Trigger warning: Attempted suicide

~~~~

~Wren~

I must have gone to sleep eventually. I woke up on the floor, curled up against my dresser. At first, I couldn't remember why on earth I would be there, but I caught sight of the mirror as I stood up. Oh.

It seemed completely unremarkable now, just reflecting my ceiling. It was almost hard to believe that it had actually still worked. Maybe I'd imagined it? Maybe I missed James so much, I'd been isolated for so long, that I was starting to hallucinate?

I took a shaky breath. Was I going to cry again? That wouldn't be good. Maybe that was why they'd given me the mirror, to make me emotionally unstable enough that I couldn't do occlumency. I was afraid it was going to work, if that was the plan. If James talked to me again, I didn't know how I would keep it together.

There was nothing to do, of course. I changed clothes, washed my face, got ready for the day, even though it would probably be the same as every other day had been. It was something to do. Better than just sitting next to the mirror, praying that James would come back.

Eventually, though, I ran out of things to do, and found myself sitting against the dresser anyway.

The clock in the hall struck a half hour, though I didn't know which one it was. Probably 8:30, judging on how light my room was already, but I couldn't really tell. I leaned my head back against the dresser, wondering how hard it would be to knock it over on myself so it would crush me. Not like I could, of course; I'd already tried. It was probably charmed to the wall.

"Good morning, Wren." I started, knocked my head against the dresser. Then my eyes widened and I jumped to my feet, whirling around so I could see the mirror.

James was still in the no-maj hotel, it looked like. I leaned as close to the mirror as I could, trying to take in every detail of his face. Brown eyes, filled with so much pain. Messy hair. Kind smile. Everything perfect and exactly the way I remembered it, but full of a deep sadness that made me want to cry. I could handle being in pain, but I couldn't handle seeing him hurt.

"I don't know if you're seeing this, of course..." He hesitated and pursed his lips, and I had to wipe away the tears in my eyes, blurring my vision. "But if there's even a slight chance, I want to tell you that I love you. Everything's going to be okay. We'll see each other again. I promise." He gave me a watery smile. "I love you. Bye." And he was gone.

I stared at the mirror for several moments longer, trembling, trying to force myself not to cry. It was overwhelming, though, the sadness and pain like a wave washing over me, pulling me out to sea, where I couldn't reach the bottom and there was nothing to hold onto. No choice but to drown. I was never going to see James again. I would never be able to tell him I loved him again. Never see his eyes light up at the sight of me, never lean into his arms, never hear him laugh or talk about the future or ask if he could kiss me. It was all gone.

I sank to the floor, my eyes so full of tears that I couldn't see anymore. I was going to die here. Even if the DA won the war, I wouldn't make it out. I wouldn't see anyone I loved again. I buried my face in my knees, crying so hard that I couldn't breathe. I held my arms around myself as tightly as possible, as if that could keep me from imploding.

But nothing could. I was going to fall apart. I was going to break. I was going to let down James, and Astra, and Albus, and Colette, and Mrs. Potter and Professor Haverna everyone else who cared about me. Everyone who was counting on me. I was going to break eventually, and then I was going to die. I would never even get to say I was sorry.

I was still sitting on the floor trying to get a hold of myself a two hours later, when there was a knock at my door. I scrambled to my feet, wiping the tears off my face with my sleeve as the locked clicked and the door opened. If my mother saw me like this, she might try to take me to Stillens right then, since I was clearly in no shape to do occlumency.

It wasn't my mother. It was Nico, who walked through the door and stopped as soon as he saw me. His eyes widened. "Are you all right?"

I glared at him, trying to at least act like I hadn't been crying for the past two hours, even if it was completely obvious. "Leave me alone."

He blinked at me. After a moment, he opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. With a shake of his head, he walked over to the table and set down the tray he was holding. By the time I joined him at the table, he seemed to be completely unconcerned, maybe even a little bored. "Didn't know seeing your mother would be that bad."

"Shut up."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a little rude."

"So is being forced to see you twice a day, but I haven't complained about that once."

"Do you think I enjoy having to come see you, Predatel? Spend time with the traitor they're pampering? You're lucky you're seeing me, and not just rotting in one of the cells downstairs. Traitor."

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm not a traitor. I've never done anything to you, either. At least I've never killed anyone you loved."

His hand went to his wand, and I flinched instinctively. He didn't pull it out, though. For a moment, we just stared at each other, me warily glaring at him, and Nico... completely unreadable. Angry, or upset, or... I don't know, something. I couldn't tell. All I could see was the intensity in his now-shaking hand, his clenched jaw, his eyes darting around my face.

Then he stood up and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

My mouth dropped open in surprise. Had he really just left? He definitely wasn't supposed to do that, was he? I blinked at the door for a moment, wondering if I should try to get out. He hadn't locked it, but if he was right outside, trying to leave would be a terrible idea. And he was probably right outside, wasn't he? This was probably a trap...

Without really thinking about it, I glanced down at the food he'd brought. More soup, more bread, and butter. That was new. I absent-mindedly reached for a piece of bread, then gasped.

What do you spread butter with?

A knife.

I glanced at the door warily, as if Nico might somehow be watching through it, or at least might barge back in, but it remained closed. Before I could overthink it, my heart pounding, I grabbed the knife, then darted over to the bed and shoved it underneath the bed-skirt. I had just slid back into my chair when the door opened again and Nico walked back in.

I blinked, trying to look as innocent as possible. "Oh. You're back."

Luckily, he seemed a little too distracted to notice if I was acting weird. In fact, he didn't even respond to me. He walked back to table and sat down stiffly. I watched him for a few moments, as he glanced around at nearly everything else in the room besides me. Finally he sighed in a defeated manner. "The sooner you eat, the sooner I can leave, okay?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Nico didn't say anything else for the rest of the time it took me to eat, and I was in no mood to start a conversation. What would I have had to talk about, anyway? I had thought for a moment yesterday that I could possibly get somewhere with him, that Nico might have an ounce of remorse for the things he'd done that might eventually lead to him realizing how wrong all of this was. He'd snapped out of it so quickly, though, that I was sure there was no point to trying. Even if he did feel something, he clearly hated that. I had bigger things to worry about, anyway. Like the knife hiding under my bed.

Nico didn't notice it was gone when he took my tray. I would've worried that he'd only been pretending, but he seemed completely lost in his thoughts while I ate and as he left. Like he really hadn't noticed at all. Of course, I kind of suspected this was a set up. After all, who decided to send a steak-knife to spread butter with? It didn't really matter; I was going to jump at the opportunity anyway.

The second he'd closed the door, I leaped up and grabbed the knife, then locked myself in the bathroom. There was still a scar on my wrist where I'd tried before. For a moment, my hand hovered over that spot. But that had taken too long. My mother had had time to stop the bleeding, save my life. I needed a faster way.

I held the knife out, facing towards me, and slowly lowered the tip until it was touching my chest, a pinprick just above my heart. They wouldn't be able to save me from this. Perfect. Exactly what I wanted. It was going to be so simple.

So why was I hesitating? Why was my breathing suddenly coming too short, my hand shaking, my heart pounding in my head?

I looked up at myself in the mirror. What a picture. I was thinner, paler than I remembered. My hair was falling out of its braid. Dark circles under scared eyes, searching to see if the girl in front of me had what it took to go through with this. I was getting worried that she didn't.

I squeezed my eyes closed. I had to do this. I was such a liability to the DA here. I couldn't risk breaking, because I knew it would happen eventually. I was going to doom so many people if I broke. We couldn't afford that. I needed to die. You can't get information out of a dead girl.

I pressed the knife a little harder, and winced as pain lit up in my chest. I opened my eyes without meaning to, and saw a spot of red appear on my shirt. Good, just like that. I took a deep breath. Then another. I couldn't breathe. I needed to shove down all the alarms bells going off in my head, my instincts screaming at me to live. Just push harder, a little farther... why wouldn't my hand move?

With a frustrated huff, I let my hand drop, then set the knife down on the counter. I leaned forward, put my head in my hands, and groaned. Why was this so easy before? And what was wrong with me now?

In the blackness behind my eyelids, I found myself picturing James. What would he do if he could see me now?

He can't, I reminded myself. He wasn't here, and hopefully never would be. I wanted to protect him. This was to protect him.

So why couldn't I just do it?

I picked up the knife again, my hand shaking even more as I held it over my chest again. One swift motion. Push down, just once, and it would be done. I could die. I could protect the people I loved, save myself from breaking, save myself from becoming a traitor again. I had to. It was the only option.

But instead, I was hesitating, tearing up in the bathroom like a scared child. I met my own eyes in the mirror, and something snapped. The knife dropped, and I curled in on myself as wrenching sobs racked me. I was too weak. I couldn't do it. Couldn't do the right thing. I was too scared and selfish and cowardly and weak.

I was on the bathroom floor, crying so hard that I couldn't breathe for the third time in twenty-four hours. I'm a failure. Weak. Worthless. All of it true, and none of it helping get me any closer to what I needed to do. To what I couldn't do.

The lock clicked, and I looked up as the door swung open. Honestly, it wasn't that surprising to see my mother standing there, a look of maternal concern on her face that both repulsed me yet also made me want to do whatever she asked. I didn't bother trying to get up, trying to wipe my tears away, trying to hide the knife or pretend I hadn't been crying or anything else. She swooped in, sitting down on the floor next to me and putting her arms around me. And I let her. Because I was weak.

I was crying too hard to push her away, to resist the impulse to lean into her embrace. We just sat on the floor together, her stroking my hair and whispering soothing things that I couldn't even hear, and me hugging my mother who was a terrorist and an abuser and an objectively horrible person. Crying because I was weak, and I missed James, and I knew that accepting her love made me a horrible person, too.

~~~~

Of course, she took the knife when she left. It wasn't like it had done me any good, of course. I couldn't even bring myself to care. I spent the rest of the morning sitting in the window seat, trying (and failing miserably) to think about nothing at all because the alternative was to remember what a terrible person I was becoming.

Midway through the afternoon, there was a knock on my door. I stood up quickly as the door swung open. I had been surprised when I didn't get in trouble immediately, but I had known it would come eventually. I couldn't help tensing up as my mother appeared at the door.

She smiled warmly at me, either not noticing or ignoring my wariness. "Hello, dear! Are you feeling better?"

I fidgeted with my sleeve, trying not to let my anxiety show. "I... yes. I am."

"Wonderful!" She crossed the room to me, and I flinched as she approached. All she did was put her arm around my shoulders. "I have great news. Stillens would like to talk to you."

My eyes widened, and I pulled away quickly. "That's not great news."

She tilted her head, with the audacity to look surprised. "I can't imagine why it wouldn't be. Actually, we're all very pleased that you're getting over this ridiculous notion of trying to kill yourself. In fact, if you behave yourself today, he might just let you out of your room."

I pursed my lips. "I haven't gotten over anything."

My mother laughed. "Oh, dear, maybe you haven't. But I think, at the very least, you've realized you can't go through with it. That's all we really need."

She was right, unfortunately. I'd failed already. It was only going to get harder every time I tried and failed. I bit my lip and looked down as she patted my shoulder. "We shouldn't keep Stillens waiting, dear. Let's go."

That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I didn't protest as she led me out of the room.

The manor seemed as cold and empty as it always did and my mother shepherded me down the hall. We passed a no-maj pushing a mop bucket who didn't make eye contact with us, but otherwise we might have been the only living people there. Not that the house had ghosts, of course, but I'd never gotten over the feeling of being haunted here.

We paused outside Stillens' office door, where my mother knocked. After a moment, the door opened without a sound, and she walked through, pulling me after her. "Here she is."

Stillens was sitting at his desk as we entered. He looked me up and down with an expression that was somehow both intense and disinterested at the same time. "Hello, Wren. How are you doing today?"

I narrowed my eyes. "How do you think?"

"I would assume a traitor is always feeling a certain level of guilt, so I imagine you're not doing particularly well." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Is that right?"

"I can promise you, that's the only thing that isn't affecting me at all," I snapped.

My mother dug her fingers into my arm, and I winced, which seemed to satisfy Stillens. He motioned to the chair across the desk from him. "Have a seat."

I didn't move, partly because I wanted to be contrary, and partly because I knew my mother would drag me over there, anyway. She didn't disappoint, gripping my arm tightly and marching me over to the chair. I grudgingly sank down into it, glaring at the floor.

"That will be all, Katreena," said Stillens. She only hesitated for a moment before crossing to the door and leaving. After the door closed, there was silence. I kept my gaze on the floor, taking every moment I could to steady my breathing, shove everything behind the curtain in my mind.

I heard him sigh, and resisted the urge to look up. There were so many things I did without even thinking about it here, being obedient and quiet and unargumentative and good. Things I didn't have to do anymore. Things I needed to not do.

"Look at me," Stillens said, in an annoyed voice that sent a chill down my spine. I squeezed my eyes closed, keeping my head down until I felt a force pushing my chin up. When I opened my eyes again, my uncle had his wand in his hand, and was studying me through narrowed eyes. After a moment, he put his wand down. "You can play this game as long as you'd like, Wren. We both know you won't last forever."

He was right. The moment I'd thought it, I could tell he knew what I was thinking. I compulsively started fiddling with the sleeve of my sweater. There wasn't much point in trying to hide the fact that I was scared. Not anymore.

Stillens regarded me coldly, almost pityingly, for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. "Your mother has brought it to my attention that your recent traitorous actions may have been caused by the fact that you do not understand the whole picture of what we are doing here."

"I don't understand the full picture?" I frowned. Of course my mother would try to make up excuses like that. "So you're not trying to overthrow the ministry and rule Britain, just like you overthrew the MACUSA? Because if that's all true, I can promise you my reasoning isn't just not being able to see the full picture."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "There are far more complexities to our work than you give us credit for, Wren. I am not a warmonger, whatever the DA would have you believe."

"You're starting a war."

He waved his hand. "Distractions. This is a far longer game than a simple war."

I didn't say anything, but didn't bother to hide the skepticism from my expression.

Still, he paused, as if waiting for me to ask what he meant. When I didn't, he seemed mildly annoyed. He sighed. "Do you think it was a war that won us America? Of course not. And it will not be a war that wins here, either. The war is a rallying cry, a way to instill trust in a new government. Eventually, the Ministry will win the war, and we will slip quietly into the background."

"Then what's the point of starting a war in the first place?" I asked, rolling my eyes. Of course, there was surely a reason, but I wanted to see him have to admit that he was simply a sociopath. "Couldn't you have gotten Russey and everyone else into the Ministry without it?"

"I could have," he said, nodding, "if my goal was simply to get them into the Ministry. Unfortunately, Britain was cursed with a resistance movement. But even that would have been no problem; a few acts of terrorism from your parents would have been enough to unite the county against a common threat, if it hadn't been for you."

Now my eyes widened. I hadn't been expecting that, at least. "Me?"

"Do you think anyone would have known who I was, or realized what was going on in the MACUSA, or distrusted the Ministry to the degree the DA does now, if you hadn't run away to tell them? The number of people you have compromised, the number of problems you have caused..." Stillens shook his head. "I was willing to forgive that, before, when I thought you were making amends, but now..." He paused, letting the unspoken threat of what he might do hang in the air. It took all my willpower to stay still, to not shake or look away or give any sign that I suddenly felt like throwing up.

"Punishment for that is a matter we can return to at another time, though," he continued. "My point is that I have been making long-term plans, and those very rarely start with a war. If I want to Ministry to be loyal to me for years to come, I cannot simply have its current politicians under my thumb by force. I must raise up its next generation."

The realization of what he was talking about sank into my stomach like a rock. I gripped the arms of the chair tightly, because suddenly the room was spinning. The children, he's talking about the children downstairs.

"Exactly." Stillens smiled, his eyes glinting cruelly, like he was pleased to see me so upset about that. I looked down so he wouldn't be able to see into my head anymore, and he continued talking. "That is the key, Wren. What we missed with you. Children are the most easily indoctrinated, the least likely to question the things they are told. If all they have ever known is what I want them to believe, they will not question it. Young people lead movements. Young people are the future. And they are the ones who must have unswerving loyalty to me."

"Keeping children in your basement isn't going to make them loyal to you," I pointed out.

"No," he agreed. "It's a very good thing I don't plan on keeping them there."

I blinked, caught off guard. "You don't?"

"Of course not. I'm not an idiot, Wren. I understand what children need to thrive. Each of these children will have a loving, stable home. At the moment, they are simply in transition."

"You mean being brainwashed."

He waved his hand, as if the difference wasn't a big deal. "Use whatever term you'd like. What matters is that they will be adopted by loving families, raised to support this movement, and go out into the world fully convinced that I am right and their loyalty belongs to me. Is that really such a bad thing?"

"You murdered their parents and kidnapped them."

"I gave them an opportunity to be raised by a community who understands them."

"By kidnapping them and killing their families!"

Stillens narrowed his eyes. "You are focusing on the wrong things. Perhaps it is regrettable that those parents had to sacrifice their lives for their children to have a better life, but I've been told that that is the call of parenthood." He shrugged. "You should be happy that these children will not have to enter our world at a disadvantage."

Arguing morality with Caymus Stillens was impossible. I settled with glaring at him, and he just shook his head in annoyance. "I am telling you all this so that you can understand the futility of fighting against me, Wren. It would be far more profitable for you to join us. Even if the DA manages to rally together and fight again, which I sincerely doubt will happen, they will lose in the end. This is not ultimately about the actual battles, but about the fight for the ideology that pervades the youth. And that is a fight I am going to win. It is inevitable."

I stared at him, trying not to feel as frightened as I was. He wasn't one to make things up simply to scare someone. That's what really was scaring me. I closed my eyes for a moment, worried that my fear might start to mess with my occlumency. "If it's inevitable that you'll win, and the DA doesn't stand a chance, why are you wasting your time with me? Just kill me."

"You have valuable information."

"What does that information matter, if the DA is going to lose anyway?" I shook my head. "I don't think it's inevitable. And I think you're horribly cruel. You're separating children from their parents, then gaslighting them into thinking you did them a favor. How on earth do you think that will work?"

"Because it's worked before," Stillens said, an edge to his voice that made me flinch. I glanced up at him as he said, "How do you think I succeeded in America? Do you think this is a new plan?"

I blinked at him, my mouth dropping open. "You've done this before?"

"And it worked better than I could have hoped. Where else do you think my young, loyal supporters came from? The ones willing to cross oceans and go to prison simply because I asked? They were raised for this. And I'll do it again. Who can stop me? Who will even know, before it's too late?"

That explained so much, actually. I'd always wondered how Zaria Hempsey and Magnus Caldwell had become as messed up as they were. It didn't give me much hope, though, for the future; clearly, he knew what he was doing. Even Albus and Astra with all their research hadn't started suspecting something like this... and now Astra had disappeared, so who knew if they'd ever reach a conclusion about that.

Stillens seemed satisfied by my lack of response. He folded his hands together and gave me a gracious smile. "You still have a chance to make the smart choice, Wren. I won't take that away from you. But recognize that the longer you play this little game, the thinner my patience will wear. You may take your time, but that time will come at a cost."

I looked down. I knew that already. That wasn't new. Don't let him get to you.

"You've proven yourself incapable of killing yourself, so there is no need to confine you to your room anymore. It is a waste of time and people. But do not mistake this small freedom for anything more than that. I have not given up on breaking you. In fact, I've given Zaria Hempsey the privilege of overseeing your interrogations, and I can promise you that she will have no mercy." He smiled as I shrank back in my seat, then waved at the door. "That is all. You're dismissed."

I got up stiffly, trying to keep my dignity instead of running out the door. I don't know how well I succeeded. My mother was sitting on the bench across the hall, and gave me a pleasant smile as the door closed. "That wasn't so bad, was it, dear?"

As she stood up and walked towards me, I pulled away. "Of course it was." I glanced down the hall. "Are you taking me back to my room now?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. "No. I'm going to explain the rules, then you can go wherever you'd like, in the house." She started down the hall, and beckoned for me to follow. There wasn't much point in disobeying, it seemed like. I needed to pick my battles. I sighed and started after her.

"You're not allowed in the basement unless Hempsey requests it," she said, first. "Don't try to wander down there, go out through one of the tunnels. It won't work. Do you understand?" I nodded as she glanced back at me, which seemed to satisfy her. "You're also not to go outside on your own. Now, feel free to try to run off that way, if you'd like; there's a spell on the property to set an alarm off if you leave, so we'll know immediately. You might also have noticed that you can't disapparate from here, so there's no need to try. You'll find no floo powder in the house, either. You can't leave. It'll be easier if you accept that now." She gave me a significant look, like she wanted me to respond. I met her gaze for a few moments, to fight back, win a battle of wills, but I ended up looking down. She was right; I didn't have any hope.

"No speaking with the no-majs," she continued, as we kept walking. "They've been warned not to speak to you, and if you try, they'll be the ones being hurt. You won't have your wand for now, of course, though if you're good we might reconsider that. You don't have access to an owl, or any no-maj devices, or anything like that. We don't keep those in the house, so it's not worth trying to find any."

We passed a window, and I glanced out it. I could see a child running around outside, being chased by someone else... was that Nico? As I raised an eyebrow, my mother turned around to see that I'd stopped. She glanced out the window as well, then added, "You remember Cassie, I assume?"

"My 'cousin?'" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Yes." She narrowed her eyes at me. "You're not allowed to talk to her."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't want you filling her head with ridiculous ideas like that. I'm just warning you. Her room is the one next to yours, and if you see her, you walk the other way."

I looked back out the window. That was definitely Nico, now sitting on the ground as Cassie darted around, picking flowers and handing them to him. He didn't seem super enthused, but I was surprised he was putting up with that at all.

My mother was looking over my shoulder. "You're allowed to talk to Jasper, if you'd like," she said, "but if you start trying to sway him, you'll lose that privilege."

"You think it's a privilege to talk to Nico Jasper?" I scoffed. "I'd rather talk to no one at all."

Her eyes flashed. "That's very nearly your other option, Wren." She grabbed my arm and yanked me along. "At the very least, he's probably the only one with little enough to do that he could take you outside."

"I'd rather stay here."

"Suit yourself." She sighed. "Breakfast is at nine. Lunch is at noon. Dinner is at six. I expect you to be at all three, is that understood?"

I nodded dully. I thought I would almost prefer being locked in my room.

~~~~

Before, I had also been required to have meals with my parents. It was always uncomfortably formal, with my mother trying to make us feel like a family even though I had never wanted to be there. Stillens had never joined us, and I was thankful that he still didn't now. However, my parents had often had other "work associates" as guests, which was varied wildly between being awkward and terrifying.

Somehow, this was much worse.

I walked into the dining room as the clock was striking six, because I didn't want to give my mother the satisfaction of being early. My father was at the head of the table, since Stillens never came to challenge him. My mother was on his right, and I wasn't surprised to see Cassie next to her, stealing curious glances at me when my parents weren't looking. What was an unwelcome surprise was that Nico Jasper was sitting across from her. I stopped in the doorway, narrowing my eyes at him. "What's he doing here?"

"Trust me, I'm not enjoying myself," he said sullenly. My father raised a threatening eyebrow at him, and he put his hands up. "Kidding, obviously."

"He's a guest at the manor," my mother said sternly, leveling a frown at him, then at me. "Unless they're locked in their bedrooms, people who stay here eat together."

It wasn't worth arguing about. I shot him a glare as I slid into the seat next to him, and he didn't meet my eyes.

Over the course of the next few days, I found out that Nico was staying in the final room on my hallway, and he wasn't very happy about it. He'd had more freedom the previous summer, staying downstairs in the basement. I did end up asking my mother why they'd moved him, and she simply said they'd wanted to keep an eye on him, then told me not to worry about it. I could only guess what that meant.

Generally, he avoided me, which was good, since I wanted to avoid him. Unfortunately, Cassie was also avoiding me, even though I desperately wanted to talk to her. She'd taken a liking to Nico, for whatever reason. Not only did he put up with her, but I guess he'd convinced her that I was a horrible traitor. To my dismay, she seemed to be being indoctrinated into what my parents believed, just like Stillens said would happen.

That was it. I was powerless, wandering around the manor like a ghost, with nothing to do and no one to talk to, living in dread of whenever Zaria Hempsey would stop torturing me by keeping me on edge, waiting, and simply start torturing me for real. Wishing I could do something about Cassie, or Nico, but knowing there wasn't any hope. I was useless, and weak, and everyone around me seemed fully aware of it.

~~~~

Question of the Day: According to @Dreamcatcher31710, the "Star of Gryffindor fandom (a sub division of Potterheads)" needs a name. She came up with "Stardom," but would like thoughts and ideas for you guys. What do you think?

Answer: I have nothing to do with this, because I feel slightly narcissistic even putting this as a question of the day. I love you guys, though, and the way you all have loved this story has warmed my heart for years now :)

Vote and comment!

~Elli

Word count: 5900