Chapter 5:

She'll Burn our Horizons, Make no Mistake

"During sleep, dreaming occurs because the brain attends to endogenously generated activity. In unusual settings, such as sleep-deprivation, sensory deprivation, or medication or drug ingestion, the brain attends to exogenous and endogenous activities simultaneously, resulting in hallucinations, or wakeful dreaming."

-Mahowald, M. W., Woods, S. R., & Schenck, C. H. (1998). Sleeping dreams, waking hallucinations, and the central nervous system. Dreaming, 8(2), 89–102.

"There's something wrong with that girl. Shut her up!"

He never raised a hand at me, never screamed directly at me, but often Kathelyn would get the brunt of his disappointment; life had taken him places he refused to accept, and I seemed to be the one to blame. Regardless, when Kathelyn washed my hair in the bathroom basin, water she had been saving for days, she was very gentle. Possibly something burning just skin deep, bubbling and waiting to rupture thin tissue. I wondered how taunt tissue could get before it caved, imploded. Sephiroth seemed to have the toughest skin, I imagined, but even then it's only a matter of time before we snap. It's only a matter of time before we implode -a black hole left in our wake.

I could hear them whispering to each other. Jofrey started to yell and grab his meagre belongings: a pair of underwear, a shirt and a small dagger he kept on his nightstand. He walked out the door and Kathelyn followed, begging, taking the stack of money I was keeping in a sock. He returned sometime later, with Kathelyn in tow, rubbing her damp cheeks. They were talking about me. They were talking about how desperate and weak I was. I could do this on my own, I thought to the dripping bathroom faucet; I wonder what it would be like to drip down the drain. Jofrey said nothing for some time, just listening to Kathelyn's harsh voice. She was constantly teetering on the edge of having her shit together and collapsing to the floor. Jofrey just listened.

"So, what do you think guys? Should we just tie the noose now and let gravity take its course?" I slapped my knee and let out an exaggerated laugh. No one laughed.

"Please Jofrey," Kathelyn plead, one last time before he sat beside me. Kathelyn found our situation to be precarious and felt a panic crawling over her, one she hadn't felt since the evening dad didn't come home -spidery and enveloping. She was vulnerable and sacrificed our secret to the alter, gaining Jofrey's guardianship. Jofrey was more than willing to offer himself in a suicide pact but needed more convincing.

"You're a bunch of liars, you understand that, right?"

"I'm sure you knew that from the get-go. But the prospect of money was too much for you, eh? I wonder why you want this money so bad?" There was something alluring about a man that hid himself away in a bar and took a stranger's money. There was something that screamed danger. Something that screamed: desperate.

"Fuck off, Helena. Or is that even your real name?" He spat, jamming a cigarette between pursed lips. We were going to have to pay a cleaning fee, anyway, might as well make it count.

"Yes, it's my name. No one was going to say it loud enough for it to be a problem. No one wanted to find me anyway."

"Difficult to swallow? If you want to go back to Shin Ra, no one's stopping you."

"I think you misunderstand the nature of your role in this." I snapped, feeling my cheek twitch into a contemptuous smirk. Kathelyn just stood and watched the debacle unfold. It was going places, she was sure.

"Enlighten me."

"I have over a quarter of a million left in my undisclosed location, one Shin Ra has never found, and I doubt they care at this point; I'm as good as dead to them. I just want to hand over the money to the first person who will get me to Nibelheim and will offer their silence. If that's not you, then no harm done. I somehow don't think you'll take Shin Ra's money just to make a moot point."

"Very trusting of you."

"I'll give you everything I have if you get us there in one piece."

Jofrey threw himself to the mattress, his head bouncing a few times, scattering ashes. Mom was cremated. I remember how her ashes looked, like the burnt remains from Dad's rolled cigarettes. I enjoyed smoking; the sort of enjoyment one gets from being tied to a pipe in a basement. Jofrey settled on the ashtray on the table, tapping his cigarette a few times. He smoked it just like Dad used to.

"But you need to be honest," he demanded.

"Honest? I think the last time I was honest I was still in diapers... and didn't talk much. Fine, honesty, gotcha."

From my understanding of Kathelyn's conversation with our hired manpower, she hadn't told him much. Something about Shin Ra, science gone horribly wrong and keeping a low profile. Jofrey took the bait. Kathelyn believed truly little of what had happened that night. She held my head, waiting for Jofrey to return from a gambling binge, as I fell in and out of consciousness. I felt long tendrils of silver wrapping around my neck, slowly tightening -just enough to notice but not enough to care. Kathelyn felt responsible for lost time so she was the first to stand up as the door creaked open and she blurted: "we work for Shin Ra and I need your help." It went over as well as anyone could expect; Jofrey paced the floor, uttering pleasantries until his facade crumbled, a realization took hold. He went sour and Kathelyn winced. I laughed. Shut that kid up, he said.

"So, what's the verdict?" I asked, sneaking his cigarette from his mouth into my own. A pact, like two drunk frats outside a club.

"Do you trust me?" He asked in turn.

"I don't trust anyone, so don't take it hard when I say that I'm hoping my money is enough for you to get us out of here." A long drag, pondering my predicament. I wondered if any of this was real. I wondered if we would see him again. I wondered if I would last long enough to do so. A pull forward, "let's just go."

He nodded, "I need to talk to someone first." Kathelyn stepped in front of the door instinctively. "Don't worry," he reassured, "Dio and I go back, way back, and he owes me. I know he has a boat lying around somewhere."

"A boat?" I laughed, "you are just collecting boats; boats but your own." No response: not like I was expecting one. Watching him leave the room was a difficult pill to swallow: he wasn't coming back, I told myself.

Leaving just me and the traitor. She collapsed in a heap; the only thing remotely put together was the bun piled on her head. She bit off more than she could chew. I knew by the way she was looking at me: I had doomed her, tied her to me like ball and chain, and I would drown her with me. The lack of sleep was getting me; not to the point of disjointing my thoughts completely, however. I knew what thoughts belonged to me. I knew I wouldn't last long though.

"We'll go to Nibelheim, and then what?" She sniffed, wiping snot with the back of her hand

"What do you mean?" I laid beside her, fooled by her questions.

"Why Nibelheim?"

"Why anywhere? At this point, we don't have many options. I mean, you saw... him."

"Saw who?" Her words became disjointed, like water skimming on the pavement, like tar sinking to the bottom of the lake.

"What?" I suddenly wanted to go home. I wanted to lock the doors and nail down the windows. I wanted to go home.

"You know what I mean, Helena. Nibelheim? Really? So clever." Her movements were languid like a skidding camera reel. She leaned in, warm tears pressing up against my cheek. "You know how easy it is to end someone. Just as easy as building a god." Hissing air like air being let out of a tire. "You know what I mean Helena? Hey. Do you know what I mean? You okay, kiddo? You don't look good. I mean, as good as you can be, considering everything. You just look like you're about to throw up." And on cue, I reached for the bin and lost it. I knew I wasn't going to last long.

She pulled at my hair and twisted it slightly, piling the thin, burnt fibres up and pinning it down with the hotel pen. Patting the palm of her hand against my back, right between my shoulder blades, I began sobbing. Softly, she continued patting, not missing a beat. I couldn't live like this, not when she couldn't keep it together... for the both of us. I desperately fumbled with the tissues on the nightstand and cleaned myself up; coming from a lot of practice, I felt skilled at wiping away regret. I looked up, "don't tell Jofrey."

Her chin tightened, "I promise."

When Jofrey arrived, he had keys in his hands. He found his boat in the hands of an arms dealer in the body of a trinket dealer. I met him once at the inauguration of the Gold Saucer. It was a lighthearted gathering with plenty to drink. I don't remember what he looked like. Jofrey had left to pick up some supplies downstairs. We were leaving as soon as Kathelyn could get her shit together. Kathelyn passed a comment on my appearance, one I took lightly. It was fine. "I am fine."

She looked relieved and collapsed on the bed. "I desperately want this behind us."

"There's no going back, this is what we have to live with." I sat beside her, passing my fingers between her soft artificially coloured locks. My father had black hair just like his father before him. By the miracle of hair grease, his hair slicked back, if he perchance grew it long enough. Kathelyn looked like our father and hardly like the mother she never spoke of.

Kathelyn nodded, as if to herself, with conviction, "we're going to get through this."

"How?"

"I know someone in Shin Ra," she sat up suddenly, "we just need to get out of here, hunker down and I'll find a way."

"Shin Ra knows about Sephiroth. Reeve told me so. In Costa del Sol." Kathelyn looked disapprovingly.

"So, we outlive him? Let Shin Ra handle it."

"Shin Ra has no idea what they're dealing with." There's another way. "Nibelheim is our best bet. The Shin Ra mansion. I know there's something there. It's just I don't trust Jofrey to take me there. Maybe distrust isn't the right word. Do you trust him? What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him about Sephiroth." I gathered as much, Kathelyn was no idiot; sly and calculated. "He thinks Shin Ra's after us. If you're telling the truth and you have that kind of liquid cash, he wouldn't be getting anything near that amount from Shin Ra. He might be tempted to see how this plays out."

"You think he has that much of a death wish?" I laughed.

"I'm just concerned if he returns."

"Jofrey won't be able to protect us. Just buy me time."

"Please don't say that," she whined.

"What? Like what?" I tiled me head instinctively.

"Like you won't make out of this."

Idiot. You don't understand. "We'll be fine. I promise."

"I'm the one that supposed to say that," Kathelyn laughed, a jarring look on her face; she was on the verge of crying.

Before she could shed a tear, Jofrey burst through the door, slamming the doorknob into the adjacent wall, plaster dusted on the floor. "We leave now." We took Jofrey's instruction -a strong guiding force. Jofrey stoically watched as we gathered our belongings, absentmindedly twirling the set of keys on his index finger, every so often catching them in mid swing.

As I passed him by the door, he grabbed me by the arm, as gently as his discontentment would allow. He watched as Kathelyn walked out of earshot. "If you want Nibelheim, you'll get Nibelheim but don't get me wrong, I'll need that money."

"You'll get it in Nibelheim. It's in Nibelheim." It was always in Nibelheim. There is nothing gained until there's a loss, Hojo used to mutter to his grad students and it would trickle down to the research assistants. I thought I lost enough. We always think we have lost enough. Nibelheim made me realize that wasn't the case. Holding onto Kathelyn's sides as the boat rocked, made me realize I wasn't alone. There was something in me, drawn to the piece of flesh that replaced an apparition, a ghost -I knew I wasn't alone.

Nibelheim wasn't terribly far away from Gold Saucer by boat. There was an embankment by the farmlands. Farmlands to dairy cows, I found out in a textbook mom bought. Jofrey looked at the boat and then to the farm past the mist; it was a getaway, he surmised.

I lunged forward, tumbling out of the boat. He grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet. "This is Nibelheim, eh?"

"I think so, yes," I responded. A ghost town rebuilt from its own ashes. Kathelyn was just as surprised to see it still standing, faint outlines of homes by the base of the mountain. Kathelyn moved towards the edge of town, vexed.

"You'll need this," he handed me a handgun, appearing so small in his hands, so awkwardly in mine.

"Kathelyn won't appreciate this."

"The opposite, I would think."

I laughed, "you don't think this will get me into trouble?"

"Just take the fucking gun, Helena. I'm sure you know it will come in handy." More than you think, you poor unsuspecting fool. "You know how to use it?" Poor, poor unsuspecting fool.

"I know how to shoot it, just not very well."

"Here," he commanded with a sharp wave of his hand. I stood in front of him, gun in hand, letting him guide my hands upward to an unknown target, "you just raise your hand and shoot in the direction of what you want dead."

"Good tip." I imagined the target was the back of Kathelyn's head. And then I chased away the thought, replacing it with the groans of my empty stomach.

"Trust me, it works." Jofrey squeezed my wrist, "You get better at it with practice."

"Maybe that's not such a good thing, eh?"

Jofrey followed Kathelyn who was by the entrance of Nibelheim, marching several paces in front of me, occasionally looking back. He seemed concerned. Was I giving him something to be concerned about? I assumed that was the case as I felt my body sway to the gentle breeze combing over the green plains. We walked a dirt path leading from the ocean to the entrance of Nibelheim, flanked by wood fences. There was a time when I wanted to take over my parent's land and raise Chocobos. Kathelyn had no interest. Midgar called her like many other children, with its glitz and chrome fixtures. Something called to me: a warning of something dastardly beyond the mountains to where Midgar seemed to magically float above starving masses. Perhaps Kathelyn didn't know, perhaps she didn't care.

Kathelyn seemed transfixed to the ghost in front of her. "What a sight to behold," she whispered to herself.

"The miracle Shin Ra produces now and again... it's inspiring," I whispered back.

"I heard the rumours. Nibelheim was burnt to the ground by rebels."

I laughed.

"What?"

I bit my lip. "I'm just thinking how no matter what Shin Ra does, someone is bound to hear of it."

"I have my sources."

"Of course you do. " I sniffed as something fool rolled down the mountains, "even the air smells like smoke."

The mansion was circumscribed by mist, suffocated. Yes, it was still standing or perhaps not standing at all, ceased to exist. Perhaps that would have been for the best. The mist seemed to make its way into the main hall, curtains falling off its rungs stifling the faint sunlight outside, scraping against dingy windows.

"So, you've made it in once piece," he said, hand outstretched, "now, my money."

"Take a load off, Jofrey. At least rest." I retorted, the scent of lost debauchery and schemes in the air.

"Here? No thanks. I just want my money."

"I'll get it. Why don't you make small talk with Kathelyn?" I could hear the dust rattle and be expelled from Kathelyn's nose in disgust. The leather of Jofrey's jacket slid perfectly into place as he crossed his arms. Something was wrong with me; I could sense it.

I walked up the stairs to the guest rooms, the faint light from the stain glass window illuminating my path. The lights weren't working and the haunting darkness, seeping from every corner, seemed to call me when previously it repelled me. Something was really wrong with me. I wonder if Kathelyn had noticed.

The small pack of cash I left an old friend who was leaving Midgar indefinitely. I cryptically instructed her to leave it in Nibelheim to which she responded in a PHS message that she left it in the guestroom on the second floor, left of the stain glass windows. She left Midgar and Shin Ra after becoming deathly ill. She dreamt that a figure bathed in light warned her to leave and she would be cured. Her ten-year-old child sent me a letter notifying me of her passing, knowing full well that Shin Ra may have been sifting through my mail; it was probably the most proper thing to do, as risky as it was. I looked through the drawers and even lifted the thin mattress to find nothing. There was a bookshelf behind the door with a meagre selection of books. One such book was a thin leather-bound book with a metal clasp -Hojo's diary. A small package fell out onto the floor. How ironic, I thought to myself; in Nibelheim, Jofrey was getting his money and I was going to find something much more valuable in the leaves of coffee-stained pages.

I walked up to Jofrey and pressed the envelope onto his chest. He flinched, doubling over by the pressure. "Here. Now leave."

He counted the money meticulously but efficient; he had done this before. "It's here but I'm not leaving yet." He looked vaguely in Kathelyn's direction who was feigning ignorance. Kathelyn must have told him something. So conniving my sister had become.

"Yet?" My eyebrows flew up, feigning ignorance.

"It's dark and if you haven't noticed, it's starting to rain Chocobos out there." He turned to the nearest window; a piece of cloth, now turned to a moth-eaten rag, was nailed above it, generally covering the window. He peered through a hole in the fabric. "I'll rest here and leave in the morning."

"I have no objections. Do you, Helena?"

"Not at all, Kathelyn."

"I'm glad we came to an arrangement then," he responded snidely, again looking in the general direction that Kathelyn stood.

I pointed out the bedrooms on the second floor. Kathelyn said nothing but walked up the stairs, following Jofrey. Kathelyn began tugging at her bun, strands of hair met loose ones, intertwining into a mess of split-ends and a thinning hairline. She once told me her mother had pin-straight, thick hair. Curling irons were no match. That was the most defining feature that separated us: our hair. We shared each of our own mother's hair. I hated how she could grow, twist and style her hair as she had willed. She hated me for having a mother at all.

It wasn't long after I pulled off my boots and sank into a bed that Kathelyn inched her way towards me.

"There's something wrong, isn't there?"

"There's nothing wrong," I swallowed -a terrible habit. I couldn't understand why people feigned interest. I couldn't understand why Kathelyn suddenly cared. "I'm just really, really tired." I was always tired, ever since I turned seventeen and I learned of the psychotropic effects of psychopharmacology. This was a different kind of tired: the will to put in motion plans, that was once suppressed, now no longer existed at all. I just wanted to collide with the nearest pillow and hope that the migraine that plagued me would just disappear and I would meld with the inch thick mattress.

"Hello, Helena." Yes, hello, familiar voice, familiar face triggered by a familiar voice. Keep me company as I fall asleep.

"I just need to sleep."

"Okay, I'll keep watch." Kathelyn took a pistol from her bag, laid the barrel on her legs. She contemplated her statement for a minute, knowing full well we were on our own, Jofrey sleeping in the room down the hall was watching out for number one. She loaded the gun solemnly. "Just sleep, I got this under control."

I closed my eyes, mouth still functional. "What did you tell him?" I snuck my pistol under my pillow.

"Sorry?" I could hear her snap the bullets in place. She learned how to shoot young. Dad would take her in the back of the barn and practice shooting whiskey and beer bottles. She was a natural, he beamed. I pretended to be too weak to deal with the recoil when in reality I was irked by the idea of a bullet tearing through whatever it collided with. Kathelyn was no stranger to a gun and having that pistol in her grip made me feel all that safer. I was a lousy shot anyway.

"What did you tell him... to make him stay?" I clarified.

"Oh, well, I don't know. I just asked. He said yes."

"Did you offer him more money?"

She laughed, "So what?"

"You think a night will protect us?"

"I just want one more night of not fearing for my life, I guess."

"Do you think one man is going to do that for us? Especially now that we know what's following me."

"He did it thus far, Helena. Just one more night is all I need."

"That's rather foolish, Kathelyn."

"We'll stay here. We'll barricade the entire mansion if we have to. He won't-."

"He will. Again, don't be foolish."

"So what do you expect us to do?"

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not willing to give him what he needs to use the Black Materia. I'm just not stupid enough to think that we can barricade ourselves and think that will protect us." I rolled over, my fingertips dragging the oil on the wallpapered walls, tracing intricate spirals. "I'm still thinking of a plan, I just need to find it."

Kathelyn let out a huff through pursed lips. The gun's barrel snapped into place. It was looking like a very promising option, dark neuronal pathways etched since childhood: a likely option. I was instructed through years of cognitive-behavioural conditioning that there was always another option, as unbelievable as it sounded. I was not the person I once was, I reminded myself or at least attempted to offer myself the possibility of another option.

"You can trust me," Kathelyn whispered pitifully.

I couldn't but I felt that at this point it was no fault on her own. "I know."

I closed my eyes, tongue pressed on my pallet. I once heard it made you fall asleep and as desperately tired I felt, I felt no need to rest. My heart pounded in my ears, elevated blood pressure coursing through my eye sockets. I was afraid. I was afraid of the great and vast darkness that waited somewhere within the ventricles of my brain. I was not anxious -a feeling I was very much acquainted with. I was afraid of failure, of not being enough, of the never-ending void, of a man I knew had it in him, of a man that could very well hold a mirror exposing something I had been hiding for so long. I know he's here.

Yes, he's here.

My eyes snapped wide, a familiar melody accompanying the stillness of the room. Kathelyn was not here. I must have fallen asleep for some time; I never heard Kathelyn stand from the creaky bed. She was playing the piano, I tried to reassure the thumping of my heart against my chest. Kathelyn was playing the song locked away in a memory I had no intention of reliving. I had no intention of going down, following the sound, but here I was walking down the stairs to the small parlour where piano keys were banging against my chest.

My heart sank as I opened the door to find a lonely piano sitting in the corner, moonlight pouring from an uncovered stain glass window, blanketing the polished onyx top. I sat on the stool, a faint memory begging to be released. I tapped at the ivory keys, still warm. When did he learn how to play? He was four, his fine motor skills fully developed, and Hojo breathing down his throat -A well-rounded SOLDIER. Eventually, Hojo lost interest after hounding him with his snappy wit. Sephiroth did what he was told, always what he was told. That's why I was surprised when he instructed me to sit beside him as he played what sounded like rain against the pavement, hollow streets and a lone umbrella moving to the beat of his fingers drumming on the keys. It was my tenth birthday, I remember. This was my gift. The music suddenly stopped and the veil that isolated me from the mechanical whirl of medical pumps lifted, and we were exposed for a crime.

How did he play again? My fingers splayed across the board. His hand pushed down on my knuckles puppeteering a sound.

"Don't touch me."

His fingertips lifted slightly, still hovering by my wrist. He thought about saying something vile but then decided against it. I was expecting it. He moved his hand and let it slide to his side, calculating producing an eeriness that absorbed me. He climbed over the stool, again calculating, sitting beside me, ignoring the irony of it. I followed his measured movements: his fingertips tapped so gently at the ivory keys, an occasional slip to the ebony keys. He used to play as gently, as calculating and yet so filled with rage, a rage perhaps he never knew how to swallow. He wrote me a song once, the irony of it.

"Play it again," I urged, lightly tapping the nearest key.

"But you hate it."

"I do. But play it anyway."

He wrote it when we had very little to give. I built a home for a rat that died two weeks later, he wrote me a song I only heard twice, but that haunted me in the strangest of moments. I hated how it sounded so conflicted and disjointed, absorbed in its own misery. He played it so well.

"Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" Sephiroth mocked, all intended to derail and confuse. I wasn't sure why I followed the music, like a siren's song, to a place I knew I would find him like a memory I would try to flush out with a fifth of whiskey. Like a memory of desperate children, trying to find reprieve in hand holding -a foreign experience. Like a memory of loneliness as he turned away and I no longer existed, just a faint image in the background. But I would watch him from the crowd. A memory of a broken child becoming a twisted man.

I slammed my open palm on the keys. I had enough of hearing it. "What was that song you taught me?" I lifted my forefingers and jabbed at the keys, occasionally making sense and carrying a tune before veering far off into territory I thought to be comical, but he remained unmoved.

Disappointed, I started to laugh.

And laugh.

And then, a sentiment flooded me, unexpectedly and I began to cry.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" I sobbed.

"Why would I do that?"

I shrugged, "just a thought. But I'm right, aren't I?"

"You would like for me to say yes?" He found me amusing.

I stood from the stool, wiping at the tears pooled in my dimples and down my chin. "If it were to be anyone, I would want it to be you," I admitted. "If I were to go, then I'm glad it would be you."

"You have no idea what you're saying."

"I do. I do understand. I understood the day my mother carved the tattoo in my back. I knew my fate was bound with death. Maybe that's why I drank so much."

Sephiroth smiled, genuinely. "I think there is more to your drinking than the burden your mother placed on you."

"Playing a psychologist, are we?" I laughed, genuinely. "Well, then let's talk about your father. A 'walking mass of complexes' you once called him? What's it like having the apple falling pretty close to that tree?"

He laughed, sardonically, a surface breath lost in his chest. He was wearing the shirt I last saw him in, in the suit that I last saw him in. He was laughing at me and the nearly transparent barrier I held up. He laughed before taking a breath and saying: "You still dream of me, don't you?"

"I don't know what you mean." He pointed to his throat and I suddenly felt the delicate pendant on my throat. Yes, I thought of him, as often as I felt the pendant wrapped around my neck, like a ghost limb.

"How does it feel," he continued, "to be an afterthought? Nothing. Or does it satisfy to be suddenly in my line of sight?"

He approached, taking a small step forward but encroaching space I built for myself. Haunting visions left me breathless as I tried to provide a retort. I wanted him to leave me, for once, so I started to scream obscenities that were brewing since we were children. A haunting vision of his back turned away from me; the support I build for myself was now leaving me, like everyone I had ever known. He approached again and I fell backwards, hitting my head on the chaise behind me. Before my eyesight cleared, he was already standing over me -a foreign entity.

"You're not..."

"I am."

I shook my head, "not the man I once knew."

"That is where you would be wrong and yet right."

"JENOVA."

"Yes. And you would know, you understand..."

"You won't. You won't do it."

"And that is where you would be completely wrong."

I felt gloved fingertips move across my jugular when an image of a woman, liberating me from my darkest moment, crossed my mind. I wanted to be safe, I wanted to survive, but something was telling me that was only a vanity project. I just wanted to fight. For once.

"Kathelyn!"

I was back in bed, and she was already at my side, a gun tapping at my spine as she tried to comfort me.

"You're safe," she promised and for once, I believed her.

A/N: I'm reposting infrequently. I'm starting a new trimester and writing 15-page papers are getting to me. I'm also not as enthusiastic as I once was about writing.

I really like psychological horror btw, I really hope they keep those elements in the remake.

Anyway, let me know what you think. Would love to hear your feedback.

UPDATE: I had to change a birth year.