What Connected Us All

Into the Woods

Write an essay describing the many slayings of giants from the famous Gillferd Ollerton and the misconceptions his reputation has given other magical beings about wizards and witches. It must be at least four rolls long and include specific events from the 15^th century.

As Farren walks down the seventh floor corridor, reading the prompt and her essay over again, she wonders when it is she'll use the information attained by doing this assignment. Never, she concludes. Initially, Farren had been rather excited to write the essay. It would be quite fun, she'd thought, to dive into the bigotry of wizards and witches and the division it has created within the magical world. But then Farren had noticed the word "misconception". Of course. she isn't supposed to analyze or dare criticize their precious society. No, her job as a student is to reverberate facts like some perverse parrot and assure the adults that she's a good little girl who still believes in their fucked up way of doing things. And that's what Farren had done. She'd sat there in the library for hours and wrote everything she was supposed to, glorifying the hardships dealt to the wizards and witches by their magical brethren, whom simply "misunderstand" them. Lord, just thinking about it makes Farren want to gag. But that is what she must do. She must prostitute herself and do what they want if she ever really wants to survive at all. The whole thing makes her think of Severus, who is on the same boat as she is. Neither of them have family to fall back on for money or support. Both of them must leave Hogwarts by the end of this year and become completely independent. And, of course, they both dream of being more than just parrots. They both see these faults within the social order they must partake in. And because of this, they both want more.

...We both want so much more...

With a sigh, she attempts to push the matter away. It is no use dwelling. And as the Fat Lady's portrait comes into view, a new worry strikes her.

"Fuck," she mutters, slowing her strides down to a halt. When she reaches the Fat Lady, the portrait will ask for a password. A password her memory is currently withholding. But after a moment's consideration, Farren shrugs, thinks "to hell with it", forces a radiant smile onto her face and continues the walk to the painting.

"Hullo, my lovely lady! Might I say that you are looking particularly divine tonight?"

The portrait looks down past her up-turned noise and at the girl with a mixture of haughtiness and disdain. "And what do you want?"

"Why, nothing of course. I was simply commenting on what is so plainly obvious," she says, trying desperately to keep her smile genuine. It's harder than usual.

But apparently it works because the Fat Lady flushes with pleasure despite herself. "Well I have been cutting down on my wine recently... But I didn't think it made much of a difference--"

"No difference? My dear, you look positively ravishing. In fact," and here she leans forward to whisper, "I heard a portrait of a handsome knight and his steed saying those exact words."

The woman gives a little girlish giggle that reminds Farren of Celia. "Oh come in, come in," she says, swinging forward and waving an imploring hand. "And - er - which floor did you say that knight was on, dear?"

"The second. Good luck!" And then she walks through the portrait hole without ever having provided a password. She'll have to keep flattery in mind when she forgets it again.

Farren is surprised to see that, despite the late hour, a decent amount of students remain in the common room. She notes as well that they are all either in O.W.L or N.E.W.T years. And, sure enough, a pretty red-head sits hunched over a very thick looking textbook. And not too far from her is Celia, who seems to be practicing a charm on a teacup.

She first goes to Lily. "Darling," she says gingerly, slipping an arm around her, "the very look of that textbook is enough to make me jump out that window."

"I know!" Lily says in a much shriller voice than normal. "And I've no idea how to do any of it! I feel asleep during Runes today--"

"You what? How could you have fallen asleep in class?"

To Farren's utter amazement, the girl blushes. "I didn't, uh, get much sleep the night before."

She raises an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

"Nothing... nothing in particular. Just thinking and stuff..." Lily says with false casualty, busying herself by flipping through scattered pieces of paper.

Farren is not fooled. "Lily Evans, what in God's name were you thinking about that kept you up all night?"

"I wasn't thinking about anything important--stop smirking, Ren! Fine. I was just up reading that book Potter gave me. But the fact that I lost sleep over it just proves that boy mucks everything up."

"That's rubbish," Farren says between laughs. "You're just cross because you're starting to fancy--"

"I DO NOT FANCY JAMES POTTER!"

Silence falls in the common room at Lily's outburst. Several heads swivel to glare at the interruption.

"...Sorry," she says hurriedly. Then, to Farren, "I didn't mean to shout--"

Farren smiles reassuringly. "That's alright. You're too stressed, love. I think we all are. We just need a--"

But Celia walks over to the other girls then, looking harassed. "I give up!" she declares and throws the tea mug down with vehemence. "Maybe the bloody teacup doesn't want to become an elegant goblet." She throws herself into the seat next to Lily, still fuming. "Maybe it just wants to stay a teacup!"

Farren surveys her two disheveled-looking friends, then the other fifth and seventh years. Some are mumbling to themselves, others pulling panicky fingers through their hair and all bearing the unmistakable signs of near insanity. Even Farren herself is catching onto the mood, becoming nervous and apprehensive for no evident reason. She gets like this a lot after writing long essays like the one she had just finished. It's a horrible feeling, like all the enthusiasm and hope for the educational system she'd managed to cling to was sucked dry from her very soul and it now lay withered, drained, and dead.

See? See what schoolwork can do to people? And they get so caught up in their need to achieve everything, they forget the real purpose of school: to ensure success in the long-run. And right now, with the war waging in full swing, the long-run is not something people are promised. They are only promised now, this moment they're currently wasting on Rune translations and such.

"What are you doing!?" Lily shrieks when Farren closes the heavy textbook with a resounding bang.

"I'm saving you," she states and snatches it off the table. Lily's scream of horror rings throughout the room as Farren chucks the book out the open window.

Taking advantage of her temporary paralyzation, Farren grabs the girl and drags Lily out of the common room. "Come on," she barks to Celia. "We're taking a break."

Lily regains speech just as the portrait-hole seals shut behind them. "You... you... COW!" She wrestles out of Farren's grip. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU DON'T HAVE REGARD FOR ANYONE BUT YOURSELF, DO YOU?"

"I'm helping you."

"HOW CAN YOU!? YOU CAN'T EVEN HELP YOURSELF!"

"But I can try to help you."

Lily stops yelling, takes a step back and looks at Farren as though she had just sprouted antlers. Then she roars in frustration and dives for the girl with flailing arms. "YOU--DON'T--KNOW--EVERYTHING--!" She pants, struggling to fight out of Celia's restraining grasp with new every word. "YOU--ALWAYS--THINK--YOU'RE--RIGHT--!"

"I know I'm not always right. When I was five I bet my cousin three pounds that he couldn't stay underwater for more than a minute and he did... Though the brain damage was quite an unfortunate side effect--"

"THIS IS NO TIME FOR JOKING!"

"Actually," Farren says with a shrug, "I think it's the perfect time for it."

Lily glares daggers at her and there is pure loathing in her eyes. "Release me," she commands. Celia looks at Farren, who gives a single nod.

"I'm going back inside," Lily says, straightening herself. "And tomorrow, when Professor Babbling asks why I couldn't do my homework, I'll tell her to talk to you."

"Lovely. You do that. Off you go then."

She turns furiously, walks a few paces, stops, and gasps. "She's... gone!" And Lily spins back to them in disbelief. "The Fat Lady, she's not in her portrait."

"Hmm," Farren says, doing quite a good job at sounding appropriately curious. "So I take it you will be joining us, then."

But before Lily can retort, Celia clears her throat awkwardly and says, "Exactly where are we going again?"

"The forest."

"The Forbidden Forest?" Lily scoffs and gives a short, derisive laugh. "And precisely why would you do that?"

"Because it's the only place on these grounds where we can actually do something to help prepare for what's out there. It's the only place where we can learn to protect ourselves."

"You're not joking, are you? You're actually serious," Lily mutters in half amazement, half exasperation. "You're insane."

Farren grabs Lily's hands imploringly, loosing all sense of anger and aggravation. "Lily, just think about it. We know all the spells; we've had six and a half years of learning. Don't you think it's about time we put those things to use? I'm tired of being in a classroom and having this false sense of security. I want to be challenged in real, unsupervised combat; with no teacher separating me from the real danger. Because we're not children anymore and these aren't good times to live in, despite all the bullocks the ministry keeps feeding us about "making advances" in the war. The truth is that the Dark Lord is out there. He's out there spreading this idea that people like us are scum--no, infestations! And his ideas are catching like wildfire... We can't pretend anymore, Lily. We can't pretend that we're safe, really. That the danger is elsewhere. He's here: killing, maiming, destroying, corrupting--" her voice falters slightly on the last word, but she swallows and continues. "And I refuse to be a victim."

Lily pulls her hands away from Farren's, but this time it isn't angry. "You're being dramatic, Ren. We have Dumbledore. We--"

"DUMBLEDORE?" she bellows. "Dumbledore? And will we have Dumbledore when we leave here at the end of term? Did you're brother," she points at Celia, "have Dumbledore?"

Celia looks down at her feet.

"We don't have anyone but ourselves. And I don't know about you, but learning more about how to translate Rune symbols doesn't really make me feel more prepared for that."

Farren watches Lily hopefully. Somehow she knows that her answer, whatever it is, will change their friendship. It is a test to see whether these very different girls can manage to be at all functional together, or maybe even learn from each other.

"I want to do it," Celia murmurs. "I want to be prepared, Ren."

Farren flashes her a smile. "That's very brave of you, Celia. You know, you really are extraordinary sometimes."

Celia looks back down at the floor, obviously pleased.

Then Farren turns back to Lily expectantly.

She shakes her head slightly. "It's all fine and well when you say it like that. But just step back a moment and listen to yourself. Going into the forest? That's completely insane."

Farren snaps. "You know what's insane? The fact that nine year-old boys are being killed right now. That people still believe whole-heartedly that we deserve to exterminated just because of our family. That the world can become this horrible, and still not show a single sign of hope. That we can't live our lives normally because some depraved bastard decided he's boss. That's insane. Going into the forest to train ourselves? That's positively ingenious."

Lily sighs and rubs her temples in a tired motion. "Farren, are you absolutely sure you're not supposed to be in Slytherin?"

She suddenly has the most wonderful urge to laugh and does so. "Darling, you're getting better already! That joke wasn't even that dry..."

"And tell me again why I'm friends with you?" But Lily's resolve is waning.

Farren responds with a grin. "Because when you compare yourself to me, you feel like a well-balanced and rational human being?"

"I wish it were anything nearly as sensible as that."

And with that, Lily walks past Farren and Celia and further away from the Gryffindor common room. "Well?" she says, looking back at them. "Aren't you coming?"

Farren follows after her. "Of course I am."

The girls make their way quietly toward the ground floor. Farren uses the trap door Sirius had once taken her through, but this is only a precaution. Lily says that, as Head Girl, she has the right to be outside the common room at late hours. But since none of them are certain whether these privileges extend to the Head Girl and two friends, they decide to try and avoid the authorities altogether. And soon enough they are greeted by the bitter, cold, European night air.

As they walk through the grounds, a movement occurs in the skies and Celia's silhouette is thrown into high relief by the moonlight. Farren is stunned by how beautiful she looks. Still very plain, but the determination makes her charming and more noticeable.

This, she thinks, is what true loyalty must look like. Not my twisted version of it. And Farren laments the pure faithfulness she can never possess. She feels sorry for herself, but more so for Sirius and Severus and any other man she may become involved with. She wishes, more than ever, that she could be better, if only for them. She wishes to be stronger willed, like Lily. Or as devoted as Celia. And slowly Farren realizes how remarkable people can be sometimes. Flawed, yes, but beautifully so. On any other night she might've pretended not to see it, but they are all through with pretending. So Farren allows her romantics to flood over her, and she feels a rush of appreciation for... this. Whatever it is: life or love or God or Spiritualism or anything. Everything. It's having friends who don't necessarily believe you, but trust you and may just love you. It is going off into the darkness because you wish to conquer it. It is, for once in your life, doing something worthwhile.

Lily glances over at Farren. Some of what she is feeling must show on her face, because Lily breaks out into that oddly understanding smile. And then they enter the Forbidden Forest, immersing themselves within its trees.

"Let's not go too far in yet," says Lily, the ever present voice of reason. "We can come back another time, but first let's just keep it simple. The less dangerous creatures. That is if this insane plan of Farren's works and doesn't get us all killed or isn't a complete waste of time."

"It isn't," Farren says with such confidence that she herself feels quite impressed. "I'm positive. I can sense it."

"We'll see," she says doubtfully.

At first it seems Lily will be vindicated. They remain ever watchful and alert as they walk through the forest for over half an hour, but nothing out of the ordinary occurs. At one time Farren is certain she hears hooves, but Celia says it is probably a unicorn and unicorns are quite harmless. And as more time passes Farren watches Lily become steadily more impatient and Celia all the more disheartened.

And, sure enough, Lily soon opens her mouth, looking at Farren.

"I know, I know," Farren says before Lily can utter a word. She is horrified to feel a warning ache in her throat that threatens tears. "I guess you were right. This was a... a stupid idea. It won't help anything. Let's just--"

"ARRGH!" Celia shrieks.

Lily and Farren whip around, wands raised and ready. But all they see is a very baffled looking Celia.

"I don't understand," she says, looking down at her ankle. Blood is oozing in copious amounts from several deep scratches. "What on earth did that?"

Farren suddenly notices the oak tree behind the girl. "Celia, get away from that tree," she orders.

"What are you--?"

But it is too late. A seemingly innocent stick falls from the tree and onto Celia's shoulder. And then it springs into action, immediately going for her face.

"Close your eyes as tight as you can!" Farren shouts, just as Lily says, "Stupefy!"

Her aim is impeccable. The bowtruckle falls to the ground, harmless and unmoving.

"That was close," Celia says, panting.

"Get behind us and ready yourself. From what I remember, Professor Kettleburn said those things travel in packs."

"Oh," Lily gasps as tens--hundreds of bowtruckles emerge from the surrounding trees. "They're everywhere!"

"Stupefy!" Celia says and another one falls. But it does nothing to their huge numbers.

"Stupefy won't work for all of them," says Farren. "Lily--?"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!" There is a pause and then, "Oh! Reducto!"

This is considerably more effective. Five or more of the bowtruckles explode into minute splinters.

"I don't think they liked that very much," Farren says as the wooded creatures truly start their ambush.

The girls keep to their tight-knit group. They send spell after spell, and eventually someone invents the method of washing away double the amount of creatures with Aguamenti. And quickly enough, the bowtruckle numbers begin to diminish. Some stand and continue to fight, despite their eminent destruction. But the smart ones learn to run screaming for the hills.

"Aguamenti," Farren shouts and laughs triumphantly as ten bowtruckles are pushed into a giant boulder. "HA!"

But just then the oddest thing ever happens. The sounds of the still oncoming bowtruckles, and even the sound of her friends' curses, stop completely. The battle wages on, but it is as if someone has pressed the mute button over the entire forest. The only sound that is left is her own heavy breathing.

Farren looks about in confusion and horror. Neither one of her companions seems bothered by this sudden lack of noise. It is only her. And then she spots a flurry of movement in the shadows coming closer and closer. At first Farren is paralyzed with fear, but then the shadow gives a little laugh and...

Ah, that laugh! That laugh seems to carry all the good and sweetness in the world. But it is so much more than that. It carries the beautiful tragedy of all existence, the loving death. It is both light and dark intertwined to form something luscious and irresistible.

"Why are you fighting, my child?"

That voice, just the same as the laugh.

"I'm not a child," Farren murmurs, feeling as though there is cotton on her tongue. "I'm--"

"Hussshhh," and the figure steps forward from the shadow. It is an odd-looking creature that initially appears elf-like, but gradually reveals more of a resemblance to the goblins that guarded Gringotts. Its bone structure is delicate and small, but memorable all the same. "Husshhh," it hisses again, "and come with me. I have treats for you."

Farren tries not to move. Something is wrong. That voice, though oh-so-sweet, is telling her to do something bad. "No, no," she protests weakly.

"But why?" it implores. "Do you not love me?"

And Farren realizes that she does. God help her, she loves that creature more than anything. "I do..."

"Then why fight? Delicious, delicious girl... I love you. Will you refuse me?"

Of course she won't.

And, without her noticing, Farren's legs start to stumble forward. She feels people move around her dimly, semi-familiar faces swim in and out of focus. But it is all meaningless. It is the senseless hustle and bustle of ants. They do not matter. Only the voice matters, only her creature.

"Yesss. That's right. Come to--"

Then, from out of nowhere, an enormous horse tramples toward the elf-like creature. It rises onto its hind legs and kicks furiously.

"Leave our forest now, Erkling! You have no business here."

"NO!" Farren shrieks without meaning to.

And then people are beside her and grabbing desperately at her, color drained from both their faces. "Ren, Ren! Oh Ren, are you alright?"

"I...I..." she says, still unsure whether she should thank or hate them for sending the shadowy creature away.

"Are you well, human?"

Farren realizes that the beast is not a horse at all, but a centaur.

He turns to the other girls. "Your friend's mind has been addled with. She will feel confusion for a short period of time, but will recover eventually."

"Wait!" Lily yells to the already retreating centaur. "What was that thing?"

"That, human, was an Erkling. It seems to have strayed far from the Black Forest of Germany. Erklings lure children by the sounds of their voices and eat them. I believe your friend has been mistaken for a child--"

Celia gasps and then shudders.

"We centaurs have been trying to purge the forest of this Erkling, but it has proven very adept at evasion."

At the words "we centaurs" more hooved men reveal themselves from behind the trees.

"I am Cheiron, the herd leader--"

"THEY HAVE TRESPASSED UPON OUR TERRITORY, CHEIRON!" A brown centaur bellows. "THEY MUST BE PUNISHED!"

Cheiron stomps his feet angrily at the interruption. "Must I remind you that we do not harm foals, especially those of the sacred gender?"

"They look fully matured to me, if not close to--"

Cheiron gestures at Farren as he strides to the argumentative centaur. "This one has been mistaken for a child by an Erkling! She cannot be much older than one." And then his booming voice becomes even more dangerous. "Or would you override my judgment, Rhoecus?"

For a moment it appears as though the beast will reply with a resounding, "Yes". But then he averts his gaze and mutters through tightly gritted teeth, "I do not wish to override your judgment."

"Human!" barks the leader of the herd, pointing to Lily and then gesturing again at Farren again. "Put that one on my back. She needs to be healed."

There is a stirring among the herd of outrage and swishing tails. It ceases after one sharp glance from Cheiron.

He nods at Lily and she hoists Farren onto his back. Farren slouches over to the side like a sack of potatoes, and it is all Lily can do to keep her from falling off.

"I think it would be easier if you rode with her," the centaur says. Then, addressing Celia, "You may ride on my son, Firenze."

A much smaller but unabashed centaur steps forward to Celia's side and lowers himself to the ground. It is an awkward sight to behold, the decently sized girl atop a child centaur. After she situates herself as best she can, Celia gives a messy thumbs-up to indicate she is ready.

And, without hesitation, they begin to gallop through the trees. Farren instantly feels she will be sick. The blurred, flashing scenery makes her head spin and her stomach churns accordingly.

"It's alright. You're okay. Everything is going to be fine." Lily whispers similar comforts into her ear all throughout the ride. She holds Farren upright in her arms, and for that Farren is very grateful. She feels that, were Lily to remove her arms, she would literally fall to pieces.

Finally Cheiron and the rest of the herd begin to slow down. Their gallop becomes a trot, and then a steady halt.

Some words are exchanged, but Farren cannot distinguish to whom the voices belong to. It is all just a blur of sound waves that simply pass right through her and do not register. But then Lily begins to cautiously remove her arms, and Farren is suddenly thrown into hyper-awareness

Oh no, oh no, oh no, she thinks as bile rises to her throat. Then, unable to take anymore, Farren leans over to the other side and vomits. The centaur herd looks disgustedly between Farren and the pile of sick. The wild, brown colored one makes her feel as though she is the ugliest cockroach in existence.

"Sorry," she says, trying to work sarcasm into her tone and failing.

Celia is the one to help her down and put Farren's arm around her neck. The stance reminds Farren vaguely of the night in which Snape had rescued her. The memory is odd, as though it had happened in a dream or another life or perhaps even another dimension from the one she currently moves in.

Farren is placed on the grass and she already forgets who had helped her. She catches a glimpse of Lily and Cheiron walking toward her, carrying what appears to be bottled herbs and leaves.

"I will brew a solution that may diminish her confusion, but I cannot do much else. You're friend--"

"Farren," Lily corrects, looking as white as a sheet. "Her name is Farren Graham."

The centaur nods curtly. "--Farren will still feel drained and fatigued."

"Will she be okay?" This time it's Celia.

"Yes. She was lucky the Erkling did nothing more than befuddle her. I hear they like to play with their food before eating it... You should thank the fates on bended knee."

"Or we should thank you," Lily says quietly, giving Cheiron a look of silent gratitude.

The centaur looks impassive. "I did nothing but follow the stars--" A scoff sounds from the herd. Cheiron ignores it. "No being should be thanked for their actions. Ultimately the fates, and not the being, is the one to choose."

Farren looses track of the conversation. She looses track of sensation, consciousness, and even time itself. She goes into a state that seems to border both sleep and reality.

"Drink this," a gravelly voice orders. When she opens her eyes, a small vial is being pushed toward her face.

Farren obeys the voice, not certain whether it is a dream or not. And then everything slowly becomes clearer--though not entirely comprehensible. She is not dreaming. She has just barely escaped a near death experience. The centaurs are helping her. And that creature in the forest does not love her... And she does not love it. It is this fact, rather than any other, that makes Farren begin to cry.

"Ren," Celia says, moving to touch her. But Cheiron stops her with a shake of his head. Farren finds this very wise because she suspects that if anyone touched her right then, she would hurt them. So she cries with no one there to cling to her or give her false promises or misinterpret how she feels. It is sometimes so much easier to be alone, with only your mind as witness.

Farren sobers up rather quickly. The tears dissipate and she takes a shuddering breath that is surprisingly calming. "I cannot thank you enough for saving me," she says to Cheiron.

"The Erkling must be stopped," he states simply.

Farren registers the centaur's priorities, but understands it is the nature of his mind and does not take offence. "How can I repay you?"

Cheiron considers her for a long while. He looks at her with such scrutiny that Farren feels herself blush slightly. Then he speaks at last, "There are things I could ask of you that have already been foretold by the stars. But first I wish to give you something. An item."

Farren looks around to Lily and Celia, asking silently for their opinions.

"They may come as well," Cheiron adds.

The two girls give small shrugs and nods and Lily says, "If it's safe..."

"I do not think the Erkling will return if I am near you," he assures her.

With that, Cheiron informs the rest of the herd to stay put until his return. Though they do not take this graciously, they obey. And then the broad-chested centaur is guiding the girls back in the direction of Hogwarts.

The trees, which seem to grow wilder with the forest's depth, rip Farren's clothing and scratch the exposed flesh on her legs. Celia and Lily have just as hard a time getting through as she does, but Cheiron - on the other hand - appears wholly unperturbed as he dodges the most violent branches.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Lily asks Farren after a long while of silent marching.

She nods but does not speak.

"You were amazing back there, though. With the bowtruckles."

Farren snorts. "You're joking, right? Lily, I was almost eaten--"

"But before that, I mean. You really knew your stuff."

She shakes her head and gives a very small smile. "You're the one who came up with all the spells. You're the one who knew what to do."

"That's not true. Celia was the one who came up with Aguamenti. I knew some spells, but you kept your cool. Without you, I think I would have lost it and panicked. How did you remember all those things about the bowtruckles anyway? That lesson must have been taught during our fourth year and you can't even remember to put your knickers on everyday."

Farren taps a finger to her head. "Selective memory. I remember what I like, and Care of Magical Creatures is one of my favorite classes. Everything else is simply..." she leers at Lilly, "thrown out the window."

The silence comes back again as they continue to tumble through roots and branches. But Farren notices that the trees are thinning, which must mean they are mercifully getting closer to the exit.

"You were right," Lily says abruptly. "Regardless of how it ended, you were right about coming here. It was worth it. I feel exhilarated and real and... Well, I feel good."

Farren considers this for a moment. "You know, I think I feel good too."

And it's true. Despite having almost been killed by an Erkling, she feels accomplished. And anyway, she has finally realized her dream of meeting the centaurs. And they are no disappointment, their general disdain for all things human notwithstanding.

"That being said, I think it would be best if we waited for the centaurs to kill the Erkling first before taking another trip to the forest."

Farren laughs. "Agreed."

Cheiron, who is leading their strange group, looks back at the sound of her laughter, as if to make certain it isn't another disruption.

"Cheiron," Farren says jogging up to meet him as Lily falls back with Celia.

The centaur allows Farren to catch up to him. "Yes, Farren Graham?"

Despite having been the one to call his attention, Farren hesitates. "Why did you go through all that trouble of brewing me a solution? You and I both know I'd have been fine within a day or two."

Cheiron takes so long to respond that Farren begins to believe he won't answer her at all. But then, "You reminded me of a human I once knew."

Farren, though very intrigued by this matter, does not pry further. The centaur does not offer more information and she is frightened of disturbing this feeble but civilized relationship with Cheiron. So she fights back her questions, trusting that time will tell.

They finally arrive at their destination. Cheiron stops in the center of a small alcove of very old-looking trees. He requests that only Farren follow any further, and the other girls wait on the outskirts of the alcove. They agree, not having much of a choice.

When they are alone, Cheiron strides to a particularly large oak, reaching inside its nook and extracting a book. He peers down at it and, for a split second, some emotion flickers across his face. But then it hardens again and becomes unresponsive.

"Here it is," he says, handing it to Farren. It is a diary. "The owner of that diary asked I keep it safe until I found a suitable alternate. I am passing it on to you, so you may now be its keeper. Read it, if you wish. But the more important thing is that you keep it safe. And you must comprehend that by taking this book, you are binding yourself to it. Do you understand?"

She doesn't. "Yes." Farren touches the cover. It has no title and is a very dark, leathery green that reminds her of coldly glinting water.

"I have waited for nearly three decades, but decided waiting any longer would be foolish. I believe the herd is becoming weary of my leadership. I will be killed soon and my successor will seize control of the centaurs. No--" He interrupts Farren when she opens her mouth to object. "I am not looking for sympathy, simply stating that the centaurs will be friends to you until that time comes... It is the natural order of things, Farren Graham. Fate. And I do not stand in the way of fate. I embrace fate with open arms. You too must come to appreciate inevitability."

She does not understand in the slightest but is too overwhelmed to care. Farren studies the diary, an odd buzz humming through her body. She wonders if it has anything to do with what Cheiron had said about "binding yourself to the book."

"I must leave now, Farren Graham. It is safe enough for you and your friends to return to the castle tonight without my assistance. But the next time you feel you must return, come to this place exactly and I will be here."

"When I feel I must return?" she repeats, bewildered. "What do you mean?"

"You will understand when the time is right. Goodbye for now and good luck."

When Cheiron is gone, Farren calls Celia and Lily back and informs them of what the centaur had told her. They seem just as confused by the diary as Farren is, though more concerned with matters she had yet to consider.

"Who do you think it belongs to?" Celia asks when Farren finishes.

"Well," she says, "there's only one way to find out. Sit down and I'll read a little out loud. It's fine," Farren says when they both shoot her apprehensive glances. "Cheiron said this place is safe." She plops down onto the grass. The others do not follow and Farren groans. "Come on. We're basically out of the forest anyway. Nothing would come this close to the castle."

Knowing that arguing with Farren Graham is possibly one of the most pointless things one can do, Celia and Lily take seats beside her, forming a triangle.

The first thing in the diary is a poem scrawled neatly on the inside cover. She reads this.

"Do you know the way to Maia's Arbor?

Where the forbidden (or rather the unspoken) reside

When the Pandora's Box of life has been opened

Where you sigh as the golden fields roll underneath you, like a lover

When the cold and freakish hands of a sister touches your flesh

Where hope, the greatest evil of all, holds fast to your heart

When hope becomes your bounder, your enslavement, your capture

Where the awakening secretes from a single kiss

And when the awakening (ah, the awakening) is finally poured

over your trembling corpse

Do you know the way to Maia's Arbor?"

"The awakening?" Celia interjects, face scrunched up in distaste. "What a load of waffle! It sounds like this girl just needs a good shagging."

"And how do you know it's a girl?" Farren barks and is surprised by how annoyed the comment makes her. "You're so naive, Celia. It sounds to me like this person is talking about getting shagged."

Celia, though initially stunned by Farren's nastiness, regains speech and continues with her conviction. "'When the awakening is poured over your corpse?'" she paraphrases. "That doesn't exactly scream orgasm, Ren."

"Well maybe she felt a little dead inside afterward. I don't think you have much of a right to judge. Or did your cherry get popped while you were away and you just forgot to tell me?"

Celia's mouth drops open.

"Why don't we just read on?" Lily says quickly, before Celia can retaliate. "Or go back to the castle? It's been a long night and--"

"No," Farren says firmly. "We're reading on."

When she turns the page, a letter falls into her lap. She handles the very old and battered parchment delicately, afraid a wrong move might make it crumble and turn to dust. But it doesn't.

"Dear friend,

I am preserving this diary because I have realized my fate. My future is bleak and unchangeable and I have learned to accept that. I will fight no longer (perhaps I never really fought to begin with). But what I will do is hide this diary, in the hopes that someday the right person might hold it within their grasp and that that person will evade the mistakes I have so stupidly made. Mistakes which have ultimately lead to this downfall of mine. I entrust my diary with Cheiron, my keeper. They are a brilliant species, centaurs. Stubborn, arrogant, proud to the point of foolishness, but brilliant--come to think of it, more like us than is conceivable...

...My dear friend, I am very frightened. I am too far gone and admitting that may be one of the most terrifying things I'll ever have to do. I wish you-- whoever you are-- could be here with me now as I write this. I wish you could tell me that what I'm doing, what must be sacrificed, is right. And I wish I could rest my head against your stomach and feel the reassuring rise and fall of your breath. Because though I can never know you, dear friend, I love you. And I think you'll come to love me too.

So goodbye and hello, my love. Good morning and a very goodnight. I hope, more than anything, that you can understand me. Can understand us.

Always,

The Prince"

"Ha!" Lily jibes. "It isn't even a girl. That will teach you both to make assumptions."

But Farren isn't listening. She is looking at the signature and handwriting. Something about it makes the hair on her neck stand on end. It feels simultaneously familiar and foreign, like a friend whom you see after a long interval of absence.

"It is a girl," she says, interrupting Lily. "I think 'The Prince' might just be a nickname."

Lily only looks at her with a knowing and disbelieving gaze. "Whatever you say, Ren. Just read on."

Farren does so, turning to the first entry. There is no date or preface of any kind.

"Dear friend,

Ella is engaged to Cygnus Rosier and the wedding is set to happen this very summer, right after we end our seventh year. I know I shouldn't find this romantic--considering Ella was actually forced into the marriage by her parents--but I do anyway. People like Druella Flint are always forced into marriages because they're so fortunate in all other aspects of life, they believe their partners will be just as wonderful and perfect. Because Ella is pretty, and her family owns a decent amount of gold, and she will probably make a good and gracious wife when properly tamed. People like Ella believe they know what it's like to feel lonely or unfortunate, but they don't. She is not plain as I am, nor poor or pessimistic.

Once, when she was complaining about the engagement, all of this just spilled out of me. She got in a right state.

'Oh stop feeling sorry for yourself, Eileen,' she groaned.

'I'm not,' I said. 'I just think you take things for granted.'

'Take things for granted? Are you mental? That boy Rosier is a slimeball. Would you marry him?'

I shrugged and Ella sighed in exasperation. 'That's very sad. I hope you know you're worth more than him.'

But what Ella does not understand is that, in the current world, I am not worth a cent more than what I appear to be. Being smart and cunning is all fine and well, but it doesn't get a woman anywhere. I myself take great pride in my brilliance. I really do. But the rest of the world does not.

'He's the best either of us will do, Ella. For very different reasons, but a truth all the same.'

Initially, Ella looked hurt and near tears at my comment. But then she suddenly sprang up from her seat and twirled me around the empty common room.

"We are Persian princesses, my darling!" she shouted. "Money and blood does not matter because we are princesses! We only deserve jewels! And we both deserve a jewel of a spouse!"

I played along but as always remained a little reserved. And that is because a part of me believes Ella and her childish dreams. Ella can afford these fantasies without much worry, but to me they are catalysts for dangerous thought. And that is why this friendship with her is so foolish. It should be ended, I know. But the truth is that I love Ella. Even I, a pessimist, must admit we share something abstract and brilliant.

So I play along.

Always,

The Prince"

Farren looks up from the diary. Lily is watching the sky through the treetops while Celia picks at her cuticles. "Were you two even listening?" she spits, angry.

"Yes," Lily says at the exact same time that Celia sighs, "Not really."

Farren bites her tongue. This--human interaction, that is--is so fickle. One minute she loves Celia and finds her beautiful, the next she wishes to strangle her... But perhaps this is simply the way Farren's mind works. Maybe she's just screwed up like that. Either way, it is incredibly infuriating. And again, Farren reveals in how easily one could slip into solidarity; become a hermit, leave everything and everyone. It might even be more satisfying that way. Human beings are capable of being complete all on their own. There is no need for soul-mates or true love. People can love themselves and be whole. But Farren supposes that having another person shower you with their love is the quicker, less taxing manner of doing it.

But it is still possible. She could leave now. She could simply stand up from this triangle, draw confused expressions from her friends. And then she could say, "I'm finished. I'm done. You didn't do anything wrong--not really, anyway. It isn't your fault, but I'm done. I think it was the entire accumulation of people who I know can't ever love me the way I love myself... You see? You're even doing it now. In your mind, you have just labeled me a narcissist. Conceited." And then she could smile sadly. "It's no one's fault. If anything, blame human nature. Blame whoever it was that established human nature and it's self-destructive, flawed way of living... But I'm finished. I'm done. I'm leaving."

Farren watches Celia pick her cuticles, completely unaware of the words being silently said to her. And, with a familiar feeling of remorse, she understands that no one will. No one will ever hear her, even if she tried to tell them.

"Alright, let's go back," she says softly, turning to Lily. "We're finished. We're done."