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(I excel at ambiguously crappy summaries xD)

I win at procrastination. I was working on my Nathan/Amber ficlet-story-call-it-what-you-will, and got completely sidetracked while listening to Muse's song 'Stockholm Syndrome'. And then this showed up.

Is it still procrastination if you're getting something done?

Well, I don't know. But this is something. Something to do with the Wallace family. And wincest.

(hint: It's not Largocest)

It won't be at all explicit (I'm too gutless for that), and doesn't come up for a few chapters, but it will be present. Turn tail and run now if that's not to your liking. Personally, I think this pairing is win, and I've been trying to think of a way to write this for a while.

(If you missed the hint, this will be ShilohxNathan. Hints of MagxNathan in this chapter too, if you want to read it that way.)

I have five 'chaplets' done—I can't honestly call them chapters--and a sixth planned. Format-wise, it will be similar to Poster of a Girl, but I'll do my best to weed out any glaring similarities.

Also, apparently, in my mind, Nathan is a manwhore, and a total pedo. And a schizophrenic, possibly-necrophiliac, homicidal, sadomasochist. And I luffs him so.

If all of my author's notes are this long, I should probably start a blog or something. I apologize profusely for subjecting you to my inane blathering.

I probably shouldn't be drinking so much coffee.

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PI. SLEEPING WITH GHOSTS.

He lies and tells himself he's fine.

He lies a lot.

"Dad, who's that?"

Immediately he responds, "I'm not sure." She jabs a finger roughly into his shoulder, and he sighs a little, looking at her over his glasses. "You didn't look," she explains. He's trying to look annoyed, but with her smiling like that, he can't. Moving the book aside, he lifts his head. Shiloh holds the slim photo album near his face. He takes it from her gently and looks over the open pages.

"Who, honey?"

So Shiloh shows him, points at the faded photograph in one corner. She's pointing at Mag.

"The one next to Mom."

And she's still pointing at Mag.

"It looks like you're talking to her."

Pointing at Mag. The one he'd been talking to. Stopped talking to, years ago.

Mag. The one who was as intimate with grief as he after she died.

Maybe he's overreacting. She's just pointing at a woman. Just a woman.

I'm not sure, he wants to repeat himself. I'm not sure because the woman in the picture is dead. She died a long time ago just like the man in the picture just like Marni in the picture. People die, and, he isn't sure why, their mouths keep moving and their hearts keep beating. For her. And he's not sure who her is: Marni or Shiloh or Mag.

He notices, she's noticed his face and looks worried. That's his job, though, and he smiles a little. For her sake, whoever her is. Shiloh sees this and brightens right up, and he lies like he always does.

"She's not familiar."

And Shiloh's a bit disappointed, but she's quiet like she always is. She takes the album back when he offers it. He leans back into the chair for a moment as she turns to the next page, and then he stands up.

"Do you want anything from the kitchen?" Shiloh doesn't look up, only shakes her head, and he leaves.

He closes the door behind him so she doesn't see him sit in the hallway, and so she doesn't worry when he curls up in the chair.

He can feel her eyes on him. And he knows who her is this time, because she's there at the end of the hallway, and she's there on the walls, guarding her own corpse.

She whispers, and against his better angels, he strains to hear her. Death has made her bitter but he has to listen.

Monster.

Murderer.

Liar.

That stings.