14 EVIL'S SOFT FIRST TOUCHES

          —THE midmorning sun is bright. Warm. Tender.

It is the sun of a new world. The welcoming and guiding light for those who have been lost in the darkness for so long. It beckons them from evil, coaxing them back to what once was good.

Many follow it instinctively, back to the open air where they belong. They race to the blazing end of the tunnel in search of their old selves. They do not look back, not at the cage, not at the mountain. It is behind them, now. It is a past they long to forget. A version of themselves they do not wish to ever be again.

They will move on, in time. The gentle sun and open skies above will make sure of it.

But there are those who refuse to see that good light. Those who cannot. Those who have been blinded by darkness—willfully or not. They've made a home among the evil, finding their own place in a world wrought with pain and terror.

No longer do they feel a place exists for them in the loving sunlight.

The Witch lives on in them whether they like it or not. She has left an impression, an etching, a scar, lasting even through her own death. Seeds of her corruption have taken root, burrowing in deep, deeper than what can be dug up.

Her legacy lives on in the monsters she made.

—KAZI fears the pull. That drawing force that rises up when she winnows to the threshold of the mountain. It attracts her like a moth to a flame. It is an alluring trap. She's escaped the darkness; she's escaped the Witch. And yet, the hardest part seems to be staying away.

She cannot fathom the ache in her bones. The one telling her to enter, enter, enter. Return, return, return.

There is an indescribable feeling that she is home here. And she is almost sick with that realization.

"Kazimyrah." Rhysand's voice washes away the darkness.

She shakes her head, clearing it of a hazy conflict she dare not give in to. "Yes?"

"Are you alright? I've been calling your name," he explains, eyes filled with concern. She opens her mouth to dissuade his worry, but he speaks again, "I'd understand if you want to return home."

There's that unsettling word again, tormenting her when it should only bring comfort. She cannot resist the way her eyes glance to the mountain over his shoulder.

This is home, some dark part of her whispers from the depths.

"I'm fine," she asserts, forcing her gaze back to his.

"A lie," he says lightly at having caught onto her so easily, but his face has dropped into severity. "No one will fault you for not wanting to come back here."

Perhaps not, but they will fault her for the opposite.

"I'm fine," she repeats, throwing false-strength into her voice.

"As you say," he says quietly, dropping the subject. "Mor went on ahead to begin winnowing the court back to Hewn an hour ago, so she'll be resting by now. We're just here to clear up the rest. She mentioned some refused to leave."

"Wonderful," Kazi sighs.

"No one is to stay behind. Use force if necessary." He brushes by her to enter the mouth of the mountain. The muscles tense almost imperceptibly in his back, but she always notices his tells. "You know how to reach me if there's trouble."

And she's left to follow him inside.

The mountain is a flurry of movement and ruckus. Fae are teeming about with sacks and bundles of clothes or miscellaneous objects. Belongings they acquired down in the mountain through trading or creating. Lives were made down here; terrible lives with little to cherish, but fifty years of memories nonetheless.

And they are being uprooted.

   It's a blessing, Kazi tells herself. No one wants to stay here. No one wants to be left behind in this damnable mountain.

None except you, the dark whisperer says.

"Gods damned mountain," she curses, trudging onwards to the Night Court wing behind her High Lord.

Some doors along the hallway are propped open with stones, and with a few thorough inspections, Kazi deems those ones as properly vacated. Rhysand makes a begrudging comment about dealing with Keir before heading in the direction of the nicer suites.

She watches him until he turns a corner before knocking on the nearest sealed door. It swings open a long minute later, and a shimmering High Fae male with bronze cat-like eyes appears on the other side. On his arm dangles a female from the Spring Court, a heavy floral sent wafting off her—though it's nearly masked by a thick layer of some bitter alcohol. She looks severely intoxicated from the night's festivities, head lilting onto the male's shoulder as he scowls at Kazi.

"We've been waiting for an hour," he sneers.

Oh, good, a willing passenger.

Kazi glances from him to the female, face stony. "Good, then you can wait a while longer. Get rid of her, I'm not taking back a drugged female."

She does not wait for him to argue with her as she moves on to the adjacent room, ignoring the spits and insults the High Fae leaves in her wake. She knocks on the door and it takes a few moments for the next male to open the door. Luckily, this one is alone.

"Lady Kazimyrah," he says in greeting. She does not know him; she doesn't make it her business to know anyone from the lower echelon of the Court of Nightmares.

She looks him up and down, noting the empty hands. "Are you ready to leave?"

"I already informed Lady Morrigan of my extended stay. But you may take these," he pulls out a small leather pouch filled with enough money to maybe rent a small flat for two months, "back to my family. That should be enough to last them a couple years while I'm gone."

She lets the pouch slip right through her fingers to the floor, creating a muffled jingling noise. Stepping on it purposefully, she leans forward to snatch up his elbow. His indignant cries are dampened by the winnowing darkness. The suppressed silence lasts for two seconds before her ear is once again bombarded by his complaints.

"My bag! You—Kazimyrah of Night, those were my earnings! You take me back right—"

And she's winnowing away from Hewn City's obsidian gates without him.

She's no courier.

The High Fae from before is waiting for her, the female still hanging limply on his arm looking as if she might tip over without his assistance. He's red in the face, offsetting the natural shine of his pale skin and harsh, gleaming eyes. She stares at him, blinking against his hardened stare, unimpressed.

"She is coming back with me," he states firmly.

"No," Kazi denies, "she isn't."

"She agreed to come to the Night Court, is that what you want to hear?"

"She can hardly stand," she studies the female and waves a hand in front of her eyes only to receive a dazed smile in response, "let alone think for herself or agree to anything. I am not going to let you thieve away with a doped plaything from another court just because you can't convince a female from your own court to come within a stride of you while sober. Return her to her embassy, and then I'll think about taking you home. Or...you're more than welcome to hitch a ride to the Spring Court with Tamlin. You won't be missed, I assure you."

He hisses, feline canines on full display, and his fingers dig into the disoriented female's arm unconsciously. She flinches away from his grip, eyes shutting in distant pain, and Kazi sighs with displeasure. In one swift movement, she swipes a hand to sever the point of contact between them and shoves the male into the corridor wall. She takes the female's listless hand into her own, and before the male can even recover from the hit, Kazi's already winnowed her to the wing where the Spring Court is staying.

A head of infamous auburn hair and a steely, gold eye greet her at the threshold. Brilliant.

Lucien's shoulders stiffen as he registers her arrival, face turning to look over suspiciously. His metal eye whirs as he sizes them up.

"I've come to deliver a stray. She's inebriated," Kazi says and shifts the female's weight off her side to lean it on Lucien. He steadies her, brushing some wispy hair out of her flushed face to scan her clearly. An expression of recognition crosses his features before he looks back up to Kazi.

"I take it that drugging innocent females is a common skill in your court?" he mutters bitterly.

The painting of Feyre dancing under the influence of faerie wine cuts through her mind, and she frowns. He pays special consideration to it, shuffling the female around so her face no longer falls awkwardly into his chest.

"Thank you," he says quietly, as if it were a struggle—which it, no doubt, was.

Kazi nods as he turns to guide the female over to a nearby room. Down at the end of the hall, she finds two faces watching her with careful interest.

Feyre whispers something to Linden, and he peers down at her. They converse quietly, looking to Kazi every few seconds to find she hasn't left yet. The female seems to ask a question, and the Guardian of the Spring Court looks as if he wants to tell her no, but eventually relents under pressure. Feyre smiles and squeezes his arm as she heads toward Kazi.

She waits patiently, noting with prideful satisfaction that she now walks on the balls of her feet with her shoulders held back, though it wavers at intermittent intervals.

The female stops in front of Kazi, and glances once over her shoulder toward the room Lucien entered with the drugged fae. "Rhysand's work?" she asks in a mild sneer, clearly also thinking of how the High Lord had gotten her drunk every night.

"No, he doesn't typically sedate his lovers...or anyone else, for that matter," Kazi answers, relishing in how the truth feels on her tongue.

"Just me, huh?" Feyre scoffs bitterly. "I feel rather special."

"I...will not defend his actions."

"Why? Because you think I'm not worth arguing with?" Feyre cracks. "Isn't it your duty to defend him?"

Kazi cannot say she dislikes this renitent side of Feyre Archeron. There's something to be said about her spunk.

She shakes her head. "No, it's because I do not think there is anything you could say that I would disagree with. My duty is to defend his life, not his actions. Sometimes they may overlap or coincide, and I might fight for his cause as well as his life, but our ideals do not always line up. We butt heads as much as any family does, but that doesn't mean I would not die for him."

"Family," Feyre murmurs.

"Yes," Kazi replies fondly. Her tone of voice must catch the female off guard, because she shivers violently out of a thought.

"But not by blood," she says. "Linden told me the High Lords and guardians never...that they never...—"

"Procreate?" Kazi offers.

"Yes."

Kazi wants to smile at the human modesty. "It's not for lack of trying." Feyre blushes. "The faelings never survive past their adolescence. Once they start coming into their power, they begin to rapidly pass. It's too much for one being—at least, for our kind."

"I see." Feyre breathes. "It's just...your eyes."

"It was not an uncommon color in the Night Court many years ago. Over time, it's become more of a rarity, but some prominent families like to increase their chances of having offspring with violet eyes by specifically choosing partners with the feature." Kazi tilts her head. "As if the High Lord and guardian bloodlines weren't pretentious enough."

Feyre huffs warily, as if agreeing may be treasonous. "I understand there can be no healthy offspring between a High Lord and a guardian, but it almost seems like—I mean, relationships don't require children."

There is no question, but Kazi knows what she is attempting to ask. "It has been known to happen. Sometimes the connection that forms between a High Lord and their guardian can branch into a mutual sexual desire. It is seldom acted on, because of what might happen if they aren't careful. But, yes, physical relationships do develop."

Lavender incense fumes blanket the room, intertwining with humid air; an aphrodisiac to its lazing occupants. Kazi feels as if she is breathing in a pool. Her skin is left warm by the many excited bodies, but her lungs pull in a thick moisture that cools her chest.

A dark, slender arm draws across the width of her vision. She follows a path from its wrist to the shoulder, from shoulder to neck, and neck to face. Gemstone eyes the color of precious emeralds, full alluring lips, and a charming widow's peak that fades into long, sleek waves of raven hair. The wrist next to her nose smells faintly of saffron, one of the most expensive spices imported from the mainland—a gift or form of payment for her services, most likely.

The female's fingertips brush the sensitive point of Kazi's right ear before she whispers in the other, "Would you like me to escort you to a private room?"

Kazi's eyes flicker to the private rooms in question. Nine alcoves line three of the walls, sheer curtains the only barriers between the main brothel room and the events that take place in the dark. Some choose not to close the drapes, finding their pleasure where everyone can see. Some come only to watch. Some rent the more enclosed rooms upstairs.

Some come because they do not have a choice:

"Not tonight," she declines for the eighth time that evening. "Though...my companion over there might enjoy your company."

She gestures to Cassian, unmissable in the dim lighting across from where they lounge. Despite the couple hours they've been here, he hasn't ventured to take a lover for the night, yet. Not until he has sent Rhysand and Azriel on their fair ways to temporary happiness.

Rhysand was easy enough, so lost in his grief that he accepted whoever stepped in front of him first. Kazi intercepted them only once on their traipsing way upstairs, checking for any hidden weapons and asking confidentiality questions—as was her duty, now. An ingrained duty that she couldn't ignore if she tried.

She hasn't seen them since, but she can still feel a steady thrum in the muscle threads of her back that tell her he is safe. Safe and hopefully numb to his pain.

Azriel, on the other hand, has been a persistent renouncer, perusing through the complimentary spirits instead of the selection of hired consorts. His body is hidden behind Cassian's at a lounging booth, nearly invisible in the shadows. But she sees him. She always does.

"A few of the ladies have approached him already. Even some of our males," the female says hesitantly. "I don't think he's interested."

Kazi eyes her friend across the way, noticing how taught he is. How jittery and tense.

"He is interested," she corrects. "Just stubborn."

"I don't convince people to have sex with me."

"You don't need to. You just need to convince him to leave that other male's side. Go over there, and tell him I'll handle things from here. He'll be yours," Kazi promises.

The female sighs wistfully and leaves a lingering touch to her cheek when she departs for Cassian. Sashaying hips, translucent fabric, bewitching voice. Cassian's resolve will not hold up against the temptation.

The female does exactly as Kazi instructed, garnering his attention with a persuasive stroke to his bicep. He readily leans down at her beckon, listening to her whisper in his ear. Over the female's bare shoulder, he glances up and catches Kazi's eye.

She faintly nudges her head encouragingly. It's all the dismissal he needs.

Cassian and the female are gone from sight within moments, hidden behind a curtain or upstairs in a more private setting. Kazi does not care where, so long as he returns home in one piece tomorrow.

Her eyes do not wander, latching instantly onto a new target. He is already looking to her, perhaps wondering how she managed the impossible.

His shadows are not so active tonight, merely allowing him to blend seamlessly into the outskirts of light. No one approaches him—no one except the attendants who fill his cup—but he does not appear bothered. Lounging, as she is, alone.

He will not take anyone, not even those brave enough to proposition him. He will turn them away, and continue his night in solitude at a place where people go to find the opposite. He will catch her eye throughout the night, both of them periodically scanning the room.

They will be trapped in a tunnel for a few moments each time, their eyes the end and the beginning. Everything and everyone else simply nonexistent.

She can never turn away from those eyes that hold her. Eyes as deep and as dark as the night, yet something within sparks a warmth in the amber—something that keeps those eyes from being cold in their stare.

Kazi thinks, somehow, that taking a lover is not as intimate as what they do on these nights.

She almost encourages Feyre to ask more, to pry more, to learn more, but the female has clearly flustered herself to a limit:

"I see." Feyre fidgets, ripping at a hangnail nervously.

Kazi's hand lightly bats at her fingers to stop the action, as someone once did the same for her centuries ago. "Try to get rid of that habit. People will not be kind to a female who is so obviously nervous."

She stops, hands delving into the folds of her gown like a scolded child. Her head tilts down to the ground in the same way.

Kazi clicks her tongue and lifts Feyre's chin with a knuckle. "And don't avoid eye contact, either. Stare at their forehead if you must, but do not seek the ground for comfort."

Feyre steps away harshly, huffing. Her eyes narrow into angered slits. "I get it. You think I am unfit for Tamlin and for a High Lord, I get it. You do not need to talk down to me."

Much better. "My apologies. I was merely trying to help."

"Well, don't," Feyre says earnestly. A complicated look crosses her features, and Kazi nearly tells her to keep that in check, as well, before thinking better of it. "Our conversation...last night."

"Yes, I remember. Have you decided what you want of me?"

"Answers," Feyre replies quickly. "I want answers."

"Then I will need questions." Kazi can't help the smirk that slips.

"I wanted to ask you about Claire Beddor."

Kazi thinks of all the fae she still needs to deliver to the Night Court. She thinks about what she would rather endure: the obnoxious courtiers or memories she never wants to relive.

She knows what she prefers, but the once-human doesn't give her much of a choice in the end.

"You were the one to kill her."

"I thought you had something to ask," Kazi responds, harsher than she intended to be. She looks into Feyre's eyes and sees something akin to, you know what I meant. She sighs. "I was the one to end her life, yes."

Feyre takes a deep breath to think about what she wants to say next. Kazi waits patiently. "And you—you tortured her believing it was me?"

"...I did." She forgoes any sort of excuse that might anger Feyre, despite how she longs to defend herself. "Her death was the reason I was in the dungeons when you arrived."

"Why?" she whispers.

"If Amarantha had her way, the girl would have been alive and in pain for far longer. I killed her on my own terms, and it...angered her."

Kazi does not mention how Amarantha was not only angry, but pleased. Pleased to have made a monster out of her.

Feyre nods, face turned down and away once more. "And do you...All of the rest," she restarts with a swallow, "the other mortals and the fae that you had to kill, do you regret it?"

Kazi does not answer immediately, treading carefully on the fragile glass truth. She cannot regret adhering to her High Lord's orders to do Amrantha's bidding. She will never regret protecting her home.

"I regret...that it had to be done," she says slowly.

And it is, evidently, the very thing Feyre's been needing to hear. Her shoulders visibly lose their tension as she breathes.

"Feyre," Kazi begins knowingly, "those faeries last night...it had to be done. You can regret that it had to happen, and you can even regret that it had to be you and not someone else. But you should never regret what you did to save everyone else. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, unfortunately. By killing them, you have prevented many more from being killed."

A tear races down the female's cheek, touching every other human freckle on its way down to her jaw. "But that's the thing," she utters and wipes her hand against her face to rid herself of the tears, "Amarantha was never going to let me win, never going to let me live. She was never planning on letting Tamlin go, and that means that they died in vain."

Kazi, once again faced with a situation she is not trained to handle, bites her cheek. "Nobody knew what Amarantha was planning, especially not you. We all truly believed that if you completed each task, Tamlin and his people would be freed. So you finished the tasks with no other choice. The uninformed are never guilty."

She trembles, but her eyes clear up as she continues to wipe at them.

"Feyre," a voice calls from the opposite end of the hall, and she perks up reflexively. She clenches her jaw and blinks a few times before turning to the High Lord of the Spring Court. Kazi looks her over once before focusing on him as well. He is staring them down cautiously. "We're leaving now."

Feyre nods and turns back to Kazi briefly. "Than—" she seems to think better of her words—for who would thank someone like Kazimyrah of the Night Court? "I suppose I will be seeing you soon."

"I suppose you will," Kazi agrees.

And then she winnows back across the mountain.

For a moment, she just stands in the corridor, reflecting on what she'd told Feyre and how none of it can be applied to her. Kazi was not the 'uninformed.' She was not killing the few to save the many. And she is certainly not allowed to selfishly regret that it was her who had to kill them.

"Hey!" the male from before roars. Kazi does not hide her rolling eyes as she faces his approaching form. "What's your problem?"

She does not deign to answer that question. "Are you ready to go?"

"No!" he shouts and throws his arms out wide. "I demand that you get Laurel right now!"

"I do not listen to the demands of lowly courtiers." She crosses her arms. "Besides, I suspect that they are well on their way back to the Spring Court by now. If you truly wish to bring her back to the Night Court, then you can send a missive. By the time she receives it, she'll be perfectly sober enough to respond."

"You—" he stammers. "I am not leaving until she is back."

"I have no problem leaving you here. In fact, I think it's a great idea. Excuse me." She moves to step around him but is stopped by his hand grasping her elbow. "Unhand me."

"Listen here, you bitch. I—"

She does not let him get another word in as she jabs her free elbow into his gut, and flicks her entrapped arm out of his grip. He stumbles back, and she hooks a foot around his ankle so he fully collapses to the ground on his backside. The heel of her boot comes down upon that same ankle and it snaps beneath the force. He cries out in agony as she continues to press down on the broken joint.

Kazi leans down so she can look him in the eye as she speaks. "If you ever touch a female without her permission again, I will personally hunt you across Prythian, across every continent, and rip your hands from your body. I will make sure you are never able to touch anything ever again. Do you understand?"

He is whimpering now, his canines ripping into the skin of his lips as he bites down to try and stop himself from crying out. A harsh crunch travels through the air as she pushes further.

"I said, do you understand?" she repeats.

"Yes! Fuck, I understand!" he groans.

She finally lifts her foot. He curls in on himself to cradle the afflicted leg and curses her to oblivion. "Now," she smiles pleasantly, "are you ready to go, or do you want to try walking all the way home on this busted ankle?"

A snarl rips from his throat, but he looks away as he shoves his arm towards her.

"Good choice," she croons, grabbing his wrist tight enough to make him wince.

She drops him off a short distance from the actual city so he'll be forced to hobble his way in to find help. He curses her one more time before she disappears in a cloud of black smoke once more.

As she lands back in the mountain, she can sense a presence at her shoulder. She does not have to look over to know who it is; Mor's entire being emanates power in ways that are unique to only her.

"Trouble?"

Kazi rolls her shoulders. "Handled. I thought you were done with your portion?"

"Keir is searching for me, and I want to avoid him for a little while longer," the blonde sighs. "Rhys and I managed to get the last of them."

Kazi nods, feeling only a twinge of contrition at not doing more work.

Mor looks around the empty wing. "I went to look at the body." Kazi stills. "She's already starting to smell."

"She'd be horrified to know that she stinks, even as a corpse," she jokes ruefully. She grimaces at the reminder of the Middengard Wyrm and its pungent odor in death. This mountain is just going to become a wasteland for rotting corpses.

"Well, she'll always be the center of attention in that room, just like she always wanted."

"I actually heard talk that the Spring Court plans on coming back to burn her body to ashes," Kazi mentions, remembering the short snippets of conversation she heard during the celebrations last night.

"Nothing less than what she deserves," Mor remarks. "I'm only upset that we most likely won't be invited to witness it."

Surely not, Kazi thinks. The Night Court will probably be the only ones not to receive an invite to such an occasion. All the better, she decides. Once Kazi has left this place for the last time, she does not intend to come back. Not even to burn the Witch that tore their land apart.

She refuses to give in to the temptation the Mountain holds by returning for a third time. The darkness embedded in her soul will fade with time and distance, Mother willing. The darkness will recede if she severs this link.

A liar. A liar. A liar. The dark whisperer taunts. Foolish liar.

Mor's arm loops through Kazi's elbow, effectively pulling her from the encroaching abyss. "Come on, let's get out of here."

And thankfully, it is Mor who winnows them both away...because Kazi is not sure the darkness in her heart would allow her such an escape.

NOTES ;

OH BROTHER...
I LEFT Y'ALL HANGING, DIDN'T I?
IT WAS NOT ON PURPOSE, I SWEAR.
SCHOOL KIND OF TOOK OVER.
I'M NOT SURE I'VE HAD A MORE
HECTIC SEMESTER.
I BECAME TREASURER FOR MY
CLUB. I JOINED AN INTRAMURAL
SPORTS TEAM. I STARTED A PART-
TIME JOB. I'VE NEVER BEEN
BUSIER, BUT SURPRISINGLY, I'VE
NEVER BEEN HAPPIER.

I'M TRYING MY BEST NOT TO
ABANDON THIS WORK BC I
REALLY DO LOVE ACOTAR
AND I REALLY DO LOVE THE
CHARACTERS I'VE CREATED.

ANYWAYS, I HOPE YOU GUYS
ARE STILL INTERESTED IN
READING THIS STORY. I KNOW
A LOT OF MY READERS WILL
HAVE DROPPED OFF, BUT I'M
EAGER TO SEE WHO COMES
BACK!

NOW, TO TALK ABOUT THE CHAPTER:

DID YOU GUYS NOTICE HOW KAZI,
BOTH IN THIS CHAPTER AND A COUPLE
CHAPTERS AGO, WAS CORRECTING
FEYRE ON CERTAIN FAE THINGS?
THINGS THAT WILL HELP HER BE A GOOD
...YA KNOW, HIGH LADY? KAZI IS
LITERALLY TRAINING HER. I CAN'T
WAIT UNTIL THAT BECOMES A
BIGGER PART OF THEIR FRIENDSHIP

AND THEIR CONVERSATION ABOUT
CLAIRE BEDDOR. I THINK, AT THIS
POINT, FEYRE HAS SORT OF FIGURED
OUT WHAT KIND OF GAME KAZI HAD
TO PLAY UNDER THE MOUNTAIN.
OF COURSE, SHE IS STILL NOT FORGIVEN,
NOR IS SHE TRUSTED, BUT FEYRE
UNDERSTANDS WHAT AMARANTHA
WAS CAPABLE OF WHEN IT CAME TO
MANIPULATION.
SHE DEFINITELY NEEDED THAT
ADVICE AFTER KILLING THE
INNOCENT FAERIES.

AS FOR THE FLASHBACK...

WE ARE GETTING SOME SEXUAL
TENSION IN HERE FINALLY. IT'S STILL
IN THE BLOSSOMING STAGE, OF COURSE,
BUT IT MOVES QUITE FAST AFTER THIS.
IT'LL SEEM ACTUALLY TOO FAST FOR
A LITTLE WHILE BC THERE IS JUST SO
MUCH TO THEIR STORY. THE BEGINNING
OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS NOT REALLY
ABOUT LOVE... I'LL JUST SAY THAT.

NEXT CHAPTER WILL ONLY BE A
FLASHBACK ACTUALLY. NOTHING IN
THE PRESENT TIME. LOTS OF AZRIEL
COMING UP!!

P.S. I'VE JUST BEEN REALLY HATING
WATTPAD'S NEW ... EVERYTHING,
LATELY, SO I'M NOT ON HERE AS
MUCH. I HAVE AN AO3 ACCOUNT
UNDER THE SAME NAME
WITH SOME OTHER KINDS OF
FICS—INCLUDING THIS ONE
ON THERE. FEEL FREE TO CHECK IT
OUT. I LIKE THAT PLATFORM MUCH
BETTER.