test.ipynb

{
 "cells": [
  {
   "cell_type": "code",
   "execution_count": null,
   "metadata": {},
   "outputs": [],
   "source": [
    "import os\n",
    "import json\n",
    "from turtle import pd\n",
    "\n",
    "path_to_json = '/Users/alexbeetz/pan20-authorship-verification-training-small'\n",
    "#json_files = [pos_json for pos_json in os.listdir(path_to_json) if pos_json.endswith('.jsonl')]\n",
    "#print(json_files) \n",
    "#data_list = []\n",
    "\n",
    "train_labels = []\n",
    "\n",
    "with open(path_to_json, 'r') as handle:\n",
    "                text_data = handle.read()\n",
    "                text_data = '[' + re.sub(r'\\}\\s\\{', '},{', text_data) + ']'\n",
    "                json_data = json.loads(text_data)\n",
    "                for item in json_data:\n",
    "                    train_labels.append(item)\n",
    "\n",
    "#print(train_labels)\n",
    "\n",
    "gold = {}\n",
    "for line in train_labels:\n",
    "    gold[line['id']] = int(line['same'])\n",
    "\n",
    "print(gold)\n"
   ]
  },
  {
   "cell_type": "code",
   "execution_count": 7,
   "metadata": {},
   "outputs": [
    {
     "name": "stdout",
     "output_type": "stream",
     "text": [
      "['I shift a bit, warily letting my eyes dart from one owl to the other -- but my eyes are trained on the Barn Owl the most. Like Hoole...so like Hoole... He turns a bit, and our eyes meet directly. I can\"t describe it...in this next moment, I don\"t look away, how awkward it seems. I stare into his eyes. They\"re like Hoole\"s... They are Barn Owl eyes, but Hoole\"s eyes. They\"re his eyes...Hoole\"s eyes... They hold that light of valor, justice, that one glow that I always made me feel my gizzard twitch in the bottom of my heart. Hoole... He never wanted me, did he? He loved me, but only who I was pretending to be. He never loved me, only Emerilla...lucky owl. I just wanted to belong -- because I was nothing -- and he gave me that. He was so fair, so kind...he gave me something even Kreeth could not. Mum and Da -- Ygryk and Pleek -- were supposed to be my parents. I was supposed to be their chick, Lutta. Yet they left me. They talked about me behind my back...I was a freak. My own parents loathed me. Oh, they tried, but they left in the end. They didn\"t love me. Kreeth used me. No one really loved me, or even looked at me normally. All I was was a freak, nothing at all. Then he came along. Him, Hoole. The only one who let me belong, looked at me with kindness in his gaze, not looking like I was a...monster... Why was I born? Not one person cared about me. I was just freak my parents didn\"t want, a weapon for auntie\"s uses, and a fake to my only love. He cared, but didn\"t know me. In the end, I was a monster to him too. Now I\"m back. And now I wonder... I suddenly stiffen as I think up to a thought. \"What happened?\" I shoot up and stare into those kind eyes. I trust him to answer. \"Please, who are you? Where am I? Where\"s...Where\"s\"--I choke up, but the question is already on my tongue--\"Hoole?\" My talons clench as the name leaves me. At once, I see sympathy clearly written over their faces. A pang enters my heart. Sympathy for me? A nothing? \"Lutta.\" Sweet words again, and I suddenly wonder how this Barn Owl knows my name. \"It\"s hard to explain, but please...\" \"Listen carefully.\" Everyone, including me, jumps as the Great Gray speaks -- in a rather booming voice -- for the first time. The Elf Owl frowns at him. The older Barn Owl gives him a quick nudge. Words tumble from the young Barn Owl\"s beak. \"Lutta, we read about you in legends. It\"s been a long time since you were... \"Well, you\"re at the Great Ga\"Hoole Tree, and it\"s been a long time since you were...\" His voice dies down as he hesitates. \"Dead,\" the older Barn Owl finishes. He says it with that sympathy shown in his eyes. \"It\"s been thousands of years from your time, and we read about you from some legends about some...events...\" He clears his throat, determined to go on. \"Coryn here\"--a gesture at the young Barn Owl--\"is the king. I\"m his uncle, Soren. This is Gylfie\"--a gesture at the Elf Owl, who nods in greeting--\"Twilight,\" the Great Gray, \"and Digger\"--what a funny looking Burrowing Owl. \"My uncle and his friends are called the Band,\" Coryn adds. I let this newfound information seep in. Thousands of years? Could this be possible? I was dead, right? It\"s been so long -- and...I was dead? How...? \"I have a GIZZARD!\" \"You do not have a gizzard, you fool! you idiot! I created you.\" \"You created me, but I created this gizzard!\" \"No!\" What is this? \"Emerilla?\" He turns as I change. He knows now...what am I to do? Dismay spreads through my body. He\"ll probably think I\"m a freak too, and he\"ll hate me. But I love him! In the next second, I\"m flying at him. Adrenline floods me as I feel...am I losing myself? This gref... He\"ll hate me now. I slam into him, and he flies backward. \"I love you!\" I want to scream. I want to scream those three words. To let him understand. I want to scream, \"I love you!\" Then, an enexpected blow to the back of my head. Pain. Unexpected pain. Then talons, stopping me in my tracks. Talons...digging into me, slashing everywhere. My vision spins to red. I\"m being ripped apart at the seams. Torn. No... Why are you...? I sink, and I fall apart, literally. My feathers fall off, as my body becomes a lump of darkness. A lump of feathers. I truly am nothing... You\"d expect a real body when one is torn by claws -- and yet...feathers only. My phantom gizzard lurches. \"Half-hags!\" \"I had to kill her.\" WHY? \"She pretended to be my Emerilla.\" Is that all! I\"m going to die like this! Just because I was an imposter! \"I knew from the start that something was not right about her. A blood deception she was -- a hagsfiend.\" Anger -- hot, seeping rage enters me. And cold feelings. Feeling that make me want to shed tears. \"No!\" I manage. \"Who are you?\" Who? Hoole...you accept me as someone? Hoole... \"I am nothing...and yet, I loved...\" I loved... \"Lutta?\" \"Hey! Are you all right?\" \"What\"s wrong? Lutta!\" I sink down as my mind spins. Then, I black out. All was dark except for the fluttering movement of wings -- brown wings. A Barn Owl shifted in the branches of the magnificent tree, her dark eyes gleaming as she looked into the hollow. How strange that she could get so close to the tree so easily. She was but a sillhouette against the branched skies. She eyed the hollow, and the inhabitants. Her son...too bad she would have to kill him. He would have made a fine pure owl, had he not inherited his uncle\"s stupid softness. She could just kill him, right there and then. How easy, that everything she had been working for for the last few months would just be completed now, so easily. She could easily snatch the ember, then swoop in and kill Coryn, his disgraceful uncle, and get her dear mate\"s -- rest his soul -- revenge. Then, kill those pathetic owls that were always around Soren, and anyone else she comes across in the tree, just for a bonus. It would be wonderful to see their pained, stupefied faces as she sank her claws through their feathers, one by one. Then she saw the hagsfiend, and her eyes widened in horror. I am the last! How is this possible? Why is she in that hollow! She could just kill her as well -- but her eyes caught something, and her gizzard twitched. No...she\"ll just stay back and observe. This hagsfiend could prove some use to her and... Sadistic impulse shot through Nyra\"s gizzard. The adoring gleam in the hagsfiend\"s eye as she stared at Nyroc. No, she\"ll wait. Nyra silently spread her wings and swooped into the night sky. She had plotting to do. PT: Please, enjoy :) I hope I can fill up some holes in the story as soon as I can. Though, they\"re there for suspense. Please review! Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING, EVERYONE!! Enjoy! I have a little more to say: I know the last book already came out, and I\"ve finished it already. I\"m a little stunned, but in courtesy of those who have not yet finished it, I won\"t spoil it. However, despite the end, I\"m continuing the fic the way it is. I\"ve just noticed how much I\"ve been neglecting the story O.o Anyways, I was rather...displeased with a few stories stuck in the GoGH fandom, and while I was planning to leave it after finishing this fic, I might a few more fics for this. Not that I have hubris...I just...don\"t know...I just think I\"ll contribute to the fandom with a few fics of angst :D Anani Mouse Thank you, thank you so much :D -Head swells- Frosted Fate Yeah, poor Lutta D: Wish Hoole ended up with her. One of the Populace Oh...-sobs- Hi! :D FlamingSerpent Thanks! I\"m flattered x) True, Nyra\"s so important to the plot -- being sadistic and plotting revenge, among other things :) Hawkrain I\"m glad you\"re eager :D Thanks for reviewing and liking it! :) Lara-Van Thank you, thank you -bows- X) It\"s great that you think that; cheered me right up ;) The Great Tree I can make them hurt... My Mum and Da. I can make them feel the pain that they\"ve put on me. They can hurt, and I\"d be able to do it to them. A change in our positions is want I want so badly, and they\"d taste the bile they stuck in my throat. They left me...they left me, their chick Lutta. Theirs. I have the power now -- to make them hurt. I can make them hurt. I can make them hurt... \"Lutta!\" Stop slapping me. \"Lutta, wake up!\" Slap. Stop slapping me with your wing, it stings. Slap. Slap. \"WAKE UP, Lutta.\" Slap. Slap. Stop it! I\"m trying to-- \"Lutta, please!\" ...Hoole? Hoole\"s voice! I flick my eyelids open -- all four of them -- at the same time. Hoole? No, it\"s Coryn. Just Coryn. \"Lutta, are you all right?\" The way he looks at me...it\"s like Hoole. So much like Hoole. \"I\"m fine,\" I answer, and immediately scan my surroundings. Perhaps I have become overly paranoid with time, but I can\"t be sure. In any case, I can\"t let my guard down in this case; I could find myself dead in a second, just like that I died in an instant -- killed by Strix Strumajen. I shudder, remembering the memory of being ripped. Ripping, ripping, tearing, blood, pain-- Death. And then... Well, I don\"t want to think about what I don\"t remember. After that, there was nothing but a cluster of memories of what happened within death-- Falling. Falling... Floating...unraveling...flowing through the winds...becoming one with nature...then falling.... Falling, falling downwards, a curse uttered upon my kind: \"To hagsmire.\" Hagsmire, where the ones who have sinned within their lives went, for eternal damnation. Hagsmire, for hagsfiends, and...and... Nothings. Nothings -- they who mean nothing to the world, who should never have entered this life, this realm of breathing. Falling, agony, curses, darkness, cold hate. Those flaws of what life and death decide. And nothings. Nothings, like me. Nothing. Snap out of it. I don\"t want to remember. Of being one of the damned. And now I\"m back. Why? \"Lutta?\" -- and I look up. Hoole -- no, Coryn. Coryn, the Barn Owl. Unconsciously, I stare at him with huge eyes that deserve to pop out of their sockets. \"Yes?\" I say. Oh Coryn, please don\"t look at me like that. You look like Hoole, please, don\"t look sympathic...please don\"t...I want it but you don\"t have to give it. Can you not see that my heart has already been broken? \"Lutta,\" he says, softly, and gives me a tender nudge with his wing. \"Can you stand?\" I nod, because I cannot find myself shaking my head. \"Yes.\" Can my legs work? He steps back slightly, to give me room, and I try to remember how to use legs again. Now, I just...position them...and push upwards... A searing pain. My legs! They hurt! They hurt! Fall down again -- No, I can\"t. I can\"t fall; I\"ve told Coryn that I will stand, will be able, and I will not lie; not anymore; I have already lied and tricked Hoole, I will not do so again, not to any owl. Nor this owl. This owl, who stares with the eyes of a true king. A young king, but a wise one, and a good one. With difficulty, I stagger forward, out of the small nest. I feel the bark underneath my claws as I step on it; bark again, how it brings back thoughts of those days. It feels a bit unfamiliar, but I cannot forget bark. Such a thing is pathetic. I feel my legs quivering, wanting to give way, but no. No. I have said that I will stand. How they quiver! -- stop it. Stop quivering! I have said I will walk, and I will walk, even if this pain continues -- like fire searing at me, numbing in a way. I will not lie again. Deception has torn me once before; never again. I look at Coryn, see the concern in his eyes; he hesitates to step forward, wanting to help. No, I can do it. Please. Let me. I walk, a little faster, wanting my legs to stride. They work, a little better. I look at Coryn again, and I ask, \"Where am I?\" \"The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree.\" Silence. My breathe hitches quickly. \"The...\" I pause, mind spinning and reeling. The Tree? The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree, that was reigned over by...Hoole? \"Tree?\" The Tree. The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree. And my mind explodes. \"Th -- Then!\" I jump as I begin stuttering. \"The Ga\"Hoole Tree! I -- I don\"t belong here! I am nothing! I lo-- \"Hoole, he...NO! I am a disgrace! My presence is dirtying this tree!\" I back away, seeking some sort of exit. I don\"t belong here. No. I am defiling the Tree. How long has it been since the last time I was here? I deceived the good king, I nearly killed him -- he was a great king, and a great owl! I don\"t deserve to be here! How many good owls reside in this tree now, the Tree that was grown by -- as rumor says -- the sorrow and goodness of Hoole? I don\"t belong here! Coryn jumps now. Please, no! \"Lutta!\" he says, eyes flashing with some sort of fire that started. \"You are not!\" Not? But...Hoole! Hoole! -- please no! You--! I stare, transfixed, as I see Coryn change. I don\"t see Coryn anymore. I see...you. Hoole. Eyes, eyes that spoke of what you believed in. Your sense of love for those close to you, your fiery will that would see indiscrimation to the very end. I\"m sorry Hoole! I deceived you! I am everything you are not! -- and should not be! I am NOTHING! I back away, seeing Hoole. He steps forward, that look in his eyes-- \"You deserve to be here! You--\" I stumble backwards as I shriek, \"Hoole! Don\"t! Don\"t you understand!\" Now is my time to confess! I never told him that I was-- I\"m sorry Hoole. I\"m so sorry! \"Lutta!\" The owl before me is -- He\"s pleading! No, I don\"t deserve it! \"Lutta, you do! Just as any owl!\" My gizzard throbs, beating against its surroundings. I stare upwards, feeling it grow cold. \"NO! I DON\"T DESERVE TO BE HERE! I AM NOTHING! I -- DO -- NOT -- BELONG -- HERE! I AM...\" My gizzard gives a jerk. My throat fills with pebbles; \"Nothing....\" My words are choked. It\"s true. I am nothing. I don\"t deserve to be here, at the Great Tree. PT: Like? Hate? Please review. I hope to update soon. Fill up the plot holes, twist the story...you know. Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: I really need to update more often. xD -Shot- ...-looks out window- Well, I thought I\"d take some advantage. Now that I\"m in high school, and in the JROTC program, I\"ve joined the drill team that saps up all the members\" time. But as of this month practice has been cancelled until further notice. Now I have the energy and time for writing, so yeah -shrugs- FlamingSerpent I know, right? So sad...last book...oh the nostalgia.... PokemonKnight Yes, isn\"t that talent just so impressive? x) -shot- Thank you. silverrosetail Thank you, and thanks for the further information ^^ Hopefully, once this is pointed out, things will definitely unfold a little more. SamPD Mmhm...since I\"ve already replied to you... Crazydragonlord Thank you~! n_n I appreciate that. Move Again, Step By Step Nyra glanced down at the small bit of parchment in her right claw, squinting slightly to make out the ancient words. The Kraakish scrawled upon it was old, but young enough for her to translate. The general of the Pure Ones had to stop the glee that was bubbling upwards in her gizzard -- no, not yet, when this isn\"t confirmed to work -- but she allowed herself to flush slightly with success. For the sake of her sanity and her own feelings of encouragement. Success was near... Nearing... ...Bit -- by -- bit. \"Yes.\" A glint came to concentrated eyes. \"This is it.\" I look up. Consciousness is drifting back with a comforting steadiness. It comes kindly, but firmly. But I let it come. Hell. My body aches -- all of it, it aches and hurts and pinches itself. It\"s a twisted rag -- I\"m a twisted rag. Hoole. Coryn. Oh... I shouldn\"t be here. The thought is fire, or else ice. I shouldn\"t be here. I don\"t deserve to be here. My thoughts are taking flight from where they have left off. I don\"t deserve to be here. Of course I don\"t. I look around as my vision clears; he is not here...Coryn, was it? No one is here. My phantom gizzard -- phantom, yes... -- speaks...it sends a jolt of alarm. Warning. They have left me. They must have. Kind as they seemed to be, they must have left me here...in this hollow...perhaps wanting me to leave on my own, too disgusted to act. A saddening thought. They acknowledged me, though, and they were kind. Perhaps they saw through to something... But that\"s reality, is it not? -- of course, freak that I am; player of the confidant game that I am...an actor, nothing more. There is no real me. My grief has quieted. I should leave then -- it cracks my phantom gizzard in half -- this is the tree; and I am nothing. I shall leave then...go somewhere else to rot, quietly, for the peace. This tree has something...something...that revives Hoole\"s life. I wonder, then...if he is looking down here. I wonder what he is thinking. At least he is at peace. There is no me to disturb him, and I shall bother him no more in this tree. Hoole. I am sorry. I don\"t deserve any of your love. And I will not bother Coryn. He reminds me so much of you. I turn to face the opening of the hollow, veiled by lichen. Pretty. How alive. There is air outside; nighttime seeps through the fleshy fibers. Cool air, and a wide expanse. Shall I fly till the end of my miserable days? I shift; I can move. Then I can leave. There is no reason to stay here, of course...this is Hoole\"s home; I shall not taint it. Oh, it\"s silent -- I can\"t believe it took so long for me to notice it; my feathers are rustling -- I must look ugly -- and my feet shift. I can move. This is life. I am alive. Truly, truly alive. I cannot tell what exact state I am in, but I know I must be a mess. But outside I can release, can I not? Release, and perhaps become one with nature, earth or sky. There is a whole world out there, limitless. I can wander till the end of my days, past even the confinements of the land we owls know. Beyond the beyond the beyond. I fear no danger; in fact, the danger can come, and I shall not care if it kills me. I am an owl -- whatever I am -- with nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Then I am ready. I listen one more time, pause, before beginning the endless journey. Nothing. There is nothing but the hum of silence, scratching in cadence. I must be desperate to stay, as if I truly deserve it. I don\"t. I cannot stop thinking about this; I deserve nothing. I am nothing, after all. If I am damned to this line of reality for this whole retake at life, then so be it. Then, I will take my leave. Good riddance, then. My eyes mist. When I shake my head to clear the fog, I hop forward -- painful -- and I manage to walk. I can do this. There is the opening; I will go now. I must be cherishing the whisper of lush wind. I will go. I will go. With a shake of my ruffled feathers, I jump out, brush through the lichen that caresses my wings in farewell -- with pity? -- and snap my wings open. A prickling sensation. With a quick look downwards, as the world rushes in, I see the silver-gray plumage restored to my chest. A shapeshifter again. Coryn watched the candle before him splutter wetly, in its final throes of death. Though fire was life, it needed something to last. Something that helped it, hurled it onward. Without, it would die, die and scream. Then it would fall silent and blow out of existence. And that would be that. Died, and was dead. But undoubtedly, irrevocably, dead. How, then...how? -- how did a dead owl, undoubtedly gone for years upon years upon years...how could a dead owl rise, fresh and breathing, from the dead? This was illogical, and beyond the illogical itself. Of course there could be attempts to raise the dead, but...the body. And the sheer closeness to impossibility. Lutta, the owl of legend, was alive after being dead for so long. How...? Her body must have withered and become nothing but food for the earth to devour greedily. Though the beyond of the horizon of the logical was boundless, this was still... How, he mused. How. That was what he was pursuing. How? How? How? How had she returned to the earth? Was she an illusion? -- if so, she was something beyond illusion...she was too perfect to be something to be called a mere illusion. Coryn mused onward as he turned back to the sheafs of paper -- he had left Lutta for the pursuit of something...something that could shed its light upon the happenings. So long ago. Lutta. Was this a work of nachtmagen? There was that possibility, faded as the yellow craft was. Then who had performed it? Coryn could not grab it; he snatched at empty air. There was nothing to tell him. Nothing that anything could tell him, nor aid him. This was an enigma beyond most anagrams of matters. This was a mess. He had found her, Lutta, merely lying on some branch of the tree. And, through some urging of the gizzard, he had brought her back into the tree itself. This made little sense. He dived into another pool of thoughts. What if...? There was a bang; he jumped and turned. There was a curse of \"raccdrops!\" Twilight. Coryn called, one wing still laid flat over a book, \"What\"s going on?\" More cursing, followed by Gylfie\"s reprimands. There was a loud whirlwind of a flutter, and soon the whole Band was within the room! \"What?\" Coryn said loudly at the undignified relative of a heap before him. \"What\"s happened?\" Something shot through his gizzard. Soren spoke first, in a rushed but determined voice. \"She\"s gone!\" Another shot. Something like cold fear and wonder. \"She\"s gone!\" Gylfie wailed. \"Lutta\"s gone!\"', '\"All will become one with Russia,\" he said, almost simply, his cheer eerie. Fists were already clenched; now they groped about, for a pan, a rifle, a sword-there was nothing. In some way, this brought her but a sigh of relief-Gilbert and Roderich, she was reminded, were not here to suffer as well. If Ivan put his giant hands on Roderich... Click, went an object, and Elizaveta was snapped into the world when her own instincts pulled her head away; on time, for Ivan\"s collar was soon found to be touching the tip of her nose: she went cross-eyed staring at the thing: it pinched her skin, now red with anger. How dare you- Oppression! No one could lay that yoke above her again!-she would never allow it! Even when a sort of purple shroud seemed to wrap itself about Ivan and blaze as a fire would...even as a faint eerie \"kolkolkol\" was thick in the air...Elizaveta held her ground-glaring, hating, repulsing. Oppression. No more oppression...! His eyes dropped; his hand followed: with a bolt of alarm-lechery?-feint?-Elizaveta took one step back, bristling as the wolf does. Watching the muscles of the Russian arms twitch, she ducked when he snatched at where her waist would have been had she remained still; with a quick flush of indignation, she glared upward; if only Ludwig had not been forced out! He had retreated with such haste, back to Berlin, offering to bring her with him, though knowing that she would not leave-Hungary was her, and her place. So he had left, alone and resigned to the fact that even Veneziano had to leave him, taken by the Allies. Elizaveta had watched him go with as much resignation. Endsieg, the Germans called it. Ivan was huge, behemoth above an ant...no, not an ant, but perhaps a lotus...perhaps a hybrid of that with a rose. There is no rose without thorns, after all. The Soviets had already been merciless, ruthless as the next army: the ache of rape and massacre fluttered about the land. If anything, the nation itself would fight. Useless as it was. Ivan dropped the collar. Still galvanizing with mental shocks down the spine, she watched closely. Too closely. Ivan\"s hand dove downwards and snatched. With a horrified she jumped back, giving a swift right hook to his neck, the closest she could reach. -And in the end, it almost didn\"t matter. Ivan smiled triumphantly as a long-forgotten weight was shifted from her belt. With a savage look from one of him and Elizaveta, the paper was in between his fingers...Elizaveta looked, stunned-in the moment it felt as if the appendix had been removed from her body. As useless yet familiar thing was there, the memory of its origins...filled with not blood, but gore-milk skin against the universe of deadness. The paper was scrolled about the Russian\"s fingers; somehow, it completed the image-a bloody Soviet, grinning wickedly as the royal purple billowed from his eyes: to top it all off, a dirty cream paper twisted about his raised digits. It was almost gray. She had long since forgotten about the thing; the small text, written in Gilbert\"s-a frantic parry-handwriting; out fell a finger, and it was the one from the bombed wreck. Just its weight-it had been there all along, useless, a little keepsake of Berlin; what she had seen there. What she had left behind for her own Hungarian version. It was white still, yet shriveled, and dry-that was all; it had changed, though not enough. \"German,\" Ivan said, warmly-no, coldly...swelteringly icy, and that was oxymoronic, but oxymoronic was practically the composure of him...him, all him. \"This is a finger from Germany, da?\" \"How do you...\" She sucked in a breath; refused to let her eyes widen. The grin widened; \"Just a lucky guess.\" He giggled, sickeningly, violet mist shrouding the remains of his person; his teeth were a white and perfect-they flashed in the buttercup sun, which laid its yellow upon the stiff white ground, touched with chill. Elizaveta stood stock-still then: she did the whole time; something had been torn away, and it lay resting among Ivan\"s grubby fingers, clad in leather-worn leather gloves that anyone would wear these days...she rubbed at her own, slightly shredded, at the still-clothed fingertips. Hands-they were worn down: hers and Ivan\"s. Beaten flesh. Looking up again, relief flashed briefly, the white light stark against her crimson crumbling heart, or else the mind-one was meaningful as the other; with that thought, of Roderich, Gilbert, Ludwig, Veneziano, and the war as a human, Ares... Endsieg. There was nothing to lose, but more lives. Eyeing the Russians, who had swept her land into scorched blood, she charged. There was nothing more to lose, and she kept on telling herself that. Even as the Soviets rushed over, rustling the paper with the breeze stirred by their boots; even as she lay ready to die, ready to live, tired as a nation at the end of his time. There was plenty of dust, and plenty of blood, and her body ached. It fit-it all fit. The yoke had been laid over her shoulders-the niggling thought that it was cracked brought no satisfaction: the Soviets still had claim laid over the land fought so hard for: Everything I\"ve done, she thought, as a cough formed within her throat, was for my people. Her thoughts flickered, at Roderich, at Gilbert-if she could not fight, she could marry, or give herself over; but she could fight, she merely needed the mentality rather than the plentiful physique: that was why she was in...this. \"Fuck,\" she breathed, eyes shut against the world. The last soldier soon disappeared through the limits of sound; peace and dust remained-not one stray man was left, no one else to strap the lead to her bones. Limbs aching, heart aching, mind aching, she lay there among the debris- No wonder, then, said the idle mind; she could have scowled, but it would have hurt too much-coughing did not help: if it stayed, it hurt the throat; if it was released, it cut the throat; the effort of checking it racked the whole body, and there was none of it anyway. Head lolling back, Elizaveta felt the paper, the finger, lying dead on the ground: Russia had dropped it, mockingly, to replace the grave flowers. There were no flowers, aside from those withered things in her hair. They were papery. Still, being near dead...the well of strength was dry. There was but moisture left in the moss growing upon the clammy stone-up the frozen cylinder it traveled, and so she flinched when the hand came. It was cold. Cold-and yet, hot as ice-white and freezing; the touch was familiar. It was light as a feather. The feather was upon the shoulder; it pressed, though not harshly; still, it could not be described as gentle. The hand was frail as her strength-brittle and cold and old. She refused to open her eyes then. She had decided, some time ago, that she liked the dark. She preferred it; it was friendly, and it allowed ignorance to be an excuse. It was kind, and she wished it could be a closer friend. But white-why white... \"Hey,\" said something, someone, something, someone. The ax scraped against the stone; it rasped with a familiar tinge of the past months, which were long as eternity, significant as the rest of time\"s children. It was a beautifully ugly voice, salty, bloody, white as fire. In the next moment there was nothing but one thing-it could not be. The pressure increased, it was beginning to hurt. Not able to growl, Elizaveta shifted with painful instinct-another cough ripped through her chest. \"Hey,\" said something again, and she summoned what was left of the moisture in the moss to flick her eyes open-it hurt: her eyes stung in white with water, but she knew it would come to pass. Everything comes to pass. Everything-absolutely everything: she had to keep on telling herself that, for though it passed, it took its very sweet time doing so; so that she could almost taste the bitter sparks on her tongue; it was parched, and thus drier. Spice. \"Fuck you,\" she whistled through her throat. It stung. It could not be. The pressure increased, not unexpectedly; it squeezed upon her shoulder, and it took a large muster of strength to finally blink the fluids away from the eyes, so that they were a clear green again-the first sight was white, as it always was-the second blink brought the sight of red, and some part of her-somewhere, deep down or hidden-despaired: agony nudged at her again, and she knew that those papers would not have been so kind as to let her go: no, she had to confront; it was a gift of something...that would not irk her for the rest of eternity, and yet a curse of more pain. The choice of selfishness or selflessness, when both loosed their boundaries and came together. And that hurt. More than anything, that hurt-the scorch of disappointment; denial, anxiety, fear-there was too much of it. And yet, she did not want him dead. It had taken her time, so much time to realize that...but she did not wish death upon anyone, having seen too much of it as the clock ticked away-she had never wanted anyone to truly die. Gilbert Beilschmidt, though she hated him above all, was no exception. But in times such as now, when war tore the world apart-when history decided to twist itself about-when the nations crumbled-how could death not be a blessing?-at this point she could almost want them all to be dead. Roderich, Gilbert, Veneziano, Ludwig...and yet she would watch with relief on the day that each of them would pick themselves up, and charge into the distance with life. She hated war. She blinked rapidly, staring, always watching; though she ached, she let the next batter of coughing come to pass-shock, it overcame her then. Charging upward, body screaming in protest, she could only slap him with strength that came by habit, before wrapping both arms around him, wondering how and why in hell- \"Get off me, woman!\" he protested, attempting to flail; she saw now that the tin had been stripped away, or at least most of it, as she felt him, flesh and cloth and hair-from the unhealthy pallor of his skin, from the dried hard uniform, to the pinked and browned hair, silver still shining boldly beneath the blood. He was unusually warm-hot even-when she felt him; clearly the cold had been warded off, though his hands still felt like ice; remembering the documents found in Ludwig\"s office, she realized that it was fever. But his head-feeling about the neck, she knew it was there-desperately feeling, just to know how cruel death was, she felt it, finding no seam-with a thin cry of joy and pain she kissed it, squeezing him till he was strangled- \"You\"re alive,\" she breathed, even as garbled speech flew from his lips. She was going into spasms-this was too unreal! And yet it was. He was so, so solid. His eyes were ruby. No petty pink glaze upon the Kingdom of Prussia\"s gaze-no death frosting them over. Clinging to him, something told her that she would never let go-a stupid little piece of wishful thought, no doubt: never let go, how ridiculous; and yet she did not release him, as he calmed between her limbs, resigning with guilty pleasure, rigid with denial. She could not even loosen about him-there was nothing but the jail scene playing and replaying itself in her mind-letting their hands drop, parting, and then the sickening sound of the guillotine\"s strike. Water, red, pink, silver, white, black. The swastika rose over all, as if to mock... \"Where in Isten\"s name have you been?\" she muttered against his shoulder, before lifting her head away hastily; still, though, she did not let go; she wanted to savor it. As the vampire feasts on blood. The scent of metal clung to him. \"Get off,\" was the obstinate reply; she lifted her hand and slapped him again, not knowing what else to do. \"Ow!\" \"Where\"ve you been?\" she said again. \"You were supposed to be dead-\" \"Well, I\"m so freaking not-\" \"I saw your head!\" she said, voice reaching a higher octave. \"It was a fake!\" \"Impossible,\" she declared, eyes widening before she finished; it came to her, suddenly-the way it had fallen, the sudden hush of death, the blindfold of stars, the blood-she had seen it, touched it, waded in the water it buried itself in.... She had suffered with him at death. \"You were dead...,\" she whispered; it gave way to coughing, and he only watched as she did; held onto her and she held onto him. \"I heard the thud. If you were dead-\" He grunted. When she looked up, his eyes were a bitter red. \"The head was fake. They...held me down.\" Scowling, he looked away; admittance was ignominy. \"They held me down up there. There were lots of them, Hungary-scheiße, there was a lot of back-up that we didn\"t notice; I couldn\"t beat off all of them. And my gun ran out...\" His voice faded; still, his scowl deepened, and he finished to his own satisfaction. \"Their leader was fun to kill though.\" He laughed, cruelly, forcefully-he found no love for death, though he had seen enough of it to mind less. Elizaveta decided against shaking her head-it could only be true; she had known him for years, since they were incomplete nations, just children running about with swords of both wood and steel. Just as he had sifted out her identity from that of Elisabeth Wertheim\"s, it was with ease that she found that this man in front of her was real: as nations in human form, they were allowed the same detached senses as those immortal. Stupid, she scolded herself, knowing not to trust so easily; but it was what it was. She noticed the shards of tin still upon his flesh then-of course, he could not have been thrown out so easily-time was needed, so much time; some things did not change, but could. They trapped him. Shackled his person. Still not releasing-he was too real, too solid, to let go-she let the glimpses of his uniform and body form in her mind; she looked about, saw the blood, the bruises, the sickly pallor of his skin. Dread formed with it, in a way almost instinctive, be it Gilbert or not: \"What did they do to you.\" It was not a question-it was an exclamation, asking, wondering, but not questioning. The papers came to mind again. A pause-it was too long, in Elizaveta\"s mind. With a ferociousness that came at will, that sapped her meager strength as well as supplied it, she asked, this time, demanded, \"What did they do to you?\" He was biting his lips, not speaking; still, obstinately, she took him by the shoulders again, harder, saying, \"What did they do to you?\" The papers came to mind again...how Ludwig had admitted it, how Gilbert had been so emotionless for the past year.... A protectiveness that she had never felt before, for but Roderich and Veneziano, but never this man, emerged; it reared its head menacingly-some maternal side of her glared outwards, and she shook him. \"Tell me!\" He only bit his lips harder. \"Tell me, God damn it,\" she said. \"I found documents in Ludwig\"s office. Is it true...\" he looked at her \"...that, throughout the war....\" \"Ja,\" he said, finally; his tone shook at the slightest, but was steely at the same time. His eyes grew hard. Elizaveta had never seen him like this, before the war-so close to tiredness, so close to a sort of trauma; he spread trauma, he did not suffer from it. She had known him for so long, and yet finally.... Not noticing how hard she was holding onto him, as if to crush him, she leaned in with complete urgency, green pools of eyes reflecting the cracked image of Gilbert Beilschmidt. \"Russia...hurt my people. So much.\" He snorted softly, in disgust. \"And der Führer\"-derision-\"doesn\"t like me a lot.\" The line along his brows became harsh, harsher than they needed to be. \"My people aren\"t West\"s. They\"re different. And they don\"t like der fucking Führer. \"West didn\"t know; he only knew later, but they told him I was dead. He was pissed and everything; he lost my awesomeness after all.\" The grin curled along his chapped lips. There was no humor in it. \"I\"m just a small state now; I\"m the most freaking awesome state that existed, but I\"m still just a state. \"They experimented on me,\" he continued; Elizaveta could see the anger etched along his face, and she felt it too; she had suffered, though not as much, by the way it sounded-her Jews were still her people, no matter what the Germans said. She could never understand why others could do this to people.... \"Russia\"s people and West\"s people. They raped the women and killed the children.\" A shudder passed through him, in painful memory; again, Elizaveta noted his love as a nation for his people; Prussian, Crusader, Knight he may be, he still had people. \"Well, mostly Russia\"s. West\"s did too, but mostly they just did those experiments and sent them off to work.\" Another sour laugh. \"Hitler thought I wasn\"t really important later on-before that he just sat around glaring and all. I had to go to jail several times-they said I was encouraging sedition against him, and that\"s when it happened.\" \"They...\" Elizaveta spoke at last. \"Torture,\" he said, nodding coolly. \"Later Hitler started doing it outright-he thought that I wasn\"t good enough, and didn\"t deserve his shithole of a Reich. What a failure,\" he added darkly. She scowled at him, alarmed, angered, bewildered; \"Why didn\"t you tell Ludwig?\" \"And what would he have done?\" he answered cuttingly. \"Kicked him off and told the Allies and Jews that he was sorry?-West\"s a stubborn arschloch, and he loves his Führer so much.\" \"Oh Gilbert...,\" was all she could say, and she could only blink aside from that. \"Was?\" he snapped, silver locks bouncing. \"Is this why...\" \"Ja. Haven\"t you noticed that this Gott-forsaken war is tearing the world apart?\" \"I have,\" she said quietly, not protesting; his statement was horribly obvious. \"I don\"t think it\"d be easy to miss.\" Now it was her turn to smile, so she did; it was bitter as his, and the worn grinning soldiers were twins. She sucked in a breath before wheezing at the slightest; the image shattered. \"And,\" he added, though almost hastily, \"I\"ve always wanted to know\"-she looked at him, albeit with some anxiety for the topic-\"what in hell do you see in Roderich?\" She should\"ve slapped him. She should\"ve pummeled him into the ground. She should\"ve left him then and there. She should\"ve. She could\"ve. In the end she did not. She saw it coming. She knew it had to-it was bound to, heading her way; the circumstances catapulted them at her; the tension crackling in the air, like electricity powered it-I should have come sooner, but now...she had never been able to measure the distance from whence it came. Now it was laid before, and she wondered why this exchange had never occurred between them-they were too busy fighting. Hating each other. And she still hated him, but they had enough now, to ceasefire for the moment. Enough of what, she could not say. Roderich. How could she tell him...as she stared wistfully at Gilbert\"s crimson eyes, some part of her wished that she had never met him, nor Roderich-if only one should be nothing to her, she would be happy; he would be happy-no tumbling love, no turmoil with the blood split between them. If she had only grown up to be a boy after all; if only it would be when she was still the wild girl on the plains (not that she would ever miss Mongolia, Turkey, or having to carry a bow and arrows out with her from so young an age...), beating Roderich-Austria-back till he could not even move; even before Gilbert began to defend her land. But no. In the end she had met someone so kind, someone who had given her love in a hate-filled life; someone who gave her a second glance, and more, not in hostility or for the sake of land-he was fortunate Austria, who valued peace. Perfection did not exist-but to Elizaveta, he was the closest to achieving it; never had anyone been so positively unreal. She loved him. She could trust him. Gilbert had been hell-sent. He had made fun of all the trials of her life-hurt Roderich...was a barbarian who cared for none for himself; there was nothing but power, and all who even stumbled in his path were gleefully slaughtered. Studying his face now, she could see the years imprinted upon his face; the stupid boy, the hateful man, dishonorable dog he was. And yet-in the end, she had been proven wrong about his care: he loved Ludwig. His people. In some way, there were binds tying them together. If not loved, then cared for; in the end, he was proven to be human, if not a ruthless one. In the end, however...they were both merely tired nations, one about to drop dead; it was painful to think of. Had she fallen in love with this man? This man...who was merely one step away from even raping Roderich-she had thought it so when he came back speaking of lost Silesia, though she had been quick in recalling the pious side of her Prussian foe-could she have fallen in love? It was not impossible to love two-and it was only now that she thought it, thought hard. Unthinkable! she snapped. She proved herself wrong when she put their mouths together. \"Roderich is better than you,\" she hissed through their teeth; his lips were cold, pale, chapped; chapped and cold as hers. He was complying coolly, almost thoughtfully. \"You may have claimed my vital regions first\"-they smirked in unison-\"but my heart is still Austrian territory.\" She then muttered against his tongue all that she thought, of him, of Roderich-of Roderich\"s kindness and heaven-sent presence, of Gilbert\"s disgusting being. They were all true, they both knew; but hate and love were married in a balanced union: thus she hated him, and did not all at once.', 'I shift a bit, warily letting my eyes dart from one owl to the other -- but my eyes are trained on the Barn Owl the most. Like Hoole...so like Hoole... He turns a bit, and our eyes meet directly. I can\"t describe it...in this next moment, I don\"t look away, how awkward it seems. I stare into his eyes. They\"re like Hoole\"s... They are Barn Owl eyes, but Hoole\"s eyes. They\"re his eyes...Hoole\"s eyes... They hold that light of valor, justice, that one glow that I always made me feel my gizzard twitch in the bottom of my heart. Hoole... He never wanted me, did he? He loved me, but only who I was pretending to be. He never loved me, only Emerilla...lucky owl. I just wanted to belong -- because I was nothing -- and he gave me that. He was so fair, so kind...he gave me something even Kreeth could not. Mum and Da -- Ygryk and Pleek -- were supposed to be my parents. I was supposed to be their chick, Lutta. Yet they left me. They talked about me behind my back...I was a freak. My own parents loathed me. Oh, they tried, but they left in the end. They didn\"t love me. Kreeth used me. No one really loved me, or even looked at me normally. All I was was a freak, nothing at all. Then he came along. Him, Hoole. The only one who let me belong, looked at me with kindness in his gaze, not looking like I was a...monster... Why was I born? Not one person cared about me. I was just freak my parents didn\"t want, a weapon for auntie\"s uses, and a fake to my only love. He cared, but didn\"t know me. In the end, I was a monster to him too. Now I\"m back. And now I wonder... I suddenly stiffen as I think up to a thought. \"What happened?\" I shoot up and stare into those kind eyes. I trust him to answer. \"Please, who are you? Where am I? Where\"s...Where\"s\"--I choke up, but the question is already on my tongue--\"Hoole?\" My talons clench as the name leaves me. At once, I see sympathy clearly written over their faces. A pang enters my heart. Sympathy for me? A nothing? \"Lutta.\" Sweet words again, and I suddenly wonder how this Barn Owl knows my name. \"It\"s hard to explain, but please...\" \"Listen carefully.\" Everyone, including me, jumps as the Great Gray speaks -- in a rather booming voice -- for the first time. The Elf Owl frowns at him. The older Barn Owl gives him a quick nudge. Words tumble from the young Barn Owl\"s beak. \"Lutta, we read about you in legends. It\"s been a long time since you were... \"Well, you\"re at the Great Ga\"Hoole Tree, and it\"s been a long time since you were...\" His voice dies down as he hesitates. \"Dead,\" the older Barn Owl finishes. He says it with that sympathy shown in his eyes. \"It\"s been thousands of years from your time, and we read about you from some legends about some...events...\" He clears his throat, determined to go on. \"Coryn here\"--a gesture at the young Barn Owl--\"is the king. I\"m his uncle, Soren. This is Gylfie\"--a gesture at the Elf Owl, who nods in greeting--\"Twilight,\" the Great Gray, \"and Digger\"--what a funny looking Burrowing Owl. \"My uncle and his friends are called the Band,\" Coryn adds. I let this newfound information seep in. Thousands of years? Could this be possible? I was dead, right? It\"s been so long -- and...I was dead? How...? \"I have a GIZZARD!\" \"You do not have a gizzard, you fool! you idiot! I created you.\" \"You created me, but I created this gizzard!\" \"No!\" What is this? \"Emerilla?\" He turns as I change. He knows now...what am I to do? Dismay spreads through my body. He\"ll probably think I\"m a freak too, and he\"ll hate me. But I love him! In the next second, I\"m flying at him. Adrenline floods me as I feel...am I losing myself? This gref... He\"ll hate me now. I slam into him, and he flies backward. \"I love you!\" I want to scream. I want to scream those three words. To let him understand. I want to scream, \"I love you!\" Then, an enexpected blow to the back of my head. Pain. Unexpected pain. Then talons, stopping me in my tracks. Talons...digging into me, slashing everywhere. My vision spins to red. I\"m being ripped apart at the seams. Torn. No... Why are you...? I sink, and I fall apart, literally. My feathers fall off, as my body becomes a lump of darkness. A lump of feathers. I truly am nothing... You\"d expect a real body when one is torn by claws -- and yet...feathers only. My phantom gizzard lurches. \"Half-hags!\" \"I had to kill her.\" WHY? \"She pretended to be my Emerilla.\" Is that all! I\"m going to die like this! Just because I was an imposter! \"I knew from the start that something was not right about her. A blood deception she was -- a hagsfiend.\" Anger -- hot, seeping rage enters me. And cold feelings. Feeling that make me want to shed tears. \"No!\" I manage. \"Who are you?\" Who? Hoole...you accept me as someone? Hoole... \"I am nothing...and yet, I loved...\" I loved... \"Lutta?\" \"Hey! Are you all right?\" \"What\"s wrong? Lutta!\" I sink down as my mind spins. Then, I black out. All was dark except for the fluttering movement of wings -- brown wings. A Barn Owl shifted in the branches of the magnificent tree, her dark eyes gleaming as she looked into the hollow. How strange that she could get so close to the tree so easily. She was but a sillhouette against the branched skies. She eyed the hollow, and the inhabitants. Her son...too bad she would have to kill him. He would have made a fine pure owl, had he not inherited his uncle\"s stupid softness. She could just kill him, right there and then. How easy, that everything she had been working for for the last few months would just be completed now, so easily. She could easily snatch the ember, then swoop in and kill Coryn, his disgraceful uncle, and get her dear mate\"s -- rest his soul -- revenge. Then, kill those pathetic owls that were always around Soren, and anyone else she comes across in the tree, just for a bonus. It would be wonderful to see their pained, stupefied faces as she sank her claws through their feathers, one by one. Then she saw the hagsfiend, and her eyes widened in horror. I am the last! How is this possible? Why is she in that hollow! She could just kill her as well -- but her eyes caught something, and her gizzard twitched. No...she\"ll just stay back and observe. This hagsfiend could prove some use to her and... Sadistic impulse shot through Nyra\"s gizzard. The adoring gleam in the hagsfiend\"s eye as she stared at Nyroc. No, she\"ll wait. Nyra silently spread her wings and swooped into the night sky. She had plotting to do. PT: Please, enjoy :) I hope I can fill up some holes in the story as soon as I can. Though, they\"re there for suspense. Please review! Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING, EVERYONE!! Enjoy! I have a little more to say: I know the last book already came out, and I\"ve finished it already. I\"m a little stunned, but in courtesy of those who have not yet finished it, I won\"t spoil it. However, despite the end, I\"m continuing the fic the way it is. I\"ve just noticed how much I\"ve been neglecting the story O.o Anyways, I was rather...displeased with a few stories stuck in the GoGH fandom, and while I was planning to leave it after finishing this fic, I might a few more fics for this. Not that I have hubris...I just...don\"t know...I just think I\"ll contribute to the fandom with a few fics of angst :D Anani Mouse Thank you, thank you so much :D -Head swells- Frosted Fate Yeah, poor Lutta D: Wish Hoole ended up with her. One of the Populace Oh...-sobs- Hi! :D FlamingSerpent Thanks! I\"m flattered x) True, Nyra\"s so important to the plot -- being sadistic and plotting revenge, among other things :) Hawkrain I\"m glad you\"re eager :D Thanks for reviewing and liking it! :) Lara-Van Thank you, thank you -bows- X) It\"s great that you think that; cheered me right up ;) The Great Tree I can make them hurt... My Mum and Da. I can make them feel the pain that they\"ve put on me. They can hurt, and I\"d be able to do it to them. A change in our positions is want I want so badly, and they\"d taste the bile they stuck in my throat. They left me...they left me, their chick Lutta. Theirs. I have the power now -- to make them hurt. I can make them hurt. I can make them hurt... \"Lutta!\" Stop slapping me. \"Lutta, wake up!\" Slap. Stop slapping me with your wing, it stings. Slap. Slap. \"WAKE UP, Lutta.\" Slap. Slap. Stop it! I\"m trying to-- \"Lutta, please!\" ...Hoole? Hoole\"s voice! I flick my eyelids open -- all four of them -- at the same time. Hoole? No, it\"s Coryn. Just Coryn. \"Lutta, are you all right?\" The way he looks at me...it\"s like Hoole. So much like Hoole. \"I\"m fine,\" I answer, and immediately scan my surroundings. Perhaps I have become overly paranoid with time, but I can\"t be sure. In any case, I can\"t let my guard down in this case; I could find myself dead in a second, just like that I died in an instant -- killed by Strix Strumajen. I shudder, remembering the memory of being ripped. Ripping, ripping, tearing, blood, pain-- Death. And then... Well, I don\"t want to think about what I don\"t remember. After that, there was nothing but a cluster of memories of what happened within death-- Falling. Falling... Floating...unraveling...flowing through the winds...becoming one with nature...then falling.... Falling, falling downwards, a curse uttered upon my kind: \"To hagsmire.\" Hagsmire, where the ones who have sinned within their lives went, for eternal damnation. Hagsmire, for hagsfiends, and...and... Nothings. Nothings -- they who mean nothing to the world, who should never have entered this life, this realm of breathing. Falling, agony, curses, darkness, cold hate. Those flaws of what life and death decide. And nothings. Nothings, like me. Nothing. Snap out of it. I don\"t want to remember. Of being one of the damned. And now I\"m back. Why? \"Lutta?\" -- and I look up. Hoole -- no, Coryn. Coryn, the Barn Owl. Unconsciously, I stare at him with huge eyes that deserve to pop out of their sockets. \"Yes?\" I say. Oh Coryn, please don\"t look at me like that. You look like Hoole, please, don\"t look sympathic...please don\"t...I want it but you don\"t have to give it. Can you not see that my heart has already been broken? \"Lutta,\" he says, softly, and gives me a tender nudge with his wing. \"Can you stand?\" I nod, because I cannot find myself shaking my head. \"Yes.\" Can my legs work? He steps back slightly, to give me room, and I try to remember how to use legs again. Now, I just...position them...and push upwards... A searing pain. My legs! They hurt! They hurt! Fall down again -- No, I can\"t. I can\"t fall; I\"ve told Coryn that I will stand, will be able, and I will not lie; not anymore; I have already lied and tricked Hoole, I will not do so again, not to any owl. Nor this owl. This owl, who stares with the eyes of a true king. A young king, but a wise one, and a good one. With difficulty, I stagger forward, out of the small nest. I feel the bark underneath my claws as I step on it; bark again, how it brings back thoughts of those days. It feels a bit unfamiliar, but I cannot forget bark. Such a thing is pathetic. I feel my legs quivering, wanting to give way, but no. No. I have said that I will stand. How they quiver! -- stop it. Stop quivering! I have said I will walk, and I will walk, even if this pain continues -- like fire searing at me, numbing in a way. I will not lie again. Deception has torn me once before; never again. I look at Coryn, see the concern in his eyes; he hesitates to step forward, wanting to help. No, I can do it. Please. Let me. I walk, a little faster, wanting my legs to stride. They work, a little better. I look at Coryn again, and I ask, \"Where am I?\" \"The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree.\" Silence. My breathe hitches quickly. \"The...\" I pause, mind spinning and reeling. The Tree? The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree, that was reigned over by...Hoole? \"Tree?\" The Tree. The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree. And my mind explodes. \"Th -- Then!\" I jump as I begin stuttering. \"The Ga\"Hoole Tree! I -- I don\"t belong here! I am nothing! I lo-- \"Hoole, he...NO! I am a disgrace! My presence is dirtying this tree!\" I back away, seeking some sort of exit. I don\"t belong here. No. I am defiling the Tree. How long has it been since the last time I was here? I deceived the good king, I nearly killed him -- he was a great king, and a great owl! I don\"t deserve to be here! How many good owls reside in this tree now, the Tree that was grown by -- as rumor says -- the sorrow and goodness of Hoole? I don\"t belong here! Coryn jumps now. Please, no! \"Lutta!\" he says, eyes flashing with some sort of fire that started. \"You are not!\" Not? But...Hoole! Hoole! -- please no! You--! I stare, transfixed, as I see Coryn change. I don\"t see Coryn anymore. I see...you. Hoole. Eyes, eyes that spoke of what you believed in. Your sense of love for those close to you, your fiery will that would see indiscrimation to the very end. I\"m sorry Hoole! I deceived you! I am everything you are not! -- and should not be! I am NOTHING! I back away, seeing Hoole. He steps forward, that look in his eyes-- \"You deserve to be here! You--\" I stumble backwards as I shriek, \"Hoole! Don\"t! Don\"t you understand!\" Now is my time to confess! I never told him that I was-- I\"m sorry Hoole. I\"m so sorry! \"Lutta!\" The owl before me is -- He\"s pleading! No, I don\"t deserve it! \"Lutta, you do! Just as any owl!\" My gizzard throbs, beating against its surroundings. I stare upwards, feeling it grow cold. \"NO! I DON\"T DESERVE TO BE HERE! I AM NOTHING! I -- DO -- NOT -- BELONG -- HERE! I AM...\" My gizzard gives a jerk. My throat fills with pebbles; \"Nothing....\" My words are choked. It\"s true. I am nothing. I don\"t deserve to be here, at the Great Tree. PT: Like? Hate? Please review. I hope to update soon. Fill up the plot holes, twist the story...you know. Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: I really need to update more often. xD -Shot- ...-looks out window- Well, I thought I\"d take some advantage. Now that I\"m in high school, and in the JROTC program, I\"ve joined the drill team that saps up all the members\" time. But as of this month practice has been cancelled until further notice. Now I have the energy and time for writing, so yeah -shrugs- FlamingSerpent I know, right? So sad...last book...oh the nostalgia.... PokemonKnight Yes, isn\"t that talent just so impressive? x) -shot- Thank you. silverrosetail Thank you, and thanks for the further information ^^ Hopefully, once this is pointed out, things will definitely unfold a little more. SamPD Mmhm...since I\"ve already replied to you... Crazydragonlord Thank you~! n_n I appreciate that. Move Again, Step By Step Nyra glanced down at the small bit of parchment in her right claw, squinting slightly to make out the ancient words. The Kraakish scrawled upon it was old, but young enough for her to translate. The general of the Pure Ones had to stop the glee that was bubbling upwards in her gizzard -- no, not yet, when this isn\"t confirmed to work -- but she allowed herself to flush slightly with success. For the sake of her sanity and her own feelings of encouragement. Success was near... Nearing... ...Bit -- by -- bit. \"Yes.\" A glint came to concentrated eyes. \"This is it.\" I look up. Consciousness is drifting back with a comforting steadiness. It comes kindly, but firmly. But I let it come. Hell. My body aches -- all of it, it aches and hurts and pinches itself. It\"s a twisted rag -- I\"m a twisted rag. Hoole. Coryn. Oh... I shouldn\"t be here. The thought is fire, or else ice. I shouldn\"t be here. I don\"t deserve to be here. My thoughts are taking flight from where they have left off. I don\"t deserve to be here. Of course I don\"t. I look around as my vision clears; he is not here...Coryn, was it? No one is here. My phantom gizzard -- phantom, yes... -- speaks...it sends a jolt of alarm. Warning. They have left me. They must have. Kind as they seemed to be, they must have left me here...in this hollow...perhaps wanting me to leave on my own, too disgusted to act. A saddening thought. They acknowledged me, though, and they were kind. Perhaps they saw through to something... But that\"s reality, is it not? -- of course, freak that I am; player of the confidant game that I am...an actor, nothing more. There is no real me. My grief has quieted. I should leave then -- it cracks my phantom gizzard in half -- this is the tree; and I am nothing. I shall leave then...go somewhere else to rot, quietly, for the peace. This tree has something...something...that revives Hoole\"s life. I wonder, then...if he is looking down here. I wonder what he is thinking. At least he is at peace. There is no me to disturb him, and I shall bother him no more in this tree. Hoole. I am sorry. I don\"t deserve any of your love. And I will not bother Coryn. He reminds me so much of you. I turn to face the opening of the hollow, veiled by lichen. Pretty. How alive. There is air outside; nighttime seeps through the fleshy fibers. Cool air, and a wide expanse. Shall I fly till the end of my miserable days? I shift; I can move. Then I can leave. There is no reason to stay here, of course...this is Hoole\"s home; I shall not taint it. Oh, it\"s silent -- I can\"t believe it took so long for me to notice it; my feathers are rustling -- I must look ugly -- and my feet shift. I can move. This is life. I am alive. Truly, truly alive. I cannot tell what exact state I am in, but I know I must be a mess. But outside I can release, can I not? Release, and perhaps become one with nature, earth or sky. There is a whole world out there, limitless. I can wander till the end of my days, past even the confinements of the land we owls know. Beyond the beyond the beyond. I fear no danger; in fact, the danger can come, and I shall not care if it kills me. I am an owl -- whatever I am -- with nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Then I am ready. I listen one more time, pause, before beginning the endless journey. Nothing. There is nothing but the hum of silence, scratching in cadence. I must be desperate to stay, as if I truly deserve it. I don\"t. I cannot stop thinking about this; I deserve nothing. I am nothing, after all. If I am damned to this line of reality for this whole retake at life, then so be it. Then, I will take my leave. Good riddance, then. My eyes mist. When I shake my head to clear the fog, I hop forward -- painful -- and I manage to walk. I can do this. There is the opening; I will go now. I must be cherishing the whisper of lush wind. I will go. I will go. With a shake of my ruffled feathers, I jump out, brush through the lichen that caresses my wings in farewell -- with pity? -- and snap my wings open. A prickling sensation. With a quick look downwards, as the world rushes in, I see the silver-gray plumage restored to my chest. A shapeshifter again. Coryn watched the candle before him splutter wetly, in its final throes of death. Though fire was life, it needed something to last. Something that helped it, hurled it onward. Without, it would die, die and scream. Then it would fall silent and blow out of existence. And that would be that. Died, and was dead. But undoubtedly, irrevocably, dead. How, then...how? -- how did a dead owl, undoubtedly gone for years upon years upon years...how could a dead owl rise, fresh and breathing, from the dead? This was illogical, and beyond the illogical itself. Of course there could be attempts to raise the dead, but...the body. And the sheer closeness to impossibility. Lutta, the owl of legend, was alive after being dead for so long. How...? Her body must have withered and become nothing but food for the earth to devour greedily. Though the beyond of the horizon of the logical was boundless, this was still... How, he mused. How. That was what he was pursuing. How? How? How? How had she returned to the earth? Was she an illusion? -- if so, she was something beyond illusion...she was too perfect to be something to be called a mere illusion. Coryn mused onward as he turned back to the sheafs of paper -- he had left Lutta for the pursuit of something...something that could shed its light upon the happenings. So long ago. Lutta. Was this a work of nachtmagen? There was that possibility, faded as the yellow craft was. Then who had performed it? Coryn could not grab it; he snatched at empty air. There was nothing to tell him. Nothing that anything could tell him, nor aid him. This was an enigma beyond most anagrams of matters. This was a mess. He had found her, Lutta, merely lying on some branch of the tree. And, through some urging of the gizzard, he had brought her back into the tree itself. This made little sense. He dived into another pool of thoughts. What if...? There was a bang; he jumped and turned. There was a curse of \"raccdrops!\" Twilight. Coryn called, one wing still laid flat over a book, \"What\"s going on?\" More cursing, followed by Gylfie\"s reprimands. There was a loud whirlwind of a flutter, and soon the whole Band was within the room! \"What?\" Coryn said loudly at the undignified relative of a heap before him. \"What\"s happened?\" Something shot through his gizzard. Soren spoke first, in a rushed but determined voice. \"She\"s gone!\" Another shot. Something like cold fear and wonder. \"She\"s gone!\" Gylfie wailed. \"Lutta\"s gone!\"', 'Suddenly, a piece of ice falls into the pit of my stomach. I\"m thinking as I near and I freeze. This is wrong. I jerk back, my head spinning. I am...a loyal ThunderClan...warrior... I am...a...honorable warrior, member of ThunderClan...who knows of the old days and new ones...and will never forget our old home, which we had lived in for...StarClan knows how long. I consciously lick my own paw and swipe it over my face, but I\"m already embarrassed. I absolutely loathe this moment. I hope no one else saw me try to lick Swallowtail. Things are different now... Very true, but I wish they weren\"t. \"Sorry,\" I meow quietly, \"I keep forgetting, things are different now.\" She licks me. I blink. \"Yes,\" she meows seriously, \"but it\"s all right to do this at Gatherings. We aren\"t breaking the warrior code to be friendly at this point. \"It do feel that we\"d best let our leaders know that we have not forgotten our places.\" That explains why she had asked for permission from Leopardstar. \"Our Clan is doing well,\" I murmur. Swallowtail flicks my ear with her tail; she used to always do that on the journey. \"So\"s ours,\" she meows. Swallow me up, Swallowtail, I want to be with you forever. Swallow me up and end the pain of losing you to the laws of our ancestors. I\"ll only ever let you hurt me. Although you don\"t mean it, it\"s because of the warrior code. I\"d never let anyone but you harm me, because I really like you, and I trust you to never hurt me intentionally, even for the sake of your Clan. Yet, to tell the truth, dear Swallowtail, you...not intentionally, but you... ...You already had. Swallowtail I gasp as I hear the news at the Gathering. No... It can\"t be...it just can\"t! NO! PLEASE! StarClan, NO! Don\"t let it be true, oh, please! Don\"t let it be true... Please, no. I pray to StarClan... Please, don\"t let it be true. It\"s a lie, I know it is. He can\"t be gone. He couldn\"t have left me... No... Firestar bows his head as he breaks the news. Please, StarClan, don\"t let him repeat that lie again- \"Rainwhisker is dead.\" NO! I unsheathe my claws and let them sink into the earth beneath me. No... Please, that... I won\"t accept it! That\"s a lie! A LIE! I will not accept such a LIE! I\"m an elder now, elder forevermore until I join the ranks of my warrior ancestors. Only, I want to join now. It\"s a lie that Rainwhisker is dead, but I still need to join. For, there, there are no boundaries of love. We shall walk the skies forever there, in the Great Beyond. Till then, I shall continue to hear the lie that Rainwhisker is dead. For I shall never accept that he is gone. It is a lie. The grief, however, still tears at my heart. It\"s raining there, in my chest, the raindrops cold and hard, coming out in a spray, making the drops feel like thorns. He is not gone. That lie... Raining upon an incomplete hole in my heart. PT: Well, these ideas are sprouting from real life experience, so please don\"t ask. Er... Please R&R! Brackenfur: Please vote! We\"ve got some really cool results! PT: The little \"l\"s next to the pairings are like tally points... I have no better way to represent the votes. Brackenfur: Lazy... -PT dumps Brackenfur in a box- PT: Back to the lake with you! HeatherLion...GoldenTiger NightCrow l...CinderJay l JayPoppy...CinderLittle ll FireSpotted ll...TawnyRowan ll FireSand ll...StormBrook ll BlueOak...YellowRunning l SilverGray lll...YellowRagged lll GrayMillie...CrowFeather l SquirrelBramble lll...SquirrelAsh TigerSasha...WhiteWillow SorrelBracken ll...StormSquirrel lll LeopardHawk...DaisySmoky CloudDaisy l...CloudBright ll AshNight ...MinnowMouse BlueBarley l...FuzzViolet MouseRunning ll...ShrewWhite l HawkPick a cat! Any cat! ll...LeopardBlack LeopardTall ll WARRIORS, Love: Existence PT: HI! It\"s another week T.T So...double update this week!! Man, I luv updating! ) Okay, here we go! Brambleclaw: You know, Demi, Brackenfur\"s acting crazy around the camp. The other day, he was attempting to eat a pebble while singing I Must Be Emo! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!! \"...\" PT: Eheheheh... -PT shoves Brambleclaw in a box with Ashfur- PT: OKAY! HERE WE GO!! Tawnypelt I look around me as we gather for a Clan meeting. I am all alone. Almost my whole Clan still ignores me, for which Clan I was born into. It\"s stupid, completely mouse-brained. Some of this stupidity comes from hypocrisy. After all, Blackstar once committed crimes that were so unforgivable; he probably deserved a slow, long, painful death. Russetfur was one of those cats too. Both she and Blackstar helped Brokentail with his crimes and then Tigerstar. Now, they are both in powerful positions and shunning me; to them, I\"m just a lump of dirt. It\"s fox-brained. The only cats who bother to acknowledge me are Boulder, Runningnose, Tallpoppy, her kits and Littlecloud. They are kind. Today, however, the Gathering is for Tallpoppy\"s kits\" apprenticeship start. Tallpoppy herself has a slight cold and Littlecloud is treating her. Runningnose and Boulder are both tired. I am sitting there, all alone, shunned completely as the ceremony starts. That\"s when I receive a shock. I smell someone familiar, someone coming towards me. It\"s definitely... I spin around to see; I have gotten sensitive of anyone approaching me who\"s not Tallpoppy, the elders, kits or medicine cat. \"Hi, Tawnypelt,\" Rowanclaw meows. He is approaching me, but not in that usual cautious way, like I\"m the scum many in my Clan see me as. His expression suggests...friendliness? It\"s amazing enough that he had greeted me, but it\"s even more amazing that he\"s doing it of his own free will. Yet, I am still cautious. Did Blackstar distrust me so much that he had Rowanclaw watch me? Is this all a trick? Is he acting friendly so I could trust him and spend time with him? Is this a ruse? It doesn\"t seem so, but I wouldn\"t put it past Blackstar to have someone spying on me. Rowanclaw sits down next to me. I feel his pelt against mine. He is barely half a mouse-length apart from me. His pelt is...softer than I had expected and I flinch a bit from his touch. I shift aside a bit. I am wary now, so wary that I cannot stand to touch anyone, even if it is a slight brush of the fur. I know how much my Clanmates hate me, for my ThunderClan blood. It\"s an obvious fact. Rowanclaw doesn\"t bother to move back to me. I\"m slightly relieved. It doesn\"t feel right to be near him. Yet, I could sense something between us. I feel something drawing me towards him. I feel that I could trust him. He is acknowledging my existence. He isn\"t...shunning me. Something is telling me that Blackstar didn\"t hire Rowanclaw to spy on me. I look up and catch Blackstar staring at Rowanclaw and me with a somewhat disgusted look. I am suddenly convinced that Rowanclaw is offering to be my friend on his own free will. He is doing this because... Really? Is he...accepting me? I feel something like elation as the ceremony starts. Something brings me to him and before I know it, I move closer to him. He stiffens in surprise, but does not draw away. He merely seems surprised and I feel that surprise as well. I feel something inside of me and I am grateful to him for not shunning me. In that instant, I move closer to him and I sense that everything will be all right. I\"m putting my trust in Rowanclaw and - as he relaxes at our touch - I feel that we\"ll accept each other - I\"ll believe that he will not let me down. We\"ll be friends and we\"ll trust each other. Rowanclaw I feel sorry for her. Tawnypelt has proved herself a loyal ShadowClan warrior, despite her birth, countless times over. Yet, it\"s like she had never done any of her acts of valor. I especially saw through to her loyalty when she fought those kittypets. Those pieces of fox-dung killed my apprentice, Talonpaw, I lusted for revenge. I burned for it. That thirst for the blood of those pieces of carrion was overwhelming, it shrouded my heart. When Tawnypelt came back with help from ThunderClan, I was actually grateful that she cared so much, that she would tell another Clan. I was so intent on my revenge; Talonpaw had been the son I never had. Losing him was like losing my heart. Then, when Tawnypelt acted weak to lure the kittypets into our trap for them, I was shocked beyond belief. Tawnypelt was a proud warrior and formidable. She was willing to seem so weak for the sake of her Clan. Acting like that hurts pride. As I had watched her, I was convinced that she was loyal to her Clan, even though ShadowClan was not her birth Clan. After we had scared the kittypets off, I was shocked that nothing about her status changed. In Blackstar\"s eyes, especially, she was still half-blood trash. I was furious. I felt sorry for Tawnypelt; she did not deserve this horrid reputation just for something she could not control. She didn\"t choose her mother, her birth Clan, her father, her brother. She didn\"t choose those. She had no say at all. She had joined ShadowClan to be accepted for who she made herself. As I see her tonight at the apprentice ceremony for Applekit, Toadkit and Marshkit, I remember how she had hurt her own pride to help her Clan. I remembered how much I had wanted to kill those kittypets for hurting, killing, my son. Yes, Talonpaw was my son, not related by blood, but related by our bond. I realized that Tawnypelt felt that bond with her Clan, natural because they were her kin, simply because they were her Clan, even though nobody acknowledged her loyalty, her brave acts, everything she had done for this family of hers. The ceremony reminds me of Talonpaw\"s own apprentice ceremony. With that, I remembered everything and found deep appreciation for Tawnypelt. That is why...I will be her friend. PT: Please, I like to put up meanings that are hard to find. You\"ll need to delve deep! (Annoying singsong voice.) You\"ll need to think hard!! I really think ThunderClan\"s just way too perfect. ShadowClan is my least favorite Clan, but they do have emotions, opinions and the things that make them living beings. :) Please vote! I can\"t make promises about updates anymore. -Smacks self- Anyway, yes, I have realized that I have not double-updated, but I don\"t go back on my word. I will update at least once next week, maybe double, maybe not. Geez, these are busy days. -Sighs- Review and vote! Please! Also, I need constructive critism! If I\"m going to become the world\"s greatest writer, I need to learn from my mistakes! Please! :) Anyway, back to talking to myself! I love French people! Too bad they hate me. To them, I\"m just a violent American fucker TT.TT Note: I\"m talking to myself. HeatherLion l...GoldenTiger...NightCrow ll...CinderJay l JayPoppy l...CinderLittle lll...FireSpotted lll...FernDust lll FireSand ll...StormBrook ll...BlueOak l...YellowRunning l SilverGray lll...YellowRagged llll...GrayMillie...CrowFeather ll SquirrelBramble lll...SquirrelAsh...TigerSasha...WhiteWillow SorrelBracken ll...StormSquirrel llll...LeopardHawk l...DaisySmoky CloudDaisy l...CloudBright ll...AshNight ...MinnowMouse BlueBarley l...FuzzViolet...MouseRunning ll...ShrewWhite l HawkPick a cat! Any cat! lll...LeopardBlack l...LeopardTall lll WARRIORS, Love: Last Regret PT: Wow, thanks for the reviews! Anyway, I got a little carried away in the last pairing, what with all the shunning, pride, acknowledgement and prejudice; I think Naruto has gone way past into my head OO\" I\"m serious, at the first episode, there was all that attention stuff, loneliness, existence, blah, blah, blah and I was like \"Hey! That\"s exactly how I feel!\" Naruto has reminded me of the honor and determination I learned when I was barely over seven years of age, so I\"m addicted to it. Darren\"s Wings Thanks! Fuzz is a kittypet and his owner is a vet, well, I think the owner\"s a vet. The owner healed Barley and his sister. Barley\"s sister is Violet and their brothers, Snake and Ice, were Scourge\"s personal guards. You can read about them in Secrets of The Clans. Allan pike I totally agree. Love should not be forbidden! ANGELA Hm, nothing implies a love interest yet, but I\"m out on watch for it! HOLLYPAW, FALL IN LOVE! Yellowfang I\"m dying... The black is pressing on me, splotches of darkness appearing in my vision, blurring the image of the tom before me. Fireheart...the son I never carried. He was always a better son than Brokentail. Brokentail, traitor, murderer, someone I probably should not call a son, but I still loved him, because he was my flesh and blood. Mine and Raggedstar\"s. I\"m dying, my life is flashing before my eyes, letting me see the story I have looked at with my gaze. Raggedstar...was a great cat. I loved him, truly, I did. He was brave, honest, a great leader whom I have known for as long as I can remember. I can feel it, sense it, horribly, my breathing is slowing down. It\"s harsh, raspy, grating, like drawing a claw slowly across a bone, sunk deep. I\"m going... If this is dying, it is not horrid. It\"s actually...comforting, knowing that your pain will end soon, you\"ll unravel and reach up into the skies. So, this is the end. I hear those whispers, achingly familiar, Raggedstar\"s whispers, being pushed into my head, gently, flowing like a steady stream and I suddenly feel Raggedstar beside me. He has flown down, into my presence, to welcome me into the Great Beyond, to help me there, gently, knowing that we could love each other there without breaking a code. I have told Firestar that I had killed my own son, let him know of what has haunted me for what seemed to be forever. There is no need to look at myself as I leave this world. I could tell that my fur is burnt, dulled and I know that things will be better in Silverpelt. It\"s just like that. I dearly hope that StarClan will forgive me for all my wrongs. All these jabs of pain, invisible puddles of ice-cold wate, regret and terror, the warmth in my heart at being able to see the son I have never been the blood of...brings tremors to the body I have always inhabited. It\"s horrid: Patchpelt and Halftail, both dead. StarClan, keep them. There is some sort of consciousness beside me, warm, tingling. I can feel it, materializing. I feel that sudden warmth beside me, blow on my fur, as if to blow off the soot. Raggedstar? Raggedstar! I could feel that sort of warmth that comes up suddenly. I hear... I feel...his presence. It cannot be explained unless one feels themselves. I don\"t know, I just hear him now... No, it\"s like thoughts but...I\"m conscious of everything around me. I\"m caught between two worlds: this place I have walked physically and my mind, a mental place of its own. It\"s like thinking...but I\"m not losing concentration on this physical world. Thinking... I\"ve always defined it as feeling thoughts, but I\"ve never found the words to explain it before. The world is strange that way. There\"s a heaving mass of energy in my chest now, all in my sorrow, remembering how I\"ve loved Raggedstar, but couldn\"t, how he was happy that I was carrying his kits, how I had to lose my daughters right at their birth, how I had to stand to see my son throughout his life but never knowing his kinship with me, seeing him become a monster, losing Raggedstar and then killing my only son. Fireheart helped me... He brought me to ThunderClan and I found a new family. I found two new kits who did not share my blood: Cinderpelt and Fireheart. Now, I\"m going to have Raggedstar back, dear Raggedstar. I feel the warmth coming over me, so comforting and I suddenly invite it, with all the warmth I could muster for it. I hear whispers...coming in my head... Raggedstar... I close my eyes, slowly, because I want to at least see this world one last time... I do not meet darkness, for the first time, upon shutting my eyes, and the last time. I could hear Fireheart\"s cries to me...but I ignore them... I hear the sound, but not the words. To bask in my true son\"s voice...one more time. Good-bye... \"Yellowfang.\" I can hear the voice, that voice of Raggedstar, replacing Fireheart\"s. I find myself standing up, feeling like the time I had become an apprentice for the first time. I\"m all right now. I could see my body, a useless lump of dark, but I could see Fireheart. I turn, tearing my eyes away from him in his grief to see my beloved. There he is, the one I have craved to see. Oh, he hasn\"t changed a bit. As always, he is there, proud stature, with his unkept gray pelt, his thin tail high in the air, his proud amber eyes that always gleamed. I purr, find myself doing so, knowing that he is there. I see him again. I can. He is there, my beloved and I find myself padding quickly towards him. To feel him again...to tell him how much I love him, to know that he loves me. Peace at last. It comes to me and we\"re together, this time, knowing that it isn\"t against the code and not having to break apart again. We are together... ... Forever... PT: Please understand this. I have tried to put lots of thought into it. Er... Oh damn, now comes the part where I explain everything when I\"ve always been horrid at putting things into words. -Rubs temples- Sorreltail: Don\"t hurt yourself! PT: Yes, well, please review and vote! Plus, constructive critism! Sorreltail: C\"mon! See that cute little periwinkle button down there? It\"s waving at you! It\"s saying \"tickle me\"! PT: ... Bye! -Bows and leaves- HeatherLion lll...GoldenTiger...NightCrow lll...CinderJay ll JayPoppy lll...CinderLittle llll...FireSpotted llll...FernDust lllll FireSand lll...StormBrook llll...BlueOak l...YellowRunning l SilverGray llllll...LeopardTall llll...GrayMillie l...CrowFeather lllll SquirrelBramble llll...SquirrelAsh...TigerSasha l...WhiteWillow SorrelBracken lll...StormSquirrel llll...LeopardHawk ll...DaisySmoky CloudDaisy ll...CloudBright lll...AshNight ll...MinnowMouse BlueBarley ll...FuzzViolet...MouseRunning lll...ShrewWhite ll...BirchWhite l HawkPick a cat! Any cat! lllll...LeopardBlack ll WARRIORS, Love: Leaving PT: Phew, sorry for the late update! I\"ve been goofing off on Gaia this week, vacation, you know, I communicate with my school friends there. Oh, yeah, I did have the time to write a new ONESHOT! It\"s for the Da Vinci Code, awesome book, no offense to any religions. I\"ve got no religion, so it doesn\"t hurt ME in any way, other than the fact that my divorced dad is Christian and I live across a Catholic church. Can someone tell me why Chinese people can\"t live in a home facing a church? I overheard it: some kind of superstition. It\"s got nothing to do with a graveyard, either. AHEM, well, to the point, now. Please read that oneshot! I\"m really proud of it! I know, it\"s just a fic, but I spent a whole night writing the draft. This is the first time I\"ve drafted a story OO\" Btw, people, what do you think of the people who constantly threaten people who write those \"ask\" fics for Warriors? I find it frinkin annoying. Sorreltail: Demi... -PT looks up at note- PT: Holy crap, that\"s a long rant. Darren\"s Wings Thanks again! OMG, I can\"t believe I forgot about Birchfall and Applekit! -Bangs head on table- Anyway, yeah, that fic on Katrina is brilliant! Love it! Silverstream So, this is StarClan\"s punishment. I\"m dead, now, but I can\"t believe it. I\"m dead. I repeat it, as if it\"s the only way to make it seem real. I\"m dead. No matter how much I repeat it, it\"s still unbelievable. How could StarClan do this to me? I love Graystripe, but I can\"t love my kits? I can\"t show them my love, be there for them? I stand here, with my mother\"s tail around my shoulders - all I do is stare at Graystripe, my kits, Fireheart, Cinderpelt and Tigerstar. Graystripe is wailing in grief at the body I have left behind. Oh, I so want to help him. I want to comfort him, but I keep standing my ground. It\"s the shock, the grief. I unconsciously unsheathe my claws and attempt to dig them into the incredibly hard rock beneath my paws. I want to feel this rock, feel the solid hardness, to feel it, reassure myself that, as long as I am touching the ground, that I\"m still here. Then, maybe I can comfort Graystripe. I want to stay alive. I want to watch my kits grow up, to see them become strong, fine warriors, maybe eben Clan leaders. Yet, most of all, I want to live to be with Graystripe. My claws scrape against this solid stone, not penetrating it. I insistently sink my claws in more. I grip the earth, because I don\"t want to leave - I can\"t leave. I can\"t leave! I CAN\"T LEAVE!! I DON\"T WANT TO LEAVE!! I can\"t leave! I don\"t want to leave! I don\"t want to die!! I don\"t! I DON\"T!! I WON\"T!! If I leave - if I die - who will take care of my kits? Father will be devastated! Mother\"s already died from blackcough when I was only an apprentice. I\"m the only family he has left. I can\"t just die and leave. He\"s my father. Crookedstar is my father and the only one I have left; I\"m the only one he has. I\"ll gain my mother when I join StarClan, but then my kits will be alone. They\"ll have no mother. Their father will be in a different Clan...if the kits won\"t end up as part of ThunderClan. Which Clan will they be part of? Why did I fall in love with Graystripe? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY - did I fall in love with him? Why did he fall in love with me? Why did I? If I we hadn\"t loved each other, none of this would have happened. I wouldn\"t have carried Graystripe\"s kits. I wouldn\"t have to die - to leave the ranks of the living. To leave father. To leave RiverClan. Yet, what I mourn the most...is that I have to die and leave my love. My mate. My Graystripe. The handsome gray tabby, with those amber eyes that always glowed at me, always kind. Always the same amber eyes that held my gaze lovingly. Always. The eyes would always give me a deep feeling, penetrate me with a kind of warmth, a kind of love that penetrated, penetrated - penetrated me so hard - that it hurt. It killed me. Yet, I still invited that pain. I loved it. The pain told me how much I loved Graystripe. That pain hurt, but I loved it, hard. I loved it incredibly hard. I can\"t give it a name, but the pain came whenever I thought of Graystripe, and it hit hard. I invited it - I basked in it. It was probably love. Fierce love. A kind of love that was so painful in its own way, I loved it, that it was something good. A kind of pain that was good. A kind of pain that\"s not so painful at all.', 'A single tear escaped me as I left. I did have a gizzard. I did. Ice-cold talons clutched at me, dragging me to death. \"Hoole,\" I murmured as I left. I was sure that no one heard me, but I wanted him so much. It never will be. Oh, Hoole. As I disappeared forever, as I was dragged into the dark, a last thought escaped me. Hoole. \"Is she awake yet?\" Twilight muttered. \"No, not yet,\" Coryn replied. He touched the unconscious owl\"s face with a wing. He waited for her to stir. PT: Yup, that\"s all for now. I know, short, but the chapters will gradually grow bit by bit. I warn you, I have a happy talent for evilly placing cliffies down, as past readers have noticed. -Grins evilly- Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: I came back from Canada earlier this week. So, I decided to update! :D Unfortunately, I was signed up for a crap house that calls itself a summer school. With the amount of homework we\"re given, updates may be slower than usual. But I\"ve pretty much got this story planned out. I just need to decide on the amount of chapters this fic will have. FlamingSerpent MINE TOO! :D technologychic29 Yup :) Thanks. The Demonic Fox Yes, there will be four significant pairings in the plot: LuttaxHoole, LuttaxCoryn, CorynxKalo, and EmerillaxHoole. Some of the stuff is going to get angsty. Real angsty. Who Are You? \"Coryn! She\"s waking!\" Soren hooted. The unconscious owl before him shifted slightly, stirring. \"Finally!\" Twilight rolled his eyes as the Band and Coryn joined the Barn Owl. \"We\"ve waited for three straight days!\" \"I know!\" Soren replied, and shifted aside to let the others into Coryn\"s hollow. \"Tell me again,\" Gylfie said as she let Coryn get in front of her, \"why we\"ve waited for this one owl to stir?\" \"Because,\" Coryn said -- the unconscious owl shifted again -- \"I think she\"s...Lutta.\" \"She is a hagsfiend,\" Gylfie agreed. \"Definitely. But why do you think she is Lutta?\" Coryn gave a puzzled shrug. \"I don\"t know,\" he replied honestly. \"It\"s just something my gizzard tells me...\" \"You must be the only one with a sensitive gizzard then,\" Twilight put in, half joking, \"I don\"t feel anything at all. I think a certain Burrowing owl has...\" Coryn twittered slightly. \"Yes, turned it on.\" The five owls twittered with Coryn for a moment. \"Where\"s Otulissa?\" Twilight added. \"Hunting, I\"m afraid,\" Soren answered. \"Racdrops!\" Gylfie gave Twilight a nudge for his curse. \"She\"ll kill me for not telling her to come when the owl wakes up!\" \\'\"Well, we must all face her wrath later,\" Soren churred. \"Look!\" Coryn beckoned with his wing, and the others followed it. \"She\"s awake!\" I wonder...who are you? As I stirr, I can see shapes. Shapes? Owls, apparently. Who are you? What do you want with me? As I open my eyes -- have I been sleeping? -- I can see them staring at me. What is that expression on their faces? Twigs and something soft touch my being, the twigs crackling. I\"m in -- a nest? These owls, their sillhouettes are huge in my eyes. Is Hoole among them? Is Emerilla? Or -- my gizzard, be it real or not, gives a jerk -- even Strix Strumajen? But no...it can\"t be... My blurry eyes can see no spots -- none that are the ones blurring my vision. But blinking helps. Perhaps. I blink once, on this impulse. Then again...again...harder... Yes, blinking clear the spots of light in my sight. Once...twice...three times. Thrice. I blink a little more, a little harder, as my eyes start clearing up. By now, I can see -- a Barn owl...two, actually... There\"s a Burrowing owl, naked legs outstretched. There is also a -- I blink my eyes a little more, trying to focus them -- a small gray owl. I focus a little more, trying to focus more. It\"s an Elf owl. No wonder I had trouble seeing it; so small. There is one final one; I turn my gaze to him. I squint, but he\"s hard to see. I focus some more. It suddenly strikes me as curious; these owls are not saying anything. I lift a hooked talon, trembling -- quivering with caution. \"Who--\" I try to whisper, say something -- anything at all -- but my throat is dry. Invisible sand is stuck there. More alarmingly, I notice that the owls still aren\"t saying anything. Are they real at all--? No, they\"re warm. They\"re warm with the heat of life. None of them are cooling. I can feel it, from here, in this nest -- while they\"re standing a little ways around me. I try not to shrink back -- to look weak right now might provoke them to treat me roughly; I don\"t know if they are friend or foe yet -- as I already know that there is one of me, and more of them. I discover that they are now surrounding me. Suddenly, they\"re moving. Now, I really shrink back, as the Barn owl -- the smaller one, perhaps younger -- suddenly hands me a nut cup of some fluid. I don\"t know why, but I am suddenly taking it. Perhaps it is impulse. \"Drink it,\" the owl says kindly; he is a male, from the voice. \"You can speak.\" But...but -- but! -- I am a hagsfiend! Can they see that? I quickly glance down at my wing, not wishing to stare too long if I am to see the ugliness that Hoole had always detested. I force back tears as I see the thing I don\"t want to; nor ever want to see again. Long, dark sweeping feathers. Ragged. Intact, but with no visible half-hags. That is an improvement, but only slight. I am clearly a hagsfiend. They should hate me. As I look up again, the young Barn owl\"s eyes meet mine. And a strike of lightning buries itself into my heart. Those eyes...they\"re Hoole\"s! They are Barn owl eyes, pitch-black, dark without a trace of yellow. And yet...those eyes. They are Hoole\"s eyes. They gleam with kindness, justice. \"Go ahead, Lutta.\" Say my name again. Please! It sounds so sweet; you are acknowledging me! Only me! And you are being kind about it! You know me! Without another word, I swig down the nut cup\"s -- still clutched in my claws; liquid yet untouched -- contents. The sweetness of the juice, I have tasted it before. What, but I cannot remember? But, I must remember... But the sand in my throat is gone. I can speak clearly now -- hopefully. \"Wh-Who...are you?\" The question that I need to know the most right now. Who are you? PT: Yes, well. Lutta was so distracted by Coryn\"s eyes that she didn\"t really suspect the milkberry tea. Or anything, for that matter. I\"m hoping to keep this nice and slow :) I need to explain why she starts loving Coryn and everything. Please review. Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: I don\"t know if you count this as late or what, but thanks for the reviews! :D If I find the right time, I\"ll update the chapter after this :) Like, some time this month? Don\"t really ount on it, though. I\"ve started school this Tuesday, and I\"ve got to be a bit more serious because I\"m having my high school exams -- and I\"m taking tennis on Sundays. I turned 13 last month :) It feels weird; I\"m a teen at last... Anyways, yeah, I\"ll be busy...though I might find time, not sure yet... FlamingSerpent Heheh, I\"m happy :) Thanks! Ori-hime-Shinigami01 Glad you like it :D I\"ll try to! :3 Pinefur of DragonClan Lutta is AWESOME :) Lara-van :D! Thank you! Eater of Crayons Thank you ;) Same opinions here. I was SO mad when Strumajen killed Lutta xO These Fading Memories An unpleasant silence fills the air; it does not lift. The owls all look uneasy. I can\"t wait for an answer. What are they, waiting for a feather to float from the treetop to the ground until speaking? I shift a bit, warily letting my eyes dart from one owl to the other -- but my eyes are trained on the Barn Owl the most. Like Hoole...so like Hoole... He turns a bit, and our eyes meet directly. I can\"t describe it...in this next moment, I don\"t look away, how awkward it seems. I stare into his eyes. They\"re like Hoole\"s... They are Barn Owl eyes, but Hoole\"s eyes. They\"re his eyes...Hoole\"s eyes... They hold that light of valor, justice, that one glow that I always made me feel my gizzard twitch in the bottom of my heart. Hoole... He never wanted me, did he? He loved me, but only who I was pretending to be. He never loved me, only Emerilla...lucky owl. I just wanted to belong -- because I was nothing -- and he gave me that. He was so fair, so kind...he gave me something even Kreeth could not. Mum and Da -- Ygryk and Pleek -- were supposed to be my parents. I was supposed to be their chick, Lutta. Yet they left me. They talked about me behind my back...I was a freak. My own parents loathed me. Oh, they tried, but they left in the end. They didn\"t love me. Kreeth used me. No one really loved me, or even looked at me normally. All I was was a freak, nothing at all. Then he came along. Him, Hoole. The only one who let me belong, looked at me with kindness in his gaze, not looking like I was a...monster... Why was I born? Not one person cared about me. I was just freak my parents didn\"t want, a weapon for auntie\"s uses, and a fake to my only love. He cared, but didn\"t know me. In the end, I was a monster to him too. Now I\"m back. And now I wonder... I suddenly stiffen as I think up to a thought. \"What happened?\" I shoot up and stare into those kind eyes. I trust him to answer. \"Please, who are you? Where am I? Where\"s...Where\"s\"--I choke up, but the question is already on my tongue--\"Hoole?\" My talons clench as the name leaves me. At once, I see sympathy clearly written over their faces. A pang enters my heart. Sympathy for me? A nothing? \"Lutta.\" Sweet words again, and I suddenly wonder how this Barn Owl knows my name. \"It\"s hard to explain, but please...\" \"Listen carefully.\" Everyone, including me, jumps as the Great Gray speaks -- in a rather booming voice -- for the first time. The Elf Owl frowns at him. The older Barn Owl gives him a quick nudge. Words tumble from the young Barn Owl\"s beak. \"Lutta, we read about you in legends. It\"s been a long time since you were... \"Well, you\"re at the Great Ga\"Hoole Tree, and it\"s been a long time since you were...\" His voice dies down as he hesitates. \"Dead,\" the older Barn Owl finishes. He says it with that sympathy shown in his eyes. \"It\"s been thousands of years from your time, and we read about you from some legends about some...events...\" He clears his throat, determined to go on. \"Coryn here\"--a gesture at the young Barn Owl--\"is the king. I\"m his uncle, Soren. This is Gylfie\"--a gesture at the Elf Owl, who nods in greeting--\"Twilight,\" the Great Gray, \"and Digger\"--what a funny looking Burrowing Owl. \"My uncle and his friends are called the Band,\" Coryn adds. I let this newfound information seep in. Thousands of years? Could this be possible? I was dead, right? It\"s been so long -- and...I was dead? How...? \"I have a GIZZARD!\" \"You do not have a gizzard, you fool! you idiot! I created you.\" \"You created me, but I created this gizzard!\" \"No!\" What is this? \"Emerilla?\" He turns as I change. He knows now...what am I to do? Dismay spreads through my body. He\"ll probably think I\"m a freak too, and he\"ll hate me. But I love him! In the next second, I\"m flying at him. Adrenline floods me as I feel...am I losing myself? This gref... He\"ll hate me now. I slam into him, and he flies backward. \"I love you!\" I want to scream. I want to scream those three words. To let him understand. I want to scream, \"I love you!\" Then, an enexpected blow to the back of my head. Pain. Unexpected pain. Then talons, stopping me in my tracks. Talons...digging into me, slashing everywhere. My vision spins to red. I\"m being ripped apart at the seams. Torn. No... Why are you...? I sink, and I fall apart, literally. My feathers fall off, as my body becomes a lump of darkness. A lump of feathers. I truly am nothing... You\"d expect a real body when one is torn by claws -- and yet...feathers only. My phantom gizzard lurches. \"Half-hags!\" \"I had to kill her.\" WHY? \"She pretended to be my Emerilla.\" Is that all! I\"m going to die like this! Just because I was an imposter! \"I knew from the start that something was not right about her. A blood deception she was -- a hagsfiend.\" Anger -- hot, seeping rage enters me. And cold feelings. Feeling that make me want to shed tears. \"No!\" I manage. \"Who are you?\" Who? Hoole...you accept me as someone? Hoole... \"I am nothing...and yet, I loved...\" I loved... \"Lutta?\" \"Hey! Are you all right?\" \"What\"s wrong? Lutta!\" I sink down as my mind spins. Then, I black out. All was dark except for the fluttering movement of wings -- brown wings. A Barn Owl shifted in the branches of the magnificent tree, her dark eyes gleaming as she looked into the hollow. How strange that she could get so close to the tree so easily. She was but a sillhouette against the branched skies. She eyed the hollow, and the inhabitants. Her son...too bad she would have to kill him. He would have made a fine pure owl, had he not inherited his uncle\"s stupid softness. She could just kill him, right there and then. How easy, that everything she had been working for for the last few months would just be completed now, so easily. She could easily snatch the ember, then swoop in and kill Coryn, his disgraceful uncle, and get her dear mate\"s -- rest his soul -- revenge. Then, kill those pathetic owls that were always around Soren, and anyone else she comes across in the tree, just for a bonus. It would be wonderful to see their pained, stupefied faces as she sank her claws through their feathers, one by one. Then she saw the hagsfiend, and her eyes widened in horror. I am the last! How is this possible? Why is she in that hollow! She could just kill her as well -- but her eyes caught something, and her gizzard twitched. No...she\"ll just stay back and observe. This hagsfiend could prove some use to her and... Sadistic impulse shot through Nyra\"s gizzard. The adoring gleam in the hagsfiend\"s eye as she stared at Nyroc. No, she\"ll wait. Nyra silently spread her wings and swooped into the night sky. She had plotting to do. PT: Please, enjoy :) I hope I can fill up some holes in the story as soon as I can. Though, they\"re there for suspense. Please review! Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING, EVERYONE!! Enjoy! I have a little more to say: I know the last book already came out, and I\"ve finished it already. I\"m a little stunned, but in courtesy of those who have not yet finished it, I won\"t spoil it. However, despite the end, I\"m continuing the fic the way it is. I\"ve just noticed how much I\"ve been neglecting the story O.o Anyways, I was rather...displeased with a few stories stuck in the GoGH fandom, and while I was planning to leave it after finishing this fic, I might a few more fics for this. Not that I have hubris...I just...don\"t know...I just think I\"ll contribute to the fandom with a few fics of angst :D Anani Mouse Thank you, thank you so much :D -Head swells- Frosted Fate Yeah, poor Lutta D: Wish Hoole ended up with her. One of the Populace Oh...-sobs- Hi! :D FlamingSerpent Thanks! I\"m flattered x) True, Nyra\"s so important to the plot -- being sadistic and plotting revenge, among other things :) Hawkrain I\"m glad you\"re eager :D Thanks for reviewing and liking it! :) Lara-Van Thank you, thank you -bows- X) It\"s great that you think that; cheered me right up ;) The Great Tree I can make them hurt... My Mum and Da. I can make them feel the pain that they\"ve put on me. They can hurt, and I\"d be able to do it to them. A change in our positions is want I want so badly, and they\"d taste the bile they stuck in my throat. They left me...they left me, their chick Lutta. Theirs. I have the power now -- to make them hurt. I can make them hurt. I can make them hurt... \"Lutta!\" Stop slapping me. \"Lutta, wake up!\" Slap. Stop slapping me with your wing, it stings. Slap. Slap. \"WAKE UP, Lutta.\" Slap. Slap. Stop it! I\"m trying to-- \"Lutta, please!\" ...Hoole? Hoole\"s voice! I flick my eyelids open -- all four of them -- at the same time. Hoole? No, it\"s Coryn. Just Coryn. \"Lutta, are you all right?\" The way he looks at me...it\"s like Hoole. So much like Hoole. \"I\"m fine,\" I answer, and immediately scan my surroundings. Perhaps I have become overly paranoid with time, but I can\"t be sure. In any case, I can\"t let my guard down in this case; I could find myself dead in a second, just like that I died in an instant -- killed by Strix Strumajen. I shudder, remembering the memory of being ripped. Ripping, ripping, tearing, blood, pain-- Death. And then... Well, I don\"t want to think about what I don\"t remember. After that, there was nothing but a cluster of memories of what happened within death-- Falling. Falling... Floating...unraveling...flowing through the winds...becoming one with nature...then falling.... Falling, falling downwards, a curse uttered upon my kind: \"To hagsmire.\" Hagsmire, where the ones who have sinned within their lives went, for eternal damnation. Hagsmire, for hagsfiends, and...and... Nothings. Nothings -- they who mean nothing to the world, who should never have entered this life, this realm of breathing. Falling, agony, curses, darkness, cold hate. Those flaws of what life and death decide. And nothings. Nothings, like me. Nothing. Snap out of it. I don\"t want to remember. Of being one of the damned. And now I\"m back. Why? \"Lutta?\" -- and I look up. Hoole -- no, Coryn. Coryn, the Barn Owl. Unconsciously, I stare at him with huge eyes that deserve to pop out of their sockets. \"Yes?\" I say. Oh Coryn, please don\"t look at me like that. You look like Hoole, please, don\"t look sympathic...please don\"t...I want it but you don\"t have to give it. Can you not see that my heart has already been broken? \"Lutta,\" he says, softly, and gives me a tender nudge with his wing. \"Can you stand?\" I nod, because I cannot find myself shaking my head. \"Yes.\" Can my legs work? He steps back slightly, to give me room, and I try to remember how to use legs again. Now, I just...position them...and push upwards... A searing pain. My legs! They hurt! They hurt! Fall down again -- No, I can\"t. I can\"t fall; I\"ve told Coryn that I will stand, will be able, and I will not lie; not anymore; I have already lied and tricked Hoole, I will not do so again, not to any owl. Nor this owl. This owl, who stares with the eyes of a true king. A young king, but a wise one, and a good one. With difficulty, I stagger forward, out of the small nest. I feel the bark underneath my claws as I step on it; bark again, how it brings back thoughts of those days. It feels a bit unfamiliar, but I cannot forget bark. Such a thing is pathetic. I feel my legs quivering, wanting to give way, but no. No. I have said that I will stand. How they quiver! -- stop it. Stop quivering! I have said I will walk, and I will walk, even if this pain continues -- like fire searing at me, numbing in a way. I will not lie again. Deception has torn me once before; never again. I look at Coryn, see the concern in his eyes; he hesitates to step forward, wanting to help. No, I can do it. Please. Let me. I walk, a little faster, wanting my legs to stride. They work, a little better. I look at Coryn again, and I ask, \"Where am I?\" \"The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree.\" Silence. My breathe hitches quickly. \"The...\" I pause, mind spinning and reeling. The Tree? The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree, that was reigned over by...Hoole? \"Tree?\" The Tree. The Great Ga\"Hoole Tree. And my mind explodes. \"Th -- Then!\" I jump as I begin stuttering. \"The Ga\"Hoole Tree! I -- I don\"t belong here! I am nothing! I lo-- \"Hoole, he...NO! I am a disgrace! My presence is dirtying this tree!\" I back away, seeking some sort of exit. I don\"t belong here. No. I am defiling the Tree. How long has it been since the last time I was here? I deceived the good king, I nearly killed him -- he was a great king, and a great owl! I don\"t deserve to be here! How many good owls reside in this tree now, the Tree that was grown by -- as rumor says -- the sorrow and goodness of Hoole? I don\"t belong here! Coryn jumps now. Please, no! \"Lutta!\" he says, eyes flashing with some sort of fire that started. \"You are not!\" Not? But...Hoole! Hoole! -- please no! You--! I stare, transfixed, as I see Coryn change. I don\"t see Coryn anymore. I see...you. Hoole. Eyes, eyes that spoke of what you believed in. Your sense of love for those close to you, your fiery will that would see indiscrimation to the very end. I\"m sorry Hoole! I deceived you! I am everything you are not! -- and should not be! I am NOTHING! I back away, seeing Hoole. He steps forward, that look in his eyes-- \"You deserve to be here! You--\" I stumble backwards as I shriek, \"Hoole! Don\"t! Don\"t you understand!\" Now is my time to confess! I never told him that I was-- I\"m sorry Hoole. I\"m so sorry! \"Lutta!\" The owl before me is -- He\"s pleading! No, I don\"t deserve it! \"Lutta, you do! Just as any owl!\" My gizzard throbs, beating against its surroundings. I stare upwards, feeling it grow cold. \"NO! I DON\"T DESERVE TO BE HERE! I AM NOTHING! I -- DO -- NOT -- BELONG -- HERE! I AM...\" My gizzard gives a jerk. My throat fills with pebbles; \"Nothing....\" My words are choked. It\"s true. I am nothing. I don\"t deserve to be here, at the Great Tree. PT: Like? Hate? Please review. I hope to update soon. Fill up the plot holes, twist the story...you know. Nothing, Yet A Love Never Dying PT: I really need to update more often. xD -Shot- ...-looks out window- Well, I thought I\"d take some advantage. Now that I\"m in high school, and in the JROTC program, I\"ve joined the drill team that saps up all the members\" time. But as of this month practice has been cancelled until further notice. Now I have the energy and time for writing, so yeah -shrugs-', 'got the Yang yoyo.\" Kimiko pulled the other half out of her pocket. The two dragon warriors placed the two halves together. Omi took it and handed it to the Brazilian Wind dragon. \"Raimondo, will you do the honors?\"Raimondo took the Shen Gong Wu with a grin. \"With pleasure...\" he said. \"YIN YANG YOYO!\" Please review! I\"ve only had a couple so far. PT: Chapter 2 is up! I\"d like to thank firecracker-girl and xxFireWarriorxx for their reviews. I will try to write this chapter with more detail. To answer xxFireWarriorxx\"s post script, this fic will be something like a movie, but there will be something in their future lives I made up, if you know what I mean. Enjoy! The silence in the Yin-Yang World was unnerving. In the prison, prisoners were only just settling back into their gloomy silence, after their little spell with the monks. They had been silent for a long time 1500 years ago, but only about a year ago, they had been aroused as the Chi Guardian had left with the Xiaolin Monks. Chi had been stolen and placed in the Yin-Yang World. An inmate, a certain bean who has never heard of toothpaste, escaped by means of the monks and a little evil wannabe who still sleeps with a nightlight and fears toilets. At last, there was something the prisoners could actually think about. Only, it had been what seemed like an eternity since there was anything new. For the Chi Guardian was returned, the monks didn\"t need to return and no more Shen Gong Wu were brought there, meaning that no more Silver Manta Rays could explode in midair. Today must have been blessed, as suddenly, a portal opened up in midair. Before you could say \"O.o\", the giant, 40-foot dragon by the name of Dojo stopped flying in midair as the portal closed...and fell. \"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!\" the monks (and Dojo) screamed as they fell towards the Yin-Yang World\"s cloudy ground. \"Remind me next time that Dojo can\"t fly in the Yin-Yang World!\" Raimondo yelled at Omi. \"Shut down Raimondo!\" Omi screamed, \"It is you who are leader!\" \"You\"re the smart one! Besides, it\"s \"shut up\", Omi!\" \"Incoming!\" Dojo yelled. As the dust cleared from Dojo\"s vveeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrry smooth landing, the Chi Guardian awakened... \"Look at all the pretty stars,\" Dojo mumbled as he got up, now back to his \"gecko\" form. \"Oof!\" Raimondo gasped as he tried to get Clay off of him. Omi and Kimiko got up and dusted themselves. Clay carefully got up and backed away from Raimondo, rubbing his back. \"Well,\" Kimiko commented nonchalantly as she watched Raimondo crick his back, \"So much for the almighty leader.\" Raimondo glared as he stood up. He opened his mouth to say something, but Dojo cut him off. He twisted into weird shapes and spun around desperately. \"Hurry UP!\" he shrieked, \"This Wu gives me measles.\" (Crickets chirp) The monks stared for a real long time. Then, in unison: \"EW!!!!!\" A While Later... \"I think the Wu is in the prison,\" Kimiko said thoughtfully. Raimondo blanched, but his head chanted the same thing. Prison...Prison...Prison... \"Absolutely! I say we go over to the prison, take the Shinobi Star and blow this taco stand.\" Raimondo declared, trying not to look at Kimiko. \"They have tacos here?\" Omi asked stupidly. Raimondo wanted to strangle himself. Clay slapped himself and Dojo sweat-dropped. Kimiko stared. \"Huh?!\" Omi looked completely clueless, that cute little cheeseball. The rest of the monks shook their heads and decided to leave that question unanswered. \"Let\"s go,\" Raimondo said and then started in the direction of the prison. The rest of the monks shrugged and followed him. They haven\"t gone more than 5 yards when, out of nowhere, a stand just appeared. The monks screamed, then stared at the sight before them. The stand was all yellow, with a giant sombrero on the top. The sombrero was yellow as well, with zigzags, green and red, around the spot sombreros usually have zigzags. On the front of the stand, a giant steaming taco bore the sign, a giant, neon red sign: FREE TACOS Omi yelped in delight. \"There really are tacos here!\" he squealed. The taco guy in the stand stared. Not really becoming of a Shoku warrior. Omi rushed up. He didn\"t have any breakfast today, being woken up by Dojo at 4:54A.M. for the new Wu. The monks followed him silently, too stunned to speak. \"Two tacos please!\" Omi said excitedly. He squinted at the menu next to the taco guy. \"Chicken tacos! Parrot style!\" Omi beamed. Omi happily chomped on his taco as his friends stared at him. Dojo exploded from his spot on Clay\"s hat. \"SHEN GONG WU!!!!!!!\" There was another shriek from our favorite cheeseball. He lifted his head. There, clamped between his teeth was a blackish silver shurikan, its four sharp points gleaming. \"The shurikan star!\" Raimondo yelled, plucking the star from Omi\"s mouth. Kimiko made a face. \"Yes!\" Dojo yelled, obviously relieved that measles won\"t start randomly coming out of his scales. \"Let us suck this taco stand!\" Omi yelled triumphantly. (Crickets chirping) \"Uhh...yeah...right...\" Kimiko muttered. \"LET\"S BLOW THIS TACO STAND!\" Raimondo yelled, ignoring Omi\"s scream of \"That too!\" Raimondo took the Yin-Yang Yoyo from his pocket. \"Yin-Yang Yoyo!\" As the newly made Shoku warriors left the inky kanji world, the prisoners were sure they\"d be bored again. No one thought they\"d returned again, that the unthinkable would happen as evil started to grow inside one of the monk\"s hearts. TO Be Continued... PT: Right, a cliffhanger at last! Hope you like the next chapter, when there will be more action! Including SHOKU POWER! Yay! Please comment! PT: Chapter 3 is up! I have a slight writer\"s block so some suggestions would be welcome. Plus, owing to the fact that I may be one of the youngest writers on fanfic net (I\"m not sure. I\"m 13; really), I have a State Test next week, so updates will have to wait awhile. There\"s going to be a fight scene in here, but I\"m bad at those, so please don\"t kill me! I\"m sorry! Anyways, enjoy! It was like any other day. Master Fung hadn\"t called the monks in for training yet and the monks had finished their chores. So the warriors were sitting around. Kimiko was playing Mindcreeper and Clay was wrestling a pig. Omi and Raimondo were pretending to play Steal the Wu. Dojo lounged lazily in the sun, feasting on barbecue and hot sauce. What could break this peaceful moment of idling? You\"ll see... Master Fung stepped into grounds, where the monks were hanging out, followed by a 12-year-old girl. \"Young monks,\" he called out, catching the monks\" attention at once, \"We have a new warrior among us.\" The monks immediately gave the girl rapt attention. She was unusually tall with black hair in a ponytail that streamed down her back. She had hard, black eyes and something about her face that said \"Don\"t mess with me\". Her frame was wide hips, a muscular back and broad shoulders. In short, she scared Dojo. Well, he got scared easily anyway, so whatever. When she spoke, she had an unusually quiet voice. \"Hey.\" She was American. \"Ooohhhhhhhhhh. Did mine ears play games with me? A new warrior?!\" Omi gasped. \"It\"s true,\" the girl said, \"I hail from Flushing and I\"ve been training myself in street-fighting and climbing since I started to jump too much. I went learning Kung Fu and Jujitsu when I was ten. Master Fung invited me here telling me that I\"m supposed to become a Shoku warrior with four other warriors and use the element of thunder. My name\"s Drew Werd. You\"re the monks aren\"t you?\" \"Yeah,\" Raimondo stated \"By the way, are you really good enough to be a Shoku warrior so soon?\" Drew glanced at Master Fung uncertainly. Master Fung gave a small nod. \"SHOKU WOLF, THUNDER!\" Drew yelled as she jumped in the air. Blue lightning crackled and swirled in the air and landed in her palms. Her shadow became blue as well and crept all over her. In short, Drew looked like a lightning spirit. Drew looked at some boulders and trees nearby. Focusing, she made a dive for them and swiped. There was a slight flash as the boulders were reduced to a heap of dark ash. Drew landed neatly in front of the monks and looked at Raimondo. \"O.o\" (Crickets chirping) 5 minutes later... \"We\"ve got a new Shen Gong Wu!!!!!!!!!\" Dojo yelled as he slithered into the Wu chamber, where Master Fung was presenting Drew\"s signature Wu, the Eye of Dashi, to her. \"What\"s the Wu?\" Kimiko asked as she fingered the Star of Hanabi lovingly. The monks rushed off to the grounds as Master Fung bid them farewell. Dojo grew to his 40-foot form and the monks jumped on. Drew lodged herself between Kimiko and Omi. Kimiko took her comb out and Dojo started flying. \"Well,\" Dojo began, taking the Wu scroll from his pocket, \"It says here that the River Kunai is supposed to be able to travel long distances as a throwing knife. It can also be used to cling onto when you\"re underwater. It\"ll go forward in any direction you want and you\"ll be able to breathe as long as you hold onto it or someone or something that\"s already holding it.\" \"Pretty cool.\" Raimondo said in awe. \"Oooooohhhhh. It will be moooooooost useful and fun to travel without having to swim!\" Omi squealed. \"So where is it?\" Clay asked as he straightened his hat. \"Tokyo, in the country.\" Dojo answered breezily. \"Home sweet ho-\" Kimiko broke off as she stared at one of the birds flying alongside them. She suddenly felt uneasy. \"Huh?\" Omi and Drew looked at her. \"Eeeerrrrrrr......\" Kimko started to sweat. \"Evil boy genius! Prince of darkness! At your service!\" a voice bragged as a freaky Goth kid came by. He was surrounded by his robots. He was flying alongside Dojo by means of a couple of propellers. \"Jack Spicer! Prepare for a mooooost humiliating defeat!\" Omi yelled. It would be easier to get rid of him right now than have a showdown with him for the Wu later. The monks jumped up, prepared for battle. Kimiko was actually glad to see him. \"JACKBOTS! ATTACK!\" Jack gave the usual command. \"Warriors! Get in formation!\" Omi yelled. \"SHOKU DRAGON FORMATION!!!\" the monks yelled. The monks immediately had their shadows creep up upon them like armor. Jack Spicer\"s jaw dropped. \"HUH!??!?!?!?!\" \"SHOKU WHALE, WATER!\" \"SHOKU LION, FIRE!\" \"SHOKU WOLF, THUNDER!\" \"SHOKU BUZZARD, WIND!\" \"SHOKU BULL, EARTH!\" Omi\"s hands were already swirling with fierce water as he summoned a tsunami out of nowhere. He went for some robots and Jack. Kimiko\"s arms weren\"t even visible under all the swirling flames. She charged, throwing fireballs and blowing fire out of her mouth. Drew was using lightning in her palms again, swiping them like swords. Raimondo brought up a hurricane and charged, blowing wind out of his mouth. Clay used his hands to bring up boulders from the ground so far below. His arms turned to massive stone limbs as he smashed a robot. \"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!\" Spicer was already screaming as Omi pummeled him with water. His propellers broke. Kimiko was just swiping for him when he brought up an extra pair. \"DAMN YOU! MY AUNTIE GAVE ME THOSE FOR VALENTINE\"S DAY!!\" Drew stopped swiping at a crowd of bots to look down at the fleeing freak in surprise. There were people wimpy as that? \"Never mind that Drew!\" Clay yelled, smashing the bots with some boulders. \"I agree!\" Raimondo yelled as he blew the last of the bots away. \"Other evil might want the Shen Gong Wu!\" Kimiko punched the last of the bots as she thought of Hannibal Roy Bean. As the monks scrambled back on Dojo, Kimiko looked over her shoulder again. In the midst of the others chatting over their victory, she couldn\"t help but think that they were being watched... \"The monks have grown well.\" Chase Young commented in his lair. He was watching the monks through a crystal ball. Wuya was, thankfully, in his 5-star bathroom. He didn\"t want her to see this. She was annoying enough as it is. He turned, a slight, familiar smirk crossing his face. It is time...for the seeds of evil grip to the chosen monk...for prophecy to take hold... PT: Alright! Please review! I\"ve got to go now; my dog\"s hopping mad for the bathroom. Is Chase Young behind the evil going on in a monk\"s head? Mmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyybbbbbbbbbbbbbbeeeeeeee... Again, sorry the stupid fight scene. I\"m bad those. Again, suggestions are welcome! PT: Chappy 4! Yay! Anyway, to Aria Pedrosa, I\"d like to say that I\"m 12 too, in 7th grade. I\"m technically 13, according to my nationality. I guess I don\"t have to worry that much though. My birthday is coming up in August. It brings a lot of stuff. In 2009, I\"ll have to move to a different town. It\"s close to the town I live in now, but I\"m still sad! I\"ve lived in this town for my whole life! I feel jealous of people who have lived in the towns they loved their whole lives and never even plan to move away. I\"ll lose my braces too. The freedom is something I itch for. I\"d like to thank everyone for reviews! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! \"There it is!\" Raimundo called out, gesturing at field. Dojo had finally taken the monks to the country to Tokyo. He had taken them to a field of cherry blossom trees, or a haruno of sakura, as Kimiko called it. Raimundo gestured again as the other monks whipped their heads around. \"Huh?\" Omi, our cuddly cheeseball, was clearly confused. (Crickets chirping) \"You sure you spotted our Wart?\" Omi and Kimiko turned to look at Clay, who had his mouth open. \"Clay,\" Raimundo said, not turning around, \"You sound like your sister.\" \"That wasn\"t me!\" Clay sputtered, his blond hair lifting so you could see both of his eyes. \"Then who-\" \"It was us!\" a shrill, happy voice cried out. The voice was familiar, veeeeeerrrrrrrrrry familiar... \"Jessie! Megan!\" Omi exclaimed, wide eyed as he gawked at the girls. \"Yo!\" Raimundo waved as he finally turned around, obviously pleased at the sight of the two girls. Drew raised an eyebrow. \"Old friends?\" she inquired of Dojo. \"Yup.\" Dojo replied. \"Well, who\"s this?\" Jessie asked cheerfully, gesturing towards Drew. \"That\"s Drew, for thunder.\" Clay passed out the info breezily, obviously pleased to see his sister without having to tie each other up and attempt to toss each other of a bridge. \"New warrior, huh?\" Jessie asked, looking Drew up and down. \"Uh.\" Drew was obviously freaked out. \"Hi!\" Megan said cheerfully, waving, \"I met this girl with a Shen Gong Wu while I was on vacation here! We both talked a little when I pointed the Wu out and she brought me here, saying she had a tracking device for activated Shen Gong Wu that she stole from my stupid cousin, Jack! So we both figured you knew both of us so I went with Jessie!\" Jessie and Megan were both on Jessie\"s motorcycle, with the Wings of Tanabi attached to the back. \"Hello! Wu anybody?\" a voice called out. \"Huh?\" The monks, Dojo, Jessie and Megan spun around. There, in the sunlight, was a tall, barefoot witch with long, red hair and creepy eye-makeup.Omi was already screaming. \"WUYARETURNTHESHENGONGWUORSUFFERAMOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSTHUMILIATINGDEFEAT!\" (Crickets chirping) \"Ooookaaaaaaaayyyy...\" Kimiko muttered. There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone followed Omi\"s gaze to the object in Wuya\"s hand. It was a silvery-blue kunai knife. \"Oh no you ain\"t!\" Jessie yelled as she tossed her lasso. The loop immediately closed around the kunai. Unfortunately, Clay had let his own trusty lasso out as well. His loop bumped off of Jessie\"s on contact and instead of getting the kunai, he got...Wuya\"s wrist. Wuya grinned evilly and quickly took control of the situation. She gave a flick of her wrists...and sent the blond siblings tumbling toward a large boulder on the ground, to their deaths. \"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!\" Jessie found herself being jerked out of the motorcycle as the end of the lasso in her hand slipped out of her grasp. She fell, screaming and feeling fluttery in the stomach. Clay screamed even louder as he was pulled off Dojo. He clutched his lasso...finding it to be cut in the middle. The air pressure was too much... \"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!\" Kimiko screamed as she launched herself off Dojo, heading for her friends. \"Shoku lion, fire!\" As she summoned fire, she felt something grabbing her wrist. \"No!\" The fire died down as Wuya tightened her grasp on Kimiko\"s wrist. Raimundo was already in the air, eyes trained on the Japanese warrior... ...As Wuya grabbed him too. \"Well, I\"ve done a nice job today.\" Wuya commented sickeningly, as Omi screamed and went after Clay, Megan right behind him, eyes on Jessie. Drew went for Wuya, eyes determined. Wuya grinned as she tightened her grasp on the struggling Raimundo and Kimiko. \"A Shen Gong Wu...\" Omi and Megan caught the Texan siblings right before they hit the boulder... \"...and two hostages...\" With that, she disappeared just as Drew released a punch...into thin air. \"No!\" Omi screamed. Clay had seen the whole thing. As soon as he got back on Dojo, he took the Fist of Tebigong from his pocket and punched himself. Jessie and Megan just sniffed as Jessie settled down in her motorcycle. Dojo started sobbing...no...bawling. As for Drew, the kid just tipped back her head and howled... All around the world, people suddenly felt jabs in their hearts for no reason at all. Soon, there wasn\"t a dry eye in the heavens or hell. PT: Hope this fight scene was okay. Thanks for all the reviews! I\"ve got a new stream of ideas coming so...yeah... Anyway, no problem. I won\"t make Drew a Mary Sue. Never intended to but I could have made her one accidentally.) Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! PT: Hi everybody! ;) I hope you like this chapter! I am hoping to be able to start a pairing in this chapter. You may already know what the pairing is...or not... Anyways, enjoy and please review! Kimiko crawled over to Raimundo. Wuya had taken them to a giant birdcage about as tall as Jack Spicer\"s house, with a diameter of 10 feet. She had left them with their hands tied behind their backs before she left, sniggering. Kimiko and Raimundo could see outside the cage, but there wasn\"t much to see. They were in a grassy field. All they could see was grass, in every direction. Kimiko doubted that they could get away easily. Wuya would definitely be watching and in this field, it won\"t be hard to catch the monks. The only thing they could do was untie themselves. Kimiko nudged Raimundo. \"Wake up!\" she whispered fiercely. She wasn\"t going to sound desperate in front of him. It might give away how worried she was about him. The Brazilian teen opened his eyes. They stared at Kimiko a moment before closing them again. \"Don\"t.\" he moaned wearily. \"Raimundo!\" Raimundo\"s eyes snapped open. His olive green eyes stared at the Japanese warrior. Huh. Now that I think of it, I never really told her how nice her eyes are. I\"ve never seen a more brilliant blue color. \"Raimundo!\" Kimiko snapped, \"Stay awake and help me think of how to escape!\" She\"s cute when she\"s angry. \"How do we get out of here?\" Raimundo asked, deciding to go along. It\"s not like he could go to sleep again. Kimiko would keep prodding him and even resort to beating him up if he won\"t heed her. Raimundo cringed at the thought. Well, if she does, we\"ll be touching each other at the very least. He shook his head. Huh? He had really just thought that? He was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn\"t notice when Kimiko slapped him. \"Earth to Raimudo!\" \"Whuh?\" Kimiko glared at the Xiaolin leader. \"You are our leader! We need to escape to help the others! Who knows what\"ll happen to the other monks if we aren\"t there? Master Fung always taught us about teamwork!\" Raimundo nodded, a numb feeling in his chest. \"Right.\" Teamwork. It seemed to Raimundo that that was what stood in the way of having a relationship with Kimiko. He always cared for his friends. It felt wrong to have feelings for one of them. That would mean he favored one. Raimundo stood up, the numb feeling still in his chest. \"What do you have in mind?\" he asked. Kimiko stared at him for a long time. The only sound was the wind blowing through the grass. Finally, Raimundo broke the silence. \"You were the one worried about escaping!\" he accused, \"Answer me!\" That seemed to do the trick. Kimiko snapped out of whatever had kept her silent and staring. \"Oh! Right.\" She seemed embarrassed. Hey, did she just turn red? \"Alright, here\"s the plan. It\"s what I can think of at the moment. You probably won\"t like it, but here\"s a plan I\"ll suggest for now.\" Kimiko leaned forward. \"You\"ll never believe this, but...\" PT: Yeah, hope this was good. It\"s short, but I\"m slightly busy now. My mom\"s making me decide when to go to Paris. Yay! Paris! Anyway, that nagging is kind of annoying and I hate my mom. Sorry, did I say mom? I mean disowned mom. Forget it. As soon as I turn 18, I\"m not having her in my life again. I wish I could actually disown now. For now, I\"m not speaking to her. Anyway, I need to double check my homework. I\"m in a bit of a cranky mood now. I\"m sorry! ;( Dear everyone, There\"s not much time. I can\"t go on the internet anymore. If I come back, I\"ll private message to you if you want. Tell me in a review. My mom\"s so annoying! Till then, PT PT: OMG, I have no excuse myself for avoiding this fic for sooooo long :( On a brighter side, I\"m updating this again but it\"s going to be kind of slow. Good news though: I\"m almost done with my Naruto Christmas fic, so as soon as I finish that, I can update quickly again! :) Anyway, yeah, I do have problems with my mom. I\"ve hit that age. Anyway, here we go! Note: Drew is not a Mary Sue, but she will be very significant. She will have many Mary Sue properties, but only for future comic relief. Please bear with me, people!', '\"Ja.\" Ludwig kept his gaze upon her, solidly. He dared. Isten, she thought, and almost crossed herself. Then the anger came; and it pulsed and pushed at her every pore, only leaking out as cold sweat-the discovery, the confirmation; the outrage. She was not angry at Ludwig-she knew better. She was only angry at something...and that something held Gilbert\"s life in its claws. Der Führer?-no, he was not worth it. The Reich?-no, that was not enough. The people?-now, it could never be the people\"s fault, not to be spoken outright; they had fault, but they were the ones who suffered and were pardoned. But now, she knew. She knew what had slammed the great Prussia into a mold of tin, one so thin, yet so strong, only diamonds could even scratch it-solidity was not needed, but the soft, the formless. She knew what had created the stoic of a man she had fallen in love with-because she had, and that was all she could say of it-and had given her such a wholesome slice of epiphany, fraught with beautiful little fillings of emotion. This was what had shrouded the heated heart of a youth and elder-this was so obvious, and yet so obscure, and in the end all so ridiculous but so very real. Name it. Looking down at her dusty shoes, breaking the line of watching with the young German nation, she wondered. Who triggered such a crackle of change, such a complete rain of metal?-Ludwig, surely, for he was his brother. Roderich, perhaps-for without him, Gilbert had nothing to cling onto, as a sort of constant target of his ridicule. No fun, no rivalry-without Roderich, there was nothing but power, and even Gilbert wanted something other than that, much as he loved it. Even her. Elizaveta\"s fingers tightened about the slips of deathly paper, now gray with dust. They had been friends and rivals as younglings-they had provided for each other someone close but distant, something that was hateful, but something they would mourn if he died. Looking back up, she glared. Isten, she thought, staring at the hues of those blue, blue eyes, it\"s so powerful it can even affect Prussia himself. \"You pushed him into this,\" she croaked, for suddenly dust was crowding her throat; abruptly it was there, and she breathed it. Still, she pressed on, ignoring that dull pain and sharp crackles as she spoke, as she breathed. \"His people suffered so much more...\" \"I know,\" he said, slowly but quickly at the same time. \"I know...\" The last bit was a breath, and Elizaveta sucked in another dusty one for herself. \"But he loved you...\" Was that accusation in her voice?-Ludwig did not deserve this-perhaps he did, but who was she to judge?-she had seen him as a child, about as much as Veneziano. Bias was not to be directed at him, though he had done much to cause this reign of hell, and change. So much change... \"He hated what you were doing\"-and now she was stating the obvious-\"but he saw some hope in it. But all this has shown him-\" here, on strange impulse, she spread her arms, for the dusty sky \"-that it\"s a hopeless cause. \"And he suffered so much. His people...he cares about them as much as the next. Nation...\" She choked, then, realizing her mistake-tears welled in her eyes, and she stayed them for postponement. \"He cared about them,\" she croaked. \"He cared, and loved them as much as the next nation, but he shows it differently. Showed it differently. His character was unique amongst people, nations or not.\" Then she stopped. She did not need to ramble, to tell Ludwig what the both of them knew very well. Neither of them was foolish enough to be superficial, after all. Still, Ludwig stood, awkwardly, unblinkingly. Elizaveta blinked; those tears, those damned tears squeezed from the cramped space-one flowed down each cheek; with something of a huff that did not break the atmosphere, she swept them away with a hand. Her hand came away dirty. \"...And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper\"d pantaloon...\" - Shakespeare PT: I\"m back from the Mediterranean, oh yes. I\"ll spare you the glorious, rambling details xD Anyways, sorry this chapter came out much later than expected-I sort of stalled a bit out of a slight shake of writer\"s block. And school -did- hold me back-three projects-one in which the meetings for it went horribly wrong-a Japanese test, a commission for my school\"s newspaper on my trip, Promotion Board (I FAILED, I MUST\"VE D8), and formal inspection. -Shifty eyes- ...Those two crack stories posted by my friends?-my computer had been taken at that time, so...aiya... Back now. The next chapter -should- make you guys happy~ And I am sorely tempted to ramble about recently learning to play the gu zheng, but the unnecessary mention is more than enough. -Bows- - Well, since I\"d already used Frau and Herr-and in one of my past publications, Xian Sheng-I\"d deemed it only appropriate that I write \"Ms.\" in Italian. San will definitely stick out, and I can\"t use Miss when I\"ve already abused the other languages. - Veneziano. I\"ve kicked him out for the moment on purpose. He\"ll come back later. - Next chapter is, in fact, second to last. And the movie, Red Cliff. Both parts. Go watch them. NAO. \"...With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide...\" - Shakespeare Death was displeased. Spoiled brat that it is. And even after a gluttonous meal... This was a festival for one, after all, and that one was Death, was the bitter thought that ran through the heads of all. Damnation and hellfire to their enemies. The end was nigh, though. Elizaveta shrugged to herself as the Russians marched in and granted her liberation. Liberation-no, it was just some sort of sick version of abduction, and resistance helped little-was nothing but another wretched road, another battle to fight. Staring into grape-like eyes, she noted Ivan\"s berth, his mad, mad eyes. His uniform. His little grin. The gloating of a child. \"All will become one with Russia,\" he said, almost simply, his cheer eerie. Fists were already clenched; now they groped about, for a pan, a rifle, a sword-there was nothing. In some way, this brought her but a sigh of relief-Gilbert and Roderich, she was reminded, were not here to suffer as well. If Ivan put his giant hands on Roderich... Click, went an object, and Elizaveta was snapped into the world when her own instincts pulled her head away; on time, for Ivan\"s collar was soon found to be touching the tip of her nose: she went cross-eyed staring at the thing: it pinched her skin, now red with anger. How dare you- Oppression! No one could lay that yoke above her again!-she would never allow it! Even when a sort of purple shroud seemed to wrap itself about Ivan and blaze as a fire would...even as a faint eerie \"kolkolkol\" was thick in the air...Elizaveta held her ground-glaring, hating, repulsing. Oppression. No more oppression...! His eyes dropped; his hand followed: with a bolt of alarm-lechery?-feint?-Elizaveta took one step back, bristling as the wolf does. Watching the muscles of the Russian arms twitch, she ducked when he snatched at where her waist would have been had she remained still; with a quick flush of indignation, she glared upward; if only Ludwig had not been forced out! He had retreated with such haste, back to Berlin, offering to bring her with him, though knowing that she would not leave-Hungary was her, and her place. So he had left, alone and resigned to the fact that even Veneziano had to leave him, taken by the Allies. Elizaveta had watched him go with as much resignation. Endsieg, the Germans called it. Ivan was huge, behemoth above an ant...no, not an ant, but perhaps a lotus...perhaps a hybrid of that with a rose. There is no rose without thorns, after all. The Soviets had already been merciless, ruthless as the next army: the ache of rape and massacre fluttered about the land. If anything, the nation itself would fight. Useless as it was. Ivan dropped the collar. Still galvanizing with mental shocks down the spine, she watched closely. Too closely. Ivan\"s hand dove downwards and snatched. With a horrified she jumped back, giving a swift right hook to his neck, the closest she could reach. -And in the end, it almost didn\"t matter. Ivan smiled triumphantly as a long-forgotten weight was shifted from her belt. With a savage look from one of him and Elizaveta, the paper was in between his fingers...Elizaveta looked, stunned-in the moment it felt as if the appendix had been removed from her body. As useless yet familiar thing was there, the memory of its origins...filled with not blood, but gore-milk skin against the universe of deadness. The paper was scrolled about the Russian\"s fingers; somehow, it completed the image-a bloody Soviet, grinning wickedly as the royal purple billowed from his eyes: to top it all off, a dirty cream paper twisted about his raised digits. It was almost gray. She had long since forgotten about the thing; the small text, written in Gilbert\"s-a frantic parry-handwriting; out fell a finger, and it was the one from the bombed wreck. Just its weight-it had been there all along, useless, a little keepsake of Berlin; what she had seen there. What she had left behind for her own Hungarian version. It was white still, yet shriveled, and dry-that was all; it had changed, though not enough. \"German,\" Ivan said, warmly-no, coldly...swelteringly icy, and that was oxymoronic, but oxymoronic was practically the composure of him...him, all him. \"This is a finger from Germany, da?\" \"How do you...\" She sucked in a breath; refused to let her eyes widen. The grin widened; \"Just a lucky guess.\" He giggled, sickeningly, violet mist shrouding the remains of his person; his teeth were a white and perfect-they flashed in the buttercup sun, which laid its yellow upon the stiff white ground, touched with chill. Elizaveta stood stock-still then: she did the whole time; something had been torn away, and it lay resting among Ivan\"s grubby fingers, clad in leather-worn leather gloves that anyone would wear these days...she rubbed at her own, slightly shredded, at the still-clothed fingertips. Hands-they were worn down: hers and Ivan\"s. Beaten flesh. Looking up again, relief flashed briefly, the white light stark against her crimson crumbling heart, or else the mind-one was meaningful as the other; with that thought, of Roderich, Gilbert, Ludwig, Veneziano, and the war as a human, Ares... Endsieg. There was nothing to lose, but more lives. Eyeing the Russians, who had swept her land into scorched blood, she charged. There was nothing more to lose, and she kept on telling herself that. Even as the Soviets rushed over, rustling the paper with the breeze stirred by their boots; even as she lay ready to die, ready to live, tired as a nation at the end of his time. There was plenty of dust, and plenty of blood, and her body ached. It fit-it all fit. The yoke had been laid over her shoulders-the niggling thought that it was cracked brought no satisfaction: the Soviets still had claim laid over the land fought so hard for: Everything I\"ve done, she thought, as a cough formed within her throat, was for my people. Her thoughts flickered, at Roderich, at Gilbert-if she could not fight, she could marry, or give herself over; but she could fight, she merely needed the mentality rather than the plentiful physique: that was why she was in...this. \"Fuck,\" she breathed, eyes shut against the world. The last soldier soon disappeared through the limits of sound; peace and dust remained-not one stray man was left, no one else to strap the lead to her bones. Limbs aching, heart aching, mind aching, she lay there among the debris- No wonder, then, said the idle mind; she could have scowled, but it would have hurt too much-coughing did not help: if it stayed, it hurt the throat; if it was released, it cut the throat; the effort of checking it racked the whole body, and there was none of it anyway. Head lolling back, Elizaveta felt the paper, the finger, lying dead on the ground: Russia had dropped it, mockingly, to replace the grave flowers. There were no flowers, aside from those withered things in her hair. They were papery. Still, being near dead...the well of strength was dry. There was but moisture left in the moss growing upon the clammy stone-up the frozen cylinder it traveled, and so she flinched when the hand came. It was cold. Cold-and yet, hot as ice-white and freezing; the touch was familiar. It was light as a feather. The feather was upon the shoulder; it pressed, though not harshly; still, it could not be described as gentle. The hand was frail as her strength-brittle and cold and old. She refused to open her eyes then. She had decided, some time ago, that she liked the dark. She preferred it; it was friendly, and it allowed ignorance to be an excuse. It was kind, and she wished it could be a closer friend. But white-why white... \"Hey,\" said something, someone, something, someone. The ax scraped against the stone; it rasped with a familiar tinge of the past months, which were long as eternity, significant as the rest of time\"s children. It was a beautifully ugly voice, salty, bloody, white as fire. In the next moment there was nothing but one thing-it could not be. The pressure increased, it was beginning to hurt. Not able to growl, Elizaveta shifted with painful instinct-another cough ripped through her chest. \"Hey,\" said something again, and she summoned what was left of the moisture in the moss to flick her eyes open-it hurt: her eyes stung in white with water, but she knew it would come to pass. Everything comes to pass. Everything-absolutely everything: she had to keep on telling herself that, for though it passed, it took its very sweet time doing so; so that she could almost taste the bitter sparks on her tongue; it was parched, and thus drier. Spice. \"Fuck you,\" she whistled through her throat. It stung. It could not be. The pressure increased, not unexpectedly; it squeezed upon her shoulder, and it took a large muster of strength to finally blink the fluids away from the eyes, so that they were a clear green again-the first sight was white, as it always was-the second blink brought the sight of red, and some part of her-somewhere, deep down or hidden-despaired: agony nudged at her again, and she knew that those papers would not have been so kind as to let her go: no, she had to confront; it was a gift of something...that would not irk her for the rest of eternity, and yet a curse of more pain. The choice of selfishness or selflessness, when both loosed their boundaries and came together. And that hurt. More than anything, that hurt-the scorch of disappointment; denial, anxiety, fear-there was too much of it. And yet, she did not want him dead. It had taken her time, so much time to realize that...but she did not wish death upon anyone, having seen too much of it as the clock ticked away-she had never wanted anyone to truly die. Gilbert Beilschmidt, though she hated him above all, was no exception. But in times such as now, when war tore the world apart-when history decided to twist itself about-when the nations crumbled-how could death not be a blessing?-at this point she could almost want them all to be dead. Roderich, Gilbert, Veneziano, Ludwig...and yet she would watch with relief on the day that each of them would pick themselves up, and charge into the distance with life. She hated war. She blinked rapidly, staring, always watching; though she ached, she let the next batter of coughing come to pass-shock, it overcame her then. Charging upward, body screaming in protest, she could only slap him with strength that came by habit, before wrapping both arms around him, wondering how and why in hell- \"Get off me, woman!\" he protested, attempting to flail; she saw now that the tin had been stripped away, or at least most of it, as she felt him, flesh and cloth and hair-from the unhealthy pallor of his skin, from the dried hard uniform, to the pinked and browned hair, silver still shining boldly beneath the blood. He was unusually warm-hot even-when she felt him; clearly the cold had been warded off, though his hands still felt like ice; remembering the documents found in Ludwig\"s office, she realized that it was fever. But his head-feeling about the neck, she knew it was there-desperately feeling, just to know how cruel death was, she felt it, finding no seam-with a thin cry of joy and pain she kissed it, squeezing him till he was strangled- \"You\"re alive,\" she breathed, even as garbled speech flew from his lips. She was going into spasms-this was too unreal! And yet it was. He was so, so solid. His eyes were ruby. No petty pink glaze upon the Kingdom of Prussia\"s gaze-no death frosting them over. Clinging to him, something told her that she would never let go-a stupid little piece of wishful thought, no doubt: never let go, how ridiculous; and yet she did not release him, as he calmed between her limbs, resigning with guilty pleasure, rigid with denial. She could not even loosen about him-there was nothing but the jail scene playing and replaying itself in her mind-letting their hands drop, parting, and then the sickening sound of the guillotine\"s strike. Water, red, pink, silver, white, black. The swastika rose over all, as if to mock... \"Where in Isten\"s name have you been?\" she muttered against his shoulder, before lifting her head away hastily; still, though, she did not let go; she wanted to savor it. As the vampire feasts on blood. The scent of metal clung to him. \"Get off,\" was the obstinate reply; she lifted her hand and slapped him again, not knowing what else to do. \"Ow!\" \"Where\"ve you been?\" she said again. \"You were supposed to be dead-\" \"Well, I\"m so freaking not-\" \"I saw your head!\" she said, voice reaching a higher octave. \"It was a fake!\" \"Impossible,\" she declared, eyes widening before she finished; it came to her, suddenly-the way it had fallen, the sudden hush of death, the blindfold of stars, the blood-she had seen it, touched it, waded in the water it buried itself in.... She had suffered with him at death. \"You were dead...,\" she whispered; it gave way to coughing, and he only watched as she did; held onto her and she held onto him. \"I heard the thud. If you were dead-\" He grunted. When she looked up, his eyes were a bitter red. \"The head was fake. They...held me down.\" Scowling, he looked away; admittance was ignominy. \"They held me down up there. There were lots of them, Hungary-scheiße, there was a lot of back-up that we didn\"t notice; I couldn\"t beat off all of them. And my gun ran out...\" His voice faded; still, his scowl deepened, and he finished to his own satisfaction. \"Their leader was fun to kill though.\" He laughed, cruelly, forcefully-he found no love for death, though he had seen enough of it to mind less. Elizaveta decided against shaking her head-it could only be true; she had known him for years, since they were incomplete nations, just children running about with swords of both wood and steel. Just as he had sifted out her identity from that of Elisabeth Wertheim\"s, it was with ease that she found that this man in front of her was real: as nations in human form, they were allowed the same detached senses as those immortal. Stupid, she scolded herself, knowing not to trust so easily; but it was what it was. She noticed the shards of tin still upon his flesh then-of course, he could not have been thrown out so easily-time was needed, so much time; some things did not change, but could. They trapped him. Shackled his person. Still not releasing-he was too real, too solid, to let go-she let the glimpses of his uniform and body form in her mind; she looked about, saw the blood, the bruises, the sickly pallor of his skin. Dread formed with it, in a way almost instinctive, be it Gilbert or not: \"What did they do to you.\" It was not a question-it was an exclamation, asking, wondering, but not questioning. The papers came to mind again. A pause-it was too long, in Elizaveta\"s mind. With a ferociousness that came at will, that sapped her meager strength as well as supplied it, she asked, this time, demanded, \"What did they do to you?\" He was biting his lips, not speaking; still, obstinately, she took him by the shoulders again, harder, saying, \"What did they do to you?\" The papers came to mind again...how Ludwig had admitted it, how Gilbert had been so emotionless for the past year.... A protectiveness that she had never felt before, for but Roderich and Veneziano, but never this man, emerged; it reared its head menacingly-some maternal side of her glared outwards, and she shook him. \"Tell me!\" He only bit his lips harder. \"Tell me, God damn it,\" she said. \"I found documents in Ludwig\"s office. Is it true...\" he looked at her \"...that, throughout the war....\" \"Ja,\" he said, finally; his tone shook at the slightest, but was steely at the same time. His eyes grew hard. Elizaveta had never seen him like this, before the war-so close to tiredness, so close to a sort of trauma; he spread trauma, he did not suffer from it. She had known him for so long, and yet finally.... Not noticing how hard she was holding onto him, as if to crush him, she leaned in with complete urgency, green pools of eyes reflecting the cracked image of Gilbert Beilschmidt. \"Russia...hurt my people. So much.\" He snorted softly, in disgust. \"And der Führer\"-derision-\"doesn\"t like me a lot.\" The line along his brows became harsh, harsher than they needed to be. \"My people aren\"t West\"s. They\"re different. And they don\"t like der fucking Führer.', 'SilverGray lll...YellowRagged llll...GrayMillie...CrowFeather ll SquirrelBramble lll...SquirrelAsh...TigerSasha...WhiteWillow SorrelBracken ll...StormSquirrel llll...LeopardHawk l...DaisySmoky CloudDaisy l...CloudBright ll...AshNight ...MinnowMouse BlueBarley l...FuzzViolet...MouseRunning ll...ShrewWhite l HawkPick a cat! Any cat! lll...LeopardBlack l...LeopardTall lll WARRIORS, Love: Last Regret PT: Wow, thanks for the reviews! Anyway, I got a little carried away in the last pairing, what with all the shunning, pride, acknowledgement and prejudice; I think Naruto has gone way past into my head OO\" I\"m serious, at the first episode, there was all that attention stuff, loneliness, existence, blah, blah, blah and I was like \"Hey! That\"s exactly how I feel!\" Naruto has reminded me of the honor and determination I learned when I was barely over seven years of age, so I\"m addicted to it. Darren\"s Wings Thanks! Fuzz is a kittypet and his owner is a vet, well, I think the owner\"s a vet. The owner healed Barley and his sister. Barley\"s sister is Violet and their brothers, Snake and Ice, were Scourge\"s personal guards. You can read about them in Secrets of The Clans. Allan pike I totally agree. Love should not be forbidden! ANGELA Hm, nothing implies a love interest yet, but I\"m out on watch for it! HOLLYPAW, FALL IN LOVE! Yellowfang I\"m dying... The black is pressing on me, splotches of darkness appearing in my vision, blurring the image of the tom before me. Fireheart...the son I never carried. He was always a better son than Brokentail. Brokentail, traitor, murderer, someone I probably should not call a son, but I still loved him, because he was my flesh and blood. Mine and Raggedstar\"s. I\"m dying, my life is flashing before my eyes, letting me see the story I have looked at with my gaze. Raggedstar...was a great cat. I loved him, truly, I did. He was brave, honest, a great leader whom I have known for as long as I can remember. I can feel it, sense it, horribly, my breathing is slowing down. It\"s harsh, raspy, grating, like drawing a claw slowly across a bone, sunk deep. I\"m going... If this is dying, it is not horrid. It\"s actually...comforting, knowing that your pain will end soon, you\"ll unravel and reach up into the skies. So, this is the end. I hear those whispers, achingly familiar, Raggedstar\"s whispers, being pushed into my head, gently, flowing like a steady stream and I suddenly feel Raggedstar beside me. He has flown down, into my presence, to welcome me into the Great Beyond, to help me there, gently, knowing that we could love each other there without breaking a code. I have told Firestar that I had killed my own son, let him know of what has haunted me for what seemed to be forever. There is no need to look at myself as I leave this world. I could tell that my fur is burnt, dulled and I know that things will be better in Silverpelt. It\"s just like that. I dearly hope that StarClan will forgive me for all my wrongs. All these jabs of pain, invisible puddles of ice-cold wate, regret and terror, the warmth in my heart at being able to see the son I have never been the blood of...brings tremors to the body I have always inhabited. It\"s horrid: Patchpelt and Halftail, both dead. StarClan, keep them. There is some sort of consciousness beside me, warm, tingling. I can feel it, materializing. I feel that sudden warmth beside me, blow on my fur, as if to blow off the soot. Raggedstar? Raggedstar! I could feel that sort of warmth that comes up suddenly. I hear... I feel...his presence. It cannot be explained unless one feels themselves. I don\"t know, I just hear him now... No, it\"s like thoughts but...I\"m conscious of everything around me. I\"m caught between two worlds: this place I have walked physically and my mind, a mental place of its own. It\"s like thinking...but I\"m not losing concentration on this physical world. Thinking... I\"ve always defined it as feeling thoughts, but I\"ve never found the words to explain it before. The world is strange that way. There\"s a heaving mass of energy in my chest now, all in my sorrow, remembering how I\"ve loved Raggedstar, but couldn\"t, how he was happy that I was carrying his kits, how I had to lose my daughters right at their birth, how I had to stand to see my son throughout his life but never knowing his kinship with me, seeing him become a monster, losing Raggedstar and then killing my only son. Fireheart helped me... He brought me to ThunderClan and I found a new family. I found two new kits who did not share my blood: Cinderpelt and Fireheart. Now, I\"m going to have Raggedstar back, dear Raggedstar. I feel the warmth coming over me, so comforting and I suddenly invite it, with all the warmth I could muster for it. I hear whispers...coming in my head... Raggedstar... I close my eyes, slowly, because I want to at least see this world one last time... I do not meet darkness, for the first time, upon shutting my eyes, and the last time. I could hear Fireheart\"s cries to me...but I ignore them... I hear the sound, but not the words. To bask in my true son\"s voice...one more time. Good-bye... \"Yellowfang.\" I can hear the voice, that voice of Raggedstar, replacing Fireheart\"s. I find myself standing up, feeling like the time I had become an apprentice for the first time. I\"m all right now. I could see my body, a useless lump of dark, but I could see Fireheart. I turn, tearing my eyes away from him in his grief to see my beloved. There he is, the one I have craved to see. Oh, he hasn\"t changed a bit. As always, he is there, proud stature, with his unkept gray pelt, his thin tail high in the air, his proud amber eyes that always gleamed. I purr, find myself doing so, knowing that he is there. I see him again. I can. He is there, my beloved and I find myself padding quickly towards him. To feel him again...to tell him how much I love him, to know that he loves me. Peace at last. It comes to me and we\"re together, this time, knowing that it isn\"t against the code and not having to break apart again. We are together... ... Forever... PT: Please understand this. I have tried to put lots of thought into it. Er... Oh damn, now comes the part where I explain everything when I\"ve always been horrid at putting things into words. -Rubs temples- Sorreltail: Don\"t hurt yourself! PT: Yes, well, please review and vote! Plus, constructive critism! Sorreltail: C\"mon! See that cute little periwinkle button down there? It\"s waving at you! It\"s saying \"tickle me\"! PT: ... Bye! -Bows and leaves- HeatherLion lll...GoldenTiger...NightCrow lll...CinderJay ll JayPoppy lll...CinderLittle llll...FireSpotted llll...FernDust lllll FireSand lll...StormBrook llll...BlueOak l...YellowRunning l SilverGray llllll...LeopardTall llll...GrayMillie l...CrowFeather lllll SquirrelBramble llll...SquirrelAsh...TigerSasha l...WhiteWillow SorrelBracken lll...StormSquirrel llll...LeopardHawk ll...DaisySmoky CloudDaisy ll...CloudBright lll...AshNight ll...MinnowMouse BlueBarley ll...FuzzViolet...MouseRunning lll...ShrewWhite ll...BirchWhite l HawkPick a cat! Any cat! lllll...LeopardBlack ll WARRIORS, Love: Leaving PT: Phew, sorry for the late update! I\"ve been goofing off on Gaia this week, vacation, you know, I communicate with my school friends there. Oh, yeah, I did have the time to write a new ONESHOT! It\"s for the Da Vinci Code, awesome book, no offense to any religions. I\"ve got no religion, so it doesn\"t hurt ME in any way, other than the fact that my divorced dad is Christian and I live across a Catholic church. Can someone tell me why Chinese people can\"t live in a home facing a church? I overheard it: some kind of superstition. It\"s got nothing to do with a graveyard, either. AHEM, well, to the point, now. Please read that oneshot! I\"m really proud of it! I know, it\"s just a fic, but I spent a whole night writing the draft. This is the first time I\"ve drafted a story OO\" Btw, people, what do you think of the people who constantly threaten people who write those \"ask\" fics for Warriors? I find it frinkin annoying. Sorreltail: Demi... -PT looks up at note- PT: Holy crap, that\"s a long rant. Darren\"s Wings Thanks again! OMG, I can\"t believe I forgot about Birchfall and Applekit! -Bangs head on table- Anyway, yeah, that fic on Katrina is brilliant! Love it! Silverstream So, this is StarClan\"s punishment. I\"m dead, now, but I can\"t believe it. I\"m dead. I repeat it, as if it\"s the only way to make it seem real. I\"m dead. No matter how much I repeat it, it\"s still unbelievable. How could StarClan do this to me? I love Graystripe, but I can\"t love my kits? I can\"t show them my love, be there for them? I stand here, with my mother\"s tail around my shoulders - all I do is stare at Graystripe, my kits, Fireheart, Cinderpelt and Tigerstar. Graystripe is wailing in grief at the body I have left behind. Oh, I so want to help him. I want to comfort him, but I keep standing my ground. It\"s the shock, the grief. I unconsciously unsheathe my claws and attempt to dig them into the incredibly hard rock beneath my paws. I want to feel this rock, feel the solid hardness, to feel it, reassure myself that, as long as I am touching the ground, that I\"m still here. Then, maybe I can comfort Graystripe. I want to stay alive. I want to watch my kits grow up, to see them become strong, fine warriors, maybe eben Clan leaders. Yet, most of all, I want to live to be with Graystripe. My claws scrape against this solid stone, not penetrating it. I insistently sink my claws in more. I grip the earth, because I don\"t want to leave - I can\"t leave. I can\"t leave! I CAN\"T LEAVE!! I DON\"T WANT TO LEAVE!! I can\"t leave! I don\"t want to leave! I don\"t want to die!! I don\"t! I DON\"T!! I WON\"T!! If I leave - if I die - who will take care of my kits? Father will be devastated! Mother\"s already died from blackcough when I was only an apprentice. I\"m the only family he has left. I can\"t just die and leave. He\"s my father. Crookedstar is my father and the only one I have left; I\"m the only one he has. I\"ll gain my mother when I join StarClan, but then my kits will be alone. They\"ll have no mother. Their father will be in a different Clan...if the kits won\"t end up as part of ThunderClan. Which Clan will they be part of? Why did I fall in love with Graystripe? Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHY - did I fall in love with him? Why did he fall in love with me? Why did I? If I we hadn\"t loved each other, none of this would have happened. I wouldn\"t have carried Graystripe\"s kits. I wouldn\"t have to die - to leave the ranks of the living. To leave father. To leave RiverClan. Yet, what I mourn the most...is that I have to die and leave my love. My mate. My Graystripe. The handsome gray tabby, with those amber eyes that always glowed at me, always kind. Always the same amber eyes that held my gaze lovingly. Always. The eyes would always give me a deep feeling, penetrate me with a kind of warmth, a kind of love that penetrated, penetrated - penetrated me so hard - that it hurt. It killed me. Yet, I still invited that pain. I loved it. The pain told me how much I loved Graystripe. That pain hurt, but I loved it, hard. I loved it incredibly hard. I can\"t give it a name, but the pain came whenever I thought of Graystripe, and it hit hard. I invited it - I basked in it. It was probably love. Fierce love. A kind of love that was so painful in its own way, I loved it, that it was something good. A kind of pain that was good. A kind of pain that\"s not so painful at all. How strange. Many a night, perhaps a mere free moment, I would just press close to this tabby I loved. No one ever found out. I\"d gaze into those eyes, feeling that pain that didn\"t even hurt. I\"d press closer, feeling his warmth, feeling him. Feeling his love. He\"d press in closer as well and we\"d gaze into each others eyes. His eyes would stare at me, and I\"d stare back, lost in the amber depths. Lost. How I loved those nights, so fiercely, so hard. I\"d wish they\"d last forever. Oh, how I wish it were so now. I wouldn\"t be dying and leaving everything behind. I want Graystripe. I want him, even more as I stare at him hungrily. Him wailing with grief. My heart is shattering. It\"s going, the love and sorrow now drilling into me, this time really hurting. Not like that love that didn\"t hurt, but hurt at the same time. This pain... I feel myself pulling away. I open my mouth in a wail. My mother is guiding me away, on to StarClan. No! Yet, my limbs disobey me. They\"re going, obediently padding for StarClan. I stare at Graystripe. I can hear myself yowling his name, desperate, longing. \"GRAYSTRIPE!!\" He does not look up. Oh Graystripe, no. He just wails my name in grief and I want to be there. \"I\"m sorry,\" mother murmurs. I act as if I don\"t hear. I just want Graystripe. \"I know how you feel. I felt the same way when I died. I left you and your father alone. I\"m sorry this pain must be known to you as well.\" I barely hear. \"GRAYSTRIPE!!\" Graystripe No...Silverstream. I stare at Silverstream\"s bloodstained body through a blurriness in my eyes. Don\"t leave me! What will I do without you? The kits need you! Your father needs you! Your Clan needs you! I need you! Don\"t go, Silverstream!! I tilt my head upward; everything is a confusion of pain and tears. \"SILVERSTREAM!!\" I wail. That name, I repeat it: it\"s a name of a cat that I loved so much. It\"s like saying her name will do anything bring her back to me. I need her. \"SIL-VER...STREAM!!\" DON\"T LEAVE ME!! Please...DON\"T!! You can\"t be dead! DON\"T GO! Stay with me! \"SILVERSTREAM!!\" PT: There we go! Hope you liked it!! Sorry for missing out on updates TT.TT Good God. OH NO, THERE WE GO AGAIN!! I\"ve been saying \"Good God\" instead of OMG these days... Too much 1776. Sorreltail: Kay... Review! PT: I might update slower than usual. Summer stuff, you know. Sorreltail: Constructive criticism! PT: That pain thing Silverstream talks about comes up with love, really. I\"ve felt it before, but it wasn\"t real love. It was school crushing. Sorreltail: Vote! PT: See you!! HeatherLion llll...GoldenTiger l...NightCrow llll...CinderJay ll JayPoppy llll...CinderLittle llllll...FireSpotted lllll...FernDust lllllll FireSand llll...StormBrook lllll...BlueOak ll...YellowRunning l AppleBirch...LeopardTall lllll...GrayMillie l...CrowFeather lllllll SquirrelBramble llllll...SquirrelAsh...TigerSasha ll...WhiteWillow SorrelBracken llll...StormSquirrel lllll...LeopardHawk ll...DaisySmoky CloudDaisy lll...CloudBright lllll...AshNight lll...MinnowMouse BlueBarley ll...FuzzViolet...MouseRunning llll...ShrewWhite lll...BirchWhite lll HawkPick a cat! Any cat! lllllll...LeopardBlack lll WARRIORS, Love: Losing You To Pain PT: OMG!! ED IS SO KAWAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!! \"...\" -Squirrelflight knocks her out- Sandstorm: Sorry about that; she\"s been reading Full Metal Alchemist lately and...well, she\"s fangirling the main character. Btw, here\"s a note she wrote in case I knock her out: ED! Erm...sorry for the late update. I\"ve had slight writer\"s block that\"s been affecting the updating of a lot of my stories. The updates might get slower; it\"s been more than a month since I\"ve last updated. Please forgive me D: Go on my profile! At the bottom, there\"s a DeviantArt link. Click it!! It\"ll bring you straight to my deviation! Yes, I have a DA account now. I made a CrowFeather fanart on Paint. I wrote a fanfic thingy to go with it in the Artist\"s Comments. I\"m sorry, I barely had time to write it; I only had a few minutes. Three minutes, I think. I noticed that a lot of members of fanfic are part of DA. I found some...including some of you out there -Looks at computer screen suspiciously- shadilverluvr Like, HOW do they not make any sense!? I\"m sorry, but I lose my temper easily and, really, you should EXPLAIN how the oneshots make no sense. -Hope- In the Name of Love Yeah, she did spazz out. I was thinking dramatic and everything. Plus, there\"s the fact that Silverstream was young. I can\"t believe that she\"d be creepily calm about this. Darren\"s Wings Yeah, I know how to reply, but I prefer to do it this way. Unless you would prefer that I do it the way people usually do on FF. That\"s fine. Yeah, I\"ve read Flamestar Speaks: Flamestar\"s Forgotten Tale when I read your review. It really is great! :D I love the plot SO much, like OMG! It\"s so suspenseful and I don\"t mind if cats get too Mary Sue-ish! It\"s actually really perfect! Well, about the Da Vinci Code... This is rather unfortunate, but it does say some things disrespectful to Christianity. Yeah, you would have to read the book. Sorry :( On a brighter note, thanks for the constructive criticism and everything; I was really happy. In fact, I was practically jumping up and down in joy :) Feathertail I\"m dead. I\"ve been dead for a while now. It\"s been a couple of moons, I believe. You lose all sense of time up here, in this place. I\"ve gotten confused. It\"s nice up here with StarClan. It\"s certainly good that I know my mother now. She\"s wonderful. I feel safe and free, a kind of bubbling warmth in my being-but my problems aren\"t over. I\"ve seen Crowfeather, still alive, living as a WindClan warrior. I\"m proud of him-proud that he\"s such a good warrior...but... It\"s just that...he\"s with Nightcloud. It\"s just that-I know Crowfeather doesn\"t truly love her. He tries to, but he mated with her in the first place to prove his loyalty to WindClan. I feel for him, but whenever I look at Nightcloud, I have an urge to yowl in her face. A heat boils up within my being; the heat of anger wells up and struggles to escape me. I\"ve never let anyone know how I feel-not even Silverstream. Nightcloud...she loves Crowfeather, but she\"s selfish, arrogant and incredibly possessive of her mate and kit. She treats Leafpool unkindly, trying to tell her that Crowfeather\"s hers. Can\"t she understand how she feels? How much pain Leafpool had, and is, going through? Cold guilt fills in my chest to hate Nightcloud, but I can\"t bear her at times. Does she not know how lucky she is-she is Crowfeather\"s only mate who is allowed to stay with him. I am dead; Leafpool is bound by loyalty. Loyalty to her Clan, the warrior code, loyalty and guilt for Cinderpelt. Oh, Crowfeather-so confused, hurt, filled with pain. The pain is with me as well. I don\"t regret trying to save his life with mine, but I wonder if it was worth it. Would it have been better if we had died together? This thought horrifies me. But, if Crowfeather had died as well as I, he wouldn\"t have to experience the pain coursing throughout his body-would he? I\"ll never know. Yet, I still so want to bring him up with me... Is that selfish? Crowfeather... This pain of watching him going through what is going through now-him hurting, while I\"m up here, hunting with StarClan, not able to do anything about it. His heart has broken, and it cannot be mended. I wish I could fix that. I need to fix that. I cannot sit by, knowing that he\"s dying within himself. But, it\"s too late to help now. I\"ve lost him...in more ways than one. PT: So...short, but my head\"s going through extreme writers\" block now. I mean, seriously! I\"ve gone off my usual updating schedule on my other Warriors fic and I\"ve been going through tons of drafts for the next update of my FMA fic. That\"s not to mention my CDF fic, my...well, you get the point. I\"ve noticed that I\"ve been bashing Nightcloud and ShadowClan too hard. Mark me, I don\"t like them, but ShadowClan\"s just too arrogant and Nightcloud is.... Well, I just read Cats of The Clans and I feel the same way as Rock feels about her. Except, there\"s the fact that I think she really does love Crowfeather, but hurts that he doesn\"t love her back. ShadowClan\"s amazingly proud; I still haven\"t forgotten that they just watched and jeered while Berrypaw was still a helpless kit caught in a fox-trap. I\"m still amazingly mad about it. If I don\"t update real soon, you\"ll have to wait a while. Summer just started for me here in New York; today was the last day of school. My aunt just called today. I\"m going back to Canada this summer. It\"s not Toronto for once. So, yeah, I won\"t be back for a while. I\"m going to update my other fics and tell readers that I\"m going to be off for a while, unless there\"s a change of plans. You never know with my family. Well, see ya. P.S. I GRADUATED DESPITE MY BAD MATH GRADES!! I\"M GOING TO EIGHTH GRADE! W00T!! I\"m pretty sure you don\"t care, but I\"m just so happy! :D Sandstorm: Damn, you\"re awake again. -Squirrelflight knocks PT over the head with a dead frog- -PT passes out- HeatherLion llll...GoldenTiger l...NightCrow lllll...CinderJay ll JayPoppy llll...CinderLittle lllllll...FireSpotted lllll...FernDust llllllll FireSand llllll...StormBrook llllll...BlueOak ll...YellowRunning l AppleBirch l...LeopardTall lllll...GrayMillie l... HollyBreeze SquirrelBramble lllllll...SquirrelAsh...TigerSasha ll...WhiteWillow SorrelBracken lllll...StormSquirrel lllll...LeopardHawk ll...DaisySmoky CloudDaisy lll...CloudBright llllll...AshNight lll...MinnowMouse BlueBarley ll...FuzzViolet...MouseRunning lllll...ShrewWhite llll...BirchWhite llll HawkPick a cat! Any cat! llllllll...LeopardBlack lll', 'And he did. Slowly, hesitantly...but coming from Gilbert Beilschmidt, it was achieving the impossible-it was landing on the moon to touch and scrape the unmoving dust. He placed his hands on the thick bed for leverage, leaning forward as she did, and they kissed like they really meant it. Unsurprisingly, they did. Blood. Pulling away, they both held their respective stances. \"I did,\" he said. \"Now talk.\" Elizaveta stared again, though it was thoughtful, ready to comply; no pride, mere coolness; pensive. Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was staring with that look of acceptance and yet still life; that look like the one quietly watching his partner leave without wanting to hold them back. His right cheek was aflame, and there were silent shadows of gray beneath his eyes, which were rubies of hell. Perhaps there was stubble around that jaw so used to clenching, but that could not be for sure-he was young and yet so old, and had never been able to grow a beard for the life of him. \"All right,\" she said, and she talked. \"...Made to his mistress\"s eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard...\" - Shakespeare PT: Ohoho~ I wonder if that means I\"ll be speaking Japanese with a Kansai accent~~ ...sans the \"han.\" - In the case of writing style...well, I\"ve been told by Cheri-chan of a different fandom that my writing style reminds her of Edna St. Vincent Millay; my English teacher at school has commented upon observation that my writing style reminds him of JD Salinger. I\"ve read neither person\"s works (I\"ve been trying to get Catcher in The Rye, though...) and would like some opinion upon my style...because I think I\"ve been trying to follow Victor Hugo and Harriet Beeche Stowe\"s styles for a while now. - While plastic technically did exist years before the World Wars, I still prefer to use tin; and the imagery I imagine would appear in reading would perhaps be more appropriate. - Beards. Kuskuskus~~~ Oh God, I should stop thinking of so many inside jokes xD Ahem, well, beards. ...Well, young as the nations are...the men -should- naturally have facial hair...-backhands France- I mean, physically young...they probably all shave it or something, but I took this opportunity to sort of play around with Prussia\"s age. ...And I like Yao\"s girl-appearance. - Tomorrow is the beginning of March. Near the end of March, I\"ll be off to the Mediterranean-Italy and Greece. Yeah, spring break, from my school. If I survive the terrorists at the airport (because I\"m not a punctual person...), survive the planes (because I\"m damned paranoid about them), and survive Italy, I\"m good. I\"ll be updating at least once before I leave. - Have you noticed the new change they\"ve made here on FF? D: The poor quotation marks...damn it ;_; Why the quotation marks? \"...Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation...\" - Shakespeare Elizaveta felt the abrupt snap of cold over her wrists and did not wince. This was her reward for speaking. \"Standard procedure,\" Gilbert said, almost apologetically (but that would not be Gilbert then, would it...?). \"der Führer\"s\"-he made a face-\"orders. He\"s Gott-damned furious.\" Elizaveta merely shrugged; she was going to jail, and though she detested oppression, she accepted it. She had mild support, and the act was complete; her people were at least all right-aside from those in the camps, to her disgust-and there was not much to do. She wasn\"t helpless-she was merely there. And afterthought was added when she said, calmly, \"So der Führer\"s going to see me?\"-and her own mockery surprised her; she felt no emotion to be noted; it must have hidden itself in the ashes. Like Gilbert, she was wiping clean the stone tablet and crowding the words in moss. She thought the Prussian smiled, bitterly or wickedly, but could not see. He was behind her. There was an awful feel to the knowledge that one\"s hands were cuffed behind their back; Elizaveta felt it not, for it would soon be over. She was not to be humiliated. At least Gilbert had been gracious when she asked for time to clothe herself; it only took a period of time for her to let consciousness of exposure drag itself back into her mind, for she had come across a lack of shame. The Prussian was such a femme fatale in reverse and hell-those red eyes suited him. The green uniform that had been so painstakingly snatched and zipped from Hungary overnight was his doing-a miraculous feat, and for something so trivial; the soldiers ordered to do so deserved merit and more. Green felt good for wear. If only there was a rifle. She had slipped the crumpled paper from the pocket of her jacket to her military outfit\"s pockets. The artificial yellow of her hair had been washed while changing-it was strange but familiar, to see her hanging locks of brown. She was no longer an Aryan-no longer a fake. No longer an actress, nor Elisabeth Wertheim. Elizaveta and Gilbert walked again with admirable cadence, bearing and posture woven to look alike; people stared, murmured to one another; this was expected, and phenomenal. There was shock and outrage, and once Veneziano could be heard crying in the distance. And still Elizaveta remained cold, proud; unhindered, but postponing care for the boy she mothered. The stares drew her poor contempt, for she had known these people. It did not hurt ut it was not to be ignored either. The halls and atrium echoed as a void. And ah, der Führer himself. Standing with the ridiculous mustache and parted dark hair-oh, Aryan, of course, Elizaveta taunted as his gaze met hers; green on brown, not blue. Frosty hate chilled her veins as the Hungarian walked and neared. There was fury in those eyes, and perhaps madness...then again, what was madness? Egotistical, ran through Elizaveta\"s mind. Hypocrite... Der Führer raised his hand; Gilbert paused to reply, intoning, \"Heil Hitler.\" That echoed throughout the room in the voices of many before Gilbert nudged her slightly; off they went. That was that-the first and last meeting between Hungary and Adolf Hitler. The next time would be when she was there to look at the body, look, once. Those eyes could not meet hers then. The cells were cold, stony, gray, and that was expected. The footsteps were pitched patters like rain. When the door was open, Elizaveta glanced around-tiny windows to the booth-like cells were empty, not filled with curious faces. Abruptly she met the gaze of her Prussian companion, elevating to her toes to kiss him on unmoving lips, with a crooked whisper of \"auf wiedersehen.\" Frowning at the lack of reaction she tried again, sans words; not desperate, but unsure. He replied this time midway, kissing back with lips like death, sans blue. \"Ja,\" he said quietly, so unlike him; and yet still... He undid the metal cuffs and Elizaveta felt the rush thickly back to her hands, filling her fingertips. They stood awkwardly for a while, before she reached out and clasped one of the white hands firmly; her nails scraped lightly over the rough palm and scarred back, feeling the throbbing blue veins pressed against skin. Unlike Roderich\"s soft hands, made for but the piano. Cottony, cottony hands. Elizaveta held it for a while in silence, remembering the tiny hands that she should have held at least once in faraway childhood. They were adults now, and that label seemed almost far-fetched. A few months were a long time, if they could lead her to savor the warmth of a rival hand, one she would have wanted wet and hot with running blood-not the very much dry bit of heat for her to lean into. Was this Lady Fate joining with Madam Irony?-and Father Time? Suddenly Elizaveta realized that she didn\"t want to let go, but she did anyway; she let it drop. Focusing on her nemesis\"s calm face, she backed into the prison. There was but a hard bed that was more of a table, but she did not mind. Roderich had no luxury-save disconnected notes-nor did Gilbert-save the new era-so she could fare, with a burden, repenting like one old and dressed in sack. For a split second, in the light painted gray, Gilbert\"s feature\"s shifted for a formation of wistfulness-then vanished as they both nodded-soldiers, comrades, enemies, and lovers, agreeing. \"See you after the war.\" \"Ja.\" A pause-then the door was closed, slammed in its weight. Enclosed in gray solitude, Elizaveta stared at the window of light. Closing her eyes to shut out the physical tunnel vision, listening to the Prussian\"s unbreakable steps, she looked to the future, for insanity or else the end. One week. Or was it two? No matter; she needed to find something else to check her sanity, lest it fly out and latch itself to the walls; then she wouldn\"t have it, and never get it back. To think she\"d lost it-perhaps this was a process beginning in short bursts. Confinement is a dull subject to chronicle-it only informs, and unless there are assassination attempts involved in the story, it should be but recorded in brief-or else, the excitement should be rushed to at once. And how it happened on a day when, mouth dry, Elizaveta remembered that she was a country-how ridiculous that she should. She was the very embodiment of her people-she knew that, but these little bursts of epiphany came rarely-she was a country, the representation of a land and a people. Only then did she realize it-through the responsibility, the struggles and fire and flame-that she had missed out...on something. She was sure that she hadn\"t, but perhaps she had...perhaps, a friend instead of a lover. Roderich was a friend, but he lacked... Still, she loved him beyond most people and things in the world. Throughout the hardships, while Gilbert had laughed and taunted her, going on to stand alone-alone-he had spared kindness, despite the times she had beaten him in childhood, so that he could barely even move. And what did she have in the end? She realized then and there-that Gilbert, for all his struggles to become a nation, had only one candy bar; he had only just that, because something was clinging onto him, or else the entire store...he was at his last throes for life. Perhaps it was fate or horrible history; but he was but a state now. The great militaristic Prussia of freethought, once an empire-über alles...now a pitiful free state knuckling under the Third Reich. And still he fought. He had nothing but the crumbs of chocolate lying on the ground now, snatched by the birds. That troubled him not-he could shoot them out of the sky. Only he was onto his last rock. Tracing idle circles into the hem of her beret, she moved onto fiddling with them, waiting for the next meal...food came twice every day, and she wasn\"t in the least bit hungry when it did; but it was something to focus on. She had wondered, sometimes, on the concept of confinement aside from humiliation and harsh treatment-now she knew for sure that the boredom was part of it, and more than significant. At least Turkey\"s home was not so. She spat at the thought, but immediately regretted it; the film of dust and dirt over the floor and walls was filthy enough. And she thought she felt sick-there was fever ailing at her skin. Fatigue troubled her not, but the discomfort helped less; she had picked at the cut on her side, even, just to feel something other than burning numbness-which was ironic, as it was numbness. She coughed again; Isten, was her trail of thought, these conditions are probably worse than they look. Oh, she was fussing about in the case of hygiene-but it was practical. Gilbert and Roderich both would approve. Joy. And she had soon learned that there were no other prisoners-probably executed, she thought darkly. She did not waste her time wondering whether she was to follow them or not. A slot opened, revealing a thick trickle of light-oh, finally, she thought, disgusted-she could\"ve killed for some water, what with the sandy hollow that was her throat. The tray slid in, and then the light was gone; at least it had sealed away something to help her. She noted the poor quality as she reached for it, glancing at the subjects-something that resembled mashed potatoes (she would rather not know), a cup of stale water. Good enough. The water washed down her throat, half of it then gone with the one gulp. Elizaveta didn\"t wince at the sourness of the liquid. How long am I to stay here, she thought, disgusted still. Isten, this war can\"t go on forever. She choked a bit from her position in sitting on the table of a bed-this didn\"t feel right. It never did, really, but she somehow felt worse than before; her throat was swiftly drying already. Arsenic poisoning? she thought dryly, but not seriously; then she realized that she had hit the nail spot-on. The explosion at her apartment... The White Rose was practically dead, if not nonviolent... She was a nation... With a horror-filled look at the tray, she shoved it away with amazing strength; it crashed against the solid wall, its contents spilling over the corners. She couldn\"t stay here. Not with people after her life, not with her wavering health. Fiddling with her beret she began choking, practically feeling her innards disintegrating. She was practically spewing sandy fire. This was how the nation Hungary was to end! This was how the woman Elizaveta was to end! This was how the actor Elisabeth was to end! Dust clogged her throat; she thought of only Roderich, and of Gilbert. Others ran through her mind-Italy, dear Veneziano...Holy Roman Empire, who was someplace else now...Turkey, to her flaming fury...Ludwig, the soldier...and Magyar, who was gone and still strong... So this...this was how dying felt like. This was the blanket of dark was to come, and she leaned against the filthy wall, breathing hard; the wheezing scorched her throat. Then-salvation. A door opening, blinding light finally rushing in, squeezing in to illuminate the pathetic, miserable grayness. She couldn\"t see-she thought it was heaven, for her thoughts were steeping into foolishness; the arsenic and decided to kick her, right when she had uncovered its presence. Swearing at Lady Fate and Madam Irony, Elizaveta felt her will to scream die in her papery throat. She couldn\"t die...not yet. She was a nation, and she was going to see this Isten-forsaken war to the end, come what may, and hell to pay. Even if the hounds themselves snapped at her heels as she outran them. And then-an angel. She swore at it too, told it to get away, she didn\"t want to die yet. Her fiery will was returning, and she had not even noticed its absence. \"Get away,\" she growled at the angel. \"I\"m not dying yet.\" \"You won\"t!\" growled back the angel, whose voice was that of a demon. But Elizaveta was not to be fooled; she knew what deception was, after all. \"I can\"t die yet,\" she snarled, rabid. Choking on her fevered breath, she ranted on. \"Get back, take me when I deem it fit enough! I\"m a nation, I have people! I can\"t die just because I was stupid enough to consume toxic!\" She flailed at him, with a fist that was nearly as good as her pan. She wanted it to leave. She wanted it gone! \"What the hell!\" the angel-demon snapped, and grabbed at her wrist; Elizaveta jerked it back, choosing instead to aim a kick at the presence. \"You\"re not here to die!\" he continued hurriedly as he side-stepped the sure-to-be-fatal kick. \"I\"m here to get you out, Gottverdammt!\" Then it hit her. \"Gilbert?\" She held back her fist, just in case, ignoring the insistent tugs of the unconscious. \"Ja.\" He panted, stepping forward, out of the blinding light. Oh. Dropping the fist, letting go of her energy, she looked at him, studying the face for any changes-it was screwed up with a clear message-\"What?\"-and the stubble was more pronounced, unless it was Elizaveta\"s own prickling delusions; his eyes gleamed still like rubies, but the shadows were clearer. She almost felt sorry for trying to hurt him-almost. She needed to explain, there and then: \"Someone\"s been putting poison in the food...\" She gestured at the mess in the corner, not adding the \"I think.\" It was hard to remember that it was only speculation. Then, abruptly, and not quite out of left field-she felt the suppression of exhaustion press against her, full-force; she did not quite lose her consciousness, yet, but it was nearly there- It attacked again, like a hound. \"Damn it,\" she hissed at the pain; she gripped at something of a stitch in her side, regretting that she had been so bored as to pick at it; it only added to her agony. \"Damn it...,\" she growled again-then there was white. Her fingers slackened and there was the snowy white. Not black, but white. She wasn\"t quite unconscious-just tired. Gilbert supported her, mumbling beneath his breath about what a burden she was-her own reaction was but quiet pensiveness-did she want to punch him or smile? She was sure by now that he was sinking back to what he was before the war. And beyond; it was what was beneath-Elizaveta was not superficial. Her feet dragged slightly, but her small attempts at a fine gait helped at the slightest; at least she could walk. And the wound in her side was once again dormant; it was not to bother her in some time, though it stained the green fabric of her clothing. Beyond that, she was stunned that the Prussian had come back for her-he had said himself, \"after the war,\" if she could trust him at all. Perhaps there was something of importance-maybe her people needed her. Maybe they were bombed; maybe it was not arsenic that was trying to sap her strength, maybe it was an attack. But they were escaping. Of that she was sure. \"Where\"re going?\" she almost slurred. A pause, and a glance...\"Back home. To Hungary. Your people need you.\" Ah. So she was correct. Home. She had never been one to truly appreciate it-home, to her, was something else-someplace where she was with her people, free from oppression, or somewhere listening to music with Austria. She did not feel homesick, but she almost did-nearly, almost; months away from her land, playing a game with the enemy while Europe collapsed through and through. Keeping back a groggy tone, she plowed on-almost tripped-\"Have I been attacked?\" She could have been anxious; and her heart did skip a tiny beat. She wanted the answer to be no, and yet still yes: no would mean safety, yes would mean assassination. Gilbert was silent for a moment; uncharacteristically; he was hiding something beneath the tin. \"Nein...,\" he then murmured; his tone was hesitant. And why...? Elizaveta, her arm already slung lightly around the back of his neck, reached her hand; flexed her fingers. It was beneath his shoulder, and each and every one of the little digits curled around his uniform once she had pulled her arm up with slight effort. The khaki had been cooled by the chilly night air, and the only source of warmth was his bare skin. The pads of her hand skimmed over the shoulder ranks-signaling Hauptscharführer-before they settled. This was not romantic; this was practical, and natural. \"What?\" she muttered; she wanted to know; needed to. What had happened? She waited, impatiently, for news of her land. Her heart skipped another beat. He still did not speak, even as the pressure of Elizaveta\"s hand pressed the bottoms of his ranks against the thin shirt beneath, pricking his skin. She had strength even when uncalled for; that was to be noted. Lifting a hand to pry it away, and without breaking his pace (they were soon entering a staircase), he said reluctantly, \"The commies are headed toward us.\" Elizaveta stared at him; she had heard right, did she not? Ignoring the way he was opening her clenched fingers, she asked, \"How...\" \"Strategic.\" It was then that she noticed the darkening of those ruby eyes-clearly, there had been some serious side of him that was rarely seen, and entirely doubtless of sanity. Or else it was a mere spawn of this newness to the tin. Dropping her voice without realizing it, she asked, \"...How bad would it be...?\" Now his fingers tightened-around her fingers still, they seemed to freeze still; worry. The tension weighed heavily in the chilly air. He spoke at the same level she had: \"It\"s Russia. You should know.\" Instead of answering, Elizaveta chose to let her head tilt back to take in the sky-they had climbed out of the stairs without realizing it, and the burst of cold air-real air, not stale and cramped-was insistent in reminding them. There were stars above; not scant, but the myriad was generous to the black velvet tonight. Suddenly Gilbert tensed; she felt it, for he stopped immediately, and his hand tightened. Immediately his right hand reached for his belt; the clear air was cold as fire, crackling with alarm. One of them spoke, as Elizaveta, clearing her throat, dropped her head back to look around and at him-\"What-\" Whipping his pistol from his side, Gilbert immediately shot at the right with the focus in his eyes flaming, as if this were a swordfight. Elizaveta immediately wished for one herself as she heard the cracking bullet fell a soldier-one man was revealed in death, as he clutched at the gaping black hole in his chest: A perfect shot.', '\"Let\"s go,\" Raimondo said and then started in the direction of the prison. The rest of the monks shrugged and followed him. They haven\"t gone more than 5 yards when, out of nowhere, a stand just appeared. The monks screamed, then stared at the sight before them. The stand was all yellow, with a giant sombrero on the top. The sombrero was yellow as well, with zigzags, green and red, around the spot sombreros usually have zigzags. On the front of the stand, a giant steaming taco bore the sign, a giant, neon red sign: FREE TACOS Omi yelped in delight. \"There really are tacos here!\" he squealed. The taco guy in the stand stared. Not really becoming of a Shoku warrior. Omi rushed up. He didn\"t have any breakfast today, being woken up by Dojo at 4:54A.M. for the new Wu. The monks followed him silently, too stunned to speak. \"Two tacos please!\" Omi said excitedly. He squinted at the menu next to the taco guy. \"Chicken tacos! Parrot style!\" Omi beamed. Omi happily chomped on his taco as his friends stared at him. Dojo exploded from his spot on Clay\"s hat. \"SHEN GONG WU!!!!!!!\" There was another shriek from our favorite cheeseball. He lifted his head. There, clamped between his teeth was a blackish silver shurikan, its four sharp points gleaming. \"The shurikan star!\" Raimondo yelled, plucking the star from Omi\"s mouth. Kimiko made a face. \"Yes!\" Dojo yelled, obviously relieved that measles won\"t start randomly coming out of his scales. \"Let us suck this taco stand!\" Omi yelled triumphantly. (Crickets chirping) \"Uhh...yeah...right...\" Kimiko muttered. \"LET\"S BLOW THIS TACO STAND!\" Raimondo yelled, ignoring Omi\"s scream of \"That too!\" Raimondo took the Yin-Yang Yoyo from his pocket. \"Yin-Yang Yoyo!\" As the newly made Shoku warriors left the inky kanji world, the prisoners were sure they\"d be bored again. No one thought they\"d returned again, that the unthinkable would happen as evil started to grow inside one of the monk\"s hearts. TO Be Continued... PT: Right, a cliffhanger at last! Hope you like the next chapter, when there will be more action! Including SHOKU POWER! Yay! Please comment! PT: Chapter 3 is up! I have a slight writer\"s block so some suggestions would be welcome. Plus, owing to the fact that I may be one of the youngest writers on fanfic net (I\"m not sure. I\"m 13; really), I have a State Test next week, so updates will have to wait awhile. There\"s going to be a fight scene in here, but I\"m bad at those, so please don\"t kill me! I\"m sorry! Anyways, enjoy! It was like any other day. Master Fung hadn\"t called the monks in for training yet and the monks had finished their chores. So the warriors were sitting around. Kimiko was playing Mindcreeper and Clay was wrestling a pig. Omi and Raimondo were pretending to play Steal the Wu. Dojo lounged lazily in the sun, feasting on barbecue and hot sauce. What could break this peaceful moment of idling? You\"ll see... Master Fung stepped into grounds, where the monks were hanging out, followed by a 12-year-old girl. \"Young monks,\" he called out, catching the monks\" attention at once, \"We have a new warrior among us.\" The monks immediately gave the girl rapt attention. She was unusually tall with black hair in a ponytail that streamed down her back. She had hard, black eyes and something about her face that said \"Don\"t mess with me\". Her frame was wide hips, a muscular back and broad shoulders. In short, she scared Dojo. Well, he got scared easily anyway, so whatever. When she spoke, she had an unusually quiet voice. \"Hey.\" She was American. \"Ooohhhhhhhhhh. Did mine ears play games with me? A new warrior?!\" Omi gasped. \"It\"s true,\" the girl said, \"I hail from Flushing and I\"ve been training myself in street-fighting and climbing since I started to jump too much. I went learning Kung Fu and Jujitsu when I was ten. Master Fung invited me here telling me that I\"m supposed to become a Shoku warrior with four other warriors and use the element of thunder. My name\"s Drew Werd. You\"re the monks aren\"t you?\" \"Yeah,\" Raimondo stated \"By the way, are you really good enough to be a Shoku warrior so soon?\" Drew glanced at Master Fung uncertainly. Master Fung gave a small nod. \"SHOKU WOLF, THUNDER!\" Drew yelled as she jumped in the air. Blue lightning crackled and swirled in the air and landed in her palms. Her shadow became blue as well and crept all over her. In short, Drew looked like a lightning spirit. Drew looked at some boulders and trees nearby. Focusing, she made a dive for them and swiped. There was a slight flash as the boulders were reduced to a heap of dark ash. Drew landed neatly in front of the monks and looked at Raimondo. \"O.o\" (Crickets chirping) 5 minutes later... \"We\"ve got a new Shen Gong Wu!!!!!!!!!\" Dojo yelled as he slithered into the Wu chamber, where Master Fung was presenting Drew\"s signature Wu, the Eye of Dashi, to her. \"What\"s the Wu?\" Kimiko asked as she fingered the Star of Hanabi lovingly. The monks rushed off to the grounds as Master Fung bid them farewell. Dojo grew to his 40-foot form and the monks jumped on. Drew lodged herself between Kimiko and Omi. Kimiko took her comb out and Dojo started flying. \"Well,\" Dojo began, taking the Wu scroll from his pocket, \"It says here that the River Kunai is supposed to be able to travel long distances as a throwing knife. It can also be used to cling onto when you\"re underwater. It\"ll go forward in any direction you want and you\"ll be able to breathe as long as you hold onto it or someone or something that\"s already holding it.\" \"Pretty cool.\" Raimondo said in awe. \"Oooooohhhhh. It will be moooooooost useful and fun to travel without having to swim!\" Omi squealed. \"So where is it?\" Clay asked as he straightened his hat. \"Tokyo, in the country.\" Dojo answered breezily. \"Home sweet ho-\" Kimiko broke off as she stared at one of the birds flying alongside them. She suddenly felt uneasy. \"Huh?\" Omi and Drew looked at her. \"Eeeerrrrrrr......\" Kimko started to sweat. \"Evil boy genius! Prince of darkness! At your service!\" a voice bragged as a freaky Goth kid came by. He was surrounded by his robots. He was flying alongside Dojo by means of a couple of propellers. \"Jack Spicer! Prepare for a mooooost humiliating defeat!\" Omi yelled. It would be easier to get rid of him right now than have a showdown with him for the Wu later. The monks jumped up, prepared for battle. Kimiko was actually glad to see him. \"JACKBOTS! ATTACK!\" Jack gave the usual command. \"Warriors! Get in formation!\" Omi yelled. \"SHOKU DRAGON FORMATION!!!\" the monks yelled. The monks immediately had their shadows creep up upon them like armor. Jack Spicer\"s jaw dropped. \"HUH!??!?!?!?!\" \"SHOKU WHALE, WATER!\" \"SHOKU LION, FIRE!\" \"SHOKU WOLF, THUNDER!\" \"SHOKU BUZZARD, WIND!\" \"SHOKU BULL, EARTH!\" Omi\"s hands were already swirling with fierce water as he summoned a tsunami out of nowhere. He went for some robots and Jack. Kimiko\"s arms weren\"t even visible under all the swirling flames. She charged, throwing fireballs and blowing fire out of her mouth. Drew was using lightning in her palms again, swiping them like swords. Raimondo brought up a hurricane and charged, blowing wind out of his mouth. Clay used his hands to bring up boulders from the ground so far below. His arms turned to massive stone limbs as he smashed a robot. \"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!\" Spicer was already screaming as Omi pummeled him with water. His propellers broke. Kimiko was just swiping for him when he brought up an extra pair. \"DAMN YOU! MY AUNTIE GAVE ME THOSE FOR VALENTINE\"S DAY!!\" Drew stopped swiping at a crowd of bots to look down at the fleeing freak in surprise. There were people wimpy as that? \"Never mind that Drew!\" Clay yelled, smashing the bots with some boulders. \"I agree!\" Raimondo yelled as he blew the last of the bots away. \"Other evil might want the Shen Gong Wu!\" Kimiko punched the last of the bots as she thought of Hannibal Roy Bean. As the monks scrambled back on Dojo, Kimiko looked over her shoulder again. In the midst of the others chatting over their victory, she couldn\"t help but think that they were being watched... \"The monks have grown well.\" Chase Young commented in his lair. He was watching the monks through a crystal ball. Wuya was, thankfully, in his 5-star bathroom. He didn\"t want her to see this. She was annoying enough as it is. He turned, a slight, familiar smirk crossing his face. It is time...for the seeds of evil grip to the chosen monk...for prophecy to take hold... PT: Alright! Please review! I\"ve got to go now; my dog\"s hopping mad for the bathroom. Is Chase Young behind the evil going on in a monk\"s head? Mmmmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyybbbbbbbbbbbbbbeeeeeeee... Again, sorry the stupid fight scene. I\"m bad those. Again, suggestions are welcome! PT: Chappy 4! Yay! Anyway, to Aria Pedrosa, I\"d like to say that I\"m 12 too, in 7th grade. I\"m technically 13, according to my nationality. I guess I don\"t have to worry that much though. My birthday is coming up in August. It brings a lot of stuff. In 2009, I\"ll have to move to a different town. It\"s close to the town I live in now, but I\"m still sad! I\"ve lived in this town for my whole life! I feel jealous of people who have lived in the towns they loved their whole lives and never even plan to move away. I\"ll lose my braces too. The freedom is something I itch for. I\"d like to thank everyone for reviews! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! \"There it is!\" Raimundo called out, gesturing at field. Dojo had finally taken the monks to the country to Tokyo. He had taken them to a field of cherry blossom trees, or a haruno of sakura, as Kimiko called it. Raimundo gestured again as the other monks whipped their heads around. \"Huh?\" Omi, our cuddly cheeseball, was clearly confused. (Crickets chirping) \"You sure you spotted our Wart?\" Omi and Kimiko turned to look at Clay, who had his mouth open. \"Clay,\" Raimundo said, not turning around, \"You sound like your sister.\" \"That wasn\"t me!\" Clay sputtered, his blond hair lifting so you could see both of his eyes. \"Then who-\" \"It was us!\" a shrill, happy voice cried out. The voice was familiar, veeeeeerrrrrrrrrry familiar... \"Jessie! Megan!\" Omi exclaimed, wide eyed as he gawked at the girls. \"Yo!\" Raimundo waved as he finally turned around, obviously pleased at the sight of the two girls. Drew raised an eyebrow. \"Old friends?\" she inquired of Dojo. \"Yup.\" Dojo replied. \"Well, who\"s this?\" Jessie asked cheerfully, gesturing towards Drew. \"That\"s Drew, for thunder.\" Clay passed out the info breezily, obviously pleased to see his sister without having to tie each other up and attempt to toss each other of a bridge. \"New warrior, huh?\" Jessie asked, looking Drew up and down. \"Uh.\" Drew was obviously freaked out. \"Hi!\" Megan said cheerfully, waving, \"I met this girl with a Shen Gong Wu while I was on vacation here! We both talked a little when I pointed the Wu out and she brought me here, saying she had a tracking device for activated Shen Gong Wu that she stole from my stupid cousin, Jack! So we both figured you knew both of us so I went with Jessie!\" Jessie and Megan were both on Jessie\"s motorcycle, with the Wings of Tanabi attached to the back. \"Hello! Wu anybody?\" a voice called out. \"Huh?\" The monks, Dojo, Jessie and Megan spun around. There, in the sunlight, was a tall, barefoot witch with long, red hair and creepy eye-makeup.Omi was already screaming. \"WUYARETURNTHESHENGONGWUORSUFFERAMOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSTHUMILIATINGDEFEAT!\" (Crickets chirping) \"Ooookaaaaaaaayyyy...\" Kimiko muttered. There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone followed Omi\"s gaze to the object in Wuya\"s hand. It was a silvery-blue kunai knife. \"Oh no you ain\"t!\" Jessie yelled as she tossed her lasso. The loop immediately closed around the kunai. Unfortunately, Clay had let his own trusty lasso out as well. His loop bumped off of Jessie\"s on contact and instead of getting the kunai, he got...Wuya\"s wrist. Wuya grinned evilly and quickly took control of the situation. She gave a flick of her wrists...and sent the blond siblings tumbling toward a large boulder on the ground, to their deaths. \"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!\" Jessie found herself being jerked out of the motorcycle as the end of the lasso in her hand slipped out of her grasp. She fell, screaming and feeling fluttery in the stomach. Clay screamed even louder as he was pulled off Dojo. He clutched his lasso...finding it to be cut in the middle. The air pressure was too much... \"NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!\" Kimiko screamed as she launched herself off Dojo, heading for her friends. \"Shoku lion, fire!\" As she summoned fire, she felt something grabbing her wrist. \"No!\" The fire died down as Wuya tightened her grasp on Kimiko\"s wrist. Raimundo was already in the air, eyes trained on the Japanese warrior... ...As Wuya grabbed him too. \"Well, I\"ve done a nice job today.\" Wuya commented sickeningly, as Omi screamed and went after Clay, Megan right behind him, eyes on Jessie. Drew went for Wuya, eyes determined. Wuya grinned as she tightened her grasp on the struggling Raimundo and Kimiko. \"A Shen Gong Wu...\" Omi and Megan caught the Texan siblings right before they hit the boulder... \"...and two hostages...\" With that, she disappeared just as Drew released a punch...into thin air. \"No!\" Omi screamed. Clay had seen the whole thing. As soon as he got back on Dojo, he took the Fist of Tebigong from his pocket and punched himself. Jessie and Megan just sniffed as Jessie settled down in her motorcycle. Dojo started sobbing...no...bawling. As for Drew, the kid just tipped back her head and howled... All around the world, people suddenly felt jabs in their hearts for no reason at all. Soon, there wasn\"t a dry eye in the heavens or hell. PT: Hope this fight scene was okay. Thanks for all the reviews! I\"ve got a new stream of ideas coming so...yeah... Anyway, no problem. I won\"t make Drew a Mary Sue. Never intended to but I could have made her one accidentally.) Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing! PT: Hi everybody! ;) I hope you like this chapter! I am hoping to be able to start a pairing in this chapter. You may already know what the pairing is...or not... Anyways, enjoy and please review! Kimiko crawled over to Raimundo. Wuya had taken them to a giant birdcage about as tall as Jack Spicer\"s house, with a diameter of 10 feet. She had left them with their hands tied behind their backs before she left, sniggering. Kimiko and Raimundo could see outside the cage, but there wasn\"t much to see. They were in a grassy field. All they could see was grass, in every direction. Kimiko doubted that they could get away easily. Wuya would definitely be watching and in this field, it won\"t be hard to catch the monks. The only thing they could do was untie themselves. Kimiko nudged Raimundo. \"Wake up!\" she whispered fiercely. She wasn\"t going to sound desperate in front of him. It might give away how worried she was about him. The Brazilian teen opened his eyes. They stared at Kimiko a moment before closing them again. \"Don\"t.\" he moaned wearily. \"Raimundo!\" Raimundo\"s eyes snapped open. His olive green eyes stared at the Japanese warrior. Huh. Now that I think of it, I never really told her how nice her eyes are. I\"ve never seen a more brilliant blue color. \"Raimundo!\" Kimiko snapped, \"Stay awake and help me think of how to escape!\" She\"s cute when she\"s angry. \"How do we get out of here?\" Raimundo asked, deciding to go along. It\"s not like he could go to sleep again. Kimiko would keep prodding him and even resort to beating him up if he won\"t heed her. Raimundo cringed at the thought. Well, if she does, we\"ll be touching each other at the very least. He shook his head. Huh? He had really just thought that? He was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn\"t notice when Kimiko slapped him. \"Earth to Raimudo!\" \"Whuh?\" Kimiko glared at the Xiaolin leader. \"You are our leader! We need to escape to help the others! Who knows what\"ll happen to the other monks if we aren\"t there? Master Fung always taught us about teamwork!\" Raimundo nodded, a numb feeling in his chest. \"Right.\" Teamwork. It seemed to Raimundo that that was what stood in the way of having a relationship with Kimiko. He always cared for his friends. It felt wrong to have feelings for one of them. That would mean he favored one. Raimundo stood up, the numb feeling still in his chest. \"What do you have in mind?\" he asked. Kimiko stared at him for a long time. The only sound was the wind blowing through the grass. Finally, Raimundo broke the silence. \"You were the one worried about escaping!\" he accused, \"Answer me!\" That seemed to do the trick. Kimiko snapped out of whatever had kept her silent and staring. \"Oh! Right.\" She seemed embarrassed. Hey, did she just turn red? \"Alright, here\"s the plan. It\"s what I can think of at the moment. You probably won\"t like it, but here\"s a plan I\"ll suggest for now.\" Kimiko leaned forward. \"You\"ll never believe this, but...\" PT: Yeah, hope this was good. It\"s short, but I\"m slightly busy now. My mom\"s making me decide when to go to Paris. Yay! Paris! Anyway, that nagging is kind of annoying and I hate my mom. Sorry, did I say mom? I mean disowned mom. Forget it. As soon as I turn 18, I\"m not having her in my life again. I wish I could actually disown now. For now, I\"m not speaking to her. Anyway, I need to double check my homework. I\"m in a bit of a cranky mood now. I\"m sorry! ;( Dear everyone, There\"s not much time. I can\"t go on the internet anymore. If I come back, I\"ll private message to you if you want. Tell me in a review. My mom\"s so annoying! Till then, PT PT: OMG, I have no excuse myself for avoiding this fic for sooooo long :( On a brighter side, I\"m updating this again but it\"s going to be kind of slow. Good news though: I\"m almost done with my Naruto Christmas fic, so as soon as I finish that, I can update quickly again! :) Anyway, yeah, I do have problems with my mom. I\"ve hit that age. Anyway, here we go! Note: Drew is not a Mary Sue, but she will be very significant. She will have many Mary Sue properties, but only for future comic relief. Please bear with me, people! The Omi, Clay and Drew sat around impatiently in the Sheng Gong Wu\"s Temple, figdeting slightly as Master Fung meditated. Dojo was trembling in Clay\"s hat, apparently in shock. Clay was rubbing his bruise, as if in infinite pain. Technically, the bruise did hurt, but not that much; the cowboy was used to pain by now, having experienced far more before, countless times over. His face was, indeed, a nasty black, but Master Fung had told him he was lucky he didn\"t bleed. Clay doubted this, but, for the sake of keeping a level head, agreed with it -- barely, but he did. Omi was meditating...upside down. The cheeseball kid had his eyes clenched shut with concentration, eyebrows furrowed. Yet, the boy was twitching every five seconds or so; he could not keep his mind on saving his friends like this. Drew\"s head was down, so no one could see her face. She did not cry, but just sat, eyes fixed on the floor, as if the smooth surface had caught her greatest interest. Master Fung sat there calmly, a look of serenity over his pale face, passing over his closed eyelids. Omi suddenly clenched his fist. He trembled violently, harding than before as something passed over his mind. These images that sudddenly came to his head, he had never seen such places before... Omi saw himself, in his mind\"s eye: he was at a black temple, smooth and magnificent with trimmings of gold and red along its edges... Another flash and the monk saw himself attacking some unknown victims, eyes wicked as he stood on a pillar of water, in the middle of some place on fire. Ashes burned, sparks flew as Omi stood there, casting a great shadow, twisting the fire with his bare hands but never getting burnt and, incredibly, his fists seemed to be made of stone. The image changed again in a flash of black and Omi suddenly found himself listening to screams. Those screams, tortured, hurt, blood-curdling, chilled the monk to the bone. He heard laughter in the darkness, chilling, sick, twisted, sadistic laughter, basking in the glory of the screams. Without another warning, Omi\"s vision faded completely to black. \"The Buttercup?\" Raimundo stared at Kimiko incredulously. Was she kidding? No, this was a life and death situation; she couldn\"t actually be kidding. Still, this was Kimiko. Of all people, she knew how to memorize this trick? She must be on Youtube a lot these days, Raimundo thought dully. Still, he had to admit, it was clever. After all, why would Wuya go on Youtube and watch comedies? She wouldn\"t suspect a thing. However, there was a problem... \"We\"re missing a cup,\" Raimundo said. \"We need that for the Buttercup.\" He was corrected a split second later, for Kimiko looked his straight in the eye and said, bluntly, \"I have one.\" (Crickets chirping.) Raimundo took a deep breath as he stared at the Japanese girl\"s blue eyes (They really are kind of...okay-looking). \"Then, let\"s do it.\" -Severely bangs head on table- PT: Holy crap, I\"m so sorry for this short chapter, this badly written chapter and horribly late chapter. -Bangs head again- Sooooo sorry, but you might know what I mean by the Buttercup if you watch a lot of Youtube. I might make the next chapter longer. I\"ll update soon as I could. Thanks for the reviews and hoping to get more!! 00\" I\"m hopeless.']\n"
     ]
    }
   ],
   "source": [
    "fname_train_labels = '/Users/alexbeetz/pan20-authorship-verification-training-small/pan20-authorship-verification-training-small-truth.jsonl'\n",
    "fname_train_features = '/Users/alexbeetz/pan20-authorship-verification-training-small/pan20-authorship-verification-training-small.jsonl'\n",
    "\n",
    "def text_preprocessing(fname_labels, fname_features):\n",
    "    import json\n",
    "\n",
    "    same_author = {}\n",
    "    for line in open(fname_labels):\n",
    "        author = json.loads(line.strip())\n",
    "        same_author[author['id']] = int(author['same'])\n",
    "\n",
    "    texts = []\n",
    "    for line in open(fname_features):\n",
    "        text = json.loads(line.strip())\n",
    "        if text['id'] in same_author:\n",
    "            texts.extend(text['pair'])\n",
    "\n",
    "    #print(same_author)\n",
    "    return same_author, texts\n",
    "\n",
    "same_author, texts = text_preprocessing(fname_train_labels, fname_train_features)\n",
    "\n",
    "print(texts[0:10])\n"
   ]
  },
  {
   "cell_type": "code",
   "execution_count": 4,
   "metadata": {},
   "outputs": [],
   "source": [
    "def preprocessing_task2_binary(same_author):\n",
    "    new_labels = []\n",
    "    binary = []\n",
    "    count_ja = 0\n",
    "    count_nein = 0\n",
    "    values = list(same_author.values())\n",
    "    for label in values:\n",
    "        if label == 1:\n",
    "            binary.append(1)\n",
    "            new_labels.append([1,0])\n",
    "            count_ja += 1\n",
    "        else:\n",
    "            binary.append(0)\n",
    "            new_labels.append([1,0])\n",
    "            count_nein += 1\n",
    "    return new_labels, binary, count_ja, count_nein"
   ]
  },
  {
   "cell_type": "code",
   "execution_count": 5,
   "metadata": {},
   "outputs": [
    {
     "name": "stdout",
     "output_type": "stream",
     "text": [
      "27823 24767\n"
     ]
    },
    {
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       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " [1, 0],\n",
       " ...]"
      ]
     },
     "execution_count": 5,
     "metadata": {},
     "output_type": "execute_result"
    }
   ],
   "source": [
    "labels,bin, ja, nein = preprocessing_task2_binary(same_author)\n",
    "print(ja, nein)\n",
    "labels"
   ]
  }
 ],
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