Swan Song


The timing of death, like the ending of a story

gives a changed meaning to what preceded it

-Mary Catherine Bateson

"You are a StarClan-damned snake," Sablefrost spat, rounding on a hunched Smokefang. He looked bewildered at her words; the skeletal cats around them only looked vaguely interested, and perhaps a little frightened at the venom in her words. "You've ruined everything! They stuck their little claws in you and you decided to tell them everything?"

With his mouth fluctuating between open and shut, rapidly, he looked like a fish. Ridiculous. His fur was even slick, wet- admittedly with blood, but it only furthered the aquatic impression. The thin slices at the side of his throat could be gills, heaving with each heavy breath. To think that this pathetic creature, battered and broken as he was, threatened her, only that morning.

"It wasn't like that at all," Smokefang snapped back. "It was torture, Sablefrost, I swear to you. They held berries to my mouth and everything."

"So you thought what? I'll prolong my miserable life for a few hours and drag Sablefrost with me? And now, we're both going to die. How romantic." She hoped the acid of her words burned him worse than his wounds; for somehow, in her eyes, this defeated grey wretch had not suffered enough. Would never suffer enough. She glared at the fringes of the cave, at the Tainted who dared to watch them. Hunger bled through their every pore, but this, this show she put on, was an odd distraction. Welcome, even if they provided no food.

She spared a glance at the solid grey back of Slatethorn. He seemed oblivious to their spat, despite the fact it was his very own brother enclosed in dirt walls below him. Slatethorn was the picture of ignorance, but she didn't trust his pricked ears any more than she trusted Smokefang's words.

Sablefrost looked at the back of the cave, ignoring the cesspit around her. Tiny prey bones were scattered and broken on the dirt floor. Cat-dirt was everywhere; no one from PureClan had ever thought to clean it out, nor ever wanted to. Though darker at the back, it seemed the Tainted, the few that remained, hadn't dared to breach its gloom. Perhaps it felt ominous to them, but the black queen knew something they didn't.

There was an escape, and she only needed to find it. Half curious, Smokefang slunk after her as she moved further from the light.

"Do you remember…" the grey warrior began, before uncertainly trailing off.

"Fortunately, yes," Sablefrost muttered, side-stepping away from his proximity. In a few short steps they'd reached the back wall, drenched in its darkness and difficult to see. She stood still for a moment, twitching her white whiskers and testing the air for the faintest breath of a breeze, the smallest taste of stale air that was far better than the stink of the cave. She didn't find one, so she brought her head closer to the wall.

Her eyes adjusted in the gloom a little. It was enough to spot what she was searching for; an indent in the vertical dirt surface. Sablefrost made her way over, glancing back at Slatethorn, who didn't seem concerned by their silence in the slightest. Her means of escape was not yet complete, she saw. She could fit two paws in there, and her shoulder…

Smokefang followed her over. He seemed content to watch her, rather than other any help. Vindictively, she wondered if his head would be any use as an excavation tool. She pawed experimentally at the edges, and found it dry and crumbling. With more effort, Sablefrost clawed at its mouth, renewing the work the Tainted she-cat had begun moons ago.

"Do you think- do you think she's-"

"Very far away from here," Sablefrost snapped. "As I would like to be." She continued swiping away pawfuls of dirt; a particularly well-aimed clump hit a surprised Smokefang on the nose, and he recoiled. Putting her whiskers to the edges of the hole, Sablefrost decided it was still too small.

To her surprise, the grey warrior gently pushed her out of the way. His larger paws were much better suited to the digging, though Sablefrost was quick to notice that each movement elicited a grunt of pain, torn flesh and muscles straining beneath his bloody fur. Their 'little claws' had done more damage than she cared to admit. Could he really be blamed for their upcoming doom?

The black queen hadn't had the time to consider just what fate Morningstar had concocted for them. It would probably be messy, loud and painful. But now that Smokefang had taken over the work, rampant and gruesome thoughts twisted through her mind. The whole Clan would be there, of course. It was hard to be humiliated without an audience. Perhaps Streampaw and Charpaw, the insipid idiots she'd so often made fun of, would be the ones to kill them.

Their warrior ceremony was long overdue.

Evidently, Smokefang noticed an irregularity in her breathing, a hitch of air in her throat. He paused in his methodical burrowing, and in the dark, his eyes might have been tracking her own.

"We will get out of here," Smokefang assured her, in his quiet, sombre voice. He twitched an ear back at the entrance, but there was no sign that his brother had heard them. Maybe the noises of the Tainted- uncomfortable shuffles, heavy breaths- masked the sounds they made. Maybe Slatethorn was hesitant to throw his littermate's life away.

"Don't lie to me," Sablefrost whispered. She couldn't trust his words; not when he'd spoken all the truths of their lives to Morningstar and the thugs she surrounded herself with. Lethally honest, was Smokefang, but she found herself doubting him anyway.

Whatever could've gone wrong had, and would continue to do so until the both of them were floating down the river.

"I've never lied to you," the bigger cat murmured, adding her name, as if it was a tender afterthought, "Sablefrost."

She couldn't dispute that. PureClan honesty was rife within him, and although he may have lied for her, he'd never lied to her face. As far as she knew. "Then don't start now." Her retort was soft, but he turned back to digging. He knew as well as Sablefrost did that escape was a far-fetched fancy.

For a while, the only sounds between them were their rhythmic inhales, exhales, the scuff of dirt against dirt. Sablefrost turned her back to Smokefang, sending glares at the city cats who dared glance at their gloomy corner.

"I think it's big enough," Smokefang said at last, drawing her attention away from the pathetic creatures at the receiving end of her scowl. He was right; she slipped into the adjacent tunnel with ease, shaking dirt from the calloused pads of her paws. Although the air out there was as stagnant as the cave's, the fetid stench of the imprisoned cats was far weaker. That much was a relief.

Smokefang squeezed through the hole behind her, a less perfect fit. There was more than enough room for the both of them in the tunnel, however; enough to not merit the grey tom standing so close.

"Which way?" Sablefrost asked, a little perturbed, her words an excuse for them both to move. "We could try the gorge, and maybe find a way to get down to the water without breaking our necks. Or the meadow, that's much easier, and we can head for the city."

"The meadow," Smokefang said, immediately. "It's closer, and I prefer my neck unbroken, actually."

Sablefrost inclined her head in agreement, shuffling away from his imposing height. But he wouldn't stay more than a few inches from her side as they began walking. It became apparent that even that wasn't enough for him; one moment later she was pressed between the dirt wall and a warm grey shape. She could feel him trembling.

"Sablefrost," he murmured. She could feel his words. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Yeah?" she gritted out. "I have a bad feeling too. Your bloody fur is not pleasant."

"I'm serious," Smokefang insisted. His words hummed against her stomach, and she cursed the shiver trailing down her spine.

"So am I," she growled. "Get off me."

He didn't move, his ribs heavy against her back and side. She could feel blood dripping on her from one of his wounds.

"Do you hate me?"

She froze for a moment. She could be tactful...or she could crush his hopes into dust that so resembled her heart. "I don't know," she replied. "Just let's get out of here, okay? Then I'll judge your character."

Begrudgingly, Smokefang stopped pinning her to the wall. Sablefrost got to her feet, somehow a little less than grateful. She didn't bother with a thanks, but began moving off, following the scent of fresher air threading through the tunnel. She'd already had enough of the dirt and the dankness to last a lifetime, but at least away from the cave she had no need to watch her every step, wary of the pungent messes the Tainted produced.

The silence was consuming, for a while. Smokefang's steps were hesitant; when she glanced behind her, he was opening and closing his mouth again, as if debating on what to say, or even if he should say anything at all.

"Spit it out," she snapped, because if she saw any more of the fish impression she'd have to wipe it from his face.

Smokefang blinked at her, deep amber-gold eyes wry. "You'd claw my nose off. I'd like to keep one body part fully intact, thank you."

"Tell me," she demanded. Spilling his thoughts to her was the least he could do. It would be no loss, if several layers of skin were to be gouged from his nose.

"Stop walking," he instructed, looking grave. He kept his nose well out of striking distance."That's it?" Sablefrost snaps, but she did so anyway, turning to face the tom she'd once known so well. She couldn't read his face now, and that, decidedly, was a good thing. Progress. Improvement. A reprieve. His shadowed molten eyes burned into hers, but the weight in them meant nothing to her.

"I love you."

In that moment, feeling intensely awkward, it struck her that Smokefang had never told her those three little intricate words. She'd always assumed, and in their world, she thought it too dangerous, to say it. After announcing Jayflight's pregnancy, she'd assumed he didn't love her. That she was a toy turned pest, a sleek black shade with no further use. Sablefrost was the one to discard him, before he could do the same to her.

"Err...monumental declarations of emotions should be saved for later, thanks," she muttered. Perhaps she couldn't break his heart now, when he was already so ruined. And she needed his help, whether she liked or not (she didn't). It would take the two of them to escape this place and flee the certain deaths their dear leader was surely, laboriously planning.

Smokefang took a step back, accepting- or so she hoped- that she needed her space. Desired it, in his company. He muttered something that sounded like a low, disappointed, "PureClan, always PureClan."

Ignoring his words, which weren't meant for her ears, she started walking again, beginning to loathe the steady chafe of dry dirt beneath her paws. What wouldn't she give for some grass?

My life, she thought. A sacrifice of comfort in exchange for living was an easy price to pay. I'll think back tonight and I'll laugh, fussing over a few clumps of dirt between my pads, Sablefrost vowed. Wherever I am.

Smokefang attempted no further conversation. He sensed he'd said something wrong. He still knew her- like he'd never stopped watching her. His looming shape kept a respectful, welcomed distance between them for once. If this was a learning curve, she'd be happy.

Ahead of them, a light filtered through the gloom, shearing layers of darkness from the tunnel. It was time for a melodramatic sigh of relief, but it didn't come from her. Smokefang sounded melancholy, feminine, winded and alleviated all at once.

"We're not out yet," Sablefrost reminded him, forgetting to keep her voice low and regretting it immediately afterwards. The exit wasn't altogether very far from Slatethorn's post. Probably, he had keen hearing, like most cats she knew. It'd be good not to draw his attention to them after their awkward tunnel escapade.

Her companion waited a few moments to reply. "Are now," he corrected, hushed, as they stepped into the bright grasses of the meadow. She bumped him reprimandingly with her tail, not daring to speak. Talking should be reserved for situations that didn't threaten their very lives. Ordinarily, talking would be reserved for cats she actually liked. Or feared, or held some kind of obligation to. Meadowmist, for example. Morningstar. Certainly not ex-flames she'd worked so hard to scorn.

After a fleeting glance at the back of the rock-covered cave in the distance, Sablefrost turned in the direction of freedom. They'd cut back over open ground to the gorge, and follow it until they were safe. And follow it then further, until the paranoia could no longer hold any logical grounds. Maybe a little more after that, to escape the big grey lug who wouldn't keep his eyes off her.

She kept a snappy comment about bleeding and birds of prey to herself, and moved off, trusting Smokefang to follow her, like a shadow three sizes too big.

Soon the grass turned short, stubby, dying a slow, withering death beneath the glower of the sun. Beyond the grass were pebbles and rocks; she discovered she'd rather have the dirt than this. At least Smokefang kept quiet. No complaints. It was likely he had more pressing pains than a few stings from stone splinters. Before long she side-stepped over to walk on the grass, figuring anyone was as likely to see her here as there.

And spot her they did. Perhaps it was because he approached so quietly that Smokefang attacked- because he was afraid, trembling and on edge. His appearance was a shock, and not exactly welcome, by either of them. So Smokefang sprung into action before Sablefrost really even knew what was happening; what would happen, inevitably.

Silent and spectar-like, Strongclaw, caught up to their party of two. He'd also realised a mutual muteness was imperative to their survival. He was, however, going to call her name in a whisper, a breath, one he knew would give her no choice but to turn to him.

Smokefang knocked the air from his chest with a sturdy blow from a scarred grey shoulder. Sablefrost whipped around, gaping.

"You can't be here!" she said, voice a harsh undertone. He didn't seem to hear her, because he was ducking a wild, slashing swipe from his unlikely opponent, baring his teeth in a snarl.

She appealed to Smokefang next. "Stop it! Don't hurt him." The two toms clashed, tumbling over each other, clenched in twin vice grips. Their legs scrabbled at their bellies.

"He's one of them," Smokefang grunted, flipping Strongclaw to the ground. Parallel with Sablefrost, her pair turned his head and set his cerulean gaze on her. She could only stare, and remember she hadn't told him what she desperately wanted to.

Strongclaw's claws tugged at a weeping wound on his chest; Smokefang hissed and scored wet red lines down the calico's stomach. He wriggled out of Smokefang's weakened grip, and cuffed him over head.

"I'm not here for you," he spat, weaving between blows. "I'm here for her." Then they were crumpled in a writhing pile once again. Sablefrost stared at the collision of past and present, struggling to create for her a future.

No, she thought, no. There was a conflict inside of her, biting as Smokefang bit, tearing and moaning and Strongclaw tore and moaned.

"You'll never have her," Smokefang assured him, pausing in his assault, for a merest second. Strongclaw grinned up at him, that familiar cocky grin that had been aimed at half the Clan. There was something sordid about it now, tainted and dripping with blood. Something aligned with the heated flutter in her stomach, the one behind her panic and nerves.

"Already do," the smaller warrior replied smoothly, and kicked, belying the kind of power he preferred to hide. Smokefang flew back, and rolled, and found himself lacking a certain stability. He clung to the side of the gorge. The fish impersonation was back, Sablefrost noted dully. StarClan, she hated it. She found herself relieved when it disappeared, in a cloud of dust and dirt and unseated leaf litter. He fell with a silent kind of inelegance, bloodied limbs thrashing the air, screaming without a sound. The only sound he made, really, was a thump, as he landed. A harsh thump, broken and hard. No time to gasp. Smokefang was already dead.

She was supposed to feel...she was supposed to feel…No, later. She'd decide what she should feel later, but now she had one injured idiot to deal with, and a vengeance to escape.

"Strongclaw," she gasped. A greeting; an admonishment. Forget Smokefang-everybody would- he looked broken. Beaten, yes. Battered. But broken, somewhere in his eyes, where she could not reach. Defeated though victorious.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, backing away from her approach. He confused her, this tom who only hours ago had proclaimed his love for her. The love she didn't deserve but craved. Needed it, like prey or water or shelter, but hadn't realized…

"It's okay," she soothed, although it wasn't, and she knew that. "You didn't mean to kill him. He attacked you."

He shook his head in distress. "Not that, not that."

Sablefrost faltered, and Smokefang's earlier premonitions twined across her pelt. "Wh-what?"

His rent gasp forced her to step back. "Sorry." She stared, and stared some more, wishing to be anywhere but there, with any other words ringing in her ears. Smokefang liked my ears. The tapers, the shape...he said...he liked…

"I do believe my dear son is apologizing for my presence," Morningstar remarked dryly. The golden she-cat appeared behind the patched tom, melting from the grass. Warriors prowled from the grasses, emotionless, tense. As they formed a loose circle around the three of them, Sablefrost was reminded of the very public final assessments. Perhaps this would be much like one; on a smaller scale. Morningstar had, unfortunately, needed to improvise.

"Anyone would," Sablefrost agreed, smiling a slight, sweet smile at the blank leader. "You're not pleasant." The golden she-cat grimaced at her, kit-like, before turning to Strongclaw. He'd stopped cowering because in the presence of so many, weakness would never be a viable option. She flicked judging eyes over him, jumping from gash to scrape to slice.

"You're fine," she muttered, moving to poke him with a paw but stopping short. Maybe she had more respect for a son who had proved himself a fighter. A son, coated in blood that wasn't his own for, StarClan damn it, once.

"Anyway," she continued, turning back to the black warrior. "Sablefrost. Shame, such a shame. Big plans, Sablefrost, and you pissed on them."

"Foiled your plots, more like," Sablefrost scoffed. She shifted uncomfortably; the eyes of ten cats were all on her rather unkempt pelt. Nettlecloud was there, of course, reaping the rewards of her betrayal. Her father simply couldn't have missed her execution. Fleetclaw, the tom she sort-of liked, was a stoic face in the crowd, standing between an unflinching Meadowmist and Tornear, who was possibly leering at her for an undisclosed reason.

Morningstar shrugged nonchalantly. "Replacements can be found. Pliable ones." Sablefrost's gaze flickered back to the fawn queen, and wondered if she contained the level of malleability Morningstar desired. Maybe she'd acquire it, just for ambition's sake.

"But you must be wondering what this little impromptu meeting is all about?"

Sablefrost snorted. "Not really." She wondered if her display horrified her father, or pleased him. She really wasn't like her mother; or perhaps, this was the snark and fire of a dead cat walking. A ghost of flesh and mortality- one who knows it.

"Death, my ignorant dear, death," Morningstar cried. Strongclaw closed his eyes and pushed the world away.

Sablefrost sarcastically replied, "What else?" and ignored the loss of Strongclaw's gaze. Her pillar, split down the middle, wishing he could disappear. I need him.

A pair of amber eyes were narrowed in her direction. "Your leader is having a tough day," she snapped. "Be nice to her. Show some respect."

She dipped her dark head in a mock-nod. "I shall placate you with my grisly and gruesome demise," she promised, missing Strongclaw's quiver.

The dappled golden cat twitched her whiskers, muttering, "They all scream in the end. Strongclaw."

The calico blinked slowly. "Yes." His voice was flat. Foreboding finally reached her heart and clenched. Her pulse stuttered. I need him.

"She's your pair. She's your responsibility. To eliminate your crime you must eliminate the cause."

Sablefrost was the one to blink; a long, slow thing, hiding her eyes when she could not hide her fear, her tremble; all weakness and vulnerability. Him. She couldn't look at him. Earlier, in forest, for the briefest moment, she'd wondered if he might kill her to spare his mother the pleasure. How true that had come to be. If there was a sixth sense, she owned it.

"A lovers' spat," Morningstar tittered, sinking back into the line of ringed cats. "We're privileged."

They turned to face each other, pale and bloodied, dark and unsullied. In her younger days, she wanted to kill him. To rid herself of the irritating enigma, a self-assigned slur-spitting stalker. Not now, when he'd proven himself to be so much more. She couldn't be sure what he was capable of. If, despite loving her, he'd kill her anyway. Quick, clean? Would her blood cloak his pelt, a final tangible reminder of her life? Would he wash it off, taste it, and think of her, or her death?

"I assure you," Morningstar growled, "Any one in this circle would make her death ten times worse. Ten times bloodier, longer, agonising in ways you cannot dream of, dear son. Perhaps her children back at camp would like to be involved in this. Three deaths instead of one. A family affair. You will give pain, Strongclaw, but you will spare pain. If you move now."

Sablefrost raised her head, baring her throat, half-taunt and half-invitation. "If you don't mind, I'd like to die today, thanks, rather than the middle of next moon." Let her say that, rather than the words bursting at the back of the throat. Smokefang had said it so easily, but her audience quashed her confidence, her desire to say anything of meaning at all. She could mock with her PureClan mean-streak a mile wide, and that was easy. Her final words would be scorning, and he'd live with that, but she will be the one taking bottled words to the grave.

Strongclaw rolled his shoulders back and assumed an imperial position, looking as regal as his mother. His eyes retained a shattered light. He looked nowhere near as whole as the tom who was hers; she comforted herself, for an instant, with the notion that the cat who would kill her wasn't truly Strongclaw. Not inside. She'd die with the memory of his smile staring at eyes she did not recognize.

"Do it," she commanded. For his sake, the repenting of his crimes, for her kits', because they deserved no part in this mess, and lastly, for her. The Clan could think up a hundred ways to kill her and enjoy her screams. Strongclaw cared enough for a swift kill. She hoped.

He took a deliberate step towards her, and another, and while she wanted to mimic him, to be close, she also wanted to run. His movements were predatory, and the only reluctance he displayed was in his eyes. Confusion rolled in her stomach; should she defend herself, or just let the inevitable happen? Hurt him, and take him with her wherever she would go?

It was instinct that made her decision for her. Strongclaw tested her with a wary swipe, and she side-stepped easily, although her movements were a little rusty, her skills diminished with disuse. The last time she'd fought was in the second ambush on the raiding party, and since then, she'd languished in the nursery. The only battles she'd ever fought with Strongclaw had been using words, harsh ones; never claws.

As always, she tasted the grit of the Thunderpath between her teeth, saw blinding twin lights in the back of her mind. Lights too bright to match the darkness in her pair, who advanced again with another attempted blow. Sablefrost retaliated with one of her own, knocking his shoulder before she realised her claws were still sheathed.

A soft, hidden part of her ached not to hurt him, and she feared what kind of power it might hold. If it could be just as strong as the calico who needed to end her life.

They began a dance, the two of them, an affair more elaborate than they'd thought a fight to the death could ever be. Feints and twists, two steps forwards and three steps back. They knew each other, what made them weak, their irreparable flaws.

Sablefrost knew her opponent still harboured a limp; could be targeted where his last battle had hit him the hardest. Strongclaw knew she'd grown soft in her months as a queen, and couldn't be expected to remember everything she'd learned as a youth, nor perform moves to an impeccable standard. Too often he intercepted her when she was too slow, and far too often he paid the price for suffering under an old wound.

Slightly shocked, Sablefrost found herself winning, ramming her head into his chest, winding him and sending up a flare of pain from the dormant, jagged scar winding from his foreleg along his belly. Strongclaw fell to the ground, a strangled wheeze elicited from his throat. The black queen stood over him- claws firmly unsheathed. The ring shuffled back to give them room, for they'd danced to close to the edge, and every cat there knew from experience that blood was a curse to clean out of fur.

Staring down at him, the beautiful tom she'd spent most of her life hating, Sablefrost found her only desire was not to tear out his throat. She would've liked nothing more than to lie with him, to twine their tails and whisper the only three words she ever wanted to hear again. To live, and live with him.

Her moment of weakness was a sentimental one.

And then Strongclaw was touching her, and she thought she felt a caress in the brutal movement as her pair kicked her back and taught her how to fly. Without wings she fell to the ground- all jagged rocks and flint and gravel that scraped and grazed. Something in her bed of stone hit her all wrong, and she heard a crack that she didn't feel. She could only feel the blood, frantic in her veins, hot and heavy as it fled her, a broken vessel, from cracks in her flesh that had once stung. She'd known pain, minutes ago, but it was leaving her, just as she was leaving. Escaping, at last, without moving a muscle.

Sablefrost stared up at the sky. A pretty day to die, even if there was a puddle of a cloud on the horizon. Even if there was a face blocking her view, inset with twin skies instead of one. Cloudy skies, promising rain and all manner of storms.

She sighed, and it came out as a cough, wet and thick. A fleck of blood hit Strongclaw's nose, and internally she apologized. He was bloody enough already, but he was alive when it could've been him gargling on the ground in much the same way as her. If she were a stronger cat, if she were what her Clan demanded she be.

Those eyes looked so sorry, so hurt, as if he'd leached all her pain away from her, like he was the reason for her relief. She lay on the ground and stared at his heartbreak. She was the shattered one- shattered inside, where she should've been the most secure- and Strongclaw was on fire, blazing with his guilt and sorrow in a way that the cats around them should not have seen. She wanted their eyes gone. She would've liked to see them dead.

"Sablefrost," he breathed, too torn to be tender. "I'm sorry, I love you, it should've been me."

Was she smiling? Could she smile? Perhaps it was gruesome, her smile laced with blood, but all she saw was him, all she felt was him, and she couldn't trust herself to speak. So she showed him, in a way she rarely did and would never again, that she felt just the same. Showed him that really, he shouldn't be worried.

Finally, she was free, and she loved it.

Oh. My. God. Guess what? I finally finished something! Was this a fitting finale, or will you all hate me for the rest of my life? I pored my creepy little heart into this chapter, though it did take me a while, and I was kind of sad to ruin Sable and Smoke's relationship like this, although she did escape in a final, irreversible kind of way. I may have torn out your hearts but I hope you enjoyed it while I did so. Or didn't completely hate it and me at least.

We're here at the end, and it only took me, what, a year and a half? Nearly two years? But I thank you all for following me on this journey, and I can honestly say that without your reviews and support and love, this devilish creation would not be where it is today, or what it is today. I've loved hearing from each and every one of you, and I hope you all do it again one last time. I especially hope that all the lurkers who haven't reviews TPATP try their hand at it for this last chapter. Honestly, it would mean a lot to me (and I'd love to accomplish my 800 reviews goal).

What else can I ramble on about before saying goodbye? Ah, yes, I can tell you all about the sequel. I've planned a lot about it without planning anything actually important. It'll come to me, I suppose. A lot of this story features some spur-of-the-moment decisions, although I did deliberately sit down and plot the ending. Originally I intended for both Smokie and Sable to escape, a very long time ago. Then I decided this would be a better way to close the story, although the last line is very close to what I had . The sequel will also have four set points of view. I'll try to write a few chapters of TTATT before I post it, just to keep ahead.

This chapter was brought to you with the help of music. Some titles are kind of ironic, such as Long Way Down (ha), I Bet My Life (double ha) and Dangerous.

Thank you once again for all your support, sorry for being an terribly evil writer for the entire story, and make sure to leave me one last review! Tell me what you think and what you suppose will happen in the next instalment? Sorry if I forgot to say anything (like I've got a holiday job and therefore won't have as much spare time), but I suppose there's always my next AN, somewhere in the near/far future. If you miss my writing, you can always check out my multiple one-shots, my 100-oneshot chllenge or the new three-shot PureClan collab I'm doing with batmaaan, 'Oh No It's Cupid'.


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