Baz
Fuck. I think as saliva jets from the base of mouth and a razor set of fangs pierce through gums. Fuck. I panic as my thoughts hurl down the track of memories made in the past few days. Fuck. I curse as furry shadows distort smoother shadows in night's depth. Fuck. What fuck is happening?
The only source of illumination besides the darkly incandescent atmosphere comes from Simon. He's as pale as a ghost, as bright as a smudge of chalky light depicted in an acrylic painting. He glows from afar, he's light years away and I'm afraid I won't be able to reach him in time before he burns furiously and erupts in a showering supernova. One way for a star to die.
It's an odd notion that stars die. I had always thought that space and time and all things star related encompassed a sort of beauty. A poetical flare in otherwise no non-sense, straightforward subject, the complete opposite to spontaneous and emotional thinking. So when I was told about the end of a stars wise and ancient life by way of supernova, a bleak sadness had followed.
It hits ten times harder as I gaze upon the celestial body incinerating the darkness. It hits with the power of a muscle packed mutt.
I crash to floor in a blind, white hot panic that smothers me to the damp soil. I smell earth and rot and hot breath. I feel soft fur through my fingers and the crushing weight of an unnatural creature digging its claws into my shoulders, shredding through wool and cotton and skin and drawing blood. Desperately needed blood. It drives me further into the ground that I howl.
I can't breathe.
"Baz!" it takes light years to respond.
My fingers dig into the taut flesh of the mutt, I feel the bite of shredding fangs against my cheeks. I taste warm blood tainted with bitterness that's not the comforting tang of copper. I match it's brute and supernatural strength, feeling my eyes widen and sight sharpen and time's flow stagger.
The mutt is off of me and crashing against a trunk in an explosion of bark. "Baz!" I whip around wildly, lips drawn and fangs glinting. Simon's searing grip circles my forearm and I wince. "Sorry," he gushes. "Are you hurt?" He's tugging me away. Adrenaline pumps through me and I glare with clarity down the gentle slope and the line of trees. I try calm down. I turn to a brightly glowing spirit whose radiance burns the rims of eyesight. I wince some more.
Scents explode around me and I delight in them all. "Simon!" Authority shouts. I hear the whine of a gate unlocking and feel the jostle of movement. The overpowering aroma takes control of my limbs. I feel my mind is laying in the grass where the wolf attacked. "Someone – Penny, help me restrain him," he grunts with effort.
"You have a lot of explaining to do," Authority chides. "Sara – get Professor Jenrics...the wards are down."
"Yes Headmistress."
The aroma cuts off, like a blanket segregating me and the scents of the world. A plume of softer scents replace it, camomile and jasmine and gentle, sweet things that lull me to a better darkness.
Simon
Headmistress Bunce's office is festively adorned. Tinsel hangs on shelves and a Christmas tree glows softly in the corner with twinkling lights. I am so shocked by this normalcy and how quickly the year has flown. I wonder what day it is.
The ferocious beast is sprawled on a plump chaise of antique red velvet, so out of it that his features soften to charming innocence. The gothic red appeals to the imagery of dark beauty. The glint of fangs show through relaxed, parted lips and blood remains spattered on his shirt and drying on each bandaged shoulder. Magic couldn't help us here. It seems as if I've exhausted my own odd supply.
Penny and I discuss our findings. The Coven, the Sword, the High Sorceress and the curse that started with the death of man because of his connection to the Sword.
"This doesn't make sense," Penny moans. "How can magic not work when there's just so much of it that we're all suffering?"
"A lot of things are occurring that don't make sense," Headmistress Bunce silences the panicked muttering. "You may use the library," she adds, looking toward me. She smiles a thin-lipped smile of pure grim. "There shouldn't be any students in there, plenty of hours before lessons commence..." she looks at us. "I do hope you find what you are after."
"A curse," I propose. "Or, rather, information about this curse."
"A legend," the Headmistress says and she stands, walking over to a personal collection of leather bound books, "of the Blood Curse." She plucks one off the shelf and flourishes it.
My fingers dig into the hard wood of the armrest and I make to leap out of my chair. "You know of it?"
"More or less..." the Headmistress tilts her head. "I do know of the High Sorceress quite well, however." There's an intimacy within her words that speaks of tender and sad memories. She hands me the tiny book. "Ebb had quite some stories to share." My vision begins to water, I turn my attention to page instead.
Spun from threads of light of the exploding star and tempered by evil
Fate decide the deeds of thine
and slice through me your judgment.
Spirit welcome me
tell me what I despise
Fate decide the hour of my demise
dissect my soul as black as night
or as bright as a reflection.
The bright prophet of the brightest star
Return to thy kingdom at severs end
and bestow justice of the wrongs cycles old.
Next to the small poem is an ink drawing of a throne of stars and sitting in it, the majestic light of a beautifully powerful women. I can see her silvery blonde hair and glittering skin despite the black and white sketching. Her gaze is levelled and edged, sharper than the blade by her feet, the point piercing the bottomless ground. Complete and utter ownership of the Sword spinning with ambitious or humble power. "She drew this," I murmur under a tight breath. I see Professor Bunce nodding in my peripheral. "She is the guardian of both the Spiritual and Natural Realm and ties a healthy and peaceful bond between them. A vessel dies in our world, and a soul is born in her world. She is Fate Decide, and the Sword is her instrument of bestowing justice."
"She reigns amongst the stars...and decides where the soul will go once life takes its last breath," I say slowly. "Though, if her and the Sword aren't there...it makes sense that the Veil..." I trail off as everyone nods slowly. There is a silence that is as profound as the void I often find myself in.
Headmistress Bunce shakes her head, not in denial to my puzzling, but to any further annotation as I glance to her. Another witch perks up, standing beside the seated Headmistress at her heavy desk. "Is it possible this blade switches ownership by the draw of blood?" She suggests. I nod, thinking of the murder. "At least, that is what history assumes. It all started when this man was given the Sword – only to be murdered for its power."
"The Sword crossed to the Afterlife with her...why would she send it back?" The witch asks. No one has an answer. "She must be back to retrieve it," I say in my best efforts. All we are doing is speculating. "And that's having a disastrous effect on our realm," Headmistress Bunce adds. "The Coven are bunch of fools to be meddling with powers like these."
Baz murmurs something under his breath, one leg bouncing off the cushions as he twitches. "We will come back with answers," I say, wanting to feel the thick pages of thick volumes under my touch. Wanting to catch up to my racing mind, to ease the itch of agitation and anticipation.
"I advise you answer the question that your heart constantly is asking," Headmistress Bunce lowers her head whilst remaining unnerving eye contact. "And your vampire friend...The World of Mages isn't dealing with this too nicely...I'm sure you saw..."
I drag my gaze across to Baz and I linger by the door. Penny kisses her mother who hugs her tightly back.
"You'll help us look after him, yeah?"
"Of course, that is the least I can do for my most favourite son," she smiles warmly and proudly. I ignore the worry and sorrow.
"Your mother must be under a lot of stress," the murmur hits flatly off every dusty surface in this large space. "With The Coven and the wards being down, especially with those magickal creatures acting up..." we thread our way past shelves with books sorting themselves, reappearing and disappearing. One book brittles as I pass it with the glow of celestial glitter dying on my skin. A great tome heaves on a stone and gold lectern, its pages constantly flipping, a quill constantly sketching.
There's a rhythmic beat in the still and old air, the thump and flutter of books and pages, the scratch of the quill whose nib starts to dry, the splosh of it being dipped in ink. The lamps sputter on as we slink past in a silent reverie, almost like I walk a pilgrimage. The eldest library holds the soothing scents of Watford that spirit me away, back to the old times that seem light years away. Penny is a silent ghost behind me.
The chosen book alights as I walk past, matching my brightness. It responds to the celestial elements within me. I stoop to pick it up with the gentleness of spying a butterfly with beautiful wings, afraid I might hurt it, afraid it might flutter away.
It feels real and warm in my hands. My heart pulses, and I feel the pulse echo back through my fingertips. I hold a piece of someone living who is now dead. A clue, an answer.
I take the time to engross myself in the pages.. A flimsy old thing that should have fallen apart ages ago. It must've been the will of the owner that has kept it thriving. The words are printed with the speedy spontaneous scrawl of a feverish hand, scripting down their life and findings. The life of a determined man who keeps on living despite his terrible end, a desperation to not let his dream and passion die.
57th Day of Quin, Tenth Waxing Crescent
Of nights tainted with metal scents, I hear her whispering. The brightest most star twinkles strongly above, reminding me of that night and her departure.
Of long nights and sweet sweat, the creation of the legendary blade was sprung and soon to be taken from this realm and maybe for the better. My lady, you were right in so many ways. I spent long years foraging for a blade whose soul will not feel trapped in its skin, a true representation of you. It took me cycles to find and craft a metal of equal divinity that reigns light years above and that flows thickly through these very veins for the sacrifice you gave.
The brightest most star twinkles strongly above, my Lady, reminding me of what you gave is what I lost. It burns brighter than ever and on this night I cannot help but reminisce. I will answer the call you surely make.
I hold the life of a murdered man, and in that life, his findings and in those, emotions that beckon me back to the Natural Realm. This man gave all his love. I blink, eyes pricking with tears. I shake my head and flip to the next page.
58th Day of Normus, Tenth Waxing Crescent
I will accept the burden you present, Lady, out of love that has died not in the multi-cycles I have been here without you. I can feel its power coursing through me, a taste of you that sweetens the bitterness that gladly made me depart from the sword. You asked for me to be its wielder, and though reluctant, I accept gladly in the name of your wisdom. Play me, trick me or simply trust me, I do not mind as long as your intention is surely in the name of the goodness that you preach. I will forever be your follower until the day I die and serve my noble Lady for the purpose you bestowed on me.
I might ask one thing. Why, my Lady? I struggle to reason why you would gift me this dreadful and wonderful blade when you know the power it echoes. All I can see is a dark future with this blade.
Despite this, it is my hope this is an invitation that I can join you above one day. Not as a ruler, but as a lover.
You have gifted me many things and yet, the one thing I want most you give not.
I will see you when I meet your gaze. With me, I will wield the Sword that is rightfully yours and return it to its rightful place beside you. That future is what I carry on for.
Until then.
The productive and repetitive noises rattle to silence as I slam the dairy shut. I look up to the flickering ghost that manifests before me, the man whose name I know not of, his face blurry and undefined. He stretches his arm out slowly, pointing with a long finger out the window. My eyes follow the line of his direction, then snap back to the silent Visitor. They stay fixated as I inch closer to the window, until I snatch my gaze away and stare past the gloom to the squat and eclectic hut sleeping on the hill. I have to press my face to the cold glass and cup my hands around my eyes to see past.
The stab of pain is familiar enough. Familiar and foreign, some part of me feels the crackle of fire in the pit, hears the grazing of bah-ing sheep and the sound of Ebb's gypsy voice. The other remains as stoic as the night sky cracked with bruised gashes.
Turning to peer over my shoulder at Penny, I meet her gaze with solemn eyes. Penny's lips are pinched and white and she nods. Frost bites the numb skin of my palms as I push off and trip back down the aisles to exit the school of magic and delight.
The collection of ideas and findings, a single view of the world, wrapped in leather burns in my hand.
Baz
Simon shoots past me and for a moment I believe my tired eyes conjure a movement of flaring light. I stare after the softly glowing boy who glides across the bridge onto the Great Lawns. Locks of bleached hair sprinkled with starlight bounce and stream in the wind that attacks the bare skin of his arms poking out of a simple cotton t-shirt. It's bewildering and affronting, it paints Simon in the unfamiliar light of a bizarre context.
As soon as I startled awake in the Headmistress's office, my mind urged to me to find air. I stood under a blanket of patchwork clouds in different discoloured varieties, slowly sinking deeper within myself to talk to the one person I didn't understand. Especially now. It started to rain and the scene fizzed like the quality of black and white film.
A gust of wind lifts up strands of my hair and the tails of my coat, following after Simon eagerly. My eyes raise and widen on the milky white spirit amongst dark and shadows. Blocking out definition and understanding, he truly looks like a lone star in space.
The person I don't understand says to me that maybe I should talk to the other person I don't understand. I tell him that's ridiculous and stupid, how can misconceptions talk to misconceptions without more misconceptions?
Mud sucks and squelches, gluing to my loafers as I chase after the sun. "Simon!" I call, slipping and sliding. It's not so much raining anymore, but pouring. "Simon!" I shout. Mud splatters the hem of my coat, sticking to pure wool. The star is slowly dying, and a wild panic shatters rational thought. It screams worries that echo within my hollowness.
"Simon!" I shout, whipping around as a flare of light awakens in between the trees. The cottage is behind me, the forest before me. Mud sticks to my trousers which sticks to my calves. I shiver under the drenched wool of my coat and the cold fabric of my shirt.
Don't lose him don't lose him don't lose him don't lose him don't –
Don't go.
"One way for a star to die is for it to sacrifice itself in a shower of heat and brilliance, so that life can live on."
Simon
Ebb's home.
Entering is like walking through a preserved exhibition. Nothing is out of place for nothing has been moved. I expect new and different things over Ebb's old and odd things, or maybe even dust and abandonment.
This memoir stings like tears in the corners of my eyes. The man is waiting for me, his pointed finger already jabbed in the general direction of his intention. I walk over to the hearth and hesitate. To move this shrine would be to move something human inside of me. I feel humanity like the fragile china teacups displayed in Ebb's old wooden cabinet. Unmatched and breakable. The links between who I am have snapped apart, leaving them floating like stars in space.
"Current wielder of the Sword." I look up as the Visitor finally has words to say. I am the only on here, but even in a room of thousands I would know those words belong to me. The Sword of Mages is mine. "Fate Decide's Successor, your space in the Spiritual Realm calls."
"I'm not ready." But I hesitated. In this frame of time, every little thing seems to matter. I consider what needs to be done, why I started and who I started for. In a rush the floating bits of humanity string together perfectly and it makes sense. "I'm not ready." And it comes out surely.
"She will bring you either way." He points to me now. "The connection has been severed, and now the Lady needs you where you belong. It has been signed in the stars." I bend down and stick my hand in the sooty and cold space inside, digging around. "The realms are misbalanced, I can see well enough that the desired fate of your realm isn't something you desire. You are destined to be the next Fate Decide, but you cannot decide all fate. If the Lady continues to walk this realm, your home will slowly tear apart from sheer stress."
Baz
The High Sorceress winds her way through the trees. Her presence is a burning and deep throb at the back of my mind, like a headache with added fire. Time hurries, she dons it like a cloak that ripples after her majestically.
Trees birth fragile petals, blossoms of pink and white. She stands behind a veil of fluttering blossoms with a sword in her grasp, angled to the floor. Above the sky is clear and crystalline blue. The poet in me can't help but question a metaphor to all this.
She's as a graceful as a deer and I hurl myself at her.
"What have you done to Simon?" I snarl as she ducks with ease, not even a strand of her whirling hair snags in my teeth. "Vampire," a word said void of any emotion, that even the word indifferent couldn't be used as a suitable adjective.
"The demon who fell in love with the angel."
Simon
My hand freezes around a cold, hard object with smooth planes and jagged edges. I wobble between two realms, and the big question is which one needs me the most? Which void calls out the loudest? Which will catch my fall?
"Tell her to go home." I draw back with the red gem gripped in my palm. His blood stills stains your realm.
I have wanted to find her. In this moment, I want nothing more than to forget about her.
"This isn't possible. You have bound her here. Fate Decide, you belong with the stars. You are the prophet that I failed. The realms depend on you."
"Don't call me that. I'm staying here."
The Visitor points toward his own solidified blood, the Blood Curse. "In that case, be ready for your fate."
Baz
The demon who fell in love with the angel.
Everything makes sense now. The people I don't get, I now understand.
Tears make me ferocious and I strike again. She's a wisp of ethereal white hair and a glint of silver sword hidden behind tumbling blossom petals. They patter with weight against my shoulders and hair and I slide in their building mounds, like stepping on the corpses of the dead.
The world inverses, the trees a network of linked constellations and the petals shooting stars. The sensation throws me, distorting my sense of self that I question its incredibility.
"Every second, someone is faced with the choice of life and death. Every second, someone enters this realm, and someone leaves this realm." The sun goes out and I stumble in darkness. The blooms fade to black.
"The common misconception is that life ends...when in reality, like everything else, it is a cycle. No beginning and no end. One leaves a realm to enter a new one.
"Vampire, you trick the system of mother nature. You are the spawn of demons and darkness, and you fell in love with my heir, my son."
Sickness burns in my belly and I thrash around in a darkness that suffocates like water. Do I drown in deep water or suffocate in starless space?
Are you punishing me?
"These are my kingdoms, it has been centuries since I have visited here and it seems I cannot stay long before my visit harms everyone. I wish not for that to be the case. That is why the universe needs Simon. That is why you must let him go."
A blur of colour swims in the darkness.
"Put those blades away, I wish not to hurt you. And I ask this of you." Her hair fans out behind her and swirls in a phantom current.
"For the fate of this realm, are you willing to give up the one you love?"
Simon
None of this makes sense, and it yet it makes perfect sense.
A roar fissures the silence outside and I blink. Ebb's cottage is dark and unmoving and empty. The Visitor has left. The anguished and pained bellow tugs at my heart strings and I spin away from the hearth and burst through the door into the distorted night.
Electricity sparks along my nerves and I freeze, welcoming the change in the atmosphere. It's charged and close, the presence of every star within reach. The sky is a kingdom of stars, the clouds dispersing, staining the midnight blue with mottled bruises of purples and greens. But I can see the stars finally, they are charged and close.
Your destiny is near.
Baz
The clouds roll away and I blink up at many watchful eyes. A flutter of a blossom veil lifts past my eyes and up into the sky on a train of twirling petals. For once, I despise the night. I close my eyes against the stars and their attentiveness. The mud draws all warmth from my body, I don't move where I am sprawled on the floor. The scent of blood stings my nostrils and I am too confused and dazzled to question it.
She was right here, the woman Simon desperately seeked. A bitterns tugs my heart foully.
The longer I lay in the silence, the more I understand. It's a twisted and dark fate, and as I face the stars who challenge coldly, all resolve is picked up like the fragile petals and scattered into the night.
The mud sucks at my limbs, the earth breaths and draws me deeper in. The cold is what keeps me from dissolving and melting into the black.
For the fate of this realm, are you willing to give up the one you love?
The state of my mentality can't handle a question of such profundity. The state of my mentality is pitiful and weak and it croons in my ear in a lazy and rasping voice that freezes my limbs to paralysis and doesn't allow me to get up and brush myself off. How can I? It's futile, this struggling, when I can clearly see the fate sketched in the stars...I will lie here until then.
I open my eyes upon a bright star and I blink blearily at it. "Oh, Baz..." he whispers lovingly and my aching heart purrs like a cat. Simon's face pities from above, the sun shimmering through the depths of soundless ocean. He glitters in tune with the pinpricks of starlight. Simon's eyes are giant pools of starlit water where they find my gaze, forcing me to look and respond. He crouches above me, arms wrapping around his knees. He rests his check on his forearm, all I can see are those eyes looking at me behind a wild curtain of hair.
He unfolds himself and kneels, bending over to block out the sky. Simon's lips hover inches from my face and my own lips part. The heat of his lips burn away the tears streaking my cheeks, they brush away the drops and I hold my breath, afraid to blow him away like a blossom in the wind.
Don't go.
I curl up, and bury my neck in his shoulders as he lift me up with an ease I don't dare to question in fear I might collapse. My eyes squeeze shut, lips brushing his neck, filthy hands fisting in his hair, chest feeling his heart thump calmly. I don't dare to look behind him and open my eyes upon the monster I have become.
I have fallen apart, to dream nightmares and slaughter mercilessly. The scent of blood follows us.
Simon whispers gentle words - soft words, loving words - as he carries me back to Watford. "It's alright, an act of self-defence is all, they were ravenous creatures...it was an act of self-defence and you survived. You aren't hurt are you?"
You don't understand.
The demon who fell in the love with the angel.
Simon
The gem and journal currently reside like a common object on an old and battered side table, in a room achingly familiar.
I had dragged Baz back, both of us dripping with rain and slicked with mud. The moon tracked across the sky, sinking lower from its peak. Penny sent us both on her mother's word to a spare dorm. I had burst through to a scene of intensity and grimness to add to that intensity and grimness. I can only imagine how it might've looked, the star boy glowing with brightness and the vampire boy, a twist of lifeless shadow in his arms.
My head swirls with too many familiarities as I pass corridors and climb up stairs with the boy I had despised but pursued for many years in my arms. The only thing different are the wisps of Visitors flaring into existence before snuffing out.
I lay Baz down on clean but old bedding, the mud from his clothes staining the white linen. None of the clean as a whistle charms had worked, besides once when the Headmistress had tried, and that hardly cleaned anything. I am too scared to try myself.
Baz has been awake the entire time, he gazes at the ceiling now as if he can still see the stars. "Baz," I gently say. "Have a shower, get dressed and go to sleep." I collapse onto my bed for the night. Moon light peeks behind the window, shining over Baz, picking out the blue highlights in his dark and damp hair that's dried slightly wavy. It turns his face to smooth and chiselled marble. I sit cross-legged on the mattress, examining Baz with soft and concerned eyes. He doesn't move, he's a still statue dying in a tomb buried under history and soil, cobwebs adding another layer of disconnection. The emptiness in those flat grey eyes strike me sick and true panic makes my throat constrict.
"Baz," I implore, dragging myself up to sitting. "Baz, please..." I walk over and bend over him. He looks at me, but doesn't say a word. The last thing I heard from him whisper in my ear was a sad plea. Don't leave.
"Ba-az!" I moan petulantly, I press my knuckles to his forehead tenderly. He just looks at me from under thick eyelashes. "Get up, please..." my knuckles slide down the side of his face, caressing his cheek softly. "You're a fucking cock," I growl as I straighten and begin to unbutton his filthy shirt. For all the indifference, this twat makes me feel human.
My cheeks burn brighter than any star as nimble fingers expose chest and stomach sculpted from pure marble. I strip the shirt along with the coat off him and toss the bundle on the floor. I work methodically and quickly.
The flush in my cheeks deepens as my fingers push the button of his trousers through. Soon Baz lays under me in just his boxers with a pair of muddy slacks thrown on the floor. I look up, swearing I saw a flash of a reluctant and lazy grin. "Baz!" I cry, eyes wandering every inch of him despite my best efforts. His slender feet dangle off the edge of the bed, his lean and muscled thighs, smooth and sculpted stomach and chest. Everything smooth and pale and hard.
I jump up and duck into the small bathroom, turning the hot water on and the shower hisses to life. I grab a fluffy towel and hang it on the rail beside the shower. When I return Baz, is still lying on the bed. The flash of amusement I conjured was just that, a conjuring. Those lips remain without character and those eyes remain without light.
Worry crushes me and I strip him nude, lifting him gently up. He's a frail and dead weight in my arms, awake but lost to the world and I frown. M my embarrassed yet intrigued mood fades to pure love and stewardship. Baz crumbles against me, and I feel every portion of him. "Come on," I murmur into his hair, hand sliding up and down his smooth back.
"Don't leave," Baz whispers. "I can't..." his shoulders shudder and my heart breaks.
"I'm not going anywhere."
His sense of self-preservation twists to debilitating grief. What did you see, Baz? I usher him into the hot water, eyes clouding over as I see the fallen angel on his back, pooled by blood and dead carcases, his fangs glinting in the moon light.
What did you do?
I towel his thick and dark hair dry, watching the fluffy white mix with silky black. I run my fingers through it with interest, the towel crumpled by my side. Baz leans back against me, slouched between my bent legs, warm and dressed in Watford issued pyjamas. A set of my own are folded neatly on the bed adjacent.
What happened to you?
I feel maybe the same question circulates his mind.
"I love you," Baz murmurs, the towel a hood over his head. I return from my own quick shower to wash away the night and see Baz still squatting beside the bed on the floor. He gets up and crushes me into a hug which breaks me and I cry into his shoulder, squeezing him tightly back. Those three words don't feel sufficient enough to describe the abstract war of emotions grappling for attention, unique and shaded in different tones. Never have I wanted to speak to someone so badly, whilst feeling for thoughts that can't accumulate to proper English on my tongue, or any language.
The three words will have to do, I am alone in metamorphism in a fluctuating world. I hope that one day Baz will understand the language I speak. Or maybe, more beautifully, a language of our own will blossom. A sweet smile brightens the night as I pull back and marvel in the stars alighting Baz's eyes once more. This boy anchors me to Earth, shoving things into perceptive and making me human once more. The assurance of him just being here calms a ragged sea. The assurance tugs my thoughts from the stars and dark to the stars and dark of his eyes. I feel once more.
"You have always grounded me," I struggle to say. "And I will never stop loving you for it."
A start to unravelling the complexity that's changing both of us.
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This chapter was a pain in the butt to write, it underwent many drafts...but finally I am happy to post it!
As you can see, it is longer than usual for obvious reasons - this chapter is turning point of the whole story and it's vital! (so I had to get it right haha)
I hope you enjoyed it! I'm already drafting the next chapter so hopefully I'll deliver that on time (fingers crossed)
thank you for comments, votes and most importantly - your patience!
xx Hope