A/N: It's back.
I edited and tried to update the previous chapters. Nothing major changed, just written a bit better, and applied advice given by reviewers to make things clearer.
But FanFiction the website is unstable and wonky. I don't know what's happening. But it keeps reverting my updates to older versions randomly. It was doing the same with my profile.
If you go back to reread and you see a title in bold below the chapter number, that is the updated version. If not, that's the old version.
For example, Chapter 1 would be:
::I::
red, the first memory
If it doesn't have the chapter title beneath the Roman numeral, it's old.
I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do about this.
I wonder if anyone will even get a notification for this chapter? Or if it will let me update at all?
T_T I'm so sad. What's happened to this website?
Thanks for sticking around, if you have.
::XIX::
inborn fear
Fear.
She had always known it.
She was born with it.
Dexné remembered her biological mother huddled on the kitchen floor, back before that world had fallen and become Armageddon. Tears streamed down the face of the woman who Dexné resembled so much. She was breathing fast—too fast. Her hands were clutched in the fabric of her floral sundress, twisting just over her heart. She turned her face into the wall of the corner she was sitting in, gasping, shuddering.
How old was Dexné then? She must have been three or four years old. Her mother didn't know she was watching, observing with a little child's confusion—too confused to even know to be scared. Dexné didn't know how terrified her biological mother was, because why would she be? The sun was shining beyond the cotton curtains that flowed in tender breezes. The birds were singing their sweet songs just outside the windows. There was no man speaking of doom on the television—that had not come yet.
So, why?
Present-time Dexné wanted to know why her birth mother was so afraid. She wanted to know now far more than she ever did when she was so little and couldn't understand.
"Some dogs are like that," sighed a resigned voice somewhere in Dexné's mind. She recognized it—an old man's voice—but could not place a name. "They've suffered no abused, but something went wrong in the breeding process. They struck out and got a bad lot from their genetic pool. It's not their fault. They didn't get to choose their parents any more than they got to choose what genes they got."
"Can…" Dexné's voice. "Can the same thing happen…to humans?"
"Unfortunately, yes," replied the old man. Vaguely Dexné recalled gray hair and a bushy mustache. Who was he? He was…that's right, he was the owner of that animal facility in Radiant Garden. "People don't often plan who they fall in love with. They don't know what they'll pass on to their children. The same thing can happen."
Dexné's biological mother was a woman plagued by fear.
And she had passed that trait on to her daughter.
I can't breathe any faster, I can't breathe any faster—
I can't, I can't—I can't breathe—there's no oxygen in this air—why is it only affecting me—
They were heading to the cafeteria. Lea and Isa were walking in front of her, talking. She didn't know what about—she couldn't hear over her own thundering heartbeats. Why was her body in fight-or-flight? Where was the threat? Her black eyes darted all around the halls but found nothing she should be scared of. The rows of lockers stood motionless; no monsters were jumping out. The overhead lights were steady; nothing was flickering like they do in horror movies before something bad happens. She forced herself to walk normally, but it was getting harder to do. Her legs felt weak. Breathing normally, or trying to, was also becoming near impossible.
She was getting dizzy; she felt like she was going to faint.
What had they been talking about? What had she been thinking about? What had brought on this…this…
pAnIc
ₚₐₙᵢc
𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕔
Lea looked back over his shoulder at her. His eyes and smile were bright; he had been laughing at something Isa said. And if Dexné had been holding it all inside like she was supposed to be doing he wouldn't have noticed, but as it was the light of laughter faded, replaced by a bemused concern. "- - - -? You look really pale. You okay?"
Isa turned to look at her then, too. His green eyes were sharp, his brow furrowed. Another might have thought him angry, but at that point Dexné knew better. His eyes asked the question he didn't bother voicing.
What's wrong with you?
They didn't know Dexné had asked herself the same question thousands of times.
Mirron and Wilam loved her; they were the best parents anyone could ask for, the best people who could have adopted her. Lea and Isa were great friends; they cared about her. She had a warm home, healthy food, sturdy clothes.
Why was she like this?
An image of her birth mother flashed through her head: crying, gasping, hiding and huddled in a corner of the kitchen.
What's wrong with you?
She held her breath, clutched her books tightly to her chest. Her mind swam, but she forced herself to answer. "What? Nothing. I mean, yes. I'm fine. Thank you. How are you?" She spoke stiffly and awkwardly, but that was par for the course with her. She kept her voice light. Perhaps too light.
Both boys regarded her with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. They were different, present-time Dexné noted. They were getting taller; their hair was getting longer.
Dexné had known them for years, she realized in the present.
How long had they been friends before it all fell apart?
They were getting stronger, she could see in her memories. They didn't just play at fighting anymore with spiky frisbees and wooden claymores. Their building muscles showed their dedication to increasing their prowess—especially Isa.
Yes, they were getting stronger.
And Dexné just felt like she was getting weaker.
Memories flashed. They were coming non-stop now.
In the present Dexné lay on the floor of her room, forehead pressed against the cold surface.
Where is the world with the fountains? Where is Radiant Garden? I have to remember, please just remember…
Memories of Lea. Memories of Isa. They were in-between what they started as (when they were little taller than she) and what they were now (both towering over her height by at least a head.)
She and Lea were in Ms. Cranky's class when the alarms went off. A fire drill, going off like any other.
What was special about this one?
It happened in the dead of winter.
They were permitted to grab their coats, but that was it. They stood outside, hands stuffed in pockets, students stomping their boots to stay warm. Mercifully the wind was still. That didn't stop their breaths from misting up the hillside.
Dexné hated the cold. She knew its power. She knew it could kill. It had almost killed her.
"Yeah," Lea was saying to another student, "it's cold. I hate it too. They're stupid for making us stand out here. But what are you gonna do?" He looked to Dexné, who stood at his side, and gave her a lopsided smile. "It's not that bad, right? Could be worse."
Without speaking a word, Dexné slipped her hand from her coat's pocket and wrapped her slender fingers around Lea's wrist. As soon as her skin came into contact with his, her senses let out a sigh of relief. It stung, but the warmth was instant—more than warm, he was hot even. It felt so nice, seeping into her and replacing the cold that seemed to go down to her bones.
He hissed. "Geez, - - - -! Your hands are ice!" He snatched her frigid hand into both of his, holding tightly, transferring more heat.
"I hate the c-cold," she told him, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. "The cold k-kills."
His emerald eyes looked at her strangely then. Was that a weird thing to say? she wondered. But she couldn't bring herself to backtrack in that instance. Because it was true. She just didn't elaborate, and Lea didn't ask.
She made many more mentions of hating the cold during the winter months. She would be so glad when spring returned.
"What's your favorite flower?" Lea had asked her once when they were talking about the seasons.
"Spring flowers," she answered simply. Then, giving a little frown, she continued with: "Summer flowers as well."
Lea almost snorted, hiding his amusement by taking another bite of his ice cream. They were sitting on that stone wall, watching the sunset. "Yeah," he went on, "but which one in particular?"
Dexné kept frowning (in a manner that Lea had dubbed her "thinking face") and asked herself why he even wanted to know this. "I, um…all of them?"
Isa didn't bother smothering his snort. "Dork," he said.
"Hey!" Lea smacked the blue-haired boy's shoulder playfully.
"Well, she is." Isa polished off his own ice cream. "You want me to lie and say she's not?"
"It's fine," Dexné said. "I know it." She touched the blue frozen dessert to her lips, and present-time Dexné still couldn't remember the taste. "I'll just be glad when they bloom…when this cold goes away."
But the cold never really went away, did it?
It never went away, DeXnÉ—
"Don't throw that away," she said, in as firm a voice as she could muster against Lea. They sat in the cafeteria, their lunches in front of them. Dexné reached out towards Lea's food. "I'll eat it if you don't want it."
Lea made a face. "You'll eat anything," he commented as he pushed his plate towards her.
"I don't like wasting food." Dexné methodically plucked every piece of mushroom from his pizza. "They're good for you; I wish you would eat them."
Lea nearly rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Yes, Dear, whatever you say."
Before she could stop herself, she was stating facts about mushrooms she'd read; how much protein they had, how low in fat they were, how they boost the immune system. "—and I read that the potassium and fiber may contribute to…what?" She looked up innocently, discreetly pushing Lea's plate back towards him. "Why are you looking at me like that? What? Don't laugh at me!"
Lea was smothering his mirth in a fist. "M'sorry, - - -dee, you're just too adorable with all your dorky robot knowledge."
Present-time Dexné jerked—her hand went to her head. Her original name ended in Dee? And yet she still could not hear it all.
Isa was hiding a smirk behind a forkful of his chicken salad. But wisely he refrained from commenting.
Dexné tried not to pout. "…Well, it's true." She frowned down at her pizza, extra mushrooms now included.
Lea let out one last laugh and sighed happily. "I love—" His eyes widened. "Uh…pizza."
Dexné blinked at him in confusion. "Yes. I know. Except you hate most toppings."
Isa sighed—not happily—heavily. "Moron," he whispered.
"I like toppings that don't suck," Lea said, recovering from whatever just happened and astutely ignoring Isa. He started counting on his fingers. "Cheese, pepperoni, sausage is okay…" He paused, flaring his fingers out. "…All types of cheese are okay, just so we're clear."
She twisted her mouth in discontent. "All edible food is okay. It's all good."
"If you say so." Lea was smiling like she had been joking.
She didn't like that.
Quietly, not looking at either of them, she said, "Being hungry hurts."
She glanced up long enough to see Lea tilt his head and frown. "I…yeah, it does. What brought this on?"
Isa was watching her sharply now, confusion apparent. But…more than that. The gears in his head were spinning.
She needed to backtrack. Right now. "Nothing," she said as cheerfully as she could. "I just like food. That's all."
—eMpty—GnaWing—HunGer—
They throw food away like their lives don't depend on it…
Dexné made sporadic comments like that, regarding cold and hunger. Isa was catching on, and maybe Lea too, but neither of them tried to ask.
Maybe they were afraid of what they'd hear.
In the present, Dexné found herself in the corner of her room in the castle, simply trying to breathe. The shards were coming together in her head, splintering pieces glimmering in the black.
One memory stood out in her mind. It confirmed that whatever was wrong with Dexné's birth mother was also wrong with Dexné herself.
She huddled in the corner of her room one night, trying to breathe normally, tears rolling down her face, heart running from an enemy she didn't know how to fight. Wilam and Mirron were downstairs; they had just finished dinner. Dexné hadn't eaten much—her stomach was in knots, and she couldn't figure out why. She excused herself to go to bed early. Nothing bad had happened that day, not that she could remember. So, why? Why?
Flight-or-fight:
activated
Your mind has declared war on an invisible enemy:
itself
and it has dragged your body along for the ride
She couldn't breathe. Her fists were twisted in her shirt. The tears wouldn't stop. I am my mother's daughter. Her curse is mine.
Her face was burning, but her extremities were cold, so cold.
What had her birth mother done to stop this? She wasn't around to ask. She left Dexné on a deserted street, under a dimly glowing lamppost. Dexné had waited and waited for her to come back. She never did. Dexné tried to survive. And then the cold came.
Do you remember your last winter, DeXnÉ?
𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣
Wilam and Mirron saved her. No words could describe her gratitude.
But…
Dexné needed answers.
She needed to see her biological parents again. Just for answers. Nothing else.
She hadn't forgiven them for never coming back.
ShE NeEdeD to SeE tHem AgAin
She knew it was pointless, but she'd go looking. Seasons passed. The warmth came back. Summer eased her, but…
It never really went away, whatever was wrong with her.
The evening closed in, casting its nighttime net over the sky. Slowly it flowed down until the day's light faintly lingered at the edges of the horizon. She walked leisurely. Her thoughts drifted in and out of focus, her eyes held a faraway look in them. She stopped on an empty street, beneath a familiar lamppost, gazing out at the fields and woods beyond.
The wind gently pushed her; something was pulling her; she went without a fuss. From paved stone to dirt and grass. She paused in the field before the looming trees, a dread in her.
But the dread was usually there. No matter where she went.
The lightbugs of summer were sparkling, coming up from the tall grass. They calmed her.
The shadows of the woods swallowed her.
Everything became a little darker when she entered the woods. She followed small and narrow deer paths, crossed gurgling creeks, slipped past prickly bushes and grasping vines. She knew this place. It had been her home.
Did she really think she was going to stumble upon them? That they would be looking for her; forgetting that they left her under the lamppost?
She was so stupid.
And yet she kept on.
Lightbugs dotted the dark spaces. As the evening wore on, more and more came out. She twirled, trying to catch sight of them all. She breathed deeply the rich scent of the forest, taking in the full leaves, the thick grasses, the clean dirt—all coming together to make one raw, pure, and wild place. The cool breeze played with her long skirt, tugging her along softly. She leaped and skipped after it joyfully—for she still had some joyful moments despite the fear—until she broke from the trees into large clearing.
It took her breath away. But not in the same way the fear did. It was a good type of breathlessness.
Hills of rolling dark grass swept out before her and she nearly danced out to meet the glittering lightbugs that sprinkled the entirety of it all.
Dexné realized something then, in that moment: It was okay that she was considered a creature of shadow. That was perfectly fine. Because she saw that light could not be without the dark surrounding it. If there was no dark, how would anyone see the lights for what they were? How wonderful they could be in the dark…
Without the night, stars could not shine.
Neither could lightbugs.
How grand would these bugs be in the midday sun?
But here, in the dark, they sparkled like magic jewels.
Dexné was not afraid as she trekked out across the darkening fields, as the last of the sun's influence faded from the horizon. Though dark clouds were covering the moon and stars she was unfazed. She had little lights all around her, guiding her way.
She kept going, well past dinner time and well past bed time. She wondered what time it was, but the thought was fleeting.
A while later she thought she saw the harsh glare of artificial lights somewhere out beyond the woods, thought she herd the faint echoes of people shouting. She shied away from those things; back in the mindset of the little girl who hid from all. She didn't want to be in artificial lights, among judging eyes.
She followed her unmarked paths until the echoes of light and noise were no more.
The grass wavered in its height, sometimes tickling her ankles and other times scratching her knees. The dark stretched on, as did the towering trees at the edges of the hills. A wind rushed along the treetops, rustling the leaves and creaking the branches.
Suddenly all the excitement caught up to her and she stopped, panting in the chilly night air. The sudden loud call of an owl startled her. Something shrieked in the distance.
Somehow the lightbugs had grown…dimmer.
She looked up to find the stars still blanketed.
Her vivid imagination took off like a frightened horse breaking free from its tether. Every slight sound and shadow became a terror in the night.
Did she say the dark was good? She'd take back the midday sun now, please.
Stop it, she tried telling herself. You are to be feared, not fear. The animals will fear you. At least, she hoped so. She really, really hoped so.
She had hidden from them too, back then.
Slowly she walked on. Every dark spot became a vicious shape to her eyes. Every noise made her heart jump.
She tried circling back home, but realized she could not see the way. And the little dots of golden lights did not denote any specific direction. They were simply everywhere.
She still hadn't found them, nor they her. She wasn't going to. She never did. She knew that.
She was so stupid.
She stayed in the rolling hills, nearby a large lake. Exhaustion was creeping up on her.
A sharp yowl sounded off in the trees somewhere to her right. She would later realize it was a fox, probably startled by her, probably hightailed it back to its burrow. But in the moment her brain went blank and she took off like a frightened filly. She tore through the grass, short or long, and cried out when she felt something sharp sink into her leg, clawing downward as she pulled away.
She ran and ran, until she came to a lonely pair of adjoined trees in the middle of a slope. She leapt, grasping a low hanging branch and hauled herself high up, climbing until the limbs were too frail to bear her weight.
Her heart pounded in her chest; blood thrummed in her head. She sucked in the air and clutched at a stitch in her side. The night air cooled her burning cheeks. She slumped against the trunk, her arms loosely holding on.
She waited.
For what she didn't know. Not for them. Dawn, perhaps.
In the meantime, she looked and listened.
Stars glimmered from an open patch in the clouds, and for a moment she even caught sight of the crescent moon.
The sun will rise soon, she told herself.
Frogs and bugs sang from the forest. The lightbugs still glittered, not only spotting the hills, but the trees as well. Like thousands of little golden Christmas lights, shimmering against branches and leaves all over. Every tree was full of them.
Fear ebbed away.
For a while.
When dawn crept its way over the horizon, she clambered down the tree. She was stiff and hurting. The lightbugs had faded away, but with the sun came the ability to see her way home. Her leg was sore. Examining it, she saw long bloody scratches running down her calf, and a piece of thorn stuck in her skin. The blood had dried. She plucked the thorn loose and tossed it.
Now coins of soft morning light slipped through the treetops, pooling in specks and puddles on the shadowed forest floor. The air was crisp and the grasses were wet with dew.
When she arrived home her shoes and skirt were wet.
She was walking down her quiet little street, turning into her yard's stone-dotted path when she saw him—Lea was sitting on her stoop, head in his hands, fingers tangled in his bloodred hair.
Dexné slowed, heart speeding up. What… Did…
Did something happen?
She approached him, making her shoes scuffle so he wouldn't be startled.
He didn't look up. Not right away. He heaved in a breath, and when he raised his emerald-sea-colored eyes they were glistening.
Dexné's heart went faster. "What's…wrong?"
He stared at her for what seemed like a long time. "Does it still hurt?"
She blinked her tired black eyes. "What?"
He took in a shaky breath. "- - - -, you're bleeding…"
She stilled, wrinkled her brow. She looked down, lifted her skirt from her injured leg. Then she let the fabric drop back into place and shrugged. "It's fine."
His eyes said it was not fine. They were raw, red around the edges, glinting—
A tear fell, catching in the gaining sunlight.
She stopped breathing. "I—I—" she stammered. "I don't understand! It's fine! The blood is dry."' She lifted her skirt again to show him. "Why are you—"
He reached out and grabbed her hand. He wouldn't let go, and he didn't seem able to speak anymore.
"…you're bleeding," was all he whispered.
Dexné later learned from Mirron that…Mirron had told him everything. After they—Mirron, Wilam, Lea, and Isa—went looking for her late into the night and couldn't find her, Dexné's adoptive mother had told her two best friends everything.
That Dexné's biological parents had left her on the streets.
That she had been starving, eating out of trash bins.
That the winter's cold had almost killed her.
That an infection had come very close to killing her.
"Why?" Dexné demanded of her adopted mother when she was informed.
"Because they needed to know," Mirron had answered quietly from where she was sitting at the kitchen table.
Dexné had clenched her jaw and said nothing further. She wouldn't yell at her mother.
None of them really talked about it for a while.
"Are you going to eat th—" Dexné had started the question at lunch with Lea and Isa, somewhere at a plaza with fountains. School was not in session.
Lea pushed his plate towards her without letting her finish asking.
She plucked the mushrooms from the spaghetti wordlessly, feeling weird. "…sorry," she muttered.
"Don't apologize," Isa said firmly.
"You'd think I'd get fat," she said, "with the way I eat. But I never seem to get any bigger than I am. Fat would be good, actually," she tacked on, remembering Lea's words about girls and their "buttons" and she didn't want him to think she was getting upset. "Fat gives you something to live off of when—"
Lea's fist came down on the table.
Dexné froze. Her heart thundered. She had upset him. Stupid, stupid, stu—
"You don't ever worry about that," Lea said vehemently, looking her dead in the eyes. His fisted hand smoothed out, and he reached towards her. "You never have to worry about that again. I promise."
Isa swallowed the food he had in his mouth. "I second that promise."
Dexné clenched her jaw, and…tried to breathe normally. She pushed Lea's plate back, nodding stiffly.
I won't let you starve, - - - -.
She wasn't supposed to be able to cry.
That's what present-time Dexné told herself.
No spiritual heart. Just the physical heart remained. She wasn't supposed to be able to cry.
Why was hot water rolling down her face?
Lea, Isa…
Mirron, Wilam…
She needed to see them.
No matter the cost.
"Where is the world with the fountains," Saïx slowly repeated with flat inflection. It hadn't sounded so stupid when Dexné had asked it, but he made it seem so.
"Please," she rasped.
He stared at her for a long time. Too long. His golden eyes made her uneasy. She wished they'd return to their natural green. "There is only one world that could match such a…vivid description."
She ignored his sarcasm, actually found comfort in it. That was more like the Isa she knew. She leaned slightly toward him, waiting with bated breath.
"And that world is gone. Now don't bother me anymore about it. Return to your duties."
Dexné's legs gave out from under her. Her rear end rushed to meet the hard floor with a thump. "Gone…?"
Saïx's gaze was harder than even the floor, yet there was something flickering in those golden depths. "Yes, gone. Now cease this ridiculousness. This isn't like you, Dexné."
The fate of Armageddon flashed before her mind's eye. Ashes. Falling from the sky like snow.
Did the world of sunshine and fountains share a similar end?
"Has it…turned to ashes?"
His brows furrowed; confusion apparent.
"Please," she rasped yet again. "I…"
Lost. She was so lost. And she wanted to be home, wanted to see her adoptive parents again. She needed them; anchors in a raging sea.
What she was about to say would border on treason, but she had to. Besides, if he was still intent on winning her to his side for his own treasonous plot, then this would work. It was barely dawn, and the Grey Area was empty save for the two of them. "I will do anything you say. Even if it…goes against…what others may order. What…any other…may order."
With the way she spoke it, she may as well have placed "The Superior" in the place of "any other."
That got his attention.
"Take me to the world. To what was known as…the garden." She enunciated carefully, spoke cautiously. "No matter what state it is in. I must see it."
Saïx regarded her for a long time, looking down at her where she sat unceremoniously on the floor. Her hood was pulled up tightly, hiding her face, as always.
"I will do anything you say," she repeated in a last-ditch effort.
"…Why is this so important?" he asked slowly.
Images of that sun-filled world flashed before her mind's eye. Images of Mirron. Of Wilam. "I must see."
"Why."
"I must see!" Her voice, usually no more than a whisper or rasp, cracked with the shriek. Her voice, the way it had been, or close to it, came though like sounds from a staticky radio. For one paralyzing second, she feared too much had come through. She tried to cover it by saying more. "I am a weapon," she continued in her usual rasp, "more powerful than any other. Take me to the garden…" Slowly, and with what little dignity she still possessed, she rose to her feet. "…and I will do as you say."
They locked stares. Neither gave way.
Then, without a word, Saïx opened a Dark Corridor.
He beckoned her through it, and she went. He came in after her before taking the lead.
On and on they walked, through swirling purples and blues, through blackness and reaching tendrils of shadow.
Until they came through into the light…
…of a world she barely recognized.
"Here it is," he said tersely. "I trust you can show yourself around? I have work to do."
She nodded, her hood carrying the motion, stiffly.
"Don't tarry too long," he spoke over his shoulder from the entrance to the Dark Corridor. "You have work as well."
With that, he stepped through and the gasp of the Corridor closing sounded behind Dexné.
She could not take her eyes from the landscape.
Broken and barren and changed.
It was not as bad as Armageddon, but it most definitely was not as it was.
Crumbling walls and buildings, dried lakes, broken mountains in the distance, the trees far less than what they were, nearly gone…she might not have realized it was the same world if it hadn't been for the empty fountains, pipes exposed, and the beaten flagstone roads.
She wandered there for what seemed like eternity.
Where was it? Where was her house? She didn't recognize any of the streets anymore…
Pits and water falling into chasms—why did nothing seem whole?
Eventually she came across a crumbling wall—made special only because it was dotted with faces.
Faces of the Missing.
A random person's face and their name on a tattered poster that was nearly fused to the wall, it was so old…so many of them. Dexné walked along the wall that seemed to go on and on. Pieces of faces were missing, names torn in half, some on paper so old it was barely held together—only by the wall.
And then Dexné saw her own face.
She was smiling shyly, awkwardly, a stone wall and a fountain behind her, sparkling in the sun. She was wearing her raspberry-colored shirt. Strands of her dark, ashen blonde hair glinted white-gold where the sun caught it. Her black eyes stared out imploringly, as if asking, "Am I smiling correctly? Can I stop smiling now?" The paper was one of the ones so worn it was basically fused to the wall, melted there by rain and sunshine.
Present-time Dexné stared and stared at her past self.
When she looked below the picture, where the words Missing jumped out at her in big black letters, she expected, she hoped, to see her name just below it.
The poster was torn.
There was no name.
Dexné clenched her fists so tightly her nails would have made her bleed if not for her gloves.
…you're bleeding…
She breathed in and out. In and out.
You remember fear. You remember desperation.
But…
She stopped breathing.
Who placed the Missing Person poster on the wall?
Her heart sped up. Hope was blooming like a flower tentatively creeping through the late spring frost.
Wilam and Mirron were looking for her.
They had to be.
A/N: I'm using the original KH's translation of "heart" which is referring to the spiritual heart, not the organ. I went back and fixed that in earlier chapters too.
Thank you to all those who have supported this story. I'm sorry for the horrible wait.
And thank you for reading.