What Connected Us All

Never Recover

"Now tell me exactly what you're feeling," Madame Pomfrey commands in that motherly stern way.

"Like shit," Farren grumbles in a horribly phlegmy voice.

Madame Pomfrey purses her lips. "In more descriptive, preferably less vulgar words please Miss Graham."

"Right. Well it feels like someone's stuck a hot poker down my throat. I can't breath through my nose. I'm always tired but can't sleep. My body hurts like I've been beaten by the entire Bulgarian Quidditch team--And I keep blowing chunks--sorry--" she catches herself. "I mean 'getting sick' everywhere."

The nurse nods slowly and pensively. "Miss Graham, have you by any chance come in contact with any foreign creatures recently?"

You mean like centaurs and erklings? "Nope."

"Then have you eaten anything strange--or perhaps taken a potion that is not part of your regular routine?"

Farren opens her mouth to give the same answer as before, but stops herself. "Yes, actually. I took a Beautifying Solution. For class," she adds hastily, seeing the disapproval in the older woman's expression. "We made it for Potions class. I was just testing it to make sure it worked."

"And did this solution contain any raw bird material?

Farren snorts. "Like I'd know."

Madame Pomfrey's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "But I thought you brewed this potion for class."

"Well yeah, we did. But I didn't do it. Severus was the one who... Never mind."

Madam Pomfrey shakes her head, ignoring this breach of educational policy. "Well Miss Graham, unfortunately it sounds to me as though you've contracted the Fwooper Flu."

Farren groans. "The flu? But I can't have the flu!" She had been planning to go out with the marauders for days. Just her luck that she comes down with the flu two weeks after finally achieving the animagus form.

"Perhaps you should think twice before chugging down a potion brewed by an amateur."

"It wasn't made by an amateur," she protests. "It worked fine."

"And it gave you the flu."

Well she couldn't argue with that. "Alright Madam Pomfrey, then give me one of your world-famous potions that'll make it all better." She gives that self-assured smile, looking expectantly at the nurse.

"I'm afraid it's not that easy, Miss Graham. The Fwooper Flu is often very difficult to cure fully. You will need to take this," she rummages through the arsenal of medicine inside her apron and comes away with a small green bottle, "every night for three days."

"How long do you think it will take for me to get better after that?"

"Well if you don't see any improvements in about a week, come back here."

"A week--But that's ages!"

"Well it is not my fault, Miss Graham. I did not make you drink that potion."

Farren scowls, thinking of who had made her take the potion. Well, Snape hadn't necessarily made her do it. But he had challenged her, knowing that she couldn't resist a challenge...

Actually, now that Farren thinks about it, Snape does a lot of things to her knowing that she cannot resist.

****

As Farren walks across the courtyard, she notes that summer seems to have arrived. One day, the air had been cool and had tasted of a crisp cold. And then the next day, the heat pounded against students' skin like an incessant pulse on their shoulders. Now baking in the merciless sun, it is difficult to summon even the memory of cold, let alone a disliking for it.

Farren spots the marauders all resting beneath a large, shaded tree. Where they always sit. Even though she cannot determine each one's face from this distance, Farren knows which silhouette belongs which. Sirius is the one stretched languidly across the grass, shoulders squared and broad. James is messing up his hair artfully, sitting in close proximity to the only girl in the group--Lily. Remus is a given: the only one hunched over a book, which he clings to with slight desperation. And Peter. Farren feels her expression drain into a grimace as she gazes at the shortest, most gluttonous of the group. Peter seems to bounce ever so slightly, the pathetic greed and eagerness plastered plainly on his face.

Her hatred and disgust for Peter aside, seeing them all together like that makes a smile creep onto Farren's lips. Less than a year ago, she had observed the love in this group with an alien sort of wonder. She had thought about how impossibly foreign and unreachable it all was to her. She concluded that no one would ever love her like that. And now, here she is, walking toward them with the assured comfort that comes only from one who is surrounded by friends. Her grin turns impish. Who could have known? Farren, the bitch, the outward pessimist and inward romantic, the unapproachable, has found friends. And not just any friends--amazing friends. Friends she actually likes and might even love. Who could have known?

Sirius perks up from his lazy position when he sees her. He rises, looking a little anxious and says expectantly, "So?"

"Fwooper Flu," she exhales.

He makes a noise similar to the one Farren had made upon the discovery. "But we were going to go to Hogsmeade soon."

"I know; that's what I said!"

"How in the world did you manage to get the Fwooper Flu anyway?"

"She says it was a potion I drank."

His eyes snap up to hers. "What potion?"

Farren hesitates, cursing herself for not lying. "A Beautifying Solution--but it was just for class. We wanted to make sure it worked."

Sirius clenches his teeth. "We?"

"Severus and I," she admits hesitantly. Immediately, she realizes it would have been much smarter to say nothing. "Sirius, darling," Farren says winningly, her soprano voice ringing like delicate little bells. "Just drop it. We've had this discussion before. You're just being over protective and paranoid--quite unattractively so, I might add."

Out of the corner of her eye, Farren can see Lily observing the situation cautiously. It feels very strange to have someone else know her secret (Lily's good at making her feel that way). Strange and unnerving. What if Lily simply decides she won't allow it to happen anymore? What if she stands now and says, "Actually Sirius, your intuitive paranoia is more than justified. Because Farren is sleeping with both you and Snape. Now feel free to rip this two-timing bitch to shreds. Tootles!"

Farren fights down the panic this vision induces. Lily will never do that, she reassures herself. She might disapprove, but she will never betray Farren like that. Unlike Farren, Lily is actually a good person.

Sirius doesn't say anything, and Farren guides him back down to the grass in an attempt to distract him. She kisses his initially motionless lips lightly. But upon her insistence, Sirius surrenders and Farren feels secure that he has forgotten or at least abated his anger. She rests her head against his lap and curls into a ball.

"Do you at least feel any better after going to Pomfrey?" he asks as he strokes her hair idly, like one does when an action has become routine.

"Nope. Still feel like shit. Now I just have a name by which to call this shitty feeling."

Farren's head bounces as Sirius chuckles. "How poetically put, Miss Graham."

She grins proudly. But the incessant exhaustion caused by the newly identified flu turns her grin into an enormous yawn. Farren raises her head delicately from his lap to accommodate the wide range of her jaw.

"Blimey!" Sirius gasps, grabbing her mouth and lifting it to eye-level.

"Oy--that's attached to the rest of my face, ya know!" she cries distortedly, unable to form proper words due to his hold.

"Shut up for a second and keep your mouth open," he demands.

Unsurprisingly, Farren disobeys. "What are you looking at? What is it? Sirius!"

Sirius ignores her, examining something on the inside of her molars. After several moments he releases her, grinning widely.

"What the hell was that for?" she repeats, massaging her face.

"You have fangs."

Farren pauses to process this fact. "No way!" Her hand flies to her teeth, searching for conformation. It comes with a sharp sting. "Ouch!" She retracts her index finger and inspects it. A small, bright red spot of blood has sprouted on the penetrated skin. "It... it nicked me."

Sirius bursts into laughter. "My girlfriend's a cannibal!"

She is too astonished to even think of a comeback. "But I don't understand--how did this happen? I didn't have fangs before--Or at least not fangs that penetrated skin."

"Have you been spending excessive amounts of time in your lioness form?" he whispers lowly, wary of the other students around them.

Farren feels a blush creep up her cheeks. "Sort of."

"How? When? You haven't been in the forest, have you? Ren, that's dangerous without--"

"Oh don't get your panties in a bunch. I didn't go in the Forbidden Forest. I stayed in my dormitory. Just sometimes when I can't be with you and get lonely at night, I morph and play with Pandora." She tentatively presses her tongue against her teeth, more careful this time. She makes out the distinctively pointier shape. "Do you think it's permanent?"

He pats her head, still smiling. "No, don't worry. I'm sure it will go away."

"Oh," Farren says, eyes downcast.

Sirius regards her with astonishment. "Are you... are you disappointed?"

She flushes slightly. "No, I guess not..."

"You are! You actually like your cannibalistic fangs."

"Oh, shut up. You wouldn't understand. It's a girl thing."

That kills him. He shakes his head, trying to hold back his laughter enough to speak. "I don't think so. If Celia or Lily suddenly sprouted fangs, I doubt they'd be jumping up and down in excitement. I'm pretty sure this is a Farren Graham thing."

"Alright fine, maybe it is. The thing is if you grow up being called cute all the damn time because your small and you've got ringlets and a baby face--" she makes a face of utter contempt"--then even the hint of something dangerous in your appearance is quite satisfying."

"So basically you like them because they make you look less cute?"

She nods. "Yup."

Still chuckling, Sirius pecks her lightly on the forehead. "Well I still think you look cute."

Farren glowers at him. "I'm not cute! I've got fangs."

"Fine, fine. You're not cute. You are entirely dangerous-looking, Miss Graham."

She shoots him that feral expression. "Do you really think so, Mr. Black?"

"I know so. But I think we should hold back on the kissing until those lethal things go back to normal."

She gives an evil little smirk. The new fangs flash in the sunlight. "But what if I desire your kisses, Mr. Black? Will you deny this wild, untamable creature her desire?"

Pulling away from her impending, feline crawl, he says, "Ren, you're scaring me a little."

"There's no need to be frightened, Mr. Black. I find your kisses ever so...delicious."

Sirius yelps when Farren pounces on top of him without warning. She attacks him with fervent kisses on his neck and chest, his barks of amusement coming out in short bursts. For a moment Farren gleefully believes that she has won this time. That, in a battle of physical strength, she had successfully pinned and trapped Sirius Black. But Sirius, it seems, is not so willing to admit defeat. Just as she begins to celebrate her victory, he wraps his significantly longer leg around hers and renders Farren completely immobile. She is flipped onto her back before she can even begin to react.

"Now I've captured you, my wild, untamable creature," he murmurs.

Farren growls in an attempt to scare him again. But the growl becomes an involuntary giggle and obliterates all hope for a fear-tactic. "Fuck you," she says breathlessly.

"Please do."

Farren awaits the softness of his lips as Sirius bends his neck down to her. But instead--

"Ouch!" they both cry, flinching away from each other when an electric shock is passed through their connected lips. They look questioningly at one another for a moment before realizing neither had caused it. Farren scans the grounds for the actual source of the jinx.

"Oy!" Sirius calls back crossly to James. "What was that for, Prongs?"

Looking deeply puzzled, James responds, "What are you on about? I didn't do anything."

Sirius rises and returns to the others, arguing as he walks. Farren does not follow. It had not been James, she knows.

Severus is boring into her, his gaze like murder. She feels the cold prodding of his mind as it attempts to penetrate hers. She fights back. She imagines an impenetrable wall in hopes that projection is a legitimate way of blocking mind-attacks.

It isn't.

I would prefer to keep the lunch I just ate in my stomach, please.

Farren slits her eyes angrily. "Shove off," she mouths.

Sardonic, biting laughter echoes in her head. How I wish I could.

Get out of my head.

A snarling noise comes from him.

Something odd happens with her vision then. It blurs, morphing into a similar scene with the same setting and people, but differing in positions. She attempts to make sense of what comes into focus and realizes she is watching herself moments before. A man is playfully struggling beneath her as she tackles him with her lips. Hot, adrenaline-producing anger surges through her as she observes the couple. And just as she decides that there is nothing worse than this feeling of burning fury at the sight, the two stop being playful and lean in for a true lover's kiss. It is as though someone has sucked all the air from her body, leaving behind a lifeless shell of a corpse. There is no more anger or jealousy, just pure, undiluted misery. A misery so complete she feels she will die with it. And, willing to do anything to end such agony, she lifts her wand and casts a jinx at the couple.

Farren comes back to the present and her own mind with sickening abruptness. She feels winded. Starring unseeingly at the grass in disbelief, she tries to make sense of what Snape had shown her.

It cannot, she is certain, be true or entirely accurate. Snape must have shown her an exaggeration of his feelings. Because it is impossible that she could ever matter that much to anyone. She is Farren Graham: the insignificant butterfly with no attachments to anything or anyone. It is silly to even consider the notion that she can make anyone suffer like that. She accepts the fact that she has unknowingly fallen in love. That she understands. But being loved (the real love that gives someone total and complete power over you)... That is just too hard to swallow.

...But it couldn't have been an exaggeration. Snape could not embellish memories; only show them raw and untainted. Which leaves only one conclusion: the pain had been genuine. Severus really had felt that soul-crushing, all-powerful torment that can only be caused by the person who holds your heart.

And she, Farren, has caused it--continues to cause it.

Wetness pools in her eyes and she weeps for him--for all of them. It is all her fault. All this suffering is her doing. She asks herself again how she could have ever been so stupid. How could she not have known that she was the bad guy all along? That the erkling which had tried to kill her had been no monster, but a saint trying to rid the world of this one particular evil. They should call off the manhunt at the ministry for Voldemort's head. It's her they want. She's the only real monster around here. And, like all other monsters, someone needs to stop her. Someone needs to rescue everyone else by ending her.

Stop, comes the voice again, startling Farren nearly out of her skin. Stop thinking like that. You're hurting me and I can't... I can't leave.

What? she thinks. What do you mean you can't leave?

I can't detach myself from your mind. It's not letting me.

She looks around, confused and panicked. Severus, yards away, is hunched over in anguish. The effort is etched onto his marble face, beads of perspiration visible on his upper lip. But she needn't even look at him to know what he is feeling. She can sense his agony like a ghost limb in her head.

Stop thinking about me--or yourself, he grunts. Please.

She obliges, attempting frantically to think of something inconsequential--like rainbows or History of Magic or animals. Yes, animals! Lions and wolves and cats and dogs and--dogs. The black, shaggy dog swims before her eyes. Unbidden, memories of Padfoot flash in her minds eye, progressively worsening by the second. They become more and more intimate before finally landing on the night she had first given herself to him--

No! he begs. Not him! Farren--

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to!

The more she tries not to think of it, the more it creeps into the corners of her psyche. She is trembling in strain, horrified that she is harming him further and unable to prevent it. Tortured by the thought and reality as he writhes in pain.

"Ren!"

She screams and jolts when someone touches her shoulder. It feels like something is ripped from her brain, making a sickeningly wet squelching sound. Sirius is above her, hands raised in the air as though dealing with a rabid dog poised for attack.

"I'm sorry," she says in trembling voice. "You scared me."

"Ren, you're shaking."

She forces a laugh. It is not convincing. "I guess it's the flu--it's making me go a little whacky."

Farren is rather proud of her lie, finding it quite plausible. But Sirius's strange and dead-on intuition involving everything Farren Graham proves too strong.

He looks at her dubiously. "You sure about that?"

"Yes," she snaps, trying to sound angry or indignant. "I... I don't feel good. I think I'm going back to the dormitory. Tell Professor Slughorn for me, will you?"

Farren scampers away before he can answer. Her name is shouted across the courtyard. She ignores them. She still feels a little shaky on her feet, the cold sweat dampening her skin only increasing her discomfort.

Her frail state is more than merely a reaction to the unsettling realization about how much pain she has been causing Severus, though that had been damaging enough. No, it was having him in her mind for so long that physically drained Farren. What had gone wrong? Every other time he had retracted from her with ease.

Farren fights against the current as every other student makes their way toward class. No one attempts to get her attention, which tells her she must look as bad as she feels.

"Fuck," she mutters under her breath when she reaches the stairs. She never had been very good at remembering how it was one got past the moving stairs. Farren had found a solution to this problem by always having Celia close by. But that won't work now. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Just show me how to get to Gryffindor Tower, you useless piece of--"

"I don't think the stairs can hear you."

She swivels around wildly. Severus doesn't look much better than she does. There is a vacant sort of exhaustion in his eyes, as though he is close to fainting.

"Oh Severus," she cries. "I am so sorry. I couldn't stop thinking about... I'm sorry. Are you okay? You don't look too good."

"No, it is I who must apologize. I lost control. I did not know that could happen. I would have never endangered you like that if I'd known it was possible."

"Me? Endangered me? Severus I was hurting you. I--" Without any warning, she begins to sob. Tears cascade down her too pale face, flowing relentlessly. "I'm so sorry!"

It is almost comical to watch Snape as he struggles with his discomfort and attempts to calculate what he should do. The poor kid had only recently begun to pay attention to any of his own emotions--let alone the emotions of other people. He is not yet trained in knowing what to do when a desperate, terrified girl is crying her eyes out in front of him.

"Oh no," he says faintly, moving awkwardly and robotically to her. "Don't cry. I--you... Why don't I take you to your dormitory?"

She nods, sobbing too hard to answer verbally.

In Severus's defense, he does the best he can. He takes her under his arm, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly as Farren weeps into his chest. Farren is simply impressed he does anything but pull away in disgust and call her a twit.

It feels strange to be wandering the castle without the hordes of other peers. It is doubly strange to be held by Severus in a place other than their meeting room. Farren cries harder still as she realizes that they will never again hold each other like this after she tells him--not here, not in private, not ever. He would hate her too much.

"Stop," she says suddenly, franticly. The Fat Lady is yards away, dozing off in her portrait. "Severus, I have to tell you something."

To Farren's surprise, Snape does not look down at her questioningly or appear instantly wary or guarded. In fact, he does not look at her at all--unusual behavior for a man of his character. He instead moves away from her and toward the window, peering out onto the grounds they had just left.

"Severus?" she implores, puzzled. "Look at me."

He does then. And in that moment, Farren understands. He had seen her decision when he had penetrated her mind. She hadn't consciously thought of it, but perhaps it isn't necessary to be aware of the thought for the other person to hear it.

"Oh god," she whispers, his forcefully hardened gaze sending a pang to her heart. "Oh please don't look at me like that."

"You can't," Snape states simply. "I know you can't do this."

"Please don't tell me that. For my sanity's sake, I need to be able to."

"But you don't want to."

"Of course I don't want to," she says exasperatedly. "But I can't ever have what I want--"

Severus cuts her short, suddenly lunging forward and pressing his lips furtively to hers. The kiss is salty and Farren turns her head reluctantly, whimpering slightly. "I can't," she moans. "We can't."

She tries to pull away but Severus does not allow it. It may just be Farren's mind playing tricks, but she feels a slight trembling in his body.

"Severus," she says, more pleading and begging in her voice than she had intended. "Severus, please don't do this to me. We can't anymore."

"Why not?" Snape snarls with less composure than is normal for him, the hold turning possessive rather than tender.

"I can't do this to him anymore. I can't lie anymore. I can't sneak around. I can't cause more pain. I can't--"

"It isn't supposed to end like this. It's not right!"

Farren touches his check with her fingertips, but this seems to do nothing to soften him. "Lots of things that shouldn't happen, happen."

"And why choose him?" he bursts, completely losing all pretenses of indifference. "Because he's socially acceptable? Because he's good-looking? Because he fucks you better--?"

"Because he doesn't know! And because I gave him a promise first."

Snape punches the wall above her head and she flinches reflexively, letting out a little yelp. When his hand comes away, flecks of blood are trickling from his knuckles.

"YOU DON'T LOVE HIM MORE! I KNOW THAT!"

"I DON'T LOVE YOU MORE EITHER!"

They are breathing hard--like they've just run a race or made love. But they haven't made love and they wouldn't ever again.

"Severus," she murmurs, trying to touch him again, almost more to console herself than him this time. But the boy jolts away from her.

"Leave me," he spits, his eyes purposefully not meeting hers.

Tears mingled with misery and anger makes her hesitate. Even if he will never look at her again, Farren cannot leave him like this, with all too familiar feelings of being unwanted and neglected. "Severus, I won't ever stop loving you. I wish I could, I really do. It would make things a hell of a lot simpler...But I can't. I will forever be your prisoner. Because for some stupid, irrational, absurd reason I still have faith in you and always will. Because I know better than anyone else that you have good in you--unprecedented amounts good. I know. I've seen it--"

"Stop," he says gruffly. "Just stop, Farren. And leave."

Not knowing what else to do, Farren begins to turn away numbly toward the Fat Lady.

"Coward," she hears Snape mutter under his breath.

She stops. "What did you say to me?"

"I said you're a coward. The sorting hat must have made a mistake. You don't belong in Gryffindor at all."

Rage flares inside of Farren and she welcomes it warmly. Ah, rage. Sweet, delicious rage which can push away all those messier, more significant emotions. "How dare you!"

"Don't kid yourself. You know why you're really choosing him over me. It's because you're scared and he's the easier choice. You coward."

Of all the hurtful things Snape--or anyone else for that matter--had said to her, nothing hurt more than this.

In three quick strides, she is before him in all her wrathful glory. She snatches his left arm and rips back the sleeve to reveal the mark burning brightly against his alabaster skin.

"I'm the coward!?" she bellows, shaking his arm violently in front of his face. "I'M THE COWARD? YOU ALLOWED YOURSELF TO BE BULLIED INTO A LIFE TIME OF SERVITUDE! YOU LET THEM DECIDE YOUR FATE! YOU LET THEM ROB YOU OF EVERYTHING GOOD IN THE WORLD! YOU GAVE IN--YOU GAVE UP!"

She releases his arm abruptly and Snape rubs at the mark upon habit, watching Farren with wide, almost fearful eyes.

Farren makes a vindictive sound that catches in her throat and becomes part cry. "Just look at yourself, Severus... Sirius is the right choice, not the easy one."

She turns to make her leave but hears him call. "Farren!"

Farren spins around to lash out at him once more. But before she can even open her mouth, his lips are to hers. She fights at first out of instinct. Thrashing around desperately, pretending it isn't the most wonderful sensation she's ever known. But then she stops suddenly and melts into the coolness that always seemed to remind her of how uncomfortably hot her skin is. She melts into his broken soul, which, no matter how badly she wants to, she can never mend. She melts into the life she might have had, the life that is now (she knows) lost forever. She melts into their goodbye. She melts into the realization that she had first met Severus Snape seven years ago, on a train making its way toward Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She melts into the memory forgotten until now, of two abused children, both freakish and strange in their own ways, making promises of ever-lasting friendship only to be torn apart by the whim of a stupid hat. She melts into the love that no one else can ever understand--the love that meant so much more because they'd fought against it and failed miserably.

Farren whimpers in one of the deepest surrenders and cups his face with her hands. Her insides burst with emotion and feeling. But almost simultaneously, a gasp sounds from behind and the moment is lost forever. She whirls around, heartbeat already picking up in panic.

There in the doorway stands Peter Petigrew, twitchy eyes big with shock. "You and..." he murmurs, astonished. He looks between the two like a cartoon character, trying to fully grasp the situation. And then suddenly his expression changes and his face pulls back into a twisted, malicious grin.

"No!" she cries, scrambling to catch the end of Wormtail's robes as he turns to run. But the rat wiggles himself out of her grip and is off like a cannon.

Farren hardly realizes what she is doing as she dashes down the staircases, chasing the stout boy in front of her. Her body moves of its own accord, her mind gone useless with terror. And yet despite the pure determination pumping resiliently through her limbs, Farren's short legs keep him always just out of reach.

The sunny green landscape is a blur to her when they reach it, partially because of the velocity at which she flies by and partially because panic impairs her vision. As the handsome and looming sight of Sirius Black comes into view, any normal person in her situation would have given up. They would realize they had lost. They would stop running, admit defeat, and attempt to salvage what shred of dignity remained for them. But Farren is not a normal person. She is a stubborn idiot. And even with the knowledge that her efforts will end in vain, she plows on. Nothing will stop Farren.

But then she feels a familiar stomach churn in her stomach as it fights the sickness she harbors. Farren knows what will inevitably come. But she ignores it, even as the slight trembling of her body becomes a jerking, seizure-like convulsion.

Wormtail glances back, feet away from his target. She gasps in horror. Because rather then seeing the sniveling, pitiful boy she has become accustomed to, Farren sees death starring back at her: cold, malicious and all powerful. Looking into his face, she realizes that for all the misgivings she'd voiced about Peter, she had completely underestimated his evil. And just as he reaches Sirius, Farren collapses onto the hard ground. An involuntary heaving buckles her onto hands and knees and she wretches the venomous bile from her body.

Panting, fighting to remain conscious, Farren lifts her head. Every sense is heightened. The grass blades feel like small knives cutting into her palms. She hears the blood rushing thickly in her head. She tastes and smells the vile sick on her palate. And she sees His beautiful face. As Farren gazes into the result of her own self-destruction, she knows it will be seared into her memory forever. She won't ever recover from that look. The revulsion and shock may have been sustainable--she might've survived that. But the hurt, the unbelieving, uncomprehending hurt is what kills her. Sirius is no longer the grinning, confident, jesting marauder she had known him as. He is the broken little boy who wanted nothing more than to be loved for who he was. The little boy who's desperate yearning had always found only lonely disappointment.

This is the last image Farren has as her strength wanes. She finds she is too weak to fight the darkness any longer. It envelops her, creeping in from the corners of her vision. Faintly, she can hear someone--a girl--screaming for her. The echoes of those screams ring in the darkness. But they loose their concerned nature and, in her mind, become accusations.

"Farren, Farren, Farren.... What have you done?"