Turns out, Harry Potter's a convincing Luke Skywalker.

After dragging his feet, fussing and mumbling curses, and overall being a real Negative Nancy as her Nana would say, the moment Lorelei placed the makeshift lightsaber in his hands, Harry finally developed a sense of enjoyment. It only took four hours! However, despite her frustration, she can't deny the naturalness of the costume. The slightly too big Johnny Lawrence wig was the finishing touch that truly transformed Harry into the titular space warrior.

Harry is Luke. And, truly, is she ever wrong?

(Rhetorical. Please don't answer).

In the hour before everyone returned from Hogsmeade, Harry dragged her around the castle to make silly poses in random places. He pretended to fight one of the knights on the sixth floor with his glowing lightsaber and extended his hand at random objects he spelled to float so he could mimic the force. Lonnie even offered to be a victim so Harry could 'force-choke' him. The pictures are flawless.

Regarding Harry's accessories, Lorelei's particularly impressed by her intuitiveness. She stuffed Harry's wand inside a spare clear tube she painted blue and glued it onto the plastic hilt. Say Lumos! and the lightsaber ignites in a colorful beam.

She wondered if the costume gave Harry a chance to be someone else for a change—to not be the Chosen One (despite Luke being one too). He's been granted reprieve, why not live it while he can? It makes her happy that she can give him peace. That's why she made such a fuss about the AHECC. Whether they're a terrifying ghoul or a dolled up movie star, everyone deserves a chance to be someone else.

A tumultuous near disaster of a day turned into a spectacular success. Once Ron and Hermione returned, Lorelei squealed in delight at the sight of the Weasley dressed in a Dracula costume. Unfortunately, it was cheap, but it's nothing a little touching up can't fix, and she did just that. A bit of makeup and gooey blood trails on the corners of his lips, and the spare cape she found in the chest. Apparently, Fred picked the costume, saying Ron was already pale enough to be the vampire. It is true; she didn't have to apply any face paint.

Harry had to show Ron his scar because the ginger boy couldn't believe his eyes.

To memorialize the rare moment, Lorelei captured a picture of her friends in their mismatched costumes (Harry'll be embarrassed to know she sent it to James, along with the hundred others of his masterful poses). It might not have been the group consistency she wanted, but she was grateful nonetheless. In the picture, Harry was showing Ron his homemade lightsaber, posing like Luke in those funny posters her cousin owns, while Hermione laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Luke Skywalker showcasing his lightsaber to Dracula with Ruth Bernito laughing in the background. And such is their odd friendship.

As for Lorelei, the unchallenged champion of Hallowe'en? Well, since the Thing ended up being a total failure, and her skin was still stained orange (Yes, Lonnie did throw a fit), she decided there was only one costume worthy. Only one that she could scrounge together in time. A clown. Pasty, slightly yellowed face, neon green wig, a victorian collar, and her regular shoes Cadence spelled to turn multicolored as she walked. She even carried balloons to turn into animals. Though she's not any good at it, and they all popped.

Besides her terrific, not terrifying, ensemble, the winner of the All Hallows Eve Costume Contest was Harry, in a shocking turn of events. Now, is there some form of bias in the voting? Lorelei declines to answer. The judges are the professors, so she at least knows someone will always be against Gryffindors.

Personally, Lorelei thinks the Hufflepuff Ellis Thompson's Gandalf the Grey should've won. Don't tell Harry.

In his very brief acceptance speech, Harry had said, holding the glittering jack o'lantern trophy: "Lorelei's done everything. It's really her award. Can't be Luke without Chewbacca!"

Harry didn't fully understand, but she appreciated his thankfulness. He was then booed off the podium by the Slytherins for being too sappy.

Notwithstanding her extraordinary success, Lorelei couldn't find it within herself to share in the joy of her classmates. Not even Harry's unexpected win. He dedicated the trophy to her and yet, she could only muster a halfhearted smile. Each time their eyes locked, all Lorelei saw was the carelessness in their earlier conversation. Harry's odd refusal to condemn Black as the murderous fiend he is. He gave away something he never intended—the very fact that he's just as culpable as Lonnie or Remus or his father.

She looked at him and saw a liar.

Rather than joyously celebrating the fruits of her labor, Lorelei spent Hallowe'en as a sad clown.

Stressful times call for alleviating methods. One of Lorelei's ultimate comforts is sweets. Whenever her uncle scolds her for her addiction of the sugary substances, she likes to mention the fact of chocolate boosting the production of happiness (she does not mention the second half of the article that negates her point). Point is, candy is a lifeline however unhealthy. Cadence Bluewin provided Lorelei with a ginormous bag of assorted goods from Honeydukes.

And it ended up being the majority of her dinner.

Sweat condensates on her forehead as Lorelei leans against the stone railing of the Grand Staircase. "Can we stop for a moment?" She pants, holding one arm around her stomach. "I need a minute."

Hermione halts beside her and crosses her arms. "I told you not to eat it, Lorelei."

There's nothing more she appreciates than that of a caring, thoughtful friend, but right now, Lorelei is not in the mood to be lectured.

"I know, 'Mione," she mumbles tiredly. "I know."

Ahead of them lies a staircase that, with her drowsy condition, seems endless. Harry and Ron are stopped one step above them attempting to hide amused smiles. She knows her brightly colored clown attire must look ridiculous with her pained grimace, not that Ron's any better with his vampiric cape.

"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?"

Lorelei furiously shakes her head. "It's just a stomachache."

"Is it?" Ron questions with a sharp laugh. "'Cause you look like you might burst."

"Yeah," chimes Harry. "You look a little pale."

An uncouth jab at her costume no doubt.

"I don't appreciate your attitude," Lorelei snaps. Her tone is clipped and a little harsher than she intends, but a liar is all she sees. She straightens herself as best she can and brushes past the boys.

"Just don't get sick on me!" Ron calls, snickering.

It's wiped immediately when Lorelei whips around and mimics emptying her stomach onto the ginger boy, the smudged face paint adding to the horror. She grins at Ron's disgusted expression as he shields his body with his face.

"You're sick!"

"Oh, stop it!" Ever the mannered one, Hermione scolds them both, pushing up her fake glasses.

Satisfied, Lorelei clutches the railing and continues up the stairs. She hears Harry carefully stepping behind her; his heeled boots are very loud. Her legs feel weighed down by the heaviest bricks, each step almost a drag. With her head ducked, Lorelei notices shadows and the edges of shoes. She looks up to find her housemates stopped on the foyer, hushed whispers echoing.

Harry lands beside her.

"What's the hold up?" Ron inquires when he arrives. It's asked like he's expecting her to know. So far, she knows nothing about anything. She glances at Harry.

"Probably Neville forgot the password again," shrugs Harry as he moves further up the stairs, stepping between students. He still carries the lightsaber.

Lorelei's eyes narrow on the back of his head. "Don't be mean," she scolds. "I forget too."

"Not any better."

Maybe it's because she's used to his sardonic quips and dry sense of humor, but Lorelei typically pays Harry's dryness no mind or bares an awkward laugh. Now, it's beginning to aggravate her in a way she's not experienced before. It's a sort of sourness that leaves her tongue aching, like a potent drop of citrus.

"Pardon me, Lorelei." She startles as Percy Weasley scoots in between her and Hermione. She had no idea he could be silent. "Let me through, please. Excuse me! I'm Head Boy!"

     Despite not being able to see beyond the swarm of students nor hear amongst the quick chatter, Lorelei knows terror has struck. Once Percy reaches the portrait, silence drapes over the foyer in a cold sheet of snow. Lorelei wants to kick herself for thinking, daring to hope, Hallowe'en would go smoothly. Her heartbeat spikes, nausea worsening. Hermione's shoulder knocks against her own.

     "Get back, all of you!" Percy's demanding words cause ripples of fear to wash over her. "No one is to enter this dormitory until it's been searched."

     Searched. No. No, he can't. It's not possible.

     Then, through the costumed students, Harry finds her. His eyes, they say it all.

     Lorelei's legs give out, causing her to collapse against the railing. She wraps her arms around the stone bannister as her mouth opens in a silent scream. Watered down makeup slides down her face. Can there be a place on this planet where he cannot torment her? Crouching next to her, Hermione rests her palms atop her shoulders.

     Ginny Weasley emerges from the crowd, pale Raggedy Ann face drenched in fear to deliver a message straight from Hell:

     "The Fat Lady . . . she's gone."

     Lorelei clasps onto Hermione's hand and squeezes. She needs a rock, a line of rope to tie around her waist, a life jacket to keep her afloat. Panic and paranoia, nausea—all of it crashing down in one heavy blow having her reeling with terror and despair.

     And yet, Ron thinks it's a joking matter. "Serves her right," he scoffs. "She was a terrible singer."

     "It's not funny," Lorelei spits automatically. Her heart feels like it might pop like all the balloons she wasted tonight, and Ron has the audacity to joke?

     "Right." Ron quickly wipes the amusement away. He looks down, embarrassed. "Sorry, Lori."

     Percy parts the ocean of students, slowly revealing the elegant, twisting frame of The Fat Lady's portrait. There's thunderous rushing in her ears like a boiling cauldron with the wrong ingredient. As the Head Boy corrals her housemates to the side with faces as pallid  and as frightened as she is, Lorelei gasps. Three giant claw marks. They tore through that canvas like butter; she could imagine the sharpness of those talons on her flesh. That could've been her.

     "Make way!"

     "Dumbledore's here!"

     Lorelei cannot tear her gaze from those gnarled, deep marks. No warning, no cryptic remark could ever prepare her for this horrifying revelation. Sure, she's known all along how serious this situation is and what dangers it entails, but this? No words suffice. This is very real.

     Headmaster Dumbledore appears in front of the portrait followed by Mr. Filch. He cuts her line of sight, and Lorelei snaps out of her trance. With the puffy sleeve of her costume, she wipes at the watery mess covering her face. Another ruined garment to toss away. Hermione keeps her hands on her shoulders, keeping her from drifting too far, and Ron and Harry are smothered in the crowd.

     No Lonnie.

The irrational side of Lorelei dares to entertain the possibility of her uncle becoming Black's victim. But that's foolish. Lonnie's one of the best wizards she knows, and she doesn't think Professor Snape would like his company if he was a bumbling idiot. He's perfectly capable of producing defense spells. Besides, Lonnie's not the intended target.

And the other part just wants the comfort of her uncle.

Lorelei feels pressure on her hands and looks over at Hermione still crouched on the stairs. Her friend's face lacks pity and is instead full of determination, and Lorelei hadn't noticed before, but Hermione clutches her wand tightly with her free hand.

In her peripheral, Headmaster Dumbledore examines The Fat Lady's ruined canvas then turns to Filch. "Mr. Filch, round up the ghosts. Tell them to search every painting in the castle to find the Fat Lady."

A bout of queasiness hits Lorelei. The paintings are her specialty. She's befriended the difficult Sir Edward and the garroting Fitzgerald. But she can't move; she can't speak; she can't stand. Lorelei's the one cursed and yet she feels bad she can't provide her expert services.

A scream.

Lorelei's whole body locks as she flinches. Despite the feminine twang, her mind instantly replays the horror she heard on the Express and it combines in one terrifying melody.

     Harry and Ron instantly mobilize. She watches them move with their housemates to investigate—how can they do it? How can they disregard their fear? It incapacitates Lorelei. Some other time, she might've smiled at Harry wielding the plastic saber like Luke Skywalker would've.

     "There's no need for ghosts, professor," Mr. Filch announces, and everyone stops beside him. The caretaker raises a finger up high. "The Fat Lady's there."

     Lorelei's neck aches as she cranes to follow Filch's trajectory. Her heart pounds like a drum—she gasps. There, far up by the ceiling in a painting not her own, is The Fat Lady cowering in fear. The poor woman. Lorelei's guilty thoughts only increase as her stomach twists.

     "Dear lady, who did this to you?"

     She almost wants to utter a sardonic 'Why ask?' because, really, they all know. There is no one else who'd lower themselves to this violent act. Every student, every professor, all the wide-eyed portraits gulping at the possibility of them being next—they're aware.

     From high up, The Fat Lady's nasally tune carries all the way down. "Eyes like the devil, he's got, and a soul as dark as his name."

     Hermione squeezes her hand, and Lorelei returns the gesture.

     "It was him, Headmaster. The one they talk about. He's here. Somewhere in the castle. Sirius Black!"

     Then, through the flock of students, Ron turns to Lorelei with his poorly drawn eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Er, Lorelei?" His face is contorted in a grimace. "I think your face is green."

     Hermione glares. "Not funny, Ronald!"

     "No, seriously! It's green!"

     And right then, Lorelei doubles over and empties her stomach.

     Mr. Filch was less than pleased.

     Lorelei knows firsthand the horrors of the service industry. Having a family owned diner meant she started janitorial work at a young age and while she did have assistance, she'll never forget the gut-turning things she's seen. Mr. Filch has always been a cruel man, yet she couldn't help pitying him.

     Embarrassed by her accident, Lorelei offered to clean up the mess herself but was swiftly dismissed. Of course, right as Mr. Filch stomped down the stairs to retrieve a mop, Lonnie barreled past him (Oh, he's going to have a vendetta against the Yates now!). Seeing his niece orange and green dressed as a clown spewing sweets, is not an unfamiliar sight. Not even the costume part.

     With instructions from Dumbledore, Lonnie and Percy gathered all the costumed students, wands out and eyes on the prowl, and led them to the Great Hall. Her uncle kept her in front of him with his hand digging into her shoulder as if she might be snatched at any moment. He gave her a small water bottle produced from his costume's satchel (She lauds him for actually utilizing the bag. Now that's dedication!), and she was very thankful to rid the bitter taste coating her tongue.

     However, the Great Hall isn't a welcoming sight. Lorelei doesn't like being confined to such a massive, empty, and dark space. Despite assurances the hall had been thoroughly searched, no one felt relief. Dim candlelight and glowing wands could only provide so much comfort. Lorelei's nausea has faded, for now, yet the tightness, the anchor waiting to drop, remains.

     Through the worried murmurs of her peers, Lonnie speaks, voice steady and void of any telltale sign of fear: "Okay. Alright. Everyone okay?"

     Each house was given a designated space in the Great Hall. Gryffindor's is where Lorelei knows the Slytherin tables would be. They've all been given sleeping bags, though she's not sure if anyone will be able to shut their eyes. Regardless, her housemates collectively nod, if not to shut Mr. Yates up.

     Lorelei holds an unraveled bag in her hands, but she doesn't move. It's like the aftermath of the Express incident. Statuesque demeanor, frozen eyelids unable to blink, a vacant, haunted expression. Though unlike everyone deeming her possessed and keeping their distance, her housemates mirrored her fear.

     "Hermione? Ron?" Lonnie inclines his head at the teenagers and squeezes her shoulder from his place to her right. He hasn't let go, and Lorelei's glad for it.

     "We're alright, Mr. Yates," the said girl assures while Ron provides a tense smile. Percy hovers behind his brother, eyes narrowed and watchful, wand resting at his side. Lorelei, for once, understands the protectiveness. She feels it herself. Because deep inside, all the way down in her heart, she's not afraid for herself, she's afraid of what she might do if anyone she loves is thrust into danger. That's a doorway Lorelei'd rather stay locked.

     "Harry?" Lonnie prompts. "You're not hurt?"

     A slow puff of air escapes Harry. In the hushed quietness of the Great Hall, it's audible. From his slouched position leaning against the wall, he tilts his head. "I'm fine," he says monotonically and bares his teeth in an annoyed smile.

     Aggravation swirls in Lorelei's eyes, the first sign of emotion in a while. What could Harry possibly be annoyed at? She shifts under her uncle's hand as she narrows down at Harry. He disregards her attempts at having a fun holiday, denies the condemnation of Black, and he's annoyed? Whether Lonnie is bothered by the abrupt rudeness, he doesn't show it, but she supposes that's par for the course when one's a teacher.

     "I'll inform your parents about what's transpired."

     In a second's time, Lorelei dwells on the possibility of her non-magical family being informed of the butcher out for vengeance. Her uncle's adamant it's best they stay in the dark—ignorance is bliss after all. Yet, Lorelei can't say she agrees. Nothing on this planet could cease her Nana's rage.

     By the dim lighting of candles, Harry's glasses twinkle as he shakes his head.

     "They ought to know, Harry," adds Hermione as she unfolds her bag next to Ron's.

"They'll find out anyway," Harry shrugs, uncaring. "Why's it matter who tells them?"

His aloofness causes Lorelei to bristle. The sleeping bag tightens in her grip while a bitterness seeps onto her tongue.

Lonnie removes his hand, and it leaves an unpleasant vulnerability that makes her shiver. Instinctively, Lorelei shuffles closer so her shoulder touches his upper arm. When she was little and caught in the uproar of a roaring crowd, she'd always grab Lonnie's or Nana's sleeve. Never the hand, not with her tendency of clamminess. Lorelei feels very small now.

"It's my responsibility, Harry," Lonnie states firmly. He uses the same tone he does with her. "Your parents have entrusted me with your care, and I'm following through on my promise."

Harry resigns himself to silence.

"Great. As for everyone else," Lonnie addresses the Gryffindors, "your parents will be made aware of this attack. If you'd like to relay a message, please see your Head of House."

"Mr. Yates?"

The two Yates find the worried eyes of Dean Thomas. In the hazy dimness of the Great Hall, his eyes are sunken and haunted. "Was it really Sirius Black?"

     All eyes land on Lonnie, even her own. She cranes her neck to the side and glimpses his jaw locking, teeth grinding. Lorelei finds herself delving into unfortunate habits; her bloodied thumb speaks for itself. Hope shines in her housemates' eyes. They yearn for the promise of security, a white lie covering the unsightly truth.

     "Yes."

     Lonnie doesn't hesitate nor is he unsure. He's tenacious and truthful, and he won't coddle anyone. Lorelei's previous attempts at getting information from her uncle seem ridiculous in hindsight. Only when Lonnie is pushed to the ultimate end, right at the edge of the cliff, will he finally admit safety is never guaranteed. Sometimes . . . there's nothing to be done.

     Hogwarts is not the safest place in the world.

    "You don't need to worry," assures Lonnie, still with a steely tone. He returns his hand to her shoulder, yet she gives the tiniest flinch—his hand feels cold. "We will find him. I can guarantee it."

     And yet, not a single soul appears relieved.

Lonnie's hand is ice cold as he presses it against her forehead. He's knelt on one knee in front of her, and Lorelei realizes he's still dressed in his costume. His refusal to discard the costume almost pulls up her lips. Blue sweater adorned with a silver pin, laying across black trousers. He's since ditched the pointy ears, like she's discarded the neon green wig and Michael Covington's shrugged off his X-Men tracksuit.

Luckily, for the more embarrassing ensembles (Ginny's and Cadence's matching Raggedy Ann horror rendition), the fading candlelight and overhead stars provided adequate cover. Occasionally, Harry'd ignite his makeshift lightsaber and the blue light casted uneasy scares upon everyone. Even if she was currently miffed at Harry, Lorelei liked the way blue hues reflected in his glasses and the way it made his blonde wig shine; she liked that Harry was the only one not removing pieces of his costume.

Lonnie did confiscate the lightsaber after the third ignition, and he was responsible for the handing out of damp cloths so everyone might scrub their painted faces clean. Harry snatched off his wig a second later.

While her housemates were attempting to get comfortable in their sleeping bags and let dreamland lull them away from this waking nightmare, Lonnie ushered Lorelei to the side. He lead her to the edge of the staff table where he sat her unmoving body on the ledge. She didn't protest nor put up a fight; she allowed herself to be gently handled by her uncle, scanned and examined as he checked for physical ailments.

"You're a little hot. Are you sure you're okay?"

Two blinks. Harsh, manual blinks. "M'fine." Lorelei thinks she attempts a reassuring smile, but her muscles remain frozen.

"No mumbling, please."

"I'm fine."

Perhaps the most unconvincing she's ever been. She could tell Lonnie she's the happiest girl in the world and could throw up more rainbows any second, though not even Ron would be alleviated. Lorelei is stony in her delivery.

Lonnie dips his head and sighs. "Fatigue? Soreness? Nausea?"

What he wants is an answer able to be cured. If it's a sickness, he'll prescribe a magical antidote. However, emotional issues have never been his forte.

"I'm not sick," Lorelei breathes, annoyance creeping through. Her eyes travel to her friends across her uncle's shoulder. They seem to be chatting mindlessly, snuggled in their bags. She can vaguely see Hermione articulating, likely put off by something Ron said. All of her yearns to be swept up in her friends' petty grievances; she wants to be near them and snicker at the childish behavior.

"I beg to differ." Lonnie angles his torso so he's blocking her distracted gaze. She rolls her eyes. "You . . . hurled all over the Grand Staircase."

"I just didn't eat enough," she mutters. Total lie. She was so nervous during the feast her plate refilled more than once. Afterwards, of course, the unhealthy amount of candy.

Habitually, her uncle locks his jaw as he shakes his head, but he doesn't continue arguing. Silence falls over the Great Hall as students oblige their Head of Houses and cease their hushed whispers. Hermione and Ron are among them, and Lorelei watches as they lean back in their bags. She ignores the slumped body of her best friend tucked away from everyone. At the entrance of the hall, stand the professors and Headmaster Dumbledore. She can only imagine their conversation.

"Lorelei, I'm going to ask you something and I want your complete honesty." Her gaze meets Lonnie's. He wears a heavy crown, and she can almost see it's thorns stabbing into his flesh. "Do you understand?"

A slow, hesitant nod.

"Do you feel safe?"

Lorelei can feel the beginnings of a laugh. Not the gleeful ones made from Fred and George's pranks or Harry's obnoxious, untimely jokes, rather a hollow sound. He wants honesty, and he won't receive it. If she didn't have an answer for James or Remus, she'd not have one now. Because what does this even prove? No, of course, Lorelei doesn't feel safe. In fact, it's the opposite; she'd rather be atop an unmoving ferris wheel and overcome her acrophobia than be subjected to debilitating paranoia.

Hogwarts was a welcomed reprieve from the misfortunes that plagued her childhood. Now, it's a memorial of all she's lost.

"I can take you home," offers Lonnie, almost timidly. His tone is soft and light, airy like clouds and cotton candy. That stern, vacant demeanor is replaced by a familial vulnerability he rarely allows himself to express.

Lorelei furiously shakes her head as her gaze instinctively lands on Harry's resting form. She can't abandon her friends, not in a time like this. Not when they need her. "I-I can't leave—I want to stay."

"Are you sure?" He asks it like he asked her about her desire to take Care of Magical Creatures. Last summer, she took days to consider, weighed her options so she was absolutely concrete in her decision. There is no turning back the clock. Except now, even before the nouns and verbs connected into a sentence, she knows her answer.

"My friends are here," says Lorelei. "You're here."

And I'm more likely to be attacked outside Hogwarts, she thinks. Harry's encounter with the Grim rings in her mind.

Pursing his lips, Lonnie begrudgingly nods. "From now on, I want you to be extremely careful with where you venture." He adjusts his form so his hand can articulate his point. "No detours. Straight from one class to the other. I'll have Percy escort you and Harry when I'm unavailable."

Lorelei wants to cry, and she hates herself for it. But it's not fair. Why can't she enjoy her third year? She's a teenager! This is the era in which she's supposed to partake in mischief and experiment with new outrageous experiences. Instead, she'll spend her days cramming defense spells.

"Hey, hey." Lonnie immediately pulls Lorelei into his arms when he sees the wobbling of her lips. Wetness and leftover face paint smear into his perfect blue sweater. It might've been new, but she can always smell the cinnamon. "It's alright, Lori. You're okay."

She remains immobile in his tight hold, yet she relishes in the comfort. Lorelei feels small in the grand scheme of fate, and she feels like a young girl that just scraped her knee falling off a bike in her uncle's embrace. But she doesn't feel safe.

Pulling away, Lonnie keeps her at arms length to stare into her tearful, terror ridden gaze. "Listen to me," he starts. "I will not let anything happen to you. Nothing will ever harm you, not while I'm around."

But you're not around all the time.

Lonnie's face hardens. It turns glacial with such succession and severity Lorelei wonders if he was just putting on a collected act for her while he simmered with rage underneath. A vein throbs above one of his eyebrows and his jaw clenches once more. He stares, unblinking. "I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to ensure Sirius Black rots in Azkaban. In fact, I can guarantee it."

And like how her housemates felt earlier, Lorelei is not assured.

📍 Teddy's Corner ;

moderately satisfied with this.
i'm finding it a lil difficult to
capture lori's fear but i know
i'll get it eventually.

objectively hilarious
sirius attacked and everyone's
in costume. like, just imagine
all the weird shit everyone's
wearing. and lori actually does
look terrifying after her crying
messed her makeup up.

this is a very important chap
for lori's development. she's way
suspicious of harry, feeling anger
and resentment towards almost
everyone, and she just wants
some damn answers! things will
def start to pick up exponentially
from now on.

jily in the next chap btw.
excited for that.

anyway, i'd love to hear ur
thoughts <3 !!!

ฅʕ•ᴥ• ʔฅ
© TEDDY 2023