their first session a few months ago. He was a good student, listening to everything that she said, and noticing even the unspoken directions that she would give him. They had even had a few training sessions where both of them spoke very few words, only focusing on the fight and the forms.

At that moment, every part of him was more tense than she had ever seen him, and it worried her. His fists were fuelled by a rage that had spent too long in containment, but his attacks were precise, not blinded by the anger, but guided with a laser focus that any trained soldier knew to fear. When she parried yet another incoming blow from him, she swept her gaze over his stance. It was solid, grounded. He had clearly been practising in his spare time, probably using the videos that she gave him at Christmas.

It was good that she arrived when she did then. Who knows what would have happened if she didn't give him an outlet for his anger, and if he allowed it to fester, not recognising it at all.

"It's okay to be angry," Yor said quietly, unthinkingly, and Damian stumbled on his attempted kick.

"Wha-" Damian took an instant to fix his footing, before looking up at Yor with widened eyes. "I'm not-"

He took a shaking step backwards, arms raised in his fighting stance, clearly expecting her to use that distraction to launch another attack.

Yor sighed, and lowered her arms, signalling to Damian to relax a little, and that it was time to catch his breath. She knew how to control each breath with every attack so that she conserved as much energy as possible, but Damian had not sparred as often as her, and his entire body shook as he fought to regain his breath.

"How-" He tried again. "I wasn't-"

Damian opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to think of what to say, and looking so panicked that she almost regretted bringing it up. Perhaps Damian needed more time. At that moment, Yor had a thought of what to do.

A conversation through action, indeed.

She raised her fists and narrowed her eyes. "Again."

This time, Damian was quicker to get into position, and he reacted faster to her moves, but Yor was faster too. She drew on a little more energy within herself, pushing Damian just a little further, and it wasn't long before they had begun to spar in earnest.

The tang of adrenaline stung Yor's throat, and she breathed it in, trying to understand a little more of what Damian was unable to say out loud. There was anger, yes, but there was so much more: a small drag of his feet, indicating the heavy burden of his sorrow, a slight mismatch between his gaze direction and his aim, showing his confusion, while the hesitation in his attacks betrayed the presence of an inner struggle. Yor could guess why, of course, since Anya had explained it all to herself and Loid.

If only Anya and Damian could talk it out, Yor thought to herself. Surely they could come to some kind of understanding…

At that moment, tension flooded Damian's entire body, and Yor could only blink as Damian's fist screamed towards her, faster than ever before.

She didn't have time to block it, but Yor reared back, surprised at his sudden hostility. She leaned into the momentum and flipped backwards into a new fighting stance slightly out of reach of his incoming assault.

And then he looked up at her, his jaw set and his eyes hard as flint.

"I can feel you holding out on me," he seethed. "What, exactly, are you trying to say?"

Did Yor mistake it, or was there a slight growl in his voice?

More importantly, did he just…

Yor's eyes widened in surprise.

Yes, he did. He was reading her. Like a real warrior. His lack of battle experience prevented him from understanding her completely through a fight, but clearly, they had sparred enough times that Damian had been learning how to read Yor's movements, too.

Pride swelled in her, and Yor adjusted her stance, and swept another kick at him.

"Have you and Anya talked?"

"No." He leapt above her kick, and pulled his arm back, intending to drive a blow on her from above, but Yor caught his wrist and threw him to the side.

Damian twisted in mid air and landed on his feet, using the force of the landing to push himself towards her once again.

Yor stayed silent, wondering if Damian would say anything else, but he only continued to launch himself at her with apparently single-minded focus. It was impressive that he had kept his concentration, and didn't look away from her even once, even though he was obviously under heavy mental stress. His movements hadn't slowed, nor did he allow himself to be distracted from his opponent, which worried her, because if he was able to focus on sparring, then that meant that he had shut away that part of himself, and still hadn't allowed himself to actually feel.

If she left it, how long would it be until he processed things on his own? And how could she help him to do that safely? What if Damian ended up releasing his pent up emotions - and hurting himself in the process again? The cuts on his arm had mostly healed, but Yor couldn't help but imagine how awful they must have looked when the wounds were freshly made. She couldn't risk letting himself get to that point again.

Well, if it was a push that he needed…

Yor darted towards Damian, her arm outstretched, her eyes locked on his, challenging him.

"You understand why, right?"

From the lightning flash of anger in his eyes, Yor knew that she didn't need to explain what she meant. He already knew. His face contorted into a snarl as he lunged towards her.

"Of course I understand!" Damian shouted, his anger instant and palpable. "I understand why she did it, I understand why she couldn't tell me, I understand why she couldn't do it differently!"

He twisted his body, lowered himself to avoid another of Yor's well-aimed punches.

"But it doesn't change anything!"

Whoosh! He lashed out from below with an uppercut - Yor caught his wrist and diverted him to the side.

"It doesn't change what she did!"

Bam! She caught a solid punch in the palm of her hand, but he used her grasp on his fist to pull her in, lunging towards her once again.

"It doesn't change the fact that she betrayed me! She lied to me! For years!"

Yor had stopped sending him attacks, only blocking and parrying. His teeth may have been gritted, his face twisted in anger, but Yor didn't miss the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, disappearing into the air.

"I understand everything!"

Tap.

Yor easily caught his punch in her hand, suddenly with no force behind it at all.

"But… it still…"

Damian leaned forward, using Yor's hold as support, and his eyes remained wide open as his tears fell freely to the floor.

"It hurts."

Yor didn't look away from him, but she relaxed her grip and the muscles in her arm, allowing Damian to move away if he wanted to.

"I understand, maybe more than anyone else, but it hurts so much."

Damian didn't move, and his voice became quieter and quieter, and Yor's chest tightened, her own eyes stinging in response to being a witness to his pain and despair, and suddenly it was like a dam had burst. With only a little pressure applied, Damian's resolve to stay silent had all but dried up, and his emotions came flooding out.

"Everyone wants me to stop being angry, because it's easier for her, for everyone, but, aren't I…" He swallowed thickly. "Aren't I allowed to be angry?"

Wide, golden eyes locked onto hers, shocked at the words coming out of his own mouth, like the sentiment had never occurred to him before.

"I matter too, right?" Damian continued. "Don't I?"

"Of course you matter, Damian. Don't ever forget that," said Yor softly, already heartbroken at the impossible emotions of the boy in front of her.

At her words, Damian released a long, shuddering breath, and she had the sudden but strong feeling that he had been waiting to hear those very words for a long time.

Yor wanted to say more, but she was almost speechless. Yes, she had visited with more than one purpose, but she had to admit, she hadn't expected Damian to be so vulnerable with her, and so soon. Only an hour had passed since the start of their sparring session, and already Damian had let her in. Perhaps he was more exhausted than he looked - or even more fragile than she thought.

His voice became very small:

"I don't… I don't know…what to do."

It was too much for Yor, and she threw both of her arms around him, pressing him to her in a crushing hug. His shoulders shook in her tight embrace, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides, obviously unsure of what to do with them, but he made no move to break away.

Yor's heart broke for him, again and again. In her arms was a boy who she had known since he was a small child, barely up to her knees. She had seen him grow, watching him from a distance through his on-and-off friendship with Anya. When she picked Anya up from school, she would greet him with a warm smile and ask him about his day, even though he was often too flustered to give an answer. When she saw him in the school on various Parent's Days - always alone - Yor made sure to congratulate him on his new achievements, and every time, he would rebuff her with a red face, muttering about how it 'wasn't a big deal'.

Now, Yor suspected that those moments mattered to him a great deal more than she knew, because despite the fact that his shoulders had broadened (when did that happen?), and that he had grown taller than her (how did she not notice?), it was abundantly clear that he was just a child disguised in an adult's body. Even though Damian was becoming a man, and was already an adult in the eyes of the law, and already held adult responsibilities - he was very much still just a boy.

The very thought made her want to cry.

He had allowed her to visit him, and take him to the school gymnasium, had allowed her to hold a self-defence lesson with him as though it were any normal day. Clearly, he wanted this. He wanted some semblance of normality, some element of his previous routine back - or perhaps he wanted something else, something that only Yor could give him.

For Yor, it wasn't even a question.

Yor reached up and stroked his hair. "It's alright, Damian," she said, as softly as she could manage. "I can't imagine how hard it must have been for you to hold in your pain, all this time. You've been so strong for such a long time. You are so strong, and I'm certain that you will find your own path."

"How?" he croaked. "What if…"

She heard his hesitation, and it wasn't difficult to imagine what fears plagued him. Yor kept her voice steady and firm, hoping that she sounded calm enough to help him feel calm, too. She let her tears fall alongside his, unashamed.

"It will be alright. Whatever you choose to do, I'm sure it will be the right decision for you, because it will be your choice, and no-one else's. And whatever your choice is, I will support you no matter what." She paused the movement of her hand on his head, wondering if she had perhaps said too much. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Damian nodded into her shoulder, and then he did something that made Yor stop breathing.

He hugged her back. Hesitantly, at first. Shaking hands rested on her shoulders, so light that she almost couldn't feel it, but he leaned into her slowly, until Yor supported most of his weight.

It was obvious from his uneven breathing that he struggled to hold his tears back, but she continued to hold him, knowing that he had no other options. After all, it wasn't as though he could seek any comfort from Loid, who had, however unintentionally, orchestrated this entire situation. And it wasn't like he could lean on his girlfriend for support, either, because she had a role to play in his heartbreak, too. Apart from them, the only other being that knew of the entire situation was Bond - and Yor suspected that he wouldn't be able to get through to Damian the way she knew that he needed.

So, it was up to Yor. Sometimes a conversation could take place without words, and she tried to communicate her feelings through touch alone, in the way that she held him secure as an anchor, as unmoving as a fortress, and with all the love of a mother.

.

.

.

.

.

.

I have been really looking forward to posting this chapter. And it's ironic, because Damian feels like everyone is expecting him to get over his anger quite soon - including us. This chapter is both a reminder to me, the writer, and you, the reader, that Damian's anger is earned and justified, and it is also inconvenient, and ugly, and time consuming, and it feels like a rebellion to give his anger the spotlight when I, too, want him to process it in a timeline that feels convenient for me.

So, this chapter is for Damian. For him to be inconvenient, and time consuming, and at the same time, exactly what he needs to start healing.

Song recommendation for this chapter:

"Breathe" by Lø Spirit - I consider this Damian's recovery song, honestly

For the first time EVER I'm not going to announce a date when you can expect the next chapter by. This part of the story is extremely complicated and I haven't quite worked out the details, so I know for a fact I will need more than 2 weeks, but I can't predict how long it will take. Maybe 3 or 4. Maybe something else will be published first, we'll see.

I also have a couple of personal projects I need to prioritise, so while I don't know yet when I can next post, I promise I AM working on it. I am doing my best to deliver this story to you, and all I ask for in return is your patience, and your support.

Thank you, and until next time ?