I just wanted to let you know that I got a new blog, and this one will probably just fade off now...I don't think I'll be updating it as much anymore. Maybe I'll check back once in a while, but  I'll be posting updates HERE:

http://mariellahunt.livejournal.com/

And if you want to email me, you can contact me at mariellahunt@gmail.com

I'd like to keep in touch with every one of you, so please visit my new blog!! :) Please please please PLEEEEEASE. I'll love you forever if you'd visit my blog. (No actually I'd still love you anyway, but I don't know how often I'll be getting back here. I might check the Friends page occasionally or something, I dunno.)

I may drop in at your blogs and comment occasionally. :) I do want to keep in touch.

I love you all! Please visit my new blog. :)

-Mariella

 A lot is happening lately, so I don't have time to get on the Internet much at all, except to use Windows Messenger and check my email. So if you want to contact me and I never come on, email me. If you have my addie. If you don't, you have to wait, I suppose...:P

It's possible that later this year (after the trip to Peru) I have a job. I'll be working with my dad at the Five Guys Burgers and Fries that's being opened here in Boise on June, I believe. If all goes well, that is. So pray that it does. I'm excited. :D I need to make money...publication doesn't come for free, so (the nerve of them!) I'll need to pool in some money on my own end, in addition to having written the flipping thing. Oh well. So this is also an answered prayer, I was fretting about that. I can't walk up to my parents and go, "Can I have $1,000+ to publish my book properly---IF anyone is interested in it?" That'd be dumb. And then I can't ask them at the very last minute if one of the publication forms is accepted. So I need to make my own cash. It's only fair. I will work hard to achieve this.

As for Lent, it's being hard. I keep wishing that it was over so that I can type the story (instead of handwriting, a sort of not-so-easy shortcut, at which rate I get about 3 pages done per day. That's only about 1,000 words. GASP.) I keep considering giving it up and opening a new document and WRITING, but I trudge through it and keep to my promise. It's almost over...right? In any case I'm proud of myself for having made it thus far.

Jane Eyre is WAY too long. And descriptive. I hate classics that have too much description. I can skip over entire paragraphs and not miss ANYTHING. I can't stand classics, I'm sorry.

We're going to Peru with Dad on May 22 (I believe) and it'd be the first time he's there in years. (I don't know if I already blogged about this, but if I have, I don't care.) He's gonna be there 12 days. I'm only worried about my doggie, the only one who isn't going. She's going to have to go to a kennel for those 12 days because there is no way my grandma can handle her---she's a little demon when she wants to be. So I'm sad about that. :( Happy about the rest, though.

I'm leaning towards addicted to the Twilight movie. I get excited whenever I think of my DVD, and want to watch it a second time but somehow never have time to. This week I swear I will, though. I don't care if my parents think it ridiculous, I loved it. XD

I think that's about it. Please comment. I want to hear from you. :)

Love you all,

-Mariella

And...I'm surviving?

Even though every moment of the day a new idea for a story comes to me and I want to write it. I don't write it. Instead, I edit the story that I already wrote.

I'm tearing apart and polishing and rephrasing and perfecting The Shadow. After Lent I'll research publication for it. I'm tired of waiting. And I think everyone else is tired of me waiting too. XD

I'm doing better on the no-writing sacrifice than the no-soda one. Yeah. Sorry, but there's one that I just can't resist. But I only have one small cup, I promise. >.< Also, Father Bruno says that if I'm under 18 I'm too young to fast. I only have to fast if I want to if I'm between ages 18 and 60. Once I turn 60 I can stop. BUT. I must abstain from meat, he said. So I'm trying that. That's somewhat easier.

The weather is insane. It SNOWED. It's not supposed to snow on March. This sucks. At least the snow melts, and I'm praying REALLY REALLY hard that it won't snow again. I want springtime weather. I want to lounge in the sunlight with my iPod. But apparently I can't. There's no sunlight. It's pure decoration because it's not warm.

Currently listening to: Beautiful Eyes by Taylor Swift. <3

SPEAKING OF...
I DON'T HAVE TO GO TO UTAH!! TAYLOR IS COMING HERE, TO BOISE. Dad told me he saw it in the news yesterday. I checked her tour dates to make sure, and he was right. She's coming here!!! This is a relief. I was afraid of the thought of getting into a plane alone. But now I can drag my whole family to the Idaho Center to see her on May. YAY. We need to buy the tickets this month.

So yeah. I'm happy.

I shall click Add New Entry and hope that someone comments.

-Mariella

Sorry. *grin* I fell asleep last night with "Love Story" by Taylor Swift on repeat on my iPod. And I was wondering how anyone can say that she can't sing. If you listen closely and try to sing like she does, you figure out how good she really is -- she does sing, can hit highs and lows, and I most definitely will never be able to sing like her. Sure, she's not as good live, but who can sing well live anyway? She's only 19... give her time...

I should be writing but I'm blogging instead. So I'll update my status. Right now (9:22 PM) I have 65,532 words and 135 pages. I'm trying to get this novel finished before Lent begins on March, or at least get past the interesting bits and reach the last few chapters. I'll need a lot of poking though because I always find a reason to not write and do something else. (I know what you're thinking. Uh-huh, you got 65,000 words in 21 days, you so procrastinate. Well, I do. A lot. Like, if I didn't procrastinate or have to eat to not die, the novel would be done by now.) I'm sacrificing writing for Lent, so when Lent begins I can't write anything till easter. (Shoot, I just remembered that Lent doesn't begin on March, it begins on Ash Wednesday. Whaddo I do. That's this week. O_o Help!)

Okay, with the knowledge that Lent begins ON Ash Wednesday, I have to cut this blog post short and FRIGGIN GET TO WORK. *panics* When I sacrifice writing I'll replace it with studying Bible and Apologetics and trying to stretch my hobbies over to other things. Like maybe... piano... it wants me to practice more.
...In fact, I'll try to get a blog post done daily on my other Catholic blog which I should put up the link but I'm lazy. I'll put it up when I actually start posting.

Okay things start to speed up as of... NOW.

PRAY FOR ME.

-Mariella

Yeah, I needed a title. I just happened to be listening to that song. ^

Okay, so due to some prodding from certain friends (*grins at Gaby*) I have decided to keep my promise and post again. Yes, I do need prodding to post on my blog. But today I opened my inbox and I saw that I had 4 blog comments (HALLELUJAH MY BLOG HAS LIFE AGAIN) so I decided to post.

Firstly, I guess I'll have to dig out HTML from somewhere in the deepest, dustiest corners of my brain and make my own blog template. This should be... not fun. And I'm dead serious. I despise HTML with a passion (it hurts my brain) but there are some things I simply can't forget, so I'll try. I want my new template to be blue. *thinks*

Secondly, I need to update my playlist AND my novel list (this needed more prodding from Gaby.) It's the HTML that has me lazy to get off my butt and start updating. But I have loads of new songs that I want to share with you, and, well, my word counts have changed just a tad bit since the time I last updated that thing. So yeah. I will at least have the novel word count thing updated by tonight.

Thirdly... okay, logically thinking, I can't be the Empress of anything here on Earth. I'd rather be the Empress of something in my story (I'm sorry, but my story is so much more interesting, especially when here on Earth you're stuck at home because the weather is so cold that you can't go out and do any Empress-ing. Whatever that is.) Empress of Celthia? Maybe. I'll swipe that title before Maeve takes it. She'll be ticked, but do I care? Nooo... *sweats a little* O______o;

Numbah four... general blogging.

Okay. Me becoming 'apologetic.' *grins at Gaby* Our debates most definitely had something to do with it. And then there's the incident when I had read something on a Catholic Answers Forum. Someone was calling someone else an "informed Catholic." And I'm all like, "I WANT TO BE AN INFORMED CATHOLIC. *sulks because she thinks she'll never understand things such as plenary indulgences*" So after I got off the computer, I was looking for a book in my bookcase, which just happens to have two rows on each shelf (I have SO many books, many of which I don't even read.) So, with the thought still in my head that I wished I could become an informed Catholic, I pulled out a book. And right behind it was my tiny pink Precious Moments Bible that my Grandma gave me for my baptism (I was baptized recently, on 2005.) I had been looking for it months before but was sad when I couldn't find it. And then, at the most unexpected moment, it was there. Yeah, that's as if God was saying, "You want to be informed? Go for it!" So that's part of why I want to be... 'apologetic.' :D

As for those people who view Catholicism as a cult... that's a product of one of my other new pet peeves: religious ignorance. My advice for those people... stop listening to a Protestant hater and start researching yourself. If your church pastor is more focused on making Catholics look like a cult, than he is in asking us to "love our neighbors," well, that's his decision. But as for yourself, I suggest you start building your own opinion, dears. Here's a great place to start: http://forums.catholic.com/ These forums are great. There you can ask an experienced apologetic for answers to a question you have and they'll answer you. So before you read a book called Catholicism: A Cult (I have NO idea if there's a book that's really called that, but I wouldn't be surprised if there is) gather your own bits and pieces of research, before you resort to calling the church Jesus established a cult. Okay? Okay. Because in doing so, you're in a sense hurting Him, because you're hurting the church that He founded. Need proof? http://home.inreach.com/~bstanley/reply.htm False charges made against us. There are straight-out answers right there. In fact, that site is also a wonderful place to go do your research, but I think it's directed mostly to Catholic-Haters, or to Catholics who are trying to learn to defend themselves.

Done with that rant.

So I'm going to start another blog for my Catholic rants because they have the potential to get really long. The writing blog and the Catholic blog. You can ask questions on either of them, though.

I'll move on to writing now before I explode.

WRITING is going awesome. I reached 51k last night. Beth had a panic attack, so that was really hard to write. But with the help of Squid my writing buddy I survived it, and I was sweating when I finished. Ahaha. I'm so evil to my characters.

I'm about halfway through this book. It's amazing. Loads of things I'd had planned before I started writing it... well, it turns out that I won't be able to write them at all w/o turing the plot into a bunch of nonsensical mush. So I won't do that.

Something/someone (maybe God?) is telling me that when I'm done with this novel, I'll be ready to send out forms for publication. So I'm working extra hard on this. I've been looking for the path that I'm supposed to take and it looks like I found it.

And now I move on to life.

Life is VERY VERY COLD. The weather is indecisive. It can't seem to decide if it wants to be winter or spring, but it's leaning more towards winter, and that sucks really really bad. Because my hands are all frost-burned now and I keep opening the doors in the morning expecting at least cold sunlight but it's always cloudy. I hate, hate, hate.

My dad's birthday was on Valentine's Day. We made him a nice heart-shaped birthday cake. I had fun icing the cake. And then I licked the icing off of the spatula because I'm still only 15. :D Cherry chip cake is heavenly. It's already almost gone.

My dog's acting weird. She doesn't want to eat. She hasn't eaten in days. I don't know what's wrong with her, but if this keeps going, we'll have to take her to the vet this week. Please pray for her because I don't want the same thing to happen to her that happened to my bunny.

I watched the Grammies. Ahem. WHAT WERE THE JONAS BROTHERS DOING AT THE GRAMMIES. WHY WAS TAYLOR SWIFT NOT NOMINATED. HER SONG WAS ON THE TOP OF THE CHARTS FOR FLIPPING MONTHS. WHY WAS TAYLOR SINGING WITH MILEY. MILEY SOUNDS DRUNK WHEN SHE SINGS. (NO OFFENSE TO MILEY FANS.) I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO THE CD WITH GRAMMY NOMINATIONS, BUT EVERYTHING ON THERE WAS GOOD TRASH, AND ALL OF THE GOOD SONGS, I ALREADY HAD THEM. SO THIS WAS A BIG LETDOWN. The only good thing that resulted from this Grammy was that John Mayer won a Grammy. So That's one good thing. But why did Jason Mraz get nothing?! He was nominated three flipping times. What happened to this country that it's only cruddy hip-hop and rap and annoying songs that are either those two or somewhere in between that get nominated? UGH.

If I was allowed to swear, there'd be a lot of swear words in the above rant. *blushes* I am so, so angry.

When the tickets to the Taylor Swift concert come on sale, I'll update you on whether I go or not. I already got the okay from my aunt. My mom's still thinking about it... ah well. Whatever's supposed to happen will happen.

I'm off to church now. *grin* I know that lots of people commented and are waiting for replies. I promise to reply as soon as I get back on tonight.

Love you guys!

-Mariella, Empress of Celthia.

Hey! I'm baaaaack. And, on account of some healthy prodding from a friend (*grins at Gaby*) I'm testing my persistence and adding a new resolution to my already rather full list of late new years' resolutions. I will blog at least once a week. I have a lot to say, you see, but I'll try to summarize it all in this 4AM insanely-late-but-determined blog post.

First off, before I begin recounting the year so far, I have an announcement to make. Frankly, I am tired of this purple background and am in the mood for something more cheerful and new year-ish. In other words, I'd like a new blog template, please. Now, I'm busier than you'd think I am... I mean, you have to be me to understand in what sense my days are busy. I'm dead serious. So I'm not going to be going aroung HSB, advertising that I want a new blog template. So if anyone stumbles upon this blog post and would like to make me a new template (all credit goes to them) they will be greatly appreciated. *gazes at purple background with distaste* I'm afraid I have neither the patience nor the time to make my own. I used to do HTML fairly well, but not now. My interests have moved more towards writing and apologetics.

Oh, that's right. To anyone, my interest in apologetics will be fairly new. For those who don't know what it is, here's the definition:

Apologetics

–noun (used with a singular verb)

the branch of theology concerned with the defense or proof of Christianity.

         I know, I know, if you already know what this is you're probably wondering why I put up a definition on here. Simply said, some people won't know what it is. A good example is me, early this month. Yeah.

So in my case I'm studying Catholic apologetics. I'm sorry, but I don't like seeing people attack my faith beneath my very nose and being unable to do anything about it. I'm determined to study and defend Catholicism, but do so in a way that gives other denominations the respect and credit they deserve. Like I said in my last post, all Christians are a family, but it isn't nice to watch people attack my own faith and treat us as the worse.

I'm not saying, of course, that apologetics applies only to Catholicism. But in my case, my goal is to be able to defend the church I was baptized in, because it seems to get constant jabs and I hate being unable to do anything about it.

Moving on.

Writing! Yes, this is still one of my favorite things to do, and I promise I am doing it. In fact, today/tomorrow I'm planning to get a solid 10,000 for my 30k challenge 'cause I can. But, in addition to this, my characters have been AWFUL and DISOBEDIENT. I finally got Beth in a direction I want (thanks to Squid and my imagination, which wove her idea into place) so my word count is beginning its regular habit of... ahem... skyrocketing. :D I seriously need to update my word counts up there. ^ However, my current writing status as of February fourth-going-on-fifth-since-it's-now-5AM:

The Hunter, sequel to The Shadow: 11,767. This doesn't count for the 30k challenge. You see, I began to write a few days before that challenge actually began.
The Shadow: It's undergoing editing, but the word count is still around 110,000 words. =)
The Hunter, for the 30k challenge: 5,090. Hey, I'm 1/6 of the way there.

I'm also editing my beloved novel The Last Descendant, which I finished last fall. Sigh, I do wish that it'll be worthy of being read by the public eye soon. It won't be too soon, I'm afraid, since I'm going through which will be hopefully my last editing/rewriting stage. Alex wants a new plot, and half of Anna's plot has to be redone to fit her depression. Then at the end I need to decide how much of her memory she really loses, and then add bits of Cade into the story every now and then. So if any of you get to read it, it won't be until at least the end of the year.

That's where I am. ^^ Any questions? Please do comment.

Other random insignificant news:

• Aha. I have revealed to a friend (Gaby :D) that Stephenie Meyer's books aren't as horrible as the ignorant public assumptions make them out to be. Of course they're not a literary miracle that someone might want to base their own novel off of (by saying this I'm referring to the Twilight series. I know, I know, a third of the world loves them, a third of the world hates them, and the rest of the world are just following the examples of others who have never actually read them but think that they're going to be awful just because of... well, I don't know what their reasons are, really. But they weren't that horribly bad, and if they were, why are they currently a worldwide bestseller?! I have to say that I liked them. I said liked, not loved, but I'm not out flaming them. If you don't like them, keep your opinion to yourself, and don't brainwash a friend against reading them by simply telling them that they're horrible. You need evidence, my friends, and facts, to back it -- but not the kind of evidence that is called by most people 'spoilers.') *takes deep breaths* In other words, a new pet peeve of mine is literary ignorance about certain books (*cough*Twilight*/cough*) and just assuming that they're bad because you saw a review by some bonehead (please read my definition of bonehead below, in the bold-faced letters, before you think of starting a grudge) on a public forum who is out to brainwash you, and apparently you're letting them. My bottom line: READ THE BOOKS AND GET YOUR OWN OPINION. Don't decide that you despise them until you've actually made it from cover-to-cover. Sheesh. (I know that this paragraph of run-ons and outbursts will try and offend some people. Please, don't let it. But if I don't like something, I'm not going to keep quiet about it... and no, not all reviewers are boneheads. Just the unauthorized ones whose 'reviews' are a blend of spoilers and personal opinion, with a dab of ignorance and jealousy and, in most cases, brain-soap. Hey, that's a new word. Brilliant, Mariella, absolutely brilliant.)
  The Host, another novel by Mrs. Meyer, is a completely different story in many senses. That's more of the kind of book that can possibly be compared with a literary miracle (although I'm not going to say that it IS one because of all the people out there that I know will disagree with me.) To find out why, go read a review by someone authorized to review -- a review that isn't, like I said above, merely personal opinion and ignorance. For the good of yourself and the friends you'll be discussing these books with, I ask you that you find a nice review that doesn't only state reasons why the reviewer dislikes the books, but please find one where they show the positive aspects of the novel, too. In other words, an honest review by an honest person who is polite and has actually read the book cover-to-cover and knows what they're talking about. Don't judge a book by its cover or by a corrupted review. This goes for all books, not just Twilight, but Twilight is the one that people flame the most.
  THERE. I've finally spoken my mind. I CAN BREATHE. *gasps the FREEZING winter air* Okay. Sorry for that little outburst. It's one of those things that you can't hold back, especially if they're words that have been stuck in your throat for years.
  Feel free to listen to me if you want to. But I think an honest, fair review is the way to go.
• I've been ranting so much that I lost the point of this whole entry. Ahem.
• ANOTHER THING I've been doing lately. CATALYST. Church youth group. They rock. I think I'll be going to a retreat on May with them. I turned in the forms and everything, but May is still three months away.
• Taylor Swift is coming to Salt Lake City, Utah!! I know I don't live in Utah. But Utah is sooooo close. Probably 45 minutes away on a plane. And if somehow I can weasel my way down there to see Tay perform live, I will. Yes, this is a fangirl moment. I'm sorry, but she's my favorite artist.
• My bunny, Cookie, died on February 4. Pray for him. Maybe I'll put up pictures in the future.

And now my fingers hurt. I've just written a long blog entry, possibly the longest one I've ever written. I hope I get comments. No, actually, it isn't, but it certainly felt like it was.

-Mariella
(Future New York Times Bestseller, Nobel Prize Winner, and sole achiever of total world domination. Really.
And the Voice of Doom.
And the Empress. That's what everyone calls me anyways. Bwaha.)

Details can be found at: http://www.catholic.org/national/national_story.php?id=31635 (You don't need to be Catholic to pray with us! Please keep reading this blog post.)

Starting January 20 (sorry for the late notice! I just found out today) Catholics across the country are going to be praying the Rosary, over the course of the first 100 days of Barack Obama's presidency. This is so that we can sacrifice a bit of our time, every day for those 100 days, for these intentions:

"1) That God would give President Obama the grace of conversion concerning the inalienable right to life of unborn babies; specifically, that he will see, embrace, and defend the unborn child’s God given right to life, and will use the office of President to restore the full protection of law to the unborn from conception till birth;

2) That God would thwart the evil acts promised by Obama during the election concerning the unborn. (I.e., signing the Freedom of Choice Act, undoing certain past pro-life executive orders);

3) That God would grant great courage to our Priests, Bishops, and all Christian leaders to publicly resist Obama’s stated agenda, and defend the right to life of the unborn;

4) That God would inspire (where needed) righteous men and women to run for political office in 2010 against pro-abortion politicians from both parties; bold candidates who will defend and protect the right to life of children in legislation;

5) That God would call thousands of new, prayerful, and peaceful (yet bold!) “warriors” into this life and death struggle. " (Quote article from Catholic.org, link above)

I realized that this was also a great opportunity to get all Christian families involved in a cause that consists mostly of prayer -- a simple act, yet the most powerful of them all. If all of our voices can be joined to end this madness, across the country and around the world, for 100 days, that would be wonderful.

My request is that all of my friends on HomeschoolBlogger (and, of course, outside of HSB too) join us in prayer from January 20 to April 29. There will be a group of Catholics praying the Rosary outside of the White House for those 100 days, but since many of us cannot make it, we are welcome to send our prayers to God from our own homes. I repeat: This is by no means for Catholics only. Any Christian who believes in a baby's right to be born can join us in prayer for these 100 days. The battle for justice was not lost with this presidential election, and if we can all raise our voices in unison for this, a miracle will happen!

If you would like to join me in fighting for the rights of our future brothers and sisters, let me know in a blog post (this is optional.) Also, we would appreciate it if you would recruit friends and family to pray with us too. We need as many voices as we can get!

All Christians are a family, and this is a wonderful time for our family to gather together for a cause -- whether we don't know each other face-to-face, or if we have never even heard of each other in our lives, our voices can be joined and we will be a family! So join me and everyone else participating in this. It's time to take action together!

Also, if you read this post late, remember that it is never too late to add your voice!

Thank you for reading!

~Mariella

The back-up singers called in sick because it's snowing outside so heavily.

So yeah, I'm 15 now. Well, I'm technically not until 8:38 PM, the time I was born, but I don't care, I'm going with that anyway.

So... I didn't have a party... I didn't get an insane amount of useless presents, though the ones I did get are amazingly beautiful and valuable. *points to her golden bracelet* And I got a lot more greetings on the Internet than I got birthday cards, but those are just as good. Thanks, you guys! *hugs her friends*

One present I did get and love is my Polaroid Digital Picture Frame!

It has the weather, too, in case you didn't notice.

Although I did have a good 15th birthday, I didn't get a party, and I prefer it this way. I'll spend all Sunday... probably reading in my pajamas. ^.^ We're COMPLETELY snowed in so I don't think we'll be able to get to church, unless we risk slipping on the sleek roads and dying. I'll try to take some pictures for you. Last night we were at 18 degrees. The roads are pure ice!

I owe you a long blog post, so here goes.

First of all, I should take some time off to honor one of my saints. He's St. John of the Cross, and his feast day is December 14th (my birthday!) so I'd like to take some time off to explain a bit about him. (Yes, I got all this info off of Wikipedia, so what?)

Saint John of the Cross (San Juan de la Cruz) (24 June 1542 – 14 December 1591), born Juan de Yepes Alvarez, was a major figure of the Catholic Reformation, a Spanish mystic, and Carmelite friar and priest, born at Fontiveros, a small village near Ávila.

Saint John of the Cross was a reformer of the Carmelite Order and is considered, along with Saint Teresa of Ávila, as a founder of the Discalced Carmelites. He is also known for his writings. Both his poetry and his studies on the growth of the soul are considered the summit of mystical Spanish literature and one of the peaks of all Spanish literature. He was canonized as a saint in 1726 by Pope Benedict XIII. He is one of the thirty-three Doctors of the Church. When his feast day was inserted into the General Roman Calendar in 1738, it was assigned at first to 24 November, since his date of death was impeded by the then existing octave of the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. This obstacle was removed in 1955 and in 1969 his feast day was moved to his date of death, 14 December.

Patronage	contemplative life; contemplatives; mystical theology; mystics; Spanish poets

So he was a writer. Uh, a poet, but it doesn't matter. <3 St. John of the Cross is a Doctor of the Catholic Church.

While I'm at it, I'll stop to honor the saint with which I share my middle name, St. Cecilia. This is also from Wikipedia.

Saint Cecilia (Latin: Sancta Caecilia) is the patron saint of musicians^[3] and Church music.^[4] Her feast day is celebrated in the Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Eastern Catholic Churches on November 22. She is one of seven women, excluding the Blessed Virgin, commemorated by name in the Canon of the Mass. It was long supposed that she was a noble lady of Rome who, with her husband Valerian(us) and his brother Thateus, suffered martyrdom, c. 230, under the Emperor Alexander Severus.

The research of Giovanni Battista de Rossi,^[5] however, appears to confirm the statement of Venantius Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers (d. 600), that she perished in Sicily under Emperor Marcus Aurelius between 176 and 180. A church in her honor exists in Rome from about the 5th century, was rebuilt with much splendor by Pope Paschal I around the year 820, and again by Cardinal Paolo Emilio Sfondrati in 1599. It is situated in Trastevere, near the Ripa Grande quay, where in earlier days the Ghetto was located, and is the titulus of a Cardinal Priest, currently Carlo Maria Martini.

The martyrdom of Cecilia is said to have followed that of her husband and his brother by the prefect Turcius Almachius.^[6] The officers of the prefect then sought to have Cecilia killed as well. She arranged to have her home preserved as a church before she was arrested. At that time, the officials attempted to kill her by locking her in an overheated sweat-house (bathhouse). However, the attempt failed, and she was to be beheaded. The executioner attempted to decapitate her three times unsuccessfully, at which time he fled. Cecilia survived another three days before succumbing. In the last three days of her life, she opened her eyes, gazed at her family and friends who crowded around her cell, closed them, and never opened them again. The people by her cell knew immediately that she was to become a saint in heaven.^[4] She was a friend to all.

The skull of Saint Cecilia is kept as a relic in the cathedral of Torcello.

"Martyrdom of Saint Cecilia," by Stefano Maderno, one of the most famous examples of Baroque sculpture.

Her Feast Day is on November 22.

Okay so enough of that.

Right now I am actually reading something. It's The Darkangel by Meredith Ann Pierce. It's among my favorite books now. What? You haven't read it yet? I don't care. Go read it. What? You're busy?! So what! Buy it and read it next weekend. It's really a very quick read, though I wish that it would never end. I have to run and get the sequels.

And I'm editing my NaNo novel. 96,000 words are now almost 102,000 words and I'm only on page 85 out of 222. By the time it's published it's going to be nice and shiny.

Now my rant is over. :D I need to get busy taking pictures for my picture frame!

-Mariella
(Future New York Times Bestseller, Nobel Prize Winner, and sole achiever of total world domination. Really.
And the Voice of Doom.
And the Empress. That's what everyone calls me anyways. Bwaha.)

Hi guys.

*turns off Bold and Italic*

NaNo be ooooooover. And Mari[ella] has time to blog again now. Yay.

My book ain't over yet, but when it is there'll be at LEAST 90,000 words. And guess what? I WROTE ALL THE SCENES I WAS SUPPOSED TO. I mean, there might be some that I'll need to add, but I can show it to somebody who wants to read it and they won't wonder who Miia is!

*muse whispers in ear*

Oh. You don't know who Miia is yet, do you? Bother. I still need to put up some chapters. I got the romance part over with... next comes the part where--oops, no spoilers.

Say, does anybody even READ my blog posts anymore? Seriously.

I'm afraid my novel will have a rather tragic ending, so I don't want to finish it, but I have to. This is my first potential bestseller.

Okay so The Empress is back with her lovely signature. Yay.

See you... sometime....

-Mariella
(Future New York Times Bestseller, Nobel Prize Winner, and sole achiever of total world domination. Really.
And the Voice of Doom.
And the Empress. That's what everyone calls me anyways. Bwaha.)

I just had to do it. *grin*

The Author Tag

Do you have a pen/pecil collection? How many of those are chewed? Au contraire... somehow I always manage to lose all my pens and pencils. (Therefore I have no time to chew on them.)

Do you prefer handwriting or typing furiously? If it were for me I'd type furiously all day but every now and then handwriting is necessary to get over Writers' Block.

How often do you get inspiration? Every second of every minute of every day. Yes, literally. (It stopped scaring me two years ago.)

Are you blogging this on a computer or laptop? Laptop. My sidekick.

Do you get inspiration more in the early morning or late at night? Most of the good inspiration comes late at night so I can write it during the day.

Do certain movies/books/music inspire you? No, not really, but if I look for inspiration I'm going to find it. It's a gift I have.

How do you incorporate God into your stories? I don't really know. He's in there somehow, but I guess it's just in the sense that He's with me when I'm writing it... but when I read it it's more focused on the other characters. *gasps and hangs head in shame* But His presence is there, and if you look for Him He's there! Just look hard enough. It can be that little spark of hope in a character's heart... or maybe even just a smile during dark times...

Do you kill off your villains or make them repent? I can only kill the minor baddies. But Maeve, it seems, won't die 'till I'm, like, twenty. She's pretty much invincible until I can get Leslie in there, which won't be for a while.

Is the majority of your characters magical beings, humans or halflings? Or something else? They're all human beings. Talking animals creep me out. Plus, I prefer not to take leaves out of Tolkien and Lewis' books. I'll stick to my own.
Gillian: But what about Flugen?!
I DON'T KNOW WHAT FLUGEN IS. Maybe he's a mutant person or something but he is NOT a goblin. *inches away nervously*

What genre of writing are you most comfortable in? If you were to step out of your comfort zone, what would you write?  My muses call my comfort zone "Depressing Fantasy" and I quite agree with them. If I stepped out of that zone I'd try to write a normal modern-day fiction book, but I guess I'm not very modern-day because they never work out.

Do you work better alone or with someone else? Eh it depends... I don't mind working with other people, but what drives me nuts is when they take too long to write a chapter and I'm left hanging there for a whole summer. (OKAY, OKAY, I KNOW. I LEFT CAETY HANGING THERE FOR A WHOLE SUMMER. Dumb muses.)

Do your stories make sense, or do they ramble wildly? I think they make sense, if you're willing to drop your logical side and accept the presence of power/magic/whatever you want to call it.

Are your characters mostly Renegades, Peacekeepers or a mish-mash? Um... I don't know.

Are you a sucker for good grammar? I am a sucker for good grammar. And punctuation. In fact, I spent all summer on FictionPress copying and pasting my "THIS IS HOW YOU WRITE DIALOGUE" review on pretty much everyone's stories.

How is your handwriting? Well, I can read it, so I'm okay with it.

How evil are your villains? Eh, my villains who work for the main villain really aren't that bad. They don't actually have a choice; they're being forced to work for Maeve. Now, Maeve is your ultimate baddie. I don't even know how she'll even die in the end.

Are you long-winded or succinct? Uh.

Do you have typical "writer" traits such as inkstains on your fingers or a pencil behind your ear? Hehehe... I handwrote so much for the past few years that I think my fourth finger on my right (write!) hand will be sore for all eternity.

Would someone walking past you on the street consider you normal? Yes, surprisingly. On the streets I'm relatively normal. 'Cept for the fact that I try to ignore everyone with my iPod. Is that normal? 

Do you write mostly poetry, stories, novels or a mixture? Novels.

Do your characters vary in accents, appearence and attitude or are they mostly the same? I can't do accents but one day I might try. In appearance they do vary.

Do real people and/or places inspire your writing? Well, yeah, like I said, if I look for inspiration I'm going to find it.

How many blogs/websites/internet haunts do you have? I run one blog... and... that's it.

What is your favorite character? Or do you choose to remain unbiased in case of a revolt? MY FAVORITE CHARACTER?! Uh. Well, I'm going to have to go with Adrian. =D Guys in real life should be more like him.

Do you talk to your characters? Do they talk back? No. I don't really talk to my characters. Sometimes I ramble insults to them in my journal though.

Are you more comfortable with girl or boy main characters? Honestly? I can do both perfectly fine.

Do you follow basic overused plotlines with new twists thrown in or do you depart from the norm all the time? AKA cliches? I try to stay away from those. Sometimes I'll grab one that catches my attention and twist it until it looks like one of those balloons a clown might make, and that balloon can resemble anything, because when I twist I twist.

Do you feel God has called you to be a writer/poet? Will you grasp "the power of the pen"? Yeah, I think I might already be on the way to grasping it. Of course He has!!! I'm not good at anything else. Anything.

I tag Forestcrazy, Outfire, Storyteller, and ThrillAuthor.

Yes, yes, I know it's not as good as the last one...

Chapter Twenty-One

“Where are you going today, Cherise?”

Cherise blinked a couple of times and looked up from the sketchbook. She'd been staring at it blankly, lost in thought. Realizing that her mother was talking to her, she sighed inwardly and pushed the sketchbook away. “Why do you ask?” She sounded as startled as she felt.

“Because lately you don't go anywhere. I thought that today you might finally have plans.”

“Oh. Um...” Cherise shrugged weakly. “I don't know. Any ideas?”

Mother wasn't looking directly at her, but Cherise could almost see her frowning thoughtfully. “I don't know. Why don't you go see your friends again? It's been a week since I last saw you going off to visit them.”

Cherise winced a little at the reminder and let her gaze drop to the sketchbook once more. “Well...” Since she really didn't have a convincing argument, she didn't say anything, but let her gaze drop. Sighing softly, she closed the sketchbook and blinked, sleepy. “I suppose I'll go,” she mumbled, blinking in the blinding sunlight. She didn't want to go, but if it was to avoid suspicion...

Forcing herself to her feet, she wondered what exactly she was trying to achieve by locking herself in her house for almost two more weeks. After all, it wouldn't make him come back sooner. She might as well leave for some fresh air... a week had passed already, anyway. She wasn't dead yet.

Yet, she reminded herself.

She wasn't exactly in the mood to run off to find one of her friends; instead, she grabbed her sketchbook from the table before she headed for the door.

“So you have plans now?” her mother asked, slight amusement in her voice.

“I suppose I do,” Cherise replied as she opened the door and stepped out.

“Don't be out too late,” Mother called as she closed the door.

She sighed a little and stepped out into the weak sunlight. She didn't want to be here – she preferred her bedroom – but it didn't matter anymore anyway. She was out.

Slowly, she paced down the street, lost in thought. Yes, she had survived an entire week... and now she was wondering where he was. Was he all right? A feeling deep inside her told her that he wasn't all right; he wasn't dead, but he wasn't safe.

If that was truly the case, then what were the chances of her seeing him again?

She wondered if he would have stayed, had she asked him to. But then, that would be a selfish move on her own part. She could not argue with him; the fact was that his living here would have been dangerous for everyone else she loved.

He might as well just return when there's no longer the chances of someone dying, she asked herself gloomily as she approached the part of the river where the bench was. Right?

Wrong, retorted the side of her that refused to see logic. The side of her that still wished he had stayed. Wrong.

She sank onto the bench and gazed blankly at the river in front of her, letting the soothing sound relax her a little. For just a moment, she didn't miss him so terribly; when there was something there to distract her, as opposed to the silence of her bedroom, she could live. In her bedroom it was too still. Her own thoughts seemed to echo there, with nothing to interrupt them. Here the river drowned out her every feeling, and she appreciated that.

Slowly, she opened the sketchbook and began a rough drawing of the view in front of her. The river, and the sun shining behind it, just beginning to set. It was entertaining, and even amusing to see how badly her drawing was, compared to the beauty of the actual scene. But at least it allowed her thoughts to be elsewhere, as she added a bit of shading here... made it darker there...

She was just beginning to like her work of art a little when a shy voice spoke to her.

“Hello.” The voice that pulled her out of her thoughts was familiar, and unusually welcome, since she hadn't heard her for so long.

Cherise looked up at Svenja with a smile. “Hi. Haven't seen you in... a while...” She trailed off when she realized that this fact was entirely her own fault.

Svenja seemed to be thinking the same thing; her weak smile gave it all away. “Indeed. I've missed you,” she added with her usual cheer.

Cherise nodded, letting her gaze drop back to the sketchbook in shame. “Sit,” she offered.

Sven seemed to hesitate for a couple of seconds before sinking onto the bench to her left. “So... how are you doing?” She chose each word carefully, but Cherise knew exactly what she meant.

Cherise considered this for a few seconds. “Well,” she replied at last, huddling on the bench. “I'm alive.”

“That's good, I suppose,” Svenja muttered.

Cherise hesitated. She wanted to ask it, but knew that the chances of Sven having an answer would be very low. “Do... do you have any news concerning him? I... I hate being in the dark like this.”

“I would imagine you do,” Sven replied in a whisper. “But I don't have any news. It seems like Garrett just... vanished.”

Cherise winced a little at the sound of his name. It hurt to hear his name and know that he was so terribly far away.

“Oh,” was her weak response. “Do you think he'll be back at all?”

Several seconds passed in complete silence. Cherise felt alarm and turned to look at her friend.

Sven was staring blankly at her hands, long blond hair nearly obscuring her face, but Cherise could see sadness and reluctance in her blue eyes.

Does she know something? Cherise asked herself curiously. She's so... mysterious... it would seem like she's lying to me. “What's wrong?” she asked her slowly.

Sven smiled a little and shook her head. “I'm not psychic,” she replied quietly, looking up again. “So I don't know if he'll be back or not. I'll just give you a bit of advice, though, Cherise... don't get too hopeful... because then, if he really doesn't return...” She sighed softly and finished. “If he really doesn't return, it'll be a lot harder on you, and I don't want that.”

“Why?”

“Because you're my friend. I just don't want that.”

Cherise found herself smiling a little and looked away. After a few seconds, she decided that she could confide in this girl. It wasn't like she had anyone else to tell her secrets to. “I'm tired of being in the dark,” she admitted in a whisper. “That's all.”

“How do you mean?”

She allowed the roaring of the river to soothe her a bit more before she responded. “I just don't understand who I'm supposed to be,” she whispered at last. “According to him and everyone else... I seem to have played a great role in this story... but my problem is that I don't know anything about this story at all. All I know is that he was a shadow... and now he's not... and suddenly he's gone because of someone out to kill him.” She thought this over for a moment before concluding, “It just seems that there's a lot more to this story than I know. It's so much deeper than what I know so far...”

“I'm sure whatever he hasn't told you must be a deep secret of his,” Sven replied after a moment.

“I know,” Cherise replied, barely a whisper. “I know. But I can't stop thinking about it... if I'm that significant, how come I barely know anything at all?”

“I don't know. But I'm sure that once you see him again, he'll tell you everything,” Svenja replied, adding that edge to her voice that seemed to soothe you more than even the raging river in front of them.

“If,” Cherise corrected her sadly, still in that quiet tone that wasn't much more than a breath. “If I see him again.”

In any normal situation, Svenja would have tried to reassure her. She would tell her to stop worrying; that she would see him again. But she didn't have to lie to make Cherise feel better. Cherise already knew that there was no way of knowing what would happen... and chances were that things would not go as well as she would like them to.

Cherise fell into a thoughtful silence; finally, she decided to ask something else, something to lighten up the mood. “What's your sister's name?”

“Her name is Charlotte. Quite different from my own name, isn't it?” She laughed a little and added, “I don't mind. I like what my name means. And...” She trailed off with a shrug, but Cherise suspected that she had been about to say something but changed her mind.

Cherise refrained herself from sighing again. Yet another secret... well, that was nice for her self-esteem.

You're nosy, her conscience scolded her. That's your problem. To feel important you need to know everything about everything. That's just not going to work, so as long as you remain that way, you'll never feel important...

“Do you and Charlotte live alone?” she asked quietly, entirely to ignore the voice in her head.

“Yes...” Sven trailed off, obviously to stop herself from giving away painful memories. Well, as long as her conscience was with her, Cherise decided to no press for it. What wasn't her business, simply wasn't her business. “But my sister's in her early twenties, so we're fine on our own.”

“Oh,” Cherise said softly, gazing at the river. Sometimes she wished she could follow the river... and wherever it went would lead her away from this town. Away from this tiny, isolated town... away from all the secrets... wherever such a beautiful river led, must be worth being.

“Why did your family move back here?” asked Svenja curiously.

“My mother wanted to come back to where her family had lived. I think it was the stories her mother told her... and she became fascinated and intent on returning here. So she did...” She didn't think about whether or not I'd be happy here, though, she added silently.

“And you don't like it here,” Sven guessed suddenly, voicing her thoughts almost at the same time she had been thinking them.

“No,” Cherise forced herself to say, surprisingly for the first time in years. “No, I don't.” And this was the first time she said this directly to anyone other than her mother.

“If you don't mind my asking... why don't you like it here?”

“I just... don't think...” Cherise trailed off, and knew how terribly hurtful what she was about to say would sound to someone who had grown up here and liked it. It was ironic, too. Cherise, also, had practically grown up here. “There's nothing here.” She got straight to the point. “Nothing at all. Sometimes I can't stand the emptiness. That road in front of the gate just taunts me. It makes me wonder what must be on the other end. It makes me wonder where I came from and whether I would fit in better there than in here. And... it's so... boring to me. Especially when I don't know anything about anyone, except for my own family.” She realized tears were streaming down her face. “When he suddenly appeared, I finally found something to look forward to. He was the highlight of the whole day. And yet, he barely told me anything. But I put up with that because I wanted to be a good friend. And now he's gone and he might not be coming back...” She trailed off and shut her eyes tight.

When Svenja finally replied, it was far from the reaction distraught Cherise had expected. “You're right, hon,” she mumbled, also huddling up on the bench and staring distractedly out at the raging river. “Every word you said is absolutely right. I'm sorry you feel that way. Believe me, I have felt that way more than once, but...” She shrugged a little. “I'm not quite that bored. Let's leave it at that.”

“Hi, you two,” said a sudden voice, startling her out of her reverie. Cherise whirled around, a little faster than she had meant to, to look at Gabrielle, standing behind the bench. She looked bewildered; clearly she had heard every word. “Mind if I join you?”

Cherise was shaky; she took a second to pull herself together enough to nod a little. Gaby sat to her right, and then she realized that she was seated in the middle of her two best friends.

Garrett can't be classified as a best friend anymore, she realized, accepting a gentle hug from Gabrielle. He's much more.

“Just so you know,” Gaby said after a moment of silence, “I know even less about this than you do, Cher. So don't cry. I wish I knew why you've been practically ignoring me all these days, but since I also want to be a good friend, I'll force myself to live with what I already know. And I think that's what you have to do. It's not easy, but if you want to keep a friend, it's not that difficult.”

“Cherise?” Svenja said suddenly, a bit of alarm in her tone.

This caused her to turn and look at her. “What?” she stammered.

“I'd suggest staying away from the alleys tonight,” Sven replied, still frowning.

“Why?”

“I don't know. It's just a feeling. Don't go to the alleys tonight, or else something bad will happen, and we'll all be sorry.”

“How do you know?”

Sven shrugged. “I just know some things. But please take my advice.”

Cherise's frown deepened. She wanted to know what her friend was thinking... but she'd take her advice and not go to the alleys tonight. “Okay,” she agreed quietly.

Awkward silence followed.

“I don't believe we've met,” Gabrielle decided to speak up at last; she was talking to Svenja.

Sven smiled and turned to look at her. “We haven't.”

The sun set. They stayed outside all day. Finally, Svenja arose and went back home – not without reminding Cherise to stay away from the alleys – and she and Gabrielle remained alone.

“Wonder what your friend has against alleys tonight,” Gaby mused after a few seconds.

“I don't know,” Cherise replied honestly. “But whatever it is, I think it's best to trust her.”

Gabrielle shrugged. “Can I go to your house for dinner?” she asked suddenly.

“Sure. Why not yours?”

“I'm not cooking today, therefore I have no obligation to attend.”

Cherise giggled a little and arose. “Come on, then,” she said, and she could almost hear joy in her voice. She took her sketchbook and added, “My mother's missed you.”

“Has she?” Gaby replied, yawning a little.

“Yes... seems I'm ruining everybody's day.” She laughed dryly and turned to the river one more time before leading her friend down the road to her house. She kept strictly away from the alleys.

...I shall fill them in.

One's from Believer:

1.) Doing 5 years ago? I was probably making silly "TV shows" with my video camera with my friends.

2. Six things you would do if you were a zillionare: I'd donate 1/3 of my income to save the pandas and maybe the polar bears, the other 1/3 to the Catholic church, and with the remaining 1/3 I'll buy a nice house and a St. Bernard and maybe one of those spiffy $100 iTunes gift cards. Did I just say spiffy? Oh, there's another left. I'd visit all my friends. :D NO NO NO! I WANT TO BUY THE SMITHSONIAN MUSEUM!! *wink*

3. Name three bad habits: Putting off writing essays till the very last minute, staying up late (though I have done it for so long that I don't really consider it a bad habit anymore) and starting way too many novels for me to finish. OH! And putting tags on hold.

4. Three good habits: I tend to make a lot of friends lately, I aspire high (I'm not sure if that's a good habit) and I correct people and scold them on their bad habits. (That's not a good habit, I'm sure.)

5. Five things you like to do: Write, listen to music, chat, make friends, maybe read but I don't do it as much anymore.

6. Name four places you have lived: Boise, ID... Boise, ID... Boise, ID... and Boise, ID.

7. Who did you last talk to? My mom.

8. What is your favorite song? Oh jeeze! You're asking me to pick one song out of 2,000? Oh, all right... *ponders* Falling by Keri Noble. Somehow that song will end up on my movie soundtrack.

9. What would you do if you could fly? Crash.

10. What's your favorite book? The Sea Of Trolls by Nancy Farmer, East by Edith Pattou, and Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.

I was also tagged by Pip:

Tell 6 random things about yourself and then tag six people. Link back to the person who tagged you.

1. I decided last night that I'm an unhealthily ambitious eighth-grader. And guess what? I don't care!

2. I write a LOT more than I read.

3. I did not like the Lord of the Rings books. I never made it through them.

4. I have two muses, Aderyn and Gillian. Aderyn's the one who gives me too many ideas for me to deal with. Gillian's the one who organizes them and decides what I should actually write.

5. I have an iron fist somewhere in my desk drawer to use on stubborn characters, but at the moment I can't find it.

6. I'm homeschooled! *crowd gasps in astonishment*

I was also tagged by ThrillAuthor.

1. If you were to describe yourself as a color, what would it be?: Black.

2. What is your favorite animal?: Hmm... this is a toughie. I'm going to have to go with whatever type of dog my dog is. We don't know what she is, so we just call her an alien.

3. What is your favorite musical instrument?: Piano and any soft string instrument. Too bad I'm lazy to play either of them.

4. Do you have a favorite number?: At the moment? 7. *grins at Squid*

5. Roller coasters or boat rides?: Boat rides.

6. If you were an animal, what would you be?: A polar bear! Who doesn't want to live in the North Pole? Okay, okay, not the best idea since the North Pole is melting, but still.

7. What coin best describes you?: Un sol. (Peruvian coin. BWAHA I WIN)

8. Do you like tags?: Yes!

9. Do you wish this tag would end?: No. Tags are excuses to procrastinate.

10. Morning or evening?: Evening.

11. Mugs or just plain cups?: Cups. Mugs are too heavy.

12. Describe yourself as a...: Evil conquerer. Unhealthily ambitious eighth grader. Aspiring young author. Idahoan.

13. fiction or non-fiction?: Fiction all the way! Although I like ghost stories... but most people would classify this as fiction. Bah.

14. Do you wish you were somewhere else?: No, I like where I live.

15. Do you like candy or do you not like candy?: Depends on where the candy's from. I mostly like Peruvian candy.

NOW... the dreaded moment.

I SHALL TAG:

Believer, forestcrazy (SQUID!) writer4him, Altariel, ThrillAuthor, Pip, and... if you read beyond THIS point I have also tagged you. BWAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! [Do I sound enough like an evil conquerer?

What what? You already filled in one of these tags? Well, guess what?? I DON'T CARE.

I need an opinion on this chapter. Thanksies.

*crickets chirp* Well... lol. Only if you feel like it.

Chapter Twenty

Was life as a shadow better or worse than this? Garrett found himself wondering. No. Back then I was alone. There was nothing to look forward to. Nobody to miss me.

Now he was having a hard time figuring anything out at all. Meeting Cherise was doubtlessly the greatest thing to happen to him in six hundred years. That, however, meant that he could no longer lay low and wait twenty-nine days to see her again. More than likely he would give up and go back sooner. Time was no longer just night and day to him; rather, every second of every minute seemed endless in this rotting little cottage.

It was the second day. If She was really this all-knowing, She would know by now that he was free. He was here, practically defenseless. If she was wise, she would come for him now.

Garrett wondered what his purpose here truly was. Why had he left Tristan?

Huddled in the far corner, he began to list his reasons.

“I left to save Cherise.” Yes, he was talking to himself; there was nobody here to hear him. He caught regret in his voice. He now admitted to himself that he regretted leaving; he wished that he had never left. “I left to save her family. I left to save her town.” But so much more than that was actually happening. “I'm... finding myself again. And I remember what it's like to really be lonely... and now I have someone to miss...”

He shut his eyes tight and reached instinctively for The Silent One. It didn't guarantee him safety. It didn't guarantee him anything at all. But it was slowly bringing back bits of who he had been, so long ago.

That night...

More details. The night he lost his life was becoming clearer, more vivid, as – eyes closed, in complete silence – he slowly brushed his fingers down the blade, felt the icy coldness of the thin, strong iron against his already frozen hand. He now remembered that horrible night as if it had been yesterday. The look of guilt on his father's face that Garrett still couldn't explain... it bothered him. Could his own father have had something to do with how miserable his life had ended up being for the next six centuries?

With a sigh, he pulled himself to his feet. How am I going to manage this? he thought, trembling in the cold evening air. It's only the second day. Can't she find me already?

He had spoken too soon.

“Are you waiting for the roof to fall on you?” Garrett looked up; a stranger was standing at the entrance, blocking out the sunlight. The room was dark; he couldn't see the man's face. “Or else what are you doing, sulking in the corner?”

It took a few seconds for these words to sink in, and for Garrett to realize that the person was actually speaking directly to him. His mind did not know how to react. His grip on the sword tightened; it felt like instinct. He realized that the stranger was writing for an answer.

“I don't know,” he mumbled, thinking hard, trying to remember how to speak. No – what he needed to remember was how to fight. This was one of Her spies. He didn't know who this man was – it wasn't Beth – but nevertheless, surely this man knew how to fight. He must be armed. Garrett was armed, but didn't remember how to swing a sword. He tried to recall how to fight with a weapon. None of the moves he had learned came back to him.

“Well. Then, I must assume that there's nothing to stop you.” A slight pause followed, and he finally got to the point. “I'm afraid you're coming with me, then.”

Garrett stared there stupidly for a moment, frozen. What was he doing? Was he about to converse with a stranger who wanted to take him to his death?

He then remembered that he wasn't exactly having a great time sitting here waiting, either.

If I manage to ward him off, he thought, still staring, I can run farther. Maybe even I'll kill him. Then... Garrett trailed off, pain stabbing at him. Conflict. He didn't want to kill anyone.

He tried to weigh the options in his head. If he left, he'd end twenty-nine days of suffering. But if he left... he'd be letting Cherise down. Choosing to let her down, even. If he even considered doing that, he'd die willingly out of shame.

“No,” he whispered shakily, raising the sword a little, even though he didn't know what he was going to do with it. “I won't.” Somehow, he was reminded of that night, when he had become a shadow... he remembered rebelling against the one who wanted to kill him. It had done him no good. But because of someone he loved, he had kept speaking. That was who he used to be. He intended to be that person again.

The man took a step forward. In confusion, Garrett noted that that step was not threatening or angry. In the dim light, he could see that that step was... hesitant. Scared. “You will,” was all the man said.

“And who are you to think that you will make my decisions for me?” Somehow his own voice frightened him. He did not recognize it. It was too... brave, too... too strong.

“I come on behalf of Her. That's all I need to explain to you.”

“Oh?” He felt anger rise inside of him. Somehow he had never felt this angry before... that he could remember. “You can tell Her that I'm unimpressed with her selection of a representative. What with what I have seen of her... any guard of hers would just spring, instead of wasting so much time with small talk.”

This seemed to have left the man speechless. Garrett felt a small smile play at his lips. For the first time he felt the satisfaction of having beat an enemy at something.

“I'm unarmed,” the man said quietly at last. “You can drop the knife.”

It's a sword, idiot. Garrett barely kept himself from saying it aloud. “Why would I do that?” he replied coolly. “It's not mine. I'm borrowing it. It wouldn't be mine to lose.”

“You won't need it much longer. You're coming with me.”

“Not without a fight, I'm not.” Great. His voice quivered. There goes my heroic ending, Garrett thought, angry with himself.

“Don't make me do this.”

“I'm not making you do anything. It's as much your decision to fight as it is to walk away and leave me alone.” At least this time his voice was firm.

The stranger remained silent. This time Garrett did smile. He had left his enemy speechless again.

But the silence lasted too long. He was being foolish anyway, attempting to be a hero. Might as well end this foolishly. He was a proud fool. Taking a step forward, he asked in a quiet voice, “Or is it that you can't fight?”

“That's right,” admitted the enemy quietly. “I can't fight.”

Why is he admitting this to me? Garret thought, this time left speechless himself. “What makes you think that I'm going to go with you, then?” he asked, cursing inwardly that that one bit of pride had vanished from his tone.

“What is there for you to lose here?” was the simple reply.

Garrett remained silent.

“Take it as a request,” the man continued, and it seemed like he knew he sounded pathetic. “Come.”

“I'd rather fight,” Garrett whispered, his grip on the weapon tightening more still.

The stranger remained silent. He began to move, though; stepping forward and gazing intently at the ground, seemingly looking for something.

I should take this opportunity to run for it, Garrett thought, realizing that the door was no longer being guarded.

The stranger kicked away some dust from a particular area on the floor, apparently having found what he had been looking for. He reached down and lifted the floorboards.

A basement? thought Garrett, frowning. I've been here for two days and I didn't notice that there was a basement...

“You want to fight?” the stranger was asking him, interrupting his thoughts.

“I'd rather that than give in easily,” replied Garrett smugly.

In the setting sun, he saw the enemy nod a little, reach down, and lift something out of the basement. A rope ladder, Garrett realized. The way in... and out.

“If that is truly your choice...” He trailed off, then tossed the rope ladder out the window. Garrett watched it disappear curiously. What was the man thinking?

The man turned to him. “My name is Stephen.” His voice was so casual, so annoyingly innocent, that Garrett almost wanted to beat him to death. Here he was, about to kill him, but he was speaking to him as if he had known him forever. “I repeat... I can't fight. You have a sword; that is an advantage over me. I have the basement. That is an advantage over you.”

“Explain,” Garrett demanded, though suddenly he thought he knew Stephen's intentions.

Stephen took a step forward, and suddenly his voice was menacing. “Your sword can kill me easily with one stab. I haven't anything to defend myself, save for my bare hands. But with my bare hands I can shove you in there. There is no way out; you will have no choice but to come with me, or else I will bring Her to you.”

Garrett felt himself go cold.

Calm, he reminded himself. You won't win anything if you panic like this.

It's over. It's over... again.

You have a sword.

True.

“Fine.” His voice shook again as he agreed to the deal.

You have no choice, he reminded himself, once more running a finger down the blade of the sword. Either you kill him... or you die sooner.

He decided to choose his own life over Stephen's... for Cherise.

“Agreed.” Stephen didn't sound scared. He sounded decided. If he realized that the chances of him winning against a sword were small, he didn't sound like it.

But he had the element of surprise.

It was too fast. Perhaps Garrett had been too busy panicking. He didn't act until it was too late; Stephen had already sprung at him and given him a hard blow to the head, sending him sprawling backwards. He barely caught himself from falling on his back. His head was pounding, but he forced himself to pull his head out of the clouds and fight. He had the advantage, after all.

I don't want to kill him.

Suddenly that thought was dominant.

He lunged forward with The Silent One – not to kill, but to scare.

Stephen staggered backwards, purposefully running from his attack. Suddenly, when they were nearing the entrance to the basement, he stopped – right at the edge – and gave Garrett a hard shove to the left. Garrett hadn't expected it. He crashed into the wall. More pain. He couldn't believe he had the weapon and he was losing.

I won't lose. He opened his eyes and glared hatred at Stephen, allowing the weakling to make his next move.

Stephen was just standing there, watching him expectantly. He looked surprised, though, that he was winning.

After a few seconds Stephen sighed impatiently and stepped calmly away from the basement and the danger of falling. “Well? Are we just going to stand here? Or are you ready to give up?”

Garrett was still gasping for breath. He glanced to the left at the door. The exit. A promising escape where there at least wasn't the danger of falling into a basement. But he was too proud. He wouldn't lose. He'd shove Stephen in there... or stab him as the last resort.

Then he thought of Cherise and jumped in again, swinging the sword hard. He didn't remember any special moves from when he had still been training. But swords cut, and this was a sword. If he could just get a slash on this obnoxious young man's arm... the satisfaction of at least one point...

Stephen was swift. He dodged it. With a shout of frustration, Garrett tried harder. He drove the young man against the wall. He didn't let him get away. And suddenly Stephen was nailed to the wall by a sword to the throat. Though outside he was too exhausted to smile, inside he was grinning. Finally.

Silence.

He could hear the seconds tick by.

“Aren't you going to kill me, then?” Stephen demanded irritably. “Don't just stand there with a triumphant look on your face. That's a bad way to win.”

I won't kill him.

Garrett rolled his eyes and released him. A bad way to win. That was true. He wanted to die honorably. He turned and threw the sword into the basement. “Bring it on. Give me a good way to win, then.”

Bad idea.

Stephen grinned and lunged once more, grabbing him and shoving him in the direction of the basement. Garrett caught himself and shoved him to the ground.

“That's not fair,” he hissed, watching his opponent pull himself to his feet. “I dropped the sword. You're supposed to let go of the basement. That is, if you're talking about winning honorably.”

Stephen was on his feet quickly – more quickly than Garrett had expected. “Winning honorably? For what prize? A spot in Heaven?” He laughed harshly – but Garrett caught pain in that laugh. A lot of pain. Stephen didn't want to be evil. “I'm not going to get to Heaven anyway. I know it. So while I'm still alive... I'm going to win.”

This retort stunned him.

Stephen took the moment in which he was standing there, staring blankly in shock, to shove him one more time.

He found himself falling backwards into the basement. The collision with something hard caused him to fade slowly into unconsciousness.

“I'm sorry,” he heard Stephen call as everything blurred.

Before everything went blank, he heard a loud creak as the basement door closed.

Chapter Nineteen

Tristan was hauntingly still when Garrett was gone. It was just like Cherise had imagined it... maybe even worse. There was absolutely nothing to look forward to now. She was stuck in her house drawing all day, or playing dolls with Katie, or at Gabrielle's house playing cards. During her spare time she wished she had more homework to do so it would distract her, but that never happened. She was in desperate need of something to do.

She was aware that only a day had passed since he had left. She already missed him terribly. Her best friend had gone, and she didn't know where he was. Or if she would ever see him again.

She was huddled on her bed now, with a worn book in her hands, gazing softly out the window. How come time never flies when you want it to? Cherise wondered sadly, leafing absentmindedly through the pages. It's not fair.

Her gaze dropped to the book she was holding. Now there was the issue of what would happen if he came back. Surely her parents would eventually ask her where she went so repeatedly. Why she stayed out so late. And she'd have to tell them about Garrett. No doubt that they'd then be shocked and demanding of her how she could possibly waste so much time with a stranger. That was how much they cared for her happiness.

You're being ungrateful, Cherise thought, somewhat ashamed. You know how much they care for you.

Yes, but they won't be thrilled to know how much time I spend with him... and especially because I hardly know anything about him at all.

You could do something to earn more time with him. After all, it is the first time you're happy here in a long time. They can't punish you for being happy, and they can't take away your only source of happiness.

Do more than I already have?

You haven't done much in the first place.

It's not my fault that this town is so small there are barely any chores to do in your own home, Cherise reminded her conscience irritatedly.

Well, come up with something to do. It's not that hard. It's as easy as learning to make dinner on your own.

But if I tried to make dinner I'd probably burn down the house... and possibly bring down the entire town with it. Cherise lost patience and threw the book on the floor, laying back on the bed and allowing a few of the daily tears to escape.

Don't lose your temper. It's only the first day.

Still!

He'll be back soon.

That doesn't make it any easier! Why did he even have to leave in the first place!

He left because of you, your town, and your entire family. What would you rather endure – a month without him, or death?

I don't care for my own death, Cherise admitted, opening her eyes to stare at the ceiling. But for my family's.

Exactly. And that's why he left for you. He knows you love your family; that's why he saved them.

Cherise stopped arguing with the little voice in her head and allowed her mind to go blank. She closed her eyes and drifted off for a few minutes, beginning to calm down. It was partly boredom that was making her have this temper tantrum. But it was mostly because he was gone. She couldn't help but panic at how she would explain to her parents that she was so restless because she wanted a complete stranger to return. They might even forbid her from seeing him again...

No, that couldn't happen. It depended on how she told the story. It depended on what their first impression of him was. She'd tell them that he had just been lonely and needed a friend, and now that she had finally earned his trust she didn't want to let go of it. If that didn't work, she'd lie... she'd do absolutely anything to go see him when – if – he returned. Even if it meant continuously sneaking out to meet him against their will.

But hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Hopefully they would understand that she just needed to see him, no arguments... hopefully they'd do her this one favor. After all, she'd done enough to deserve it. Right?

There are no real chores to do in Tristan, she reminded herself, to do anything. Unless you offer to work at one of the shops.

Cherise opened her eyes, suddenly interested in the thought of getting a job and earning the right to meet him. What job would it be? Simple tasks like helping out with the gardens?

“I wouldn't care about the money,” she breathed, sitting up a little and resting her head against the wall. “Just so long as I earn the right to see him.”

She continued to stare out at the window sleepily. She could almost hear the seconds tick by. One, two, three, four, five...

Eventually she forced herself back to sleep, giving up. One day down... that didn't make the rest of the month exactly much shorter.

Beth hated herself the next morning... at least, she hated herself more than she normally did.

She had agreed the night before to lead two innocent people to their deaths. Poor Garrett. And his friend. She had never met that girl, but she didn't deserve to die Her feet. She shouldn't have to. She didn't really know what was at stake in the first place, anyway.

But now she was teaming up with this Stephen to hunt them both down and bring them to Her. It was still a vague plan. They didn't know exactly what they were going to do. It had been late the night before and Beth had taken a few hours to get over the scare completely, of having been scared to death in the middle of the night. They would come up with a plan today...

Beth's greatest wish had been to die with a clean conscience. It looked like she would not manage that, either. Because she was going to lead them to their fates anyway...

She woke up, eyes still swollen from having spent a whole night crying. Stephen hadn't reassured her, but then again, he hadn't tried. To tell her that it would all be 'all right' would be a lie. It wouldn't be all right. Even if they achieved their goal and took the two unfortunate teenagers to be killed by Her, it might still go wrong for them. Especially for Beth. Beth was in troubles. Beth had tried to be a good person. Beth would have to pay a price for it sometime sooner or later. Knowing Her, it would definitely be sooner...

She sighed weakly and blinked dizzily up at the trees above. It was a pale sky. It was depressing. Normally when she had to come here, she could stay at her own house, but now Garrett was there and she dared not take from him that shelter. He deserved it. She didn't...

Stephen still slept a few feet away from her. She still didn't know if she could trust him. Was he a friend? She was just judging off of what she had to do, and she had to team up with him to get what She wanted. It didn't matter whether she trusted him or not. But he was going through pretty much the same thing she had. She had to be nice to him. Only he could really understand the pain that stabbed at her heart...

She didn't bother to get a better look at him in the sunlight. It didn't really matter what he looked like, as long as he was good at coming up with schemes...

She allowed herself to drift off for a bit longer until he awoke up and... well... something happened.

When he finally did, she remained laying there, still exhausted, until he sat up and spoke to her.

“You all right?”

“No,” Beth mumbled. “Neither are you.”

She heard him sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he was just sitting there, watching her. Obviously her own depressingness must affect people. How stupid she was, to not have figured that out sooner.

“Well... we do have to get to work. We have no choice...” He trailed off uncertainly, aware that this was not helping.

“Can we make it quick?” Beth mumbled tiredly. “Nothing too complicated.”

“That's not up to me. How easy do you think it'll be to get her out of her house?”

“Not easy at all...” Beth smiled cheerlessly. “She has a tightly-knit family, I've noticed.”

“That's not good.” She thought she caught a bit of jealousy in his voice. Obviously he wished that his family was still tightly-knit.

“What's your story, anyway?” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed against the unpleasantly bright sky.

He didn't speak immediately; she didn't really care. She wasn't that interested. But he did speak after a few moments.

“I don't really know what my story is... I don't know how it happened... but She seems to be fond of destroying people's homes and their lives.”

Beth opened her eyes a little. “Where'd you live?”

“Near the border south. I guess that's why she decided to pick on my town.”

Beth shrugged. “Obviously. She's mad that her wrath is being... contained... that her evil darkness can't spread any farther...” She smiled cheerlessly. “But it's a good thing that it can't. I like it... sunny.”

“Did you ever live in that darkness?”

“Yes, actually, I've been there many times. Thankfully, most of the time I can stay out here... until I'm summoned  again, of course.”

“Where do you stay?”

“Usually at my old house... or what's left of it... right now The Shadow's taking shelter there, though, and I haven't the heart to throw him out.” She shut her eyes tightly again. “I don't know how I'll be able to lead him to his death...”

“That's kind of you,” whispered Stephen, ignoring her comment about leading Garrett to his death.

“It's one of the few kind things I can really do. If I try to do anything else that isn't evil...” She smiled cheerlessly again. “I'll probably die two weeks or so sooner...”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Sorry about what? You're in the exact same situation,” Beth mumbled, sitting up sleepily.

“Well... I'm sure you don't deserve it.”

“I'm sure you don't either,” she replied quietly, resting her head against the tree behind her. “But there's nothing we can do about it.” And with a weak smile, she shrugged... almost apologetically.

His gaze on her remained firm for several seconds. “Who are you?” he asked at last. He wanted to know her story.

Beth frowned thoughtfully at the ground. He wanted to know her story. The problem was that there wasn't really much of a story to tell him. “Well... up until I was nine, my family and I lived in a house nearby. We preferred to be far from the town. My parents preferred the quiet life.” She huddled up, paused for a second to think, then continued. “It's an old house... they'd lived there for several years before I was born. I remained an only child, so my life was... very... quiet. But I didn't mind. I was used to it; thinking back now, I daresay that it would have been difficult for me to move somewhere else when I wasn't an orphan yet.” She sighed a little and added, “Now, though, I wish I lived somewhere busy... at least so I could have somewhere to hide.”

He remained silent, not forcing the story out of her, but allowing her to tell him only what she wanted to. She liked this. Solely because of this, she decided that she trusted him enough to tell him everything.

“When I was nine... almost ten... well, it seems like – before She found me – She had soldiers from her... hidden army... come here to spy on him. The Shadow. I'd seen them come and go. They didn't bother us... until, apparently, she switched to a new pair of soldiers. These soldiers were more on the...” Beth trailed off, trying to find the right word. “The merciless side. They'd grown up under her influence, and now they didn't think twice about killing someone... even after they've died. They didn't want to sleep on the wet ground that night. It was spring,” she added, as if that detail really mattered. “So... they found that there was a nice little house, a fair distance away from the town of Tristan...” She chuckled once before finishing. “And decided to take over. They believed that it'd be able to be used by the... the next ones sent to spy on Gar–The Shadow.” Pausing a little, she finally added, “Too bad they did too good a job destroying it. Soon enough it wasn't really homely anymore; the only reason anyone ever stayed in there from then on was because it had a roof. Just the sight of it, however, sent chills up their spine... it's not hard to tell that people have died in there–” Beth broke off when she felt that, should she continue, more tears would come. No more crying today. Yet.

“I'm sorry,” mumbled Stephen after a few seconds of silence.

Beth shrugged. “There isn't anything you'd have been able to do about it.”

“I know... but I'm sorry.”

Beth wanted to tell him that she didn't need anyone's sympathy... that seven years of solitude had hardened her heart enough that she could put up with this horrible memory... but that was not the case. She didn't say anything. It was a long time since anybody had felt any sympathy for her. Instead of responding to his condolences, she continued on with her story.

“And so it was a violent struggle. I was hiding in the basement; the basement is – was – pretty much hidden beneath some wooden floorboards. I heard my father fight for the home he had spent so much time building. I heard my mother c–cry.” The memory made her stumble a little before she pulled herself together enough to continue. “But they lost... I heard my home be destroyed.”

Before he could even speak, she was finishing her story.

“They didn't find me until the next morning. They might have destroyed the house, but the hidden basement was hard to see. They didn't discover it till the next day.” She made sure that her voice held no sort of relief or gratitude when she continued. “Since I was only nine, they decided not to kill me, but they didn't know what to do with me. I don't know what would have caused them such a charitable decision. Instead of killing me, they decided to take me to Her... She would make the decision on what to do with me.” Once more she fought back tears before continuing. “I wish She could have decided to kill me instead of make me work for her. Ironically, as soon as I was old enough to travel alone, I became the one who spied on The Shadow... I became the 'soldier' who had the privilege to sleep in that house every time I went...” She broke off, unable to continue any further.

For a moment she remained still, trying to overcome the dizzy spell that overcame her when she thought of having to sleep in what remained of her home every time she came here. She was almost grateful that now Garrett was staying there instead of her now.

Stephen didn't ask any questions. He sighed softly. She knew that he must have a story as depressing as hers, but since she could barely even think, she didn't ask him to tell her his. Finally, he rose to his feet and yawned a little, staring out into the distance.

A few moments passed. Finally, he reached down and helped her to her feet. “You know, you didn't have to tell me all that,” he whispered, with a sympathetic little smile.

Beth shrugged shakily. “Need to tell it to someone,” she told him shakily, still shoving away pain that stabbed at her at these memories. “Now only you know.”

Stephen sighed softly and gave her a little hug. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I thought I had it bad. I was wrong.”

This didn't really comfort her; she just remained silent.

“But thank you for trusting me that way,” he continued as he slowly let go of her. “Now... we need to come up with a way to get this over with.”

Beth forced a smile and nodded once, not meeting his gaze. The mere thought of finally putting an end to the life of the Shadow – just when he had begun to live again – made her want to burst into tears. It made her more sad than the memories of that terrible event from her childhood.

“Now... what will we do?” he asked her quietly, taking a step back.

Beth took a few steady breaths before she was able to speak to him calmly. “Now, tell me... where will we be taking them?”

“She will be coming wherever we can get the two together,” he replied quietly. She could hear in his voice that he wanted this even less than she. “Near or far... it's your choice.”

“This is the farthest I want to get,” Beth admitted. “If we survive this... I need somewhere to stay.” Although, she added silently, I think I'll be too guilty to look those townspeople in the eye. I killed one of their citizens...

It was unwillingly! Beth's defensive side argued hotly.

But still. You'd best be cautious, Elizabeth, if they ever find out that you killed that girl, because they just might return the favor... or send you away.

“If that's what you want,” Stephen agreed quietly, unaware of the argument Beth was having with her conscience. “If we survive, I just want to get them to let my sister go...” He trailed off and began a slow walk towards the town.

“Where is your sister?” Beth mumbled, following him.

“In one of Her... houses.” He said the last word almost painfully, because they both knew that the various places She went to check on those surrounding her were not homes. Many people lost their lives in those houses.

“Is it far?”

“It's quite far. I had troubles finding my way here.”

“Oh,” Beth whispered, and then she looked away, still distraught.

He suddenly took her hand encouragingly. Slowly, she looked up at him. He had sad eyes. He was thinking the same things that she was. “I don't want to do this either,” he told her quietly. “But we have no other choice. I can see that there's no way out for us. But... if we try hard... together... we might make it.” When she continued to hesitate, he added, “Please... help me.”

Beth shut her eyes tight and nodded once. “I will... I have to. But I... it'll be hard...”

“I know it will be... but...” He trailed off, thinking hard. “When we finally do this... when we've given them to Her... we'll run. Even if it gets nowhere. I feel like it's my fault you have to do this, and I will try to get you away.”

This didn't reassure her as much as she knew he hoped it would; nevertheless, she smiled weakly and nodded one more time.

Deal done, they found a hidden spot in the trees and began to make a plan together.

  I should have merged the two Beth scenes. Bah. Lazy.

Chapter Eighteen

Beth had her mind set firmly that she would not get them in trouble if she could avoid it.

It didn't make her feel safe or happy, but it made her nervous. For once in her life she was doing something that she wanted to do... and by doing so, it could end her life.

She hurried as far away from him as possible. Well, if something was going to happen to her because of her decision, it would have happened now... right?

Well, now that that was done, Beth was bored, as always. She wandered, gazing softly at the trees around her, which were so familiar to her now. She had been hiding out here for so long. She was beginning to call this place home. She didn't like it, but she didn't dislike it either. It was a better home than where she spent the rest of the year. She didn't have a life back at Her place. She didn't want to leave here.

When she came she usually stayed in that old house where she had been taken, so many years ago, but now that he was staying in there, she would not kick him out. After all, she owed him something. For so long she had been the enemy. She hadn't done anything bad to him, but she hadn't done anything good either.

Slowly, she rested her head against a tree and stared up at the blue sky above her, sleepy. She wanted to explore, now that she had made the official, fatal decision to never go back to Her place ever again. Maybe she would run away...

Smiling softly, Beth wondered how long she would survive alone. After all, she had had to train herself to get around alone anyway. How come she couldn't just find a city somewhere nearby and change her name? What if... what if she tried to move into the gloomy, rainy little town of Tristan? Would she be welcome there? Would the one she was supposed to follow let her stay there? If he threw her out she would listen to him. He had every right to do so, anyway. If he didn't want to see her again for the rest of his unShadowed life, she would follow his wishes, because she had to. She owed him.

She yawned quietly and played with a long lock of black hair. After so long of not getting any form of haircut, it had grown quite long. When it wasn't so dirty, it was actually pretty. Sometimes it got annoying, though, and she had to braid it to keep it out of her face. She wondered what she would look like if she was ever wearing anything other than rags... if she was anybody other than the worthless spy who had no right to put on a pretty dress.

She remembered the night that that little cottage had become ruins. She had been nine, and hiding in the basement. She didn't remember if She had been there, but her spies certainly were. They'd been in a bad mood, apparently, and decided to kill the rest of her family to have a place to stay for the night. She had learned that that was how these people were raised. They killed to achieve what they wanted. They weren't afraid to. They weren't ashamed to.

Because they didn't want to sleep on damp ground that night, she had wound up completely alone, a worthless orphan... and only the fact that she had been hiding in the basement was what kept her from being found.

But then they caught her the next morning and their moods had grown considerably lighter, it seemed. Instead of killing her, they took pity on her because she had been a child, and decided to just take her to Her place.

I'd rather have died, Beth thought, ashamed of her own decision. But I was nine, and I was scared. She shut her eye tight and blinked away a few tears, revisiting what little remained in her memory of her mother and father. Her father had put up a struggle, that was for sure; there was evidence of that all around the cottage. The shattered windows were obvious evidence.

She didn't remember why they had been living here in the middle of nowhere instead of in Tristan. Maybe it was better, though, that they hadn't been at Tristan; that meant that dozens of lives had been spared.

Maybe after this I can... start over... Beth thought, sinking to the ground and huddling up against the tree. I can have a normal life... I can be free...

That is, if you're not found. The voice in her head was not encouraging. She despised that voice in her head.

I don't want to be found, Beth thought desperately. She felt like a bird in a cage... so much potential, yet these bars surrounding her would not let her go. However, when the door to the cage finally opened... when she, at last, had a chance to run away...

“Don't let go,” she whispered, remembering – for the millionth time – what her mother had said, over and over, when she was still alive. It was one phrase she never forgot. “D–don't let go.”

Don't let go... which meant that she could probably make her escape attempt now.

It sounded like insanity... it truly did... but it was something that she simply needed to do...

What if they don't let me in? Beth thought desperately. What if they recognize me?

Get on your knees, said a daring voice in her head that she had not heard in a long time. It was a rebellious voice that seemed to have disappeared after she had been captured and forced to serve. Get on your knees and plead, if they recognize you and won't let you in. Because you're sorry. You want to be a part of them. You want to live somewhere normal. You want a family... You want a life...

Beth knew more than even this voice in her head that what it was saying was true. She needed to do this. She needed to try this. So she forced herself to her feet and stumbled in the direction of the town of Tristan. She would depend on luck to get herself to actually arrive there. She would depend on fate to not be killed on the way – it was still hours off, and the chances of being caught by one of Her followers as she went there were still high. And she would depend on... both, for there to be somebody in that town kind enough to take her in and protect her.

Maybe I'll be able to have a nicer dress than this, she thought, growing somewhat excited, and picked up the pace. Now all I need is to get there.

Getting her hopes up was probably her biggest mistake.

Garrett was trying to sleep, but it wouldn't come to him.

Boredom seemed worse than death. Slowly, he forced himself into an upright position and stared out the open door at the setting sun. It was so early. He'd returned from his walk in an incredibly bad mood. After he had gone on that walk, there was nothing else to do, but try once more to piece together the pieces of this puzzle.

Why had Elinor not been at that party? He couldn't figure out why, but knew that the answer was significant. He should know the answer. Something told him that it was a strong answer that he should have never forgotten... it was playing at his patience.

He lay on his back, huddled inside the blanket Mrs. Tanner had given him, and closed his eyes, going through what he did remember about the times he had spent with her. Nothing. Elinor no longer seemed as important as she had been once before. Cherise had suddenly taken her place. He smiled softly and gave up. Elinor, in any case, was dead now. He might as well focus his thoughts on someone who was alive and someone who he missed. What was Cherise doing right now?

He felt a tear slide down his face. He wished he had never left. He was miserable here. He didn't want to be here. But it was only the first day.

I'm going to go insane, he thought, shutting his eyes tight. I don't know how long I'll be able to stay here. Will I survive? I'm not locked anywhere... it's the complete opposite... but I hate it...

The tears continued to come, more heavily this time. It was the first time he really cried in a long time. With no one to mock him, laugh at him, or console him, there was nothing to stop them from coming. So he just cried... cried and cried, because there was nothing else to do. Nothing else to do but grieve for a life that might never return to him. He wanted to live at Tristan, where he had spent so, so long hiding. Where he already found some nice people who had even let him stay in their home for days... would they welcome him back?

Mrs. Tanner had said that he was welcome to come back. But... had she said that in words? Garrett couldn't remember. Maybe he had simply misinterpreted her actions. She seemed to be welcoming him, though.

“She better not have changed her mind,” he whispered, voice hoarse with tears. “Because I might survive this, and when I do I'll need somewhere to go.”

He rolled over onto his side and stared at the dark wall to his right, tired of the sky. The sky was only a reminder of how he had everywhere to run, but nowhere but this tiny shack to hide.

What if Cherise was here? he thought, closing his eyes and letting the rest of the tears escape him. Maybe he wouldn't stop crying tonight. It was six hundred years' worth of tears. If she were here, what would she think of me? Would I appear weak? Would I just seem stranger than I normally am? Have I ever really cried in front of her in the first place?

He couldn't remember. It probably didn't matter anyway.

The sun set slowly... way too slowly. The loneliness was evident; it lingered in the air around him. As he lay there in complete silence, it was impossible to ignore the fact that there was nothing... nobody. He even wondered where that Beth girl was. Sure, he had been horribly rude to her when she had spoken to him a few hours – it seemed like days – ago. But maybe... if she had only stayed, there would have been someone to at least be rude to.

He fell asleep, too depressed to even eat any sort of lunch. He didn't care. He woke up in the middle of the night, boredom simply too much.

He would most definitely go insane... it would almost be better if She came to stab him right here, right now.

It was so close.

Beth broke into a run. She could hear the river east to the town. Smiling a little, for the first time ever she was happy to hear the roaring of the water.

She skidded to a halt at the edge of the trees and gasped for breath. The air here was fresh; the smell of trees was not so strong anymore. Excited, Beth began to come up with a plan.

It was close to midnight. She closed her eyes and wondered what to do next. With any luck there would be someone out of their house now who could speak to her and find her somewhere to stay.

She began to get sleepy and decided that she should get moving.

She should have known better than to think that things would go so well.

Just as she was about to approach the nearest bridge, someone grabbed her arm.

Beth whirled around. In the dark she could not see the stranger, but knew that it was nobody good. It was too tall to be this Garrett. Way too tall...

Panic-stricken, she tried to pull away, but this person's grip was iron. As she tried to break away and run to the bridge, he was stronger, and instead practically dragged her back towards the trees.

“Who are you?” she demanded – she had meant to scream it, but terror made it come out as nothing more than a weak squeal.

A second later she was pinned against a tree and dizzy from the speed with which she had collided with it.

“Are you Elizabeth Cheyenne Morris?” he demanded. His voice was full of such malice that Beth flinched and tried to recoil, but since she was pinned against a tree she couldn't.

“Yes.” It was a whimper. She hated herself; she wished she could be stronger in the face of danger. She was supposed to be stronger in the face of danger. But she wasn't... she was staring in the eyes of danger, and she could feel her bravery slip away by the second, so now the world was spinning.

“What do you know?” It was a slow question, a threatening whisper. If she didn't tell him what he needed to know, she would be in trouble.

“Know about what?” She was aware of the terrified tears sliding down her face.

“About The Shadow's whereabouts. You are late, Morris. She has been waiting for your word for days.”

She felt herself pale, and suddenly she knew that, should he let go of her, she'd collapse to the ground, paralyzed with fear.

“I–I was going to get to her–please–” Beth found herself stammering pathetically, too weak with fear to try and fight back.

“Yes, of course you were. That's why she sent me to get the information from you. Where is he?”

“He... he is in my house...” She was speaking through sobs now; her heart was pounding so hard it was painful. “He... he is no longer a sh–shadow... someone freed him...” She trailed off, eyes shut tight. Let go of me! Let go of me!

“He is no longer a shadow?” The stranger sounded relatively interested. “And you did not come to tell her? Are you stupid?”

“No... I'm not s–stupid... please... let go of me...”

“No. I have been sent to retrieve you, and the information. I have been paid to find you.”

“Paid?” It was a gasp; she could barely breathe. Never had she been this terrified.

“More like threatened.” His iron grip on her loosened a little. “I am sorry. I didn't mean to harm you. But She has my sister... if I do not find you, she will kill my sister.”

This didn't reassure her, or stop the tears. “Are you going to kill me?” Beth whispered dizzily, though glad that he let go and it was a bit easier to breathe.

“No. Now that he has been freed, I am supposed to find out who it was that freed him. Do you know?”

Beth remained silent, mostly to regain her breath.

“Are you going to tell me? If I do not find him...” He trailed off, and she knew automatically. If he did not find Garrett and the one who had freed him, he and his sister would suffer a horrible fate.

“I know who it was,” Beth whimpered, still trembling violently. “But... I didn't want to give them away...”

His grip on her loosened even more, but this time it seemed that it was because of desperation. “You must tell me, Ms. Morris, or my sister will die.”

“I'm going to die anyway.”

“I do not know about that, but I need to know who it was that freed him.” He let go of her and allowed her to sink to the ground weakly, shuddering.

“What do I get if I tell you? What will happen to me?” Beth was stammering in a whisper, burying her face in her cold hands.

“You are free to run if you wish. You could help me, though, and perhaps be pardoned.”

“Pardoned?”

“She might spare your life because of not telling her he had been freed... by helping me hunt them down and bring them to her.”

Bring them to her. “I don't know if I can do that...”

“It is entirely up to you, miss.” He handed her a handkerchief to wipe away the tears, and she caught genuine guilt in his voice that he had scared her so. She accepted it shakily and just held it tight, too tense to really do anything with it.

And tense silence followed.

“My name is Stephen,” the young man said at last. “I'm sorry.”

Beth smiled feebly, though she knew he probably couldn't see it. “N–no need to apologize...” She knew exactly what one was capable of when they were being forced to do something at the pain of their death... or the death of somebody that they loved.

“Is there no way I can escape this?” she whispered at last.

“I'm afraid not... it's either this or she'll come and kill you herself.”

Beth felt the tears continue to stream down her face. To kill time, she found herself asking, “How did you know my full name?” Elizabeth Cheyenne Morris. Nobody had called her that in years. It was always just Beth.

“She told me. She knew that it would be easier to identify you if I asked you your full name.”

Beth nodded shakily and buried her face in the handkerchief, still shaking. “I... I will do it, then.”

More silence followed, and she waited.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “Maybe... maybe we will both be pardoned after this.” Beth wondered what he had done – or was it simply that she had his sister hostage?

“Must we bring them both to Her?” Beth whispered, looking up at him. She couldn't see him well in the moonlight.

“We have to. She's furious. She wants to take care of them... herself.” She heard him wince as he said that.

“Will she kill them?”

“I think she will. What can I call you?”

She smiled feebly again. “Just Beth.” She liked Beth. Just Beth. It was what her mother had called her... so long ago.

She saw Stephen nod in the moonlight. “It will hopefully be over soon.”

Chapter Seventeen

The sun was shining through the broken, dirty window when Garrett awoke in that cottage the next morning. He yawned a little and sat up. It was cold. He shuddered in the weak sunlight and huddled in the blanket a little longer until he could adjust to the cold.

He'd had a dreamless sleep. Frowning slightly, he wondered how long it had been since the last time he'd really dreamed. A very long time. Gaze dropping, he noted that he didn't even remember what the last dream he'd had had been.

He reached out for the bag Mrs. Tanner had given him and looked through what was packed. It was, for the most part, fruits... bread... some things that would go bad over the course of a month, but being a witch, Mrs. Tanner probably had dome something to it to keep it from aging too quickly. Garrett wasn't sure he liked that thought, but he might as well eat it, so as to not starve. He set aside an apple for later when he was in the mood and sat up a little straighter.

It was cold. Sighing a little, he wished he could light a fire here, but was afraid to. Should something go wrong, it wouldn't take much for the place to burn to ashes. He'd had enough of buildings turning to ashes in his lifetime. He didn't want that to happen to the one source of shelter that he could find, out here in the middle of nowhere.

“It's strange,” he mused in a whisper, “not to wake up in Mrs. Tanner's guest bedroom.” Leaning back against the cold cottage wall, he wondered what he was going to do here, just waiting to be caught and perhaps killed.

He considered going for a walk later, when he had finally adjusted to the cold outside. He didn't like the trees anymore. The night before they hadn't helped as much as they normally would... as much as they had when he'd lived as a shadow.

He didn't remember this cottage. He had never seen it when he was a shadow. Maybe he really hadn't ever strayed too far from the town of Tristan. He had liked it there. He wanted to go back.

Why must things like this happen to me? he thought sadly, closing his eyes and trying to push the sleep away. Whatever did I do to deserve this?

He had probably done something to deserve it, but forgotten. He hated that he had forgotten everything that he was... everything that he had ever been. It wasn't fair.

Swearing a little under his breath, he forced himself to his feet and shuddered in the cold – frigid – air. He needed something to do, something to distract himself, but in such an empty, lonely place, there was nothing.

He stepped out of the cottage with the apple in his hand, but was sure that he probably wouldn't eat it. He was in such a bad mood it wasn't even funny. After having grown accustomed to the nice, warm guest bedroom in which he'd been staying for days, suddenly waking up on the cold, hard, damp ground in a rotting cottage in the middle of nowhere sucked. It really did.

He wished he could head back to see Cherise again, but knew that that would not be possible. He knew that he would have to wait a month in this unpleasant little hole – unless he died before that. And in the meanwhile, he needed something to do.

He turned to study better the place in which he had spent the night. It looked like it had once been a very nice place. He could imagine nice flower gardens beneath the shattered windows. The door, which had fallen to the ground due to rusted and broken hinges, was a faded white. The outside wall itself appeared to have been once a tan – or brown? It was impossible to tell anymore. A long time of rain had washed it all away.

Sighing softly, he turned away and wondered why it had been abandoned in the first place. He thought that he could probably go for a walk to distract himself... but not without The Silent One.

Garrett reentered the broken little cottage and reached into the leather bag for his – Mrs. Tanner's – sword. He didn't feel safe without it. If he came face-to-face with Her it would do no good, but it would be a worthy defense against any other sort of attack.

Still very annoyed, he left the cottage and entered the trees, making a mental map so that he would be able to find his way back later.

Every tree looked the same yet different. They didn't look friendly, which was the one thing they had in common. They didn't like him if he wasn't a shadow. They didn't like a strange human wandering around disturbing the peace that usually existed between them. He tried not to look at them as he paced slowly through the trees, heading nowhere in particular; he just needed to get away.

His muscles ached from the unpleasant sleep on the hard cottage floor. He had to remind himself, when rubbing away the soreness, that at least he didn't have to sleep on the prickly grass with cold rain and air stinging at his face. Weakening as it was, the roof had kept him safe.

Once more he had nowhere to go but his old memories, and nothing to do but revisit new ones. Or at least try to, because they had – for the most part – slipped away from him.

Where had he been the day before?

Ah, yes. Elinor.

He had been brainstorming over the ring that remained in his pocket. Well, that brainstorming wasn't really getting him anywhere. He still had no idea why it was in his pocket instead of with Ellie in her grave somewhere deep, deep south. Of course, the grave itself must have disappeared as well. The witch had gotten rid of everything while creating her evil path of destruction, and even the dead had been disturbed.

After a few minutes he slowed down and looked at the sword once more. For some reason it felt good to be holding a sword again, as if it was one of the many things that had been missing for the past six hundred years. He had never really been that good at fighting, but suddenly having a weapon with him... perhaps it was waking the warrior within him that should have woken up centuries ago. After all, he had still had time back at home before he had to master it all. More than enough time had passed, and now he wanted to fight someone. And yet, he just wanted to survive. How to fight someone without dying?

The Silent One provided Garrett with no answers. He sighed a little and decided that it probably didn't like him either.

He wished that there was someone here who he could challenge. He didn't know why he had the sudden urge to challenge somebody. Nobody was here, though, and even if there had been he probably wouldn't speak to them at all... he was so horribly untrained... he'd fail in a real fight.

“I haven't been in a real fight in so long,” Garrett mumbled, not sure if he was speaking to himself, The Silent One, or just air. “I'd either lose... or kill somebody by accident.” He smiled despite himself at the thought. Kill somebody by accident. That was worse than killing someone intentionally... right?

Killing someone intentionally, killing someone accidentally. He thought, at this point, that both of them were the same... except that killing someone accidentally, you might regret killing them. Of course, that could be also the case killing them intentionally. The guilt could always catch up with you later.

He remembered that night, so long ago, when he had lost everybody. Still gazing at the sword, he tried to recount everything he could recall from that terribly event.

He remembered that, until It had happened, it had been a pleasant birthday party. Everyone had been happy and laughing. Nobody would have been able to guess that It would have happened...

As he stared at his reflection on the blade of the sword, memories began to hit him, one after another, as if stones were being thrown at him.

Wake up, they screamed at him, wake up!

He remembered how bright the ballroom had been. He remembered the colorful ball gowns and the large banquet table. He remembered, at the beginning, the look of ecstasy on his sister Christina's face. He remembered his friends. He remembered his father. Everyone except Ellie...

Had Elinor even been there?

Still frowning at his own face on the blade, he strained his memory. No. Elinor had not been there... he just knew it. He tried to remember why Ellie would have missed such a great event, but nothing came to him. It just seemed so out-of-character of her. Elinor would not have missed such an event... it had been the party of the year...

Of course, he reminded himself bitterly, it had been the last party of the year.

“Why wasn't Ellie there?” he whispered, baffled.

More memories were teasing at him. They wanted to return to him, but couldn't. Something was playing at the back of his mind as to why Elinor had not been at the party. He wracked his brain to try and remember it, but it was not coming to him. This was so frustrating.

“It's not fair,” he whispered, slowly running a finger down the blade of the sword. “I want to know. I need to know. I deserve to know!”

The Silent One did not respond, and he rolled his eyes at himself, wondering why he was expecting to get an answer from a sword. It wasn't even his sword.

Suddenly not liking the sword as much, he continued his trudge on in no direction in particular. A few minutes passed and he began to eat the apple out of sheer boredom. Then he heard a noise behind him and froze.

Somebody was behind him. Slowly, he turned and wondered if he still remembered how to defend himself with a sword.

But it wasn't somebody that he would want to fight with. It was Beth... Her little spy.

She didn't look like she was about to do anything harmful to him – not that she could, she was so thin and frail-looking. She just stood there, watching him.

Finally, he decided that he was the one with the power here, unless she had an armada hiding in the trees behind her. “Now what?” he demanded of her irritably. “Now what do you want? Got a dagger hiding in your pocket?”

Beth shook her head. “No.” It was a slow reply. She wasn't certain of herself.

“Then why are you here? Are you headed off to tell Her that I'm hiding? Are you going to show her where I am so she can have me beheaded?”

Beth smiled guiltily. “Not that either.”

“Then what do you want, spy?”

Beth winced. She didn't seem to like being called a spy, but Garrett didn't care. That was what she was, and she did her job quite well. “I just wanted to tell you that you're staying in my house.”

“What?”

“I used to live there.”

Confused silence followed.

“Do you still live there?”

“No,” Beth whispered, taking a step back, as if his very voice terrified her. “I just thought you might like to know why it's there... and why it's in that condition.”

“Well, do you want me to leave?”

“No! Not at all. But weren't you curious?”

Garrett's frown deepened. “Yes.” He couldn't lie.

Beth smiled weakly again and retreated into the trees. “Be careful,” she called over her shoulder. “The thing's in bits and pieces. The floor could collapse beneath you.”

“Why do you care?” Garrett retorted as she hurried away. “For all I know, you're probably going to send an army after me right now.”

She didn't respond. Within seconds she was gone. He sighed impatiently and turned away. Why me? Why?

He finished the apple, in a worse temper than he'd been when he'd woken up, and wondered if that might have been the ideal time to test his fighting skills out on someone.

No, he thought. I'm better than that. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die with a clean conscience.

Then he realized where he was heading. He was heading back to Tristan. No doubt the thought of Cherise was still in his mind. He shut his eyes tight and hurried away in the opposite direction, back to the stupid rotten little cottage. Beth's house. He'd rather be in Mrs. Tanner's guest bedroom, waiting for a visit from Cherise later on. No... it seemed unlikely that that would happen ever again.

Chapter Sixteen

These trees had once been his refuge. Not so long ago he had been able to hide in them. Now they seemed to wish that he would leave.

Once they had been friends... now they seemed to ignore him. They provided him no way to hide from what he knew he probably would not be able to avoid.

He looked around, searching for some form of shelter. Nothing... everywhere was open ground. He couldn't find anywhere safe... anywhere dry...

Sometimes Garrett even missed being a shadow, because as a shadow he hadn't needed protection. All he'd needed was to be swift, to avoid being seen. But not he was a person again. Once he would have given anything to be normal, just for the ability to be seen... now he wanted to be a shadow, to hide.

The bag Mrs. Tanner gave him still hung over his shoulder. It was reassurance because he knew he would not starve, and that he was not unarmed.

When he was a considerable distance away from the town, he reached into the bag to see the sword again. It was a sign of hope, because he could probably fight back now. He wasn't so... completely helpless. As long as She didn't come to confront him herself, he'd be able to make it. But he had to remember the most simple moves...

Carefully running a finger down the blade, he wondered how sharp it was. Would it help him much? How capable was it of killing?

He gently slid it across the edge of the strap of the bag, allowing it to make a small cut on the leather. It passed over it very smoothly. It certainly was sharp on leather. He wondered how it was on human skin...

Hopefully he wouldn't have to kill anybody, though. He didn't want to be a murderer. He just wanted to be alive. But if it was self-defense... if it was for the sake of seeing Cherise again... he would not hesitate upon killing an attacker.

Did the sword have a name? Back at Lourdes, it was custom to name a sword. He examined the blade as best as he could in the dim moonlight, but couldn't see anything. This sword was unnamed... perhaps he should keep it that way. It was, after all, still Mrs. Tanner's heirloom. It would be her decision, not his, what it should be named.

Sword in hand, he wandered – pretty much aimlessly – through the winding threes, glancing from side to side curiously. It was strange to see the forest with the eyes of a human being, not a shadow. Everything was so much sharper, whereas when he was a shadow, he had become a part of this environment. As a shadow he was, essentially, nothing.

The trees were dark at this time of night, no source of comfort at all. He tried to ignore them and trudged on, contemplating... everything.

His past. He was so curious. He didn't remember much of who he had been, and he wanted to. He wanted to be able to revisit old memories, like normal people did. He wanted to grow old some day with stories as to what he had done when he was younger than sixteen, but as of yet he held none of those memories. They were all gone. Time had wiped them out. So long of being a nobody in the middle of nowhere as a shadow which almost nobody paid attention to... that had affected him. It had wiped away who he had been... he wanted to know who he had been.

He had had a sister, this he knew for sure. Christina. He missed her; she was one of the few things that he remembered very, very clearly. Christina had died with everyone else he had known, that night when the roof collapsed. Yes... he remembered that it had been her birthday. Her eighteenth birthday. She had died before she'd even had the chance to start a life of her own.

He tried to remember some of the customs of the home he had once lived in. He didn't remember many of them.

Still playing absentmindedly with Mrs. Tanner's blade, he thought hard. He couldn't be this lost. He had to find himself.

Then he remembered something. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the one object that had been with him the whole time. While, bit by bit, his very being had slipped away from him... the ring had stayed in his pocket.

And he didn't even know what had stopped him from giving it to a homeless person on a street, to sell it for food. He didn't know why he hadn't sold it himself; when he wasn't a shadow he did get hungry and need to eat. It was just a feeling close to his heart that he had needed to keep this one object with him. That if he got rid of it he would regret it.

And now he was glad he had never gotten rid of it. Memories were coming back to him because of it. Frowning at it slightly, he saw the diamond shining unusually brilliantly in the moonlight.

It had been meant to be Elinor's. He remembered saving every cent he had to buy it for her. He didn't remember, though, why he had never gotten around to giving it to her. Why it had never been hers.

That must have been a custom... he tried to think of another reason why he would have bought an engagement ring at sixteen, but could not come up with one. One thing he did know was that he had not been stupid... that his father had made him follow tradition. Maybe they had married young back where he lived... he didn't remember... yet.

But things were returning to him slowly. Gazing at the ring, he frowned a little. “What happened to Ellie?” he whispered, suddenly remembering the nickname she had had back then. “Where did she go?”

He had been living on that thought for centuries, trying to figure out what he could possibly have done to have driven away Elinor, but nothing ever came to him. So the heartbreak eventually just became a part of him – it was still with him all day long, always in the back of his mind, but he was used to it now. He could live with it. He didn't know why it was here, but it was, and he wouldn't be getting rid of it.

Where had Elinor gone? What had happened to her? Why had she disappeared before he even got the chance to give her the ring he had spent so much time saving for her?

Maybe it was him. Maybe he had done something wrong that had driven her away. He didn't know. He didn't want to know. But the fact was that he still had the ring and nobody had ever gotten the chance to wear it. It was a bit of metal and a stone that – back then – had cost a fortune. Now it was still in his pocket. It had a history, but never strayed from that history. It had been bought for someone very special, yet that someone had never worn it. The poor ring would probably be in his pocket forever... and its history would end when he was killed.

He wished he could remember more, but he was still in the dark. Putting the ring back in his pocket, he looked up and continued his apparently pointless travel. He was finding nowhere to go, nowhere to stay. It was going to rain, and he needed somewhere to hide from it.

The trees were a thick canopy, but not against a storm. He sighed softly and leaned against a tree, still gripping the sword. Nameless. He smiled a little at the amusing name for a weapon. Nameless. He might prefer not to tell Mrs. Tanner what he had named her sword in secret. She probably would not be very fond of it.

Nameless... there had to be something more original than that.

He'd think about it better later. Nameless... there had to be another word that meant the same thing that would suit his – Mrs. Tanner's – weapon better.

A few more moments passed in silence and stillness. He began to realize that the only thing he really had to think about was the name of the sword. Lost in thought, he decided that if he was a respectable 'warrior' at all, a warrior should have a sword with a decent name.

Nameless...

There had to be a better word than that that meant A Sword Without A Name.

He scanned the blade once more, just to make sure that he was not missing a name. There was absolutely nothing engraved into it. It was a plain, well-forged weapon, but whoever had made it had not given it a name. It was almost as if they had wanted it to remain... silent.

Silent...

“Maybe A Silent Sword is a better title than A Nameless Sword,” Garrett mused aloud, gently brushing off the blade with his sleeve. “A silent sword... The Silent One...” He felt himself smile despite it all. This wasn't his sword, but he already had a name for it. Maybe because he was so... lonely. He needed someone to talk to. Why not talk to a weapon? But if you talk to a weapon, it needed a name.

The Silent One was ironic, though, if he wanted someone to talk to. The Silent One did not respond to him. The Silent One behaved as if he weren't even there, which only made him feel lonelier. He sighed and put it back into the leather bag.

Then he looked up and spotted something that he had been searching for. It was a cottage. An old, abandoned little place... but it would be enough to shield him from the rain. He was caught off-guard by such a miracle. He had been so depressed... and then suddenly something had gone right for him.

He broke into a run and into the cottage. It was so... dark. Somewhat creepy, even. But he didn't care. He knew that there were things in life creepier than an old abandoned cottage. Besides, this was a good discovery. He had someplace to shield him now.

There was an old wooden chair laying on the rotting ground in front of him. After studying the chair carefully, he decided that it was safe to sit on; he pulled it upright and sank onto it, thanking the Lord that he had found somewhere to hide.

He glanced out the door at the moon outside. The moon was his enemy.

He took The Silent One from the bag once more and held it tight, still lonely. He missed Cherise. He missed having somebody to talk to.

Maybe this was where he'd stay for the next month... and if he was found, this was where he'd die. He wondered if She thought that he'd deserve a proper funeral. Maybe he'd be buried outside the door and get a nice gravestone, so that if Cherise went out looking for him one day she'd know that he was here. The thought broke his heart, but it was a possibility that he could not dismiss. He would probably die.

But if he survived... he smiled a little and decided that if he survived, he'd repair this cottage. It deserved to be made decent-looking again, even if nobody was going to live here. It was a place where other runaways like him could seek refuge. After all, it was one of the few miracles to happen to him since he'd been unShadowed, and he had to take care of it... do something to show that he was grateful.

He placed The Silent One on the ground beside him and closed his eyes, leaning back on the chair. He missed Cherise... he missed her.

The night droned by in complete silence. Nobody came barging in with an ax to chop him to bits. Nobody came to him here. Eventually he grew tired and sank to the ground, curling up with a blanket Mrs. Tanner had given him, and dozing off into uneasy, shallow sleep. All the while he wished that he was back at her guest bedroom, in a soft bed with a candle next to him. But he wasn't. He was alone in a rotting cottage in the forest.

Chapter Fifteen

The room was dark. Cherise didn't know where she was; she couldn't see anything. It was a strange dream. She had never been in this place before. Sighing softly, she took several looks around her and waited for her vision to adjust.

Then she realized what she was seeing. It was a huge domed ballroom. It was completely empty. She didn't remember how she remembered it, but there was the slight feeling in the back of her mind that she had been here before. Thinking closely, she tried to remember where or when. Was it a dream that she had had before and just remembered now?

She examined the walls closely. They were a soft shade of peach. The floor on which she stood was of pure marble. Having grown up in the dark town of Tristan, she had never seen a marble floor. They were all made of wood. The nicest house had had floors of cherry wood, but all the rest had been old wood that hadn't been polished in a very long time.

There was a huge crystal chandelier on the ceiling above her. The sunlight pouring through the windows in the roof reflected off of it and bounced onto the walls, creating a rainbow effect that touched the paintings on those walls. She squinted at those paintings. These people looked royal. She didn't remember them, but yet... she did.

She suddenly remembered that she was no longer dressed in the plain wear that she usually had at home. Slowly, she looked down and examined her dress. It was... gorgeous. She was dressed in dark blue silk. It was so... beautiful. Royal. It was like something she would imagine a princess would wear. The sleeves and skirt were hemmed with silver, and an opal hung around her neck. She had never really seen an opal before. They were so rare in Tristan. Expensive stones in general were rare in Tristan.

She was breathless. Where had all this beauty come from? She turned a little, smiling slightly as the skirt billowed with that simple motion. She felt prettier than she had ever felt before.

“Where am I?” she whispered.

Slowly, she looked up...

...into the eyes of Garrett.

What was he doing here?

Then it occurred to her that this was probably the palace he had been born in. The palace that had been destroyed so long ago. The place he missed so much.

“Garrett... what am I doing here?” she asked him quietly, wishing that he would give her an answer that made sense to her.

“You lived here,” was his simple response. “Remember?”

Cherise frowned a little, then remembered his story. Resurrection. “Am I Elinor?” she asked in a hoarse whisper.

“No, love. You're Cherise. But this is where you used to live.” He smiled a little, took a step forward, and reached out a hand for her.

Cherise hesitated, then took his hand. He pulled her close and looked up at one of the windows above. “This is the spot where we first met... six hundred years ago.”

“What?” Cherise whispered shakily.

“Yes... this is where we met... Cherise.” She noticed that he said Cherise instead of Elinor.

“Why am I here? Last night you said...” Cherise trailed off when he closed his eyes and looked away.

“Last night I didn't know what I was doing. That night I didn't know what I was doing. I don't know why I'm telling you all this, my love, but I just need you to know. I don't remember who I was, but I remember who you were.” Slowly, he let go of her and took a step back. “I will see you soon... Cherise.”

And with that, he was gone.

Cherise stared at the spot where he had disappeared, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Then she woke up and blinked in the bright sunlight. She was not in Lourdes. She was home, in her bed, crying.

She sat up, dizzy with sadness. She wished that dream had never ended. She didn't know why. She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself.

“It means something,” she whispered, huddling up on the bed and burying her face in her knees so that she might clear up her head again. She was worried now. Dreams like this couldn't mean anything good...

But maybe it did. When had she ever looked like a princess before she had had this dream? When had she ever seen a dress like that – much less worn it – other than in this dream?

The dream made her smile a little and shut her eyes tight. This was truly a fairy tale. She was the normal person who had had the most boring life in existence... and Garrett was the prince who had walked into it and changed everything. Maybe in a good way. But when he left – which would be soon – it would be difficult. Her fairy tale would come to a sudden ending, and she didn't think that it would be easy to adjust to such a change in lifestyle.

When there was no longer visits to look forward to in the morning after class... when there was no longer a lonely new kid to dream about seeing the next day... when Garrett was gone, the most beautiful time of her life would be over, and she would never have another time like it. Unless things went well and he came back like he said he would, if he survived,

Please, Lord, let him return, she pleaded silently, desperately. Please don't let him die... I need him...

Dizzy with emotion, she forced herself to her feet and stared at the room around her. Tried to clear up her thoughts. What was wrong with her?

You love him, said the voice in her head. You love him, and that's what's wrong with you. In just a few days, suddenly he has you caught like this. It's not right. It's not healthy. When he's gone you're going to die.

She smiled a little and ignored the voice in her head. She remembered that she was still in the middle of her fairy tale. That fairy tale might not be over yet. If he came back in a month, there might still be the chance of being a Happily Ever After. No, her fairy tale wasn't over yet... it would just be at a very long pause...

She dressed quickly, mind still clouded in thoughts. Not sad thoughts, but not happy thoughts. They were just... thoughts. Distractions. She didn't understand what she was in the middle of, but just knew that it was different than what she had grown up with. She loved it. She loved what she was going through. It was so... mystical. She was the fifteenth Cherise. And the night before a prince had kissed her hand...

But he would be gone soon. In fact...

Was he even here now?

Suddenly realizing what had been wrong, she dashed out of her room and out of the house, into the street. Why else would he have been so distracted and concerned that night? Why else would he have made that promise to her?

Because he had gone early. Something had happened. She had been right; something had been going on in his mind. Something was wrong with him the night before. And it had been distracting him. Worrying him. That was why he had promised her that if he survived he would come back to her. If. If he survived. Because he might not survive.

He's gone, she realized. It was a painful thought. She reached the bench where they had met and, somehow, just by looking at it, she knew that this was the truth. He was no longer here. He had gone early. She didn't know why.

Tears streaming down her face, she had to remind herself that her fairy tale was not over yet. Her dream had told her that.

He would be back. Right?

Crying silently, she hoped he'd be back soon.

The streets looked as lonely as she felt as she made her way aimlessly through the town. She would not go to class today.

She went to Mrs. Tanner's house, but at the last minute she decided against going to visit her and went to Svenja's house instead. Svenja rarely went to class; perhaps it was shyness. She knocked at the door a couple of times and waited.

A few seconds' stillness followed. Finally, Sven opened the door.

Cherise could tell that Svenja already knew what she was going to tell her. Sven already knew he was gone. When Sven's wordless greeting was a sad little smile, she knew that this was true.

“Hi,” Cherise whispered hoarsely.

Sven nodded a little. She took her coat from the hook by the door and shut it. “He's gone. You already knew,” she said as she did so.

Cherise nodded.

“How did you know?”

“I don't know,” Cherise told her hoarsely, afraid to break down in front of her, but somehow she wouldn't mind doing so. This girl was trustworthy. “It was just a feeling... in my heart... that he was saying good-bye to me last night.”

Svenja smiled cheerlessly. “Well... is there anything I can do for you?”

“I don't know. Is there any way you can ensure he'll be back?”

Svenja thought a little, then shook her head. “It depends on him and his ability... if he can defend himself, if he can take care of himself, if he can stay alive... he'll be back. No charm or incantation can ensure that somebody will survive a journey alone. All we can do is pray.”

It didn't come to her as a surprise that Svenja was talking about magic. She had known all along that this girl was strange. It only seemed fitting to her personality that she could do magic. “Can you... distract me?” Cherise asked quietly, pacing slowly away from Sven's house and back to the street. “I just... can't think about this... right now.”

Svenja smiled a little. “I understand,” she whispered. “This is hard on you. But he had to go.”

“I know he had to, but I wish he didn't.”

“Yeah... well, with any luck... with the correct amount of prayers... you will see him again.”

I will see him again, Cherise thought, as slowly they paced down the street in silence. Cherise realized that she was leading Sven to her own house. Svenja had never been there; she didn't mind showing her where she lived. I will see him again... maybe in another life, but hopefully in this one. I wish... that I can see him in this one. I wish... that my fairy tale will not be over yet.

“Yeah... I guess you're right... but it still hurts...” She trailed off when her voice cracked.

“Well... I'll try to distract you today, Cherise. That's why you're my friend. I want to help you.”

Cherise managed a weak smile. She liked this girl. She was so... soothing. She could make everything easier... she didn't try to make you forget, but she tried to not make you stop thinking about it. She had no idea how much that was helping her... but yet, at the moment, Cherise thought that what she needed was to stop thinking about Garrett.

“Where did he go?” she asked Svenja as they approached the neighborhood where she lived. “Do you know?”

“No,” Sven replied in a whisper. “He just... went. Don't know where he is... but I think he's capable of living anywhere, in any condition.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know some things... he looks strong. And admirable. You're lucky you became such great friends with him, Cherise... not many people in this town come across people like that. He's a hero.”

“He is...” Cherise smiled a little, remembering him, and tried not to cry. Her fairy tale was not over yet. He might be back in a month, and she'd welcome him with open arms... because she needed him. She could lie to anybody but herself... she was in love with him, and she needed him. She needed him to return... and she needed to see him again. He was the highlight of her day. The highlight of her life. And if he left... her life would just be darkness again.

She unlocked the front door and let her into her house for the first time, smiling a little. “This is where I live... it's not too big...”

Sven seemed fascinated by it, however. “What do you mean, it's not too big? There must be more than three rooms here!” She stepped inside and examined a painting that had been nailed to the wall a long time ago; it was of a ship.

“That came with us when we moved here,” Cherise explained, leading the way to her bedroom. “Pretty much everything here came with us from Rothen.”

“I'd like to go to Rothen one day,” mused Svenja quietly as she gazed at every object in the house with wonder. “Everything there is nice.”

“I wouldn't know,” Cherise replied, sinking onto the bed with a sigh – suddenly she remembered the dream from earlier on. “I don't remember anything about it. I was barely five years old.”

Sven didn't reply; she preferred to sit on the wooden chair by the door, glancing around the room in awe. Cherise wondered how much the girl really had in her own bedroom. The only reason Cherise had much at all was because her mother and father had brought so much with them when they moved here. The majority of the people in the town of Tristan usually didn't have much in their bedrooms. They didn't really have much at all.

“What about you?” she asked her quietly at last. “What's your story? Everyone knows mine.” Cherise winced at the thought; she didn't like that everyone knew her story, but they did, so she might as well say it.

Sven shrugged. “Same as everyone else here... except you. I was born here... I live here... I'll die here.” She smiled a little and added, “But I don't mind. It's nice here. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.” She fell into a thoughtful silence. “And if you're wondering about my name... it's a foreign name. My great-great-great grandparents went on travels and discovered that the Avelinians used to believe in a goddess named Svenja. She was the goddess of dreams...” she finished with a little shrug.

Cherise's gaze dropped and she wondered why she hadn't talked to this girl sooner. She was so... lighthearted.

~

Svenja went back home later that day. Once more Cherise was alone with her thoughts. They were not happy.

He's gone.

That thought tormented her till she went to sleep; she had to keep reminding herself that her fairy tale wasn't over yet.

She half-hoped that she'd dream about being a princess again... but she didn't.

Chapter Fourteen

The ceiling of Mrs. Tanner's dull guest bedroom was an image he had memorized at this point. After having stared at it for hours so many nights, it was such a familiar sight. He'd stared at it when thinking depressed thoughts... worried thoughts... even happy thoughts.

Now that he was to leave in just a few minutes, Mrs. Tanner's guest bedroom looked so much more like home. He didn't want to leave.

Slowly, he sat up on the bed and stared at the wall. Mind clouded in thoughts, yet he didn't know what to think about first.

First off... where would he go?

There is nowhere nearby where I could go for shelter, he thought with some uneasiness. And even if there was, I wouldn't go there. I'd only be putting the people who live there in danger, and I... can't.

Then where? What will I do? Just wander until I'm found... or until I drop dead from starvation?

He sighed softly and looked to his left at the window. It was dark; he could see nothing. He had known this terrain for so long, but now that he was going there, seeking a hiding place among the trees that were so familiar to him, they showed him nowhere he could take refuge. It was just open land, and if She went looking for him there, of course She would find him.

What a fool he was.

And that promise. There was nothing at all that reassured him that he would be able to keep that promise he had made to Cherise. He could try... he would try... he'd do all that was possible to him to come back to her in a month.

But then there was the issue of what he would find... if he was alive in a month, and if he found his way back. Would this town still be around? By leaving it early, was he sparing this town, or was he just escaping a quicker death? If She knew that this was where he had been... that this was where Cherise was... she wouldn't think it twice. Tristan would be wiped off of the map.

She's very unpredictable, Garrett thought, trying to reassure himself. She could do anything... maybe she will leave this town alone in order to go hunt for me instead. No, the thought didn't reassure him as much as it was meant to; he didn't want to die.

He pulled himself to his feet, and suddenly the world seemed like a much larger place. Even though he hadn't been born here – he'd been born far away in a place whose very ruins must have disappeared by now – it felt like, since he'd spent most of his long life here, he had grown up here.

Grown up here, thought Garrett sarcastically, taking a few steps forward towards the window. I wish. I didn't grow up anywhere. I really haven't grown up at all.

He squinted out the window at the trees behind Mrs. Tanner's yard. Once his friends, they were now vast and forbidding. Was nobody his friend now?

Cherise is my friend, he thought, this time with certainty. I just know it. But I'm leaving her.

You'll be back, reminded a voice in his head, in a feeble attempt to raise his spirits.

No... I might not. I won't get my hopes up. The problem is, I already got her hopes up.

He sighed weakly and turned around. Svenja was at the door. As Mrs. Tanner's closest friend – maybe even her apprentice, but she never told anybody what they did those long hours they spent together – she knew that he was leaving. She knew more than Cherise did. But she still didn't like him much. Remembering Gabrielle, Garrett realized that not many people really liked him much. He hesitated; how to greet someone who wasn't very fond of you? He settled with a weak smile.

“Heard you were leaving,” she told him tonelessly. Garrett still couldn't figure out if it was jealousy or just the way she was around strangers that made her speak to him like this. It certainly wasn't in her agenda to become friends with him.

“Who told you?” He tried to make his voice as toneless as hers had been.

Sven smiled a little. “The voices told me.”

Garrett thought it was a miracle he didn't wince. The voices? Was she joking, or was that what she studied here when they were alone? “...Oh,” was his final, pathetic answer.

Svenja laughed a little. “Don't tell me you believed me.”

“Nor did I disbelieve you,” he retorted quietly, turning away.

Suddenly the atmosphere lightened. “No. Mrs. Tanner told me.”

“How did she know?” Garrett blurted out, not looking away from the window.

“Honestly? I have no idea how she knows some things. She just does.”

He couldn't think of a reply to this, so he just nodded a little.

“She has some things for you to take with you.”

This surprised him, so he did turn. “Really? What would that be?”

Svenja shrugged. “Why would I know? That's one thing the voices didn't tell me.” She grinned.

Something about how her tone on him had suddenly changed made him smile a little. “I expect she wants me to get out there and talk to her?”

Sven nodded. “She does. She's not going to tell me what's in that big bag.”

Big bag? How much had she possibly gathered for him? How much was he worth?

He nodded a little and followed her out the guest bedroom door and into the dining room. Mrs. Tanner was seated at the table, reading a thick book that had been there every day since he stayed there. It was her favorite book. He wondered what it was about.

“He's here,” sang Svenja; then she settled on the table next to Mrs. Tanner to finish drinking her tea.

Mrs. Tanner looked up; once more he caught that air of power in her eyes, power that he did not like. He didn't like any kind of power. Power was what had messed up his life. “Oh.” She slammed the book shut; he noticed that the title was written on the cover in gold paint. He realized he was being nosy and didn't try to read it.

“You didn't expect to run off without any form of food or water, did you?” asked Mrs. Tanner with a smile in her eyes.

Garrett wasn't going to answer at first, but then he realized that she was expecting a response from him. “Actually...” he began, then trailed off with a weak sigh. “Yeah, I did...”

“Are you that stupid?” The humor in her tone was what had kept him from being offended.

“Apparently.”

He heard Sven giggle over at the table.

Mrs. Tanner actually laughed; it was an unusual sound that made him smile a little. These two may be strange, but their laughter was contagious. She took a bag from one of the chairs at the table and handed it to him; it was heavy. Garrett wondered what was inside it.

“Sit,” commanded Mrs. Tanner. “You're eating a late dinner before you go. Nobody leaves my house hungry. I pledged that a long time ago.”

“You did?” he asked, hurrying to take a seat before she got angry.

“I did.”

He glanced over at Svenja, who mouthed, “No, she didn't.”

Confused, he just smiled and quickly looked away.

It seemed like mere seconds later a plate of warm stew sat at the table before him, accompanied by a cup of tea. Everything was so quick that he had to blink a couple of times and wonder if the food that Mrs. Tanner prepared was magicked in any way.

He heard Sven giggle again, as if she had read his mind.

Though the food scared him a little, he took a bite to be polite. It was good and he was starving, so he took another bite before he realized that Mrs. Tanner was speaking to him.

“I expect you expected to leave completely unarmed, too, didn't you?”

Slowly, he frowned and looked up. “How did you know?”

“You, young sir, are very predictable in your unwise decisions.”

Garrett frowned and let his gaze drop. “Oh,” was his weak response.

“What kind of a friend are you?” she asked suddenly, making him look up suddenly.

“What?” he blurted out.

“It's enough that your friend Cherise is letting you go. But now you pretend to be leaving unarmed, and come back unscathed? Won't you take care of yourself, even for her?”

“I–” he began slowly.

“You nothing. If you don't care, I do. Just for her, there's a weapon in there for you. If you have a heart, you'll use that weapon to protect yourself. If you protect yourself, someday you'll see her again. You might even be able to live again. But you need to make an effort to survive. You need to make an effort to keep your life; it's something that everybody does. You've managed to escape that task for hundreds of years. Now every breath you take is blessed and valuable again, young man, and you need to work to survive once more. There's no more curse to keep you safe for a month, and now you need to watch yourself for more than just a handful of days per year. You flee to avoid your fate; however, if you want to be somebody, you should fight that fate.”

His gaze dropped again; she was throwing it all in his face. He had tried to hide it, but she was truly a witch, and had seen right through him. He was leaving to protect Cherise, but it had never occurred to him that he'd actually have to save himself if he was cornered in the forest... now that was an important fact to remember, if he was to keep his promise to her. Now he realized that he was a living, breathing person again who could bleed and die... and if he didn't try hard enough to avoid that, it was going to happen.

He would not bleed and die.

He reached into the bag she had given him and found a simple sword. It wasn't much; it wasn't as impressive as those he remembered from back home. But it was light and sharp... enough. “Thank you,” he mumbled, putting it away again slowly. “But you didn't have to.”

“Yes I do. I care for people, and when I get the chance to help somebody I will.” She sat at her chair and opened her book again; he realized that he had never gotten the chance to read what the title was. “That was my father's sword. It is humble. This town doesn't exactly produce many warriors, but I can see that you're a warrior, and you need your weapon.” Before he could speak she continued, “Maybe it's because you weren't born here. Maybe it's because you're from far away. I don't know how or when you received your training, but it's more than any of the boys here will receive or need. We don't exactly get many attackers... invaders... robbers... tax collectors...” She broke off with a little smile. “Now the poor blade has someone worthy to travel with.”

“Thank you,” choked Garrett. He really didn't know what else to say to her. He hadn't been called a warrior ever, as far as he could remember. He had never been that good a fighter... back when he had someone to fight for. He had still been in training. But here he was probably the most skilled at swordsmanship in the entire town.

Maybe I've forgotten all I learned back at home, he thought, staring at the bag, inside which now rested his sword – the first time he had a sword in a very, very long time. The forest is a perfect place to practice. Slowly, he looked up to meet Sven's gaze; she looked fascinated. It was true. Very rarely was there in this town someone who could fight with a blade.

“Will you tell Cherise that I left?” he asked her quietly.

Svenja smiled and nodded. “Of course. I'll do anything I can to help out here.”

Garrett returned the smile. “Thank you... I couldn't bring myself to tell her tonight.”

Sven's smile remained; she looked away quickly and finished her tea. Somehow Garrett got the feeling that the hostility between them was gone.

“I'll try my best to return,” he continued in a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Your best had better be good enough,” Mrs. Tanner told him, barely looking up from her book. “I know I placed my family heirloom in the right hands. Keep it that way.”

Garrett nodded and wondered how in the world she had known that he had been the 'right hands.'

He finished the food quickly and arose. He grabbed his coat from inside the guest bedroom and put it on, staring around the dull room one last time and noting, once more, how it suddenly felt like home to him. Then he left and slung the bag over his shoulder.

“Good-bye,” he told the two, manipulating his voice so that it didn't sound too distraught and terrified.

Sven nodded farewell, with that contagious smile – though this time there was a hint of sadness in it.

“Good-bye, Gary,” Mrs. Tanner said kindly, looking up at him, also smiling. “We'll see you soon.”

Garrett nodded, smiling a little at the nickname that she still wouldn't let go of. “I'll try my best.”

Then he turned and left the house. He left the town of Tristan... but he'd be back. Hopefully he'd be back.

He couldn't help glancing over his shoulder at the house where Cherise lived, and wishing that he could say good-bye to her. But that was impossible. It would be impossible to say good-bye to her without bursting into tears.

I'll be back.

And he entered the forest and left it all behind... for now.