"When the ground fell on Lace, she felt regret for ending her life. It's something about the earth that makes you raw." The words from Mr. Crawford's story replayed in my head over and over.

Even with my hand in Ash's, I could see the ground opening yet again with jagged teeth made from the cement's broken greasy asphalt and the swirling black ripples of sludge oozing water crashing against the walls of permanently stained cement. The yawning ground was accompanied by something strange.

That something moved across the cement-like a cat weaving in and out of the legs of his owner. The feeling rushed past me as if I made the wrong move it would grow claws and rip me apart. With every step I made, the thing moved with me. Until I saved Ash. Pulling him from the hole was like knocking an angry enemy off my shoulders. Gone but you'd never forget the memory of hair raising on your neck and a final tug on the skin of your neck.

As our shoes click against the moonlit concrete, vibrations were sent through shallows separated by solids on their thin flanks. Few cradled water like the more common potholes on the paths that had once been popular streets through this part of the city. Back when it wasn't illegal to walk here and the church my mother attended owned by primarily my black kin wasn't half concealed under jagged faces of torn earth.

After my mother's death, I still visited the sanctuary behind the picket fence when the grounds were empty on Thursday nights. I remember seeing the preacher's bald head poking up from the tall hedges as I ducked down into the overgrown vegetation and magnolias littering the ground. He never saw me once, but I knew from the missing poster on the mahogany doors that they wanted me back.

People looked in my face and never once thought that I was the girl who had gone missing all those years ago. That the girl on the stage singing backup was a missing child. Instead, they knew my face from a black and white photo somewhere surfacing on the internet.

Ash looked up the T-shaped alleyway lit by one dim streetlight blinking in and out. I'm surprised it hadn't met death sooner. A row of buildings all closely sat together on a long cement stretch like the arching back of a hill dipping down into the broken tunnels on the right where the sun seemingly never touched, reflecting off the rubbish and stainless steel rooftops sliding down to hide the ground from the sky. A metal fence ran along with the buildings to the distance end where the sliver turned and did the same with the back. Two abandoned dog houses connected the gate by a long chain that now laid on the ground connected to an old collar.

Dandelions poked out from the overwhelming clearing of tall grassroots, strangling out the bottom of the fence. The yellow manes gave little beauty, but it was much better than nothing. Even nature felt pity for this part of the city. Four brick buildings down were the studio, the windows intact and oddly better looking than the rest. Probably only our eyes could see that strange uniqueness. Suncatcher hula girls remained still in the window, their dance cut short by the night sky that killed the sun. A Maneki-Neko running by battery waved his paw eagerly in the glass, Adrian, as Ash named him was always there to welcome us.

His golden painted pelt glimmered in the light of the porch light close to his window. Complete darkness shrouded the room inside, only leaving small silhouettes on the grey on the white and black cow-skinned patterned wall in the back of the front room. Ash seemed more at home at the studio than back at the orphanage, tired half-closed eyelids widening and his strides quickening pace. Puffs of white exited his lips and nose into the chilly atmosphere.

Only the scars on his face welled up with dried blood matching the tips of his scarlet-stained fingers would give you the indication that he'd been in some kind of incident. His shoes left wet imprints of the ground dripping from the heavy fabric of his pant legs changing them from blue to a brown and navy hue. My legs ached and screamed in agony as a slash near my elbow stung from wrestling the worn-down water hose from under a small generator. By now, the ragged thing had probably disappeared under the surface of the falling shallows.

Tomorrow morning won't be an easy day. Trust me. Navigating that wreckage will be equivalent to crossing a straight shot through the grand canyon. But at least the sun will lend a hand and now with the cement walkway connected to few buildings our chance of survival goes from twelve percent to thirty.

Ash reached for the gate before me, loud clicking and drop of chain rattling against the metal bars followed a long squeaking and howl from the gate. It halted, stuck in the deep-rooted grass and weeds along the backside of the fence. Avoiding from touching the metal railing, rain beaten and tarnished, Ash moved over to the side with his arm extended and head dipped down in a patronizing joking act of respect, a gleam of mischievous. Not even the ground opening up under him could kill his humorous side.

"After you, M'lady.", Ash sounded tired from the edgy rumble from his chest. Nodding, too sleepy to play along with his games, I slipped through the gates, sinking my feet through the soft mud. The soles of my shoes completely disappeared in the ground, the brown and green sticking out on either side. The gate slammed shut behind Ash, who without any regard walked right past me towards the towering brick reaching up to the sky but falling short by a couple of thousand feet from the hunter-green flat roof.

It was nothing special really about the old building which had once been a costume store, animal suits stored in the back and outfits made to look like they'd been stolen from each era then hung in the backroom covered in the dust while others found permanent homes tucked away in brown cardboard boxes. Now instruments were locked away with them, everything except our prized guitars back at the orphanage. That didn't mean a spare wasn't here though.

The door was in plain sight, stationed more to the right of the building face of than the middle like the others. Ash reached into his pocket, the jingle of keys and a flask made of stainless steel echoing against the thin windows. A copper-colored key for the lock he'd bought and attached to an old but study piece of chain from one of the old dog chains was produced from his pocket. The chains fell at the click of the latch, jingling with the most stereotypical movie character unlocking a hatchet sound.

Ash pushed the wooden door open, peaking into the dark space before entering the space. Nothing but the same Prince and Hawthorn Heights posters hanging on the back wall above the white space heater pushed tight between the couch and the speckled wall. He walked in first, footsteps echoing across the wood floor collected with watermarks.

I followed, closing the door behind me with a tiny creak, ignoring the chill snaking up my neck from Ash's sneaking about was getting the best of me. Stopping by the corridor leading to the staircase, the tension in his shoulders dropped, and yet again he was carefree. Almost carefree.

"You still hung up by the shallows?" Ash's voice snapped me back to reality and the cool chill of the new atmosphere smacked me like a slap to the face. I shivered, pulling the half-wet sweater tighter.

"And you aren't?" I questioned.

"And you are?" He shot back, mimicking my voice. He couldn't look at me straight without looking away when talking the shallows. Like he was afraid that one question would lead to one that he either couldn't answer or didn't want to.

My throat felt tight at the thought of him hiding valuable information. It was hard to tell with him and his weird ways of concealing what was truly on his mind. Somehow, he would always spill after a while of weird behavior and shy slinking.

"I could have lost you back there and you aren't the least bit concerned about the next person who attempts to cross it?" It's the first time I look deep into his eyes and say how I feel. Or at least the way I should feel. The words floated from my tired head.

"Then I would say they are blind." Light shimmering from the outdoor lantern turned to gold against his face before slanting down his nose. Turning away, he went straight for the four-legged ebony-colored table on the right of the couch where a dinky little twisty neck lamp sat on an old mail, doodles, and writing. With one click, a bright calm orange light illuminates the room. The room looks more empty now than it already did before the light came.

Almost everything in the space was either already there when we claimed this building as our studio or dragged from another store across the cement. Secondhand but perfectly fine with us. As long as it worked and had at least two legs that weren't wobbling found it's new home here.

"The bathroom is calling my name. I'll bring you some fresh clothes back, something that might fit." He ran his hand over the scruffy start of a beard that scratched my face every time I leaned in for a hug.

"I can get something myself." I stiffened a yawn.

"No." He shook his head, "Get some rest, you need it. We both do."

It was no argument left to be made between us as he disappeared around the corner of the short corridor, leaving nothing but a hollow conversation still hanging till the morning came. Moving to the couch, I buried my face in the plaid fabric of the armrest. I was surprised how well it sucked up my tears from years of letting my stress turn into a river of sweat coming from my eyes. Tears. Hearing my mother scolding me in the back of my mind, telling me that crying never solved anyone's problems. Anything but admitting that I was a depressed mess. That this life was never equal in ups and downs.

"Children should be seen, not heard. Don't speak unless you are spoken to. It isn't a thing in this world you can do to make your situation better but take it with a smile and a cup of silence." She was a good woman, but she was stuck to too many traditions. Too many harmful ones. In a way, she became like the child she was speaking to. Mother loved my father but he didn't give a shit about her unless she was submissive. A good child. A quiet child.

Mother let a man lead her to death like a sheep to a slaughterhouse. We could have been happy. My nails buried in the pillow as it was the throat of the man who was half of me, who would play music from the past just to hurt me. To drive me crazy. Send me into horrid panic attacks for punishment. He knew about my past. It was for no motive but to fill his evil needs.

I wanted to crack the wood frame of this broken down, old alley chair or scream to the top of my lungs how bad my father was. How he should have died before I was born so my mind could be free. So I didn't have a clear picture of the brown-skinned grinning man with square-shaped glasses blacker than tar. He was always well dressed in the finest quality clothing and jewelry. Furs draped across his shoulders and gold in boxes for his girlfriends stuffed in the pockets of his dress coats in the summer. Watching him drive off to the mall while Mom and I headed to the thrift on main.

I never liked him or the dead animals he wore in the winter. Or the cologne in the summer. Or the way I narrowed my eyes like him when we was about to say something sarcastic.

You don't see him.

You don't see.

You don't.

You.

A fuzzy fluttering brushed my chest like a feather as my eyelids shut down and the sound of running water singing its song from the bathroom became a soft lullaby telling me everything I wanted to know. What I needed to hear from people six feet under. People who I looked to which were Ash, Mr. Crawford, and every other kind person who put up with me. I know that Ash knows that it wasn't the early events from the night making me chase my tail like a dog simply because I already was like this. Maybe worst.

The fading darkness engulfed me and the smell of cinnamon and cigarette smoke rising from its embedding in the couch. Every stone weighing down my heart floated up to my head.

You didn't protect your mother from that bastard of a father. I didn't even tell Ash about who Gaspar, my father really was. That he wasn't loving or a sad and pathetic victim.

Finally, I let the thoughts go and drifted away from them. At least, for the moment. The black silence felt nice. Nicer than it had ever been in the few hours. No sound. My soul felt as if it had abandoned my body, taking the stress away with it. This isn't sleeping. A chill resembling ice melting on my fingers snapped my eyes wide open. Nonetheless, still a black empty void. Like the start of a memory. My heart tugged at the thought of entering the lucid state. For now, I peered upwards into the ceiling of darkness like a starless and moonless night in which I was waiting for the sun to burst through the black veil.

My eyelids no longer screamed for sleep and my muscles felt like I had awakened from a good long nap. Legs full of coiled energy like I could run for miles without stopping and an eager mind to learn anything and everything that possibly could. Then I looked at the nothingness before me. Run where?

A dazzling light like all of heaven had opened up to me, rushing white and gold rushing down with the likeness of a hunter's arrows spraying. The bright pigments darkened to take form into unrecognizable shapes around me like a halo built just for my form. The ground under my shape turned a yellow-tinted silver like the sky above my head. In a blink, everything shifted from blotches of color to easy to name objects. Dark greens became trees flinging their branches in the wind as the teal became a slowly darkening sky.

I stepped forward, glancing through shadows that made a bush flanking a peach-colored solid wall covered in scratches across the chipping paint. I looked at the slowly appearing cold white specks dancing around the moon. Moving through the strange atmosphere, nothing more than a ghost eavesdropping on her past.

Bounding from the building, I looked at the bright marquee surround by lightbulbs sitting inches away from the street glistening in the moonlight as rain hung on to the light grey. Old cars parked against the road and in the square-shaped lot in great number.

The Marvelettes: Performance Tonight at 9 o'clock sharp.

People lined up at the door with tickets in their hands and outfits just like they'd all stepped straight out of the casting for Grease or Footloose. Big hair and wide grins. Everybody looks so happy here, happier than I had been my entire life. And I can't help but wonder how I was apart of that happiness.

Walking forward towards the people at the doorway, I scan the faces for anything holding familiarity. Nothing. The smell of popcorn made my stomach growl. Pink plastic flamingos sliced through my shape as I moved to the red doors that had no matching choreography with the actual building in color. I caught a few random parts of conversation through the jumble but nothing valuable. Usual I was taken straight to what I was supposed to see and sent back to the living world.

I walked past a woman in a pink plaid jacket who lifted a bottle of soda pop to her red lipstick cover lips, clearly frustrated by the backup of the line. Pushing through her, the yellow lights from the inside of the room glimmered against my skin but stuck straight through my ghostly spirit and found a resting place on the red carpet. I stood in awe at the size of the lobby and line still waiting for their turn to turn in their tickets.

The room was a time traveler's treasure trove, gold trimming tracing the venue with a well-dressed strawberry blonde woman dressed in a bright red outfit taking tickets and welcoming each customer, single or coupled. Red velvet curtains singled out every room instead of doors except for the main office on the right kept closed with a dark brown wood door engraved in a silver and black plack. An usher in a red uniform opened the curtain to jester to the young couple who gave in their tickets. He grinned from ear to ear. I shivered. If I saw a smile like that in the city I would be on the verge of fight or flight.

Focusing on the reason why I'm here, I pulled my sweater together as if anyone could see me and turned towards the room that I guessed was the backstage from the guard standing at the door, near falling asleep on his feet. Walking forward, I walk through the guard and into a new room. Just like the other but more formal, my eyes drifted to the only two people occupying the space on a bench.

"Georgy, listen to me. We can be something more, I know can with the right sacrifices." A deep male voice cut through the air like a begging child.

"Then what, Timothy? I love you, really I do but you know how much the girls mean to me and I think I could get somewhere with this band but all you care about is yourself." My voice was tinged with hers. It's Georgeanna. It's me. Her words feel like everything I would say. So natural. So right.

Timothy wrapped his arm around the woman who seemed so distant. She turned a bit, running his hand down the side of her baby blue dress. Her brown eyes looked to the lights above the red curtains leading to another room.

Timothy was no bad-looking man, but like me, Georgeanna was ambitious and the good kind. He looked the same age as her, with large dark brown eyes and a dark oak brown skin tone. His eyes were full of sorrow like he wanted her to give in. I leaned against a solid white wall and watched as if this was a film.

His tone became an angry sly taunt, "Lies! If you loved me you would leave this stupid band for us and our future family."

Georgeanna looked taken back for a second, pressing her lips to make a straight neutral line, "There was never a future for us, just the one you created in your head."

Plain and simple. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was only truth in her words and every right to choose for herself. I almost beamed at the way she spoke her mind, something that must have faded from her personality when she became me.

The curtains rustled open suddenly, tearing both of their sights away from each other, fury and tension now burning the room in a mix of glares of hatred and the want to never see each other's faces again if possible. I could feel every emotion running through Georgeanna's mind, dwindling confidence the more she glared in Timothy's stone-cold eyes and at the very same time an unwavering sense of hope for the future. That this one dramatic issue would come to terms with the bridge in her heart. In our heart.

It's a flash of heavy tears in the lids of her eyes for a second as she turned to the two newcomers at the lip of the half-opened curtain. The tallest was a kinda muscled man in his mid to late thirties with wavy long hair with natural honey brunette coils in the mainly black mess of hair. My heart leaped at the sight of the next one. Her narrow brown face and inherently happy eyes told me her name before anyone said it- Gladys.

A friend from the past.

My first instinct was to prepare for almost deadly searing pain to blossom in my skull at the mention of her name connected to the same face from my past, throwing me back into my realm. It didn't come.

"Georgy, is everything alright, or do we need to postpone the show for a few more minutes?" Her voice soothes both of us, the jumpy feeling fading away like a flame in the middle of a raging rainstorm. In the back of my head, I imaged a place where Georgeanna had my powers and she threw Timothy into a trashcan using nothing but her mind.

"Trust me, everything is just fine. This one was just leaving." Georgeanna gestured to the man a few inches away from her face still grimacing.

"You're damn right about that and I won't be coming back anytime soon." Timothy stood up from the seat, clenching his teeth but keeping his posture composure.

The ground underneath me shook hard, nearly knocking the air from my chest. My fingers tightened against my chest as if fighting for air. Dark swirls danced around the edges of my sight speckled with white and grey. Another shake erupted a grunt from my throat as the man swiveled around, making his way out the curtains with his head held high and teeth biting his lip.

Maybe I was too harsh. Guilt pricked at my heart for driving him away all those years ago. I hurt him and all those words he said were out of pain. And those things I said were out of hungry ambition.

I slipped away to the slowly warming room back in the world where I'm Anne. The shaking doesn't stop. Desperate calling on my name made me tear my eyes open to bright red and blue flashing. I just wanted to shut them back up and return to the memory. More than just a wish but an anxious feeling accompanying it. Like I needed to go back. A calling weighted with the same consequential tingle.

"Anne! Please wake up."

Despite the familiar voice calling me from the real world, no matter how hard I try to open my eyes, I only see darkness. A cold chill rips my bones and slaps against the invisible walls of tar. My hand rests on nothing and when I attempted to touch the ground where my feet stand, fingers caressed complete emptiness. The voice stops and still, I'm left with an empty head and nothing but the remembrance of familiarity.

Slowly the black shifts to solid, shimmering grey as a pale yellow light drifted from the ceiling where a small crack revealed the sky above. Fresh air. Life. I'm underground. Scents and shapes start to form out of the dark shadows creating a new world. Brown and grey water rushed down a straight pathway, thundering as it hit the bottom of what I guessed was a never-ending drop. Huge chunks of what looked like cement lined the rounded walls smudged with dirt.

Each footstep I take echos around the hollow space, aiding the drips that slap the cement floor from each hole above. I keep walking, hoping for a way out or something that might trigger me into waking up. My breath hung in the air. Unlike my memory, I can feel here. Every gust of wind and the ache in my legs. The nervousness boiling at the bottom of my stomach and my screaming feet begging me to stop and rest.

Two black and copper-colored bundles lay sprawled out on the cement with long pink tounges flicking back in forth as their bodies moved up and down with heavy breathing. Dogs. Their long snouts were only inches away from the ground with moonlight white tips of feet showing in jaws with the force to crush bones.

"Don't worry, Snicker and Avery don't bite unless I tell them to." Behind me, a young voice high pitched like nails on a chalkboard echoed against the tunnel. The dog's ears perked up at the mention of their names, turning massive heads and rising up from their place on the cement slowly. Short bobed waged as if going along to some kind of slow sinister song that only they could hear.

At this point, I wasn't sure if the dogs were what I should worry about or the person behind me. Their eyes were completely white, no color. Just empty white voids of nothing looking directly through my soul. I swear they were grinning. Like a human but more if a dog could grin before going straight for the throat that's what these two were doing.

Turning my head just enough to see behind me, a brown skinned girl stood only inches away from me, her arms crossed against her chest and a dust pair of nameless checkered tennis shoes dripping in water. Her eyes were empty like the dogs except hers were normal. Just cold and expressionless. They fixed on my face like two lasers on her young face, late teens, I guessed from her attire. A corse and unruly collection of hair touched her shoulders, knotted like it hadn't been combed in days. Months even.

"Hello-", My voice shook just looking at her. The way her forehead wrinkled by just looking at me and lip lifted in disgust like I was trash under her shoe. It was probably best if I kept my mouth shut by the way the massive beasts only a few feet away watched her like a hawk, waiting on the word to kill.

"Oh, I see. You want an introduction." She started, taking a step back to size me up with her brown eyes the color of the water still roaring in the distance as it hit another body of water below the lip of the ridged concrete. My stomach lurched at the thought of walking too far to the edge or being chased.

"Lots of people call me a traitor and it will stay that way until those royalleaves stop telling lies about me to their children. The person not to be like even though if it wasn't for me they'd be dead." Her vacant persona didn't break. Not a smile or frown accompanied her bile like tone leaving me to depend on the bitter fire in her words to let me know just what she was feeling.

"I think I know you." I whispered, her eyes enlarging as I finished the sentence.

Lace. The girl who has more adversaries than adoring fans even after her death. The girl who regretted giving her life to kill the man who wanted to see the blood of every royalleaf smeared on every city wall. Wanted to make the fireleaf race dominant. Her father, Ice, the man with tar for blood. The people she died to save spit on her name while the fireleaves still uphold her legacy.

"You don't think, you know. If you say my name I'll kill you personally." She said.

I took a step back out of her space. Quick. A grey halo outlined her body like smoke in the light from the upper world above. She had no shadow as if she was the shadow. Neither did the dogs, now sitting on the smooth concrete. Only I had a silhouette. As much as I wanted to believe that the real Lace was alive, this might be proof that she's dead. But why would she visit me of all people? What could I offer?

"Are you dead?"

She nodded, "Yes. I didn't get away when that huge rock came down and crushed me like a bug. Or was it more than one? I don't know, it's still quite a foggy memory to me. Next question."

I braved up to ask the million-dollar question, "What do you want from me?"

Finally, her facade broke and a thin smile crept across her violet stained lips, "It's not what I want but more of what you might want to fulfill if you don't want to see more blood. More death." She sidestepped, keeping her mutts in eye view. One of them thumped his tail hard, opening his jaws to let out a bark loud enough to send the pebbles spewed across the cement leaping up before crashing down and rising again.

I remained silent.

"You don't follow do you?" Lace stopped to ask as if she was a teacher stopping in the middle of a school lesson to ask if I understood.

"Not really. But if you explain-."

Lace's eyes blaze with anger, her face only inches from mine even though she had to stand on her toes to look directly in my eyes, "Are you blind or have you seen how the royalleaves around here have been dropping like flies after my death? I lost everything, the love of my life, my family, my friends, and even the last little respect that even children have for the dead!"

Storm.

The chef on the corner of our alley.

More.

Some who I can't name but remember coming home and hearing Mr. Crawford read their name from out the newspaper with strange causes of death normally ruled out as homicides.

"You killed them? But why, weren't you the one who died for them, or is it a part of this story that I'm missing? I knew some of these people that died and if I knew one thing it was that they didn't deserve to die." A defensive side of me rose like a wall of bricks at the teary face of Storm's adoptive mother that still hung in my memories. The confusion as to who killed the kind chef who, despite knowing I was a fireleaf allowed me to spend time in the dining area and enjoy leftover food after school.

My aura started to shift, a sharp pain right below my heart exploded like flames. Gold traces outlined the tips of my fingers but almost as if, under some kind of refrain, it stopped and disappeared.

"Well, that's a damn shame, isn't it? Neither did Adam but he foolishly followed me thinking that he could save us. But I had to watch as his blood painted the walls of this hell. I bet we wouldn't want that to happen to Burt or- Goldilocks would we?" A stray tear fell from her left eye, quicker than lightning whipping it from her face with a flick of her fingertips.

I know who she's talking about without a single thought. She means Ash. The man who was calling me as I sunk into this so-called dream. If she killed them, it's no doubt what she'll do to get what she wants. I stare into her eyes and it's no malice only pain. Even more so a reason to get whatever she's after.

I don't argue. I know what I must do to fulfill the promise I made years ago.

"Leave him be. If you do, I'll be at your service. You won't touch any person close to me and whatever you want I'll bring." They felt so bitter as I said them. I soul my soul. The sad thing is that I asked the question and didn't even wait for an answer.

I could hear Ash in my ear and Mr. Crawford in the other calling me an idiot.

"Good." She muttered, reaching into her pocket. The dogs stood, wagging their tails as if they expected a treat from her, but the instant she pulled free a crumpled piece of paper and a plastic bag from her jean pocket, they sat back down with disappointment. She opened the lined paper, drawing bleeding through the white and done in coal-black ink.

Blue feathers and clumps of fur were in the zip lock bag.

"Everytime a royalleaf dies, I collect another feather and when two of my father's loyal companions were killed in the tunnels they were reincarnated into dogs so I could gain another piece of the puzzle to bring Adam's spirit back from his reincarnation."

"Isn't that impossible?" Doubtful and clueless, I looked over at the paper clutched in her hand, folding at the slowly yellowing corners. The drawing was vivid and detailed, holding the same image I swore I saw earlier at the funeral. The crown was made of some of the most mundane things but had its symbolism I suppose.

"If it's one thing I learned down here, is that anything is possible. I've seen the reincarnation of Kurt Cobain and Georgeanna Tillman. I watched the spirits of men turn into hell hounds and killed royalleaves without hardly lifting a finger. I know what I'm doing."

Feathers crowned the top of the circle, followed by bloody grass patches, chunks of brown covered with deep-set claw marks drawn across the body of bark, clumps of dog fur all ended off with a premature bird completing the circle. In the middle was the blue jay, the mother bird whose death I avenged. Words in neat writing aided each part of the circle. It was too small for me to read in the downward angle that she held it. Two lonely checkmarks singled out where Dog Fur and Blue Jay feathers were written in bold.

She killed for the feathers,

Watched death occur naturally for the fur,

I fell short. Now either it was up to her to tell me how to gather the next part or for me to figure it out. Even in her seeming sureness, her belief in the map looked wavering as if either she didn't think I was fit for the task or something would go wrong. Probably both. Looking at the feather bag was slowly pissing me off, the fact that so many had to die just so she could experiment with a long-gone spirit.

What would I do if I was in the same predicament? The same thing or focus more on trying to free myself from these tunnels first.

"You never answered the question, what do I have to do to receive these items?"

She snapped her head up from the paper, one ghosty glimmering finger resting on a part of the paper, shifting her weight from side to side.

"You will do one thing at a time so I can keep an eye on you. From now on, you will call me nothing, just start the conversation and get it over with. The first thing you will do is kill the baby bird, the thing that means the most to his reincarnation. You'll do it without even knowing that you are."

She turned her back to me, dipping her head to the ground, "And, I expect that you'll keep our meetings to yourself, that's if you don't wanna see your life go downhill."

"I can't kill somebody for someone that's already dead. And if you had any heart, you would free the living world from this. Being like Ice is a curse and every second you speak, I don't see the girl in the story who was good but I see him." I didn't know how bad I'd messed up until her nails met my flesh, drawing blood from the new wound straight down my cheek.

Warm crimson ran down my cheek, leaving a path of red slowly drying to my face. I gritted my teeth against the pain, black fury rising from the depths of my aura. Whatever was retraining me was knocked down as soon as the wound began to sting with the air prying into the raw.

I reached out for her, she ducked but it was clear that years of being dormant and trapped away from the sun slowed her. I could defeat her. My fingers tightened around her thick locks of black and brown bristled hair. Lace snarled, her eyes wide as the sound of claws scraping on the cement, clicking sharply. She twisted, her own cry filling the atmosphere before she doubled back, planting her elbow in my stomach.

I grunted in pain as the blood rose from deep in my throat, splattering against the cement wall to the left, falling into the swirling discolored water under my feet as I stepped right. Her brown eyes glittered in the moonlight as she wagged her fingers in a strange motion. Up and down. Down and left. Then again. Her mind was so distant because of death. The only way I could fight her is to obey her. To be her good little fireleaf.

My mind flung back to Georgeanna, the way she stood up for herself when it came to Timothy. Her strength in letting him know just how she felt. But then again, she wasn't cornered by a killer and two massive mutts. Two different situations and two different choices made. She was human and I am royalleaf.

Lace lifted the back of her hand to her lip, smudging her purple lipstick and red blood spilling down her jaw. The dogs slowly crept on either side of him, tails lowered to balance with their tails and teeth pulled back in the grins again. Skittle, the male and the largest stood to her waist where a tiny pocket knife was shoved between her belt and the soft black fabric of her Green Day shirt, while the smallest made up in muscles rippling down her back and churning at the shoulders.

"My father is not and never will be up for discussion. I killed him just so I could prove that I was nothing like him. Nothing!", It's there again. Pain. Hurt. She was blinded by it that she can't even see what she's doing. Even though I have sight, I have to walk with a blindfold just to protect those who mean the most to me.

"I understand. But these practices are harming people. Don't you understand? Adam is dead, I know how much you love him but do you actually think he'd want to return just to know that the people he gave his life for had to die?"

She took a step forward, lifting her hand to her brow, "I can't move on to the next life until I have the one thing that meant everything to me."

The silence was penetrated by a loud bark from both of the dogs in a chorus.

She moved straight towards me with eyes of dull anger, "You bring me the pieces, Anne and I'll spare everything you care about."

"Anne! Please!" Ash's frantic calling echoed through the barrier of the dreams. This time, it was more choked with fear and terror than before. Who knows how long I've been in this dreamscape. I pressed my fingers to the blood welled wound on my face, stopping right below my bottom lip. The metal tang of blood coating my tongue never disappeared as the vision before me got blurry and hands from the other world shook me.

Lace moved back, placing a hand on the back of her dogs, "Don't let me down. Wear that bloody scar as a reminder that you have a duty I assigned you to do. Consider it a blessing to know the truth."

The shapes shifted back into foggy unidentifiable objects lining up against the wall. The dogs turned into shadows of dust flanking Lace's slowly deteriorating shape. She blinked at me one last time before dipping away through the walls that fizzled into grey and black, hiding away the water in the distance before silencing it.

Cold air tore at my lungs as the world around me faded away to complete black. My eyes finally opened to the real world revealing a sight that never expected to see. Maybe if the fear in Ash's widened eyes was replaced with neutrality and his lips weren't trembling. He hovered over me, closing his eyes as soon as our eyes met.

Blood covered new jacket he'd probably gotten from one of the upstairs boxes. Red stained the light blond tip of his hair that brushed my face. Whimpering filled the room, tiny shallow cries on the other end of the couch where my feet had once been, making the chill from the floor every bit more evident. I pushed up, placing my hand directly on the scar under my eye.

"Anne.", Ash croaked, taking a step away from me, "It's Cole."