as promised...

i hope you enjoy :)

***

By the time I walk into the reception of the office, my face is flushed from the cold. I must look like a blushing tomato - if tomatoes had brown skin, that is.

Michelle looks up from her desk as I pace in front of the entrance, rubbing my hands together as I try to bring some warmth back into them.

"Miss Diademe!" she says, her eyes wide in... astonishment? "You look... I mean, you're early, Miss Diademe."

If my face was red because of the cold before, it's definitely because of my blush now. I feel heat course through my face.

I know, I look like a fool.

I hadn't even looked in the mirror before leaving the hotel, too scared to see what degree of a mess I look like today. But now, that seems to have been a horrible mistake. In my pale blue pants, cream satin blouse, and once again, agonizingly short heels - which are honestly just more shoe than heel at this point - I am reminded that this different feels ghastly against my skin.

But different is what I must be. I am nothing otherwise.

I am nothing to Tom.

Tom. Oh, Tom. I loved you, Tom.

I try my best to push past it, pursing my lips and sternly ordering my eyes: Don't cry. Don't. Once I feel somewhat assured that I won't suddenly begin leaking tears, I ask, "What's the time?"

"Quarter after seven. Though, that's probably a good thing," she adds as an afterthought.

"Oh?"

"Yes, erm... Mr. Clarke set up a meeting at 7:30 this morning which he intended for you to lead."

Clarke? Who's Clarke?

Oh, wait...

"Hold on - which Clarke?"

I swear if it's that conniving little-

"Senior."

"Oh, it's Richard." Why is it always one evil in place of the other? "And when was I supposed to hear about this meeting of his? I thought I'd told you I'd arrive at 7:30?"

Michelle winces. "He told me only to tell you when you walked in this morning. I... I can't speak toward his motives for doing so."

"That's okay, I'm pretty sure I can work that one out for myself," I roll my eyes. Then I walk over to the desk, leaning over it with my hands on either side of my face (they're still not warm!), "Thank you. Anything else I should be aware of before going up?"

"Just that, I think. Oh, and they had your room emptied out for you yesterday. All your things have been taken up to your new workspace."

Who dared to touch my stuff?!

"That's... great." And with my annoyance simmering just beneath the surface, I walk off.

Inside the elevator, I punch the button and fume to myself out loud, "I'm not even one day into the job and he's already attacking me. Why am I surprised?"

A few curses later, the elevator opens and I step out - only to realize that I'm on the fifth floor, my old floor. But instead of turning back, my feet move of their own accord, dragging me to my old room.

All my pictures are gone; that's the first thing I notice. The bookshelves are bare; so is my desk. Nails protrude from the walls where I'd hung up picture frames; they line the room in an austere manner. These gray walls are barely recognizable.

It looks abandoned. So ugly.

My heart twinges in my chest and my bitter turmoil causes me to scoff, "How fitting that it was once mine."

I leave behind a piece of my heart in the room; I don't give it a second glance.

I wouldn't be able to leave if I did.

***

When I step out of the elevator for a second time, a woman who claims to be Richard's secretary attaches herself to me at the hip. In spite of my protests, she ushers me into a large boardroom, pushing me to the forefront with a "Good luck!"

"I don't even know what this meeting is for!" I say exasperatedly, though it has no use - she's already sashayed out of the room.

I look around, desperately, searching for any clue as to what I'm expected to say. I gape at the answer as it appears behind me in the form of a banner. In agonizingly pink swirls, it reads: Welcome Diamond!

The sign may be distasteful - just because I'm the only woman on the board doesn't mean they must exaggerate it with such blatantly feminine displays - but a sense of relief washes over me nonetheless. This, I happen to be prepared for. I've only been practicing my speech for today since middle school.

I turn away from the banner just as people begin to file in. I smile and introduce myself one-on-one, trying my best to memorize names and faces as fast as I shake hands.

At exactly 7:30, Richard, Liam, and the rest of the board walk into the room along with a few stragglers. I meet Richard's eye with an unamused expression and he responds with a raise of his eyebrow.

What could you possibly do to challenge me?, it mocks, I've undermined you already.

At least, that's what he thinks.

I roll my shoulders back and smile as wide as I can. "Hello, everybody. Thank you for making it here so early! My name is Diamond."

After that, I don't even have to think about the words that tumble out of my lips. They fall effortlessly, leaving me to follow along with emphatic hand gestures. It's all well-rehearsed; a joke here, wait for the laughter to subside, a passionate exclamation there, ensure that heads nod along with me - it's an easy, comfortable rhythm that I fall into.

That is, until my eyes land on messy black hair and bright emerald eyes.

My lips waver; my throat closes; my mind goes blank. I can't recall what I've said or even what's left to be said. All I see is

Tom?

An awkward silence stretches out, and I feel the weight of everyone's stares as they shift uncomfortably - but I can't get myself to say anything. I'm stuck.

"Anyways," a deep voice in the back has everyone turning to look at him. "I know we all get what Diamond's saying - it's been said before; it's been heard before. She's new, so she's going to be a bit boring at first - you all know how it works - but don't worry, you have me for that very reason! Oh, don't be shy; I know I'm your favorite." He winks at an old lady with white, curly hair, "Isn't that right, Glenda?"

Right on cue, Glenda blushes and the room fills with chuckles.

"So the meeting's over," Liam continues, "And we'll see all of you later. Have a great day."

The room empties twice as fast as it filled, leaving my brain to process that the man I saw was actually not Tom.

I want to wrap my arms around myself, hold on tight so that I don't feel how I feel right now - like I'm about to fall apart. But that wouldn't look right here. So I bow my head trying to appear inconspicuous, and focus on my feet as they move, following the flow of people leaving the room. I'm nearly out of the door when a new pair of shoes show up in front of me, blocking the way.

My eyes slowly trail over a tall, lean figure until I'm looking at the beginning of a very defined, recognizable jaw.

My eyes are already rising - I can't stop them - and suddenly, I'm staring straight into the depths of Liam's dark ocean eyes. Only for a fraction of a second, though, as my gaze drops once more and a wave of unexplainable embarrassment floods every cell of my body.

I switch directions only to be stopped by another man.

Richard.

Though his eyes are the same color as his son's, Richard's are colder. That makes it easier for me to match his stare with a cool glare of my own, which, within a moment, ignites a spark of my original irritation with him. I narrow my eyes.

He ignores it. "Diamond," he says my name, my first name, so carelessly, with such casualness. He says it with superiority and disrespect. He says it with giddy joy; I can hear it.

I despise it.

"Miss Diademe," I correct.

His eyes widen imperceptibly - I see it - but he lets it slide, only for a moment, before he says, "We need to talk about your unexpected day off yesterday. You missed a lot of work."

"Then I hope you'll let me get right to it." I force myself to keep a straight face, no matter how difficult it is, as I say, "After all, I have a lot to catch up on, right?"

It's easy to walk past him after that with my head up high. It's hard to feel fragile when you've just reminded a bully that he can't push you around.

I make my way around the floor, past cubicles, and large meeting rooms until I come to a corridor. My heels click against the marble as I walk into the hallway. The first door is Papa's; the second, Richard's. There are a few, smaller rooms - honorary office spaces for executive investors; for the five days in a year that they come into the office - and then, finally, I see a door with my last name, bolded in shiny, silver letters: Diademe.

The black oak door swings open soundlessly despite the fact that it's quite heavy.

As I walk in, I find myself surrounded by a bright, white canvas. The walls are blank, even missing the nails my old room had. It looks untouched. The desk looks to be the same - only it's one-and-a-half times as big as my old one and connected to two sets of bookshelves. But the extra shelf space isn't even the best thing. Behind the desk are three large windows that overlook the little park that's right beside the building.

I pull the blinds all the way up on one of the windows and gasp; it's a gorgeous view. The sun is still rising and it shines warmth right on my face. The park is empty, and I can see how the dew on the grass glows in the light of the sun.

I pull the blinds up for the other two windows then step back and take it all in.

There are three golden rectangles on the white walls where the sun shines through the windows. They bathe the whole room with so much extra light that the overhead lights aren't even needed.

I am definitely taking these blinds out.

I go to the door to turn the lights off - the switches are beside the door - and on the way back, I notice the things beside my desk for the first time.

Two boxes packed with my things sit beside a sparkly gift bag. I sit down and bring the bag into my lap. Looking inside, I find an envelope. I take it out and put it in front of me on the desk before looking back in the bag and see...

My dress?

It is. Carefully folded and missing the coffee stain it acquired on Friday, it's my dress.

That means...

I put the bag down and reach for the envelope. I open one of my desk drawers for a letter opener - only to realize that this room is absolutely bare, save for the computer that's been set up for me on my desk - and then resort to primitively ripping into the envelope. Out falls a sheet of print paper that is folded precisely into thirds.

I hastily unfold the paper and read the neat scrawl in black ink:

I got your dress dry cleaned - hope that's okay?

Thank you again for dinner on Friday...

The Besan (did I spell that right?) is all yours if you'd like it. I'm still scared to use it on my own :D

- Elliott E.

The smiley face in his note makes me smile, but not as much as the illustration in the bottom right-hand corner of the page does.

Thick strokes of pink, purple, and yellow markers picturize a field of flowers. It's accompanied by its own note:

DONE BY MARABELLA!!!

As I laugh thinking about Marabella's adorableness, I put the note aside and pick up one of the boxes, putting it on my desk.

All of a sudden, my smile drops and all the air squeezes itself out of my lungs. For the second time today, my eyes fall on Tom.

Only this time, it's really him.

It's a framed picture of the two of us wrapped around each other in a dorm we shared during the last year of university. Our smiles, our sparkling eyes, our hands, holding each other, but still reaching for more, our bodies, pressed up against each other, but still trying to get closer - I almost don't recognize myself in the picture. Tom, he looks the same, but that cheery grin on my face seems so far away; it looks so real. Hauntingly real.

I'm a different Diamond than what I see in that picture.

The realization makes the pain lessen somewhat. I try again.

That Diamond was happy, I assure myself, tracing the edges of the photograph. She was. And maybe, so was Tom.

Maybe it wasn't all fake. But it is all over now.

So although my heart feels like it's breaking all over again, I give one last fond smile at photograph Tom, before turning the frame over and taking the picture out. I put it back in the box, face-down, and push it away from me.

I look at the picture frame in my hands; then at Elliott and Marabella's note; and turn, the frame over again.

Once I carefully fit the note into the frame, I prop it up beside the computer. I take a deep breath and then type my PIN into the computer.

It's time for me to get some work done.

***

The next morning isn't too chilly, so I'm able to dangle the bag from my right hand without the inconvenience of having to wrap my arms around myself because I'm freezing - these new outfits of mine lack basic insulation to a terrifying extent.

To top off my ridiculous costume, I, for whatever foolish reason, decided to exchange my not-so-heels this morning for a pair of flats. Lace-up flats.

Okay, fine. I'm wearing dress shoes.

It's horrible.

To distract myself from how unsettling being my height is, I look into the windows of the stores I pass; I can't help it when these boutiques showcase flowy dresses in their window displays!

I'm already running slightly late - I forgot to set my alarm on the hotel's clock - so I take mental notes of which outfits especially catch my eye.

Pink! Chiffon! Ruffles! Unicorn!

Hold on. Unicorn?

I awkwardly halt and walk backward until I'm looking into the glittery turquoise eyes of a 2-foot-tall stuffed unicorn sitting in the display case of a toy shop. A chuckle slips out of my lips and I look down at the bag that I put Elliott's clothes in this morning and realize what the unicorn reminds me of - or rather, who.

I check my phone. Running late, it tells me. Still, I turn around and walk to the store entrance.

A melodic chime rings as I step inside, alerting the store manager who comes up to me almost immediately and introduces himself as such.

He runs a hand through his blonde quiff and asks, "How can I help ya today?"

"I'm running a bit late this morning," I tell him honestly, "but I need that unicorn over there in the display." Hoping he gets what I'm talking about, I just point behind me.

Mr. Store-Manager nods his head in understanding and shoots me a friendly wink. "I gotcha, I gotcha. Busy mornings; hard-to-please kids. Why don't you go over to the counter and I'll be right there with your unicorn?"

Though not everything he says makes sense to me, I do as he asks, and true to his word, he comes behind the counter in less than a minute, toting the unicorn plush toy above his head with a grin on his face. "All behold his - or her - magical majesty, the Unicorn!" he says in an exaggerated deep voice.

It makes me smile as I pay, and while I'm telling the machine that, No, I would not like a receipt today, I see him pull out a large gift bag.

Of course it's huge - it has to be in order to hold that ginormous unicorn, I try to reason, but the moment I imagine the bag knocking against my knees with every step I take on the remaining seven blocks to the office, I shudder.

"Actually, can we skip the bag? I'll just take it like that," I tell the man.

He slides it across the counter to me. "It's all yours!"

I thank him and then readjust my grip on the bag so that I'm free to wrap an arm around the unicorn. As I settle into a comfortable position, the unicorn's rainbow-colored horn smacks me in the face.

I really hope it won't continue to do that.

To open the door on my way out, I have to push it with my back. And as I turn around to do so, Mr. Store-Manager waves at me one last time. "You have a great day now!"

"You too!" I can't help but yell back as I begin to feel the cool air outside breeze by my back.

On the remaining walk to work, I hum to myself happily; I find myself liking this unicorn a lot. I hope she likes it too.

I walk by some people who laugh and point discreetly at me and the unicorn. I shrug it off - they clearly have their priorities wrong if they're not laughing about how my socks stick out of my shoes. But thankfully, most people I pass simply smile and compliment the soft plush toy in my arms.

Even Michelle reacts positively when she sees me walk in. Though, she pretends not to see the unicorn at all - so is it really a reaction at all?

It doesn't matter. What does is that she's a good person at heart. I think.

"Good morning, Miss Diademe!" she chirps as usual.

"Good morning to you as well, Michelle," I say a little out of breath - I speed-walked the last couple blocks in an attempt to make up for lost time. As I fidget to ensure that I don't drop the unicorn - I really must stop calling it that; it needs a name! - I remember that I mean to give it to Elliott, but I don't know where he works. "Hey, can you help me find someone?"

Michelle eyes the unicorn in my arms suspiciously before asking, "I can try. Name?"

"Elliott."

"Last name?"

"Uhh..." What's his last name?! In a panic, I try to remember how he signed off the note. "E. Starts with E."

"Hmm," Michelle nods slowly, pressing her lips together tight, and turns to her computer. After a few minutes, she looks back at me. "Elliott Evans?"

Evans, yes!

"Yes!" I say, maybe a little too enthusiastically. "Can you tell me who he works under? What department?"

"Works in accounting," Michelle reads off her screen, "Under Mrs. Hamilton."

He's part of Sarah's team, so I'll find him on...

"Floor four. Thank you, Michelle. Have a good day."

"Goodbye, Miss Diademe."

***

The fourth floor is pretty empty. I'm not surprised - most people are expected to show up by nine, and it's barely five-to-eight. By that logic, it occurs to me that Elliott may not be here yet, but I still look around; I don't know how else I'll be able to get these to him.

With lots of luck  - and good karma too, I'm sure - I find him sitting at his desk in his own cubicle near the back of the building. I stand behind the wall of the cubicle - it comes up to my shoulders - and wait for him to notice me. He's hunched over his computer, typing so fast that I can see the curls at the top of his head shake.

Suddenly, he stops and straightens. I catch sight of a lop-sided tie and can barely contain a giggle. He's seen me, I think, so I smile, about to say hi, just as he stretches out his back and goes back to his computer.

My smile drops and I bite my lip nervously.

Is he ignoring me?

I'm tempted to leave and pretend that I was never here, but one glance at the unicorn in my arms renews my resolve. I have to get this to her. "Hey."

He jolts so abruptly that it scares me into taking a step back. His eyes dart around for a second before they land on me. Then they widen, and his face pales.

Oh no. What have I done?

"Hey?" It's a weak, pitiful noise that comes out of my mouth, but at least my voice doesn't crack! "Is... is it a bad time? I can always come back." I can, but I won't. This is embarrassing. Why do you look so scared? Oh gosh, I'm being weird, aren't I?

"No," Elliott's voice does crack. He clears his throat and plasters a smile on his face. "No. No need to come back. You just caught me by surprise. How can I help you... Miss Diademe?"

The way he addresses me catches me by surprise. Not because it's exactly what I prefer to be called at work, but because it feels so wrong when he says it.

"Oh, nothing. And I mean, you..." I tilt my head to make it look nonchalant, to make sure he can't see how nerve-wracking it actually is to say, "You can call me Diamond, Mr. Evans."

Elliott visibly shudders when I say that - and I'm just about to apologize a million times for every and anything that I've ever done -  but then he straightens and says, "If I'm calling you Diamond, please, please call me Elliott. Anything else sounds strange."

Oh. That... that I can do.

"I just wanted to say thank you, Elliott. For my clothes and the note and-"

"Hey," he interrupts me. "Why don't you come around to..." He points to the entrance of the cubicle, and I hurry over, mentally scolding myself for being so awkward.

Who starts a conversation over the wall of a cubicle?!

"Anyway, I... uh, these are your clothes that I borrowed from... well, you." I hand over the bag in my hands and he takes it from me. Thankfully, he doesn't mention the unicorn in my arms as I plow ahead, "I, unfortunately, didn't get the chance to get them dry cleaned - but the hotel staff assured me that they've been washed. I checked to make sure, and um, they're washed."

At this, Elliott laughs. His shoulders relax and he leans back in his chair. "No dry cleaning is totally okay, Miss- Diamond," he corrects himself, "And it's nice to see you again. You left quickly on Friday..."

"I am so sorry about Friday." I scrunch up my eyes trying to forget what a mess I was on Friday. It's a wonder he let me around his daughter... "Marabella! Oh, yes. I saw this and thought about her and I couldn't resist getting it for her."

Elliott accepts the unicorn, nodding with wide, surprised eyes that pretend they haven't seen it in my arms for the entirety of our conversation. "Wow. This is-"

"Huge. Yes, I know," Now that my hands are empty, I wring them anxiously. "Is it too much? I really hope I'm not overstepping."

"Overstepping? Not at all. It's very sweet of you; she's going to love this. God, it's going to be impossible to get her to ever let go of it."

I sigh, relieved. "That's good. I mean, not the part about her not leaving the unicorn - it's good that she'll like it. I'm glad. How is Marabella?"

"She's good." He rolls his eyes and chuckles lightly, "She would not stop talking about you all weekend. I practically had to force her to let me unbraid her hair on Sunday night so that I could help her wash her hair."

The thought of her refusing to unbraid her hair after I put it into a braid makes me smile. "She's precious. Tell her I'd be happy to braid her hair anytime."

"Marabella would be delighted to hear that. Actually, she doesn't have school tomorrow - teacher workday or something - so I'm bringing her here. She'll most likely be sitting in that chair," he points behind him to a tough, wooden chair in the corner of the cubicle and sighs, "Hopefully she'll be able to entertain herself... I have a busy day myself... But that's parenting, huh? Sometimes you gotta let your kid be bored, I guess."

Elliott gets louder and smiles at the end of his monologue, but his eyes tell a different story. What once looked nearly identical to chocolate glaze on Friday have now dimmed to a dirt brown; his eyes are tired and defeated.

"You're not a bad dad, you know that, right?" Elliott looks back up at me, but I don't let him interrupt. "You are. I know that. And..." I shrug to emphasize that it's really not a big deal - something this worried dad might see it as, "I don't mind showing her around and introducing her to the people I know keep candy in their workspaces - if you'd be okay with that?"

Elliott's eyes light up immediately. It's a gorgeous sight. "Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you. That means a lot."

"There's no need to thank me - Marabella is wonderful company." I take a few steps back; I know when a conversation is ending. "I have tomorrow afternoon free."

Elliott grins and raises a hand to wave goodbye. "You'll find both of us here. Thank you again."

I've begun walking away, but I turn my head and raise my voice just enough so that he hears me clearly. "No 'thank you's!"

***

Not only does the elevator take an unusually long time to arrive, but when the doors open, I see that there's someone already inside. I look up to see, "Liam?!"

He leans forward and holds a hand by the elevator door to keep it from closing because I'm still just standing, staring at him. "Get in," he orders.

Startled, I blink a few times before compiling - because regardless of how unkind his tone is, I'll be worse off when he decides to let the elevator close and leave me here.

He stands on the left side of the elevator, so I press myself up against the right. I'm not sure where to look, so I focus my eyes downward; the floor seems like a safe option.

Way safer than Liam's eyes.

I have to tell my brain to Shut. Up.

Liam breaks the silence as soon as the elevator doors begin to close. "Accounting?" he says.

I shrug, not knowing how to explain about Elliott.

The elevator bumps as we pass the fifth floor. "Thank you, by the way, for... you know..."

I'm still looking down at my ugly shoes, but out of the corner of my eye, I see Liam give me a similar side glance as his lips turn up. "Eh. You were a bit boring."

My jaw drops. I forget all about looking somewhere safe and turn to fully face him.

All he does is laugh. It's a hearty guffaw at that! 

Though, once he catches his breath again, he says, "You're good."

I know immediately he's not talking about my not boringness with that statement... until he follows it up with, "I was boring at first too."

Just as I'm about to insist that I was never - could never - be boring, the elevator doors slide open, and I choose to storm out instead.

My chin is held up with stubborn pride and my gait is half a decibel level away from being considered stomping, but at least my shoes come in handy, allowing me to walk in long, quick strides without tripping.

It's only when I come to my office door that I register the echo of another pair of shoes clicking on the marble close to me. Halfway into pushing the heavy door open, I see Liam use one hand to effortlessly push open the door on my left. He disappears from view in the blink of an eye, leaving me to turn my attention back to the door.

It takes me pushing against it with two hands and my whole body weight to swing the door open.

I have never hated Liam's muscles more in my entire life.

As I begin sorting through my work for the day, my brain randomly pieces together that in order for Liam to have reached his door at the same time as me, he would have had to be right behind me.

Right behind me as I stomped and even as I - maybe! - huffed to myself under my breath too.

I groan loudly and hide my face in my hands as I feel my cheeks burn.

I really hope he didn't hear me call him a pompous brat.

***

Duplicitous, he may be, but Richard isn't a liar - I did miss a lot on Monday. And despite working late yesterday, I'm still catching up from my day off.

There is much to be done, and though it's time-consuming, it's enjoyable. I work through lunch unknowingly, not bothering to get up until my stomach growls.

The computer tells me it's two in the afternoon and I decide that it's time for a break.

I stare off into space as I try to decide what I want to do for lunch but get distracted by the walls. They're bare.

That's nothing new.

My brain can be a dimwit at times.

I have a guest coming over who may want to see this place tomorrow, I remind myself. But there's nothing to see here!

I sigh and fall on my desk, holding my head up with my hands. I suppose I'll worry about lunch later.

I duck under the desk and pull out the boxes that I'd just hidden under there, not wanting to think about their contents. I carefully pick out my files and supplies, avoiding the picture frames, at first.

Once I've organized my drawers and put my books on the shelves, I look back at the boxes. I gnaw on my lip in uncertainty before hesitantly reaching in and pulling out all the picture frames that I've ignored up until now.

I sort through them quickly - any pictures that Tom is in go straight back into a box, face-down. But in the end, there are four pictures that I place on the shelf right above my head. One is a picture of Papa holding me in his arms, only a few hours after I was born.

I'll admit, I wasn't the prettiest newborn, but love and warmth pour out of the photograph, so it's nice to keep it near.

The other three are family portraits. Mumma's always in the middle, and Papa and I switch sides around her. Only one of them was taken professionally, in a studio - the other two are snapshots captured at one party or another. They're sweet memories.

I step back to admire my handiwork. The books add personality, and the photos, sweetness. It's almost perfect.

There's something missing... but what?

My eyes drift over to Elliott and Marabella's framed note where flowers bloom galore.

Life. It's missing life!

Yes, I can see it now; a potted plant here, a few flowers there; maybe a few succulents.

I need to buy plants.

Before tomorrow.

A quick glance at the clock I hung up tells me it's half-past-three.

I have no idea where to buy plants - especially in the city; it's not like I can just pick some flowers and put them in a pot.

I've worked hard today; I got a lot done.

And I also haven't had lunch...

I purse my lips, thinking. Then I grab my laptop - I'll work from the hotel tonight - and make my way to the door.

After a momentary struggle in opening my door, I'm walking out of the corridor, and toward the elevator. Most people are working individually this afternoon, so the floor is quiet, save for the low hum of the printers and the clickety-clacks of several keyboard keys being pressed all around.

Unlike this morning, the elevator doors slide open instantaneously - and thankfully, it's empty too this time. I get in and press the button that'll take me down, move to the back, and lean comfortably against the wall.

Someone walks past as the elevator doors begin to close - I can't tell who it is.

But then they come back.

Richard makes eye contact with me. His cold, dark eyes extend tendrils of ice at me - but they get cut off as the elevator doors shut half a second later. I pay it no mind.

I forget I am Diamond, and search for leafy life.

***

i'm proud of myself... i wrote this whole chapter during finals week :D

that being said, i got lazy when it came to final edits because it's just sO LONG

(if you laughed as you read that the same way i laughed when i wrote that - welcome to the gutter! i'm currently trying to get my mind out ;)

anywhoooo, i think i'm going to go take a well-deserved nap...

please don't hesitate to comment where i have mistakes - i'm sure they're there somewhere - and tell me what you liked :)

i have no idea when chpt 9 will be out (i do have next week free, so maybe then, but i have yet to decide if i have the mental energy to do that :)

thank you for reading!

all my love, and then some more

JustAnotherDarling

don't forget to vote! :D