Hemp Flowers Meant Fate

Prologue

This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form.

Disclaimer: I don't own KHR, HP, or any of its wonderful characters.

Warnings: Character death, angst. Some mentions of blood. Depression.

A/N: Another crossover? Me? Yes, yes indeed. School and life has been taking turns knocking me down and out, so I've been doing my best to escape reality through a variety of things. Such as writing. Or drawing. Or something, lololololol. I also wanted to do my own take on the very popular trope of hanahaki disease. And another take on Harry being the 2nd Arcobaleno.

Enjoy!

Hemp flowers meant fate.

So of course that was the first bouquet of flowers he had coughed up, in some sort of twisted irony. Harry had stared at the fistful of slimey and bloodstained flowers, before tossing them into the fireplace at Grimmauld Place and desperately tried to forget about it. After the war, Harry had became rather desolate and socially unadaptable, holing himself up in Grimmauld Place and never showing his face to the public since the rebuilding of Hogwarts was done. He was done with the world, done with life, and done with people; he was just done in general, and that meant he was done suffering from the fate that he had once held on his shoulders.

Forget, and move on; this was his motto for the past two years after the war, and Harry didn't want to change that now. Even as the burning sensation increased in his chest, in his lungs, and was slowly suffocating him.

It had hurt to gag and cough up those flowers, and Harry had assumed that they were growing inside his lungs, and were being ripped out forcibly. Thus the blood.

He should really go get this checked out.

Especially as the hemp flowers turned to hemlocks, and if Harry studied correctly, that meant, you'll be the death of me.

"Where are you going again, mate?" Ron asked as he gobbling up a quick meal before he had to return to his shift. Hermione was also there, all of them holding a conversation via magic mirror. Harry had gotten the idea from Sirius, and while it brought a bout of painful nostalgia and regret, he liked the idea of his friends being able to reach him easier through this. And vice versa.

"He's going to France," Hermione reminded her fiance with a roll of her eyes. She was shuffling through various legal documents and Ministry paperwork with a pursed expression, brown eyes shifting between that and the mirror. "Which brings us to the question, why? Wanderlust? You?" Hermione's lips twitched, and Harry huffed.

"To get away," Harry replied, ignoring Hermione's playful jab at his hermit lifestyle.

"From what?" Ron raised a pale eyebrow at him, mouth full of sandwich and crisps. He swallowed and continued, "From Kreacher? Don't blame you there, mate," Ron shuddered, eyes narrowing slightly at the mention of the morose house elf.

"Change of scenery," Harry shrugged, rubbing absently at his chest. The burning sensation was slowly tearing his chest apart, and he cleared his throat in discomfort; the pain numbing potions could only do so much when flowers were growing in his lungs. "I want to eat some crepes," he offered a bit more.

"Crepes?" Hermione mused.

"Oh," Ron sounded a bit wistful. "Well, bring me some back, okay? And also some of those baguettes the French are so well-known for. And a souvenir-"

"Weasely! Your break is over, and you have not clocked back in yet," a harsh voice sounded, and Ron jerked, instantly reaching over to the magic mirror and turning it off. His connection was cut off as abruptly as this whole conversation started, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Manners, Ronald," Hermione muttered.

"Was that Draco?" Harry asked, tilting his head. Huh.

Hermione's mouth thinned, narrowing her eyes in thought. Her paperwork and Ministry work momentarily forgotten, her expression was thoughtful. "Maybe," she hedged, at last. "I'll have to ask later. If you do go to France, just dress warmly, and don't forget your protection charms. I got to go, but I'll just be a ca- mirror away," Hermione told him, and Harry lazily saluted her.

"Aye aye, captain," Harry said, with a slight smirk. "Good luck drowning in paper cuts and politics," he told her, and Hermione groaned, before the connection cut between them. His pale and tired face greeted him, and Harry quickly put away the mirror, unable to stand the wide and morose green eyes and expressionless face.

France.

Harry felt like this mystery disease was going to kill him. He wanted to experience a few things first, though. Death never frightened him, and if this was fate's way of telling him to finally fucking die, then he'd go willingly. It never felt like he had much of a life outside of war and Voldemort anyways, outside the prophecy and the press of the Wizarding World. Despite literally dying and coming back to finish the war, it seemed like his life still wasn't his own after the war, and the reconstruction of Hogwarts.

Depressed, Hermione had told him.

Maybe.

"Master," Kreacher's weepy voice jerked Harry out of fixing his outfit over and over again. It was a simple outfit with slacks, dress shoes, a crisp button up with a vest; his tie was traded in for a trendy black bow, and he had suspenders underneath his sleek black vest. It was a far cry from the outfits he had suffered through from his childhood, and while he'd normally wouldn't go so far as to dress up normally... It had been awhile since he left Grimmauld Place, and he was finally wearing something other than 5 day old clothes and had taken a shower.

His self-esteem was at a down-low is what he was trying to say.

Dress to kill, and all that.

"What is it?" Harry blinked at the house elf, who had packed up his clothes and all the essentials he needed to visit France. "Is my stuff ready?" Harry asked, pulling out his wand from it's holster on his hip; disillusionment charms and his hefty dark cloak should help hide any magical sense that should come from him. Thinking about that now made him realize that all the time picking out his outfit was kind of moot now.

"It is," Kreacher sniffed. "And you have some inquiries from that house traitor," he added darkly, despite wiping at his eyes continuously. His voice was scratchy and thin, and dug into Harry's ears painfully.

"Oh, Andromeda?" Harry mused. "She must be worried about me, then," Harry sighed, remembering his last conversation with her and his godson. His godson was obviously excited for him- well, considering that he was still young, he was generally excited for Harry no matter what. Andromeda was a bit less... aimable, worried for him as he told her that he was venturing out of his house and into the world wide unknown.

As it turns out, he wasn't the only one suffering from social reclusiveness.

After losing most of her family, especially to previous family members, she was extremely protective of her remaining ones. Harry included, it seemed. Still, even she managed to show her face to the public ever once a blue moon, in order to promote good social habits and etiquette into Teddy. Harry had no such wishes.

"Do you wish to reply?" Kreacher said, still sour.

"I'll do that when I come back," Harry admitted, with faux-cheer. If he answered now, he'd be swept up with the desire to crawl back into his bed and sleep for the next few days. He needed to go, and it needed to be now. Or never. "Tell her that I have already left the premise, and should be back shortly."

With a shrinking spell, Harry had transformed his luggage into a rather simple bracelet, and it hung from his skinny wrist. With a simple wave at the grouchy house elf, Harry headed towards the Floo, grabbed some Floo powder, and exited via fireplace.

-0-0-0-

The soot and the ash from the fireplace made him gag, and he had to try and calm himself down before more flowers could be ripped from his lungs and exit through his mouth. It wasn't an easy task due to the fact that Harry had to straighten up immediately and hurry over to the establishment's bathroom as quickly as possible, locking the door behind him and collapsing against the bathroom's countertop to gag dryly. His chest burned with a hot tearing sensation, and with watery eyes, Harry finally managed to dislodge some of the flowers inside him.

Castus flowers.

Coldness, life without love, indifference.

Well, doesn't that sound a bit harsh? Harry delicately wrapped up the bloodstained castus flowers in some paper towels, before digging it into the trash bin. He spared himself a glance as he straightened himself up, wiping at his mouth. He briefly wondered if he would need a pepperup potion before shrugging it off; the pain was still there, burning and ragged, and he looked one micrometer away from death- but if anything, he was durable.

When he exited, he was met with stares from the establishment. It was a magical cafe, a more airy and rustic feel than the Leaky Cauldron. Harry schooled his expression into a blank one, even as he wanted to groan and run away from the curious and wild stares. At last, another patron stood up and cleared his throat, coming over.

"Mr. Black?" His accent was thick, and Harry narrowed his eyes. "My name is Ashe Laurent, and I will be your guide to the French Ministry in order to register your presence here in France, and organize your visa for your stay here." Ashe, with pale blond hair and pale grey eyes, gave a cool look at the rest of the patrons in the cafe. "And no one will gossip about this encounter, oui?"

Everyone else shifted and glanced away.

"Don't worry about them," Ashe sighed, giving Harry a wan smile. "They are under oath to not mention you here in France, and if they have problems with it, then they should have left when I told them to." Harry nodded, relaxing slightly.

"Thanks," Harry offered awkwardly. "Sorry about my entrance; I'm told that I'm not good with many forms of magical transportation like that," he said sheepishly, with a slight smile.

"It's quite alright," Ashe shrugged, checking his watch. "We have all the time in the world, but I'm sure you're eager to settle in at your hotel as soon as possible. Let's get moving, shall we?"

Harry nodded, and tried to ignore the stifling feeling of growth inside his chest. It was time to fill out paperwork, and that was always boring and painful. Even more so than the feeling of dread and pain that still ripped through his lungs every time he hitched a breath.

-0-0-0-

"Have you settled in, Harry?" Hermione asked, with Ron slumped over the couch beside her. Both of them were lounging and existing together, with one of their mirrors connected to his. Harry shrugged, biting into the citrus-sweet of the orange he had painstakingly peeled.

"After all that paperwork and gawking from this place, yeah," Harry hedged, between mouthfuls of his snack. Ron had lifted his head to squint at him, before his expression fell into slight jealously and he stood up, mumbling something about food and hungry. Hermione rolled her eyes, before they focused back on him with unwavering intensity.

Uh-oh.

"I received an owl from Andromeda earlier," Hermione started.

"And she's worried, I know," Harry cut in, scowling halfheartedly. "Honestly, I'm not 5, 'Mione. And I get that's she's worried because she cares, but I don't need her to hold my bloody hand at times, especially when I'm trying to enjoy myself," he grumbled.

Hermione sighed. "She's just worried; we all are," she tried to justify. Harry just hardened his stare and Hermione relented with an uneasy expression. Ron came back with an armful of snacks, bread and bowls of steaming soup. No doubt sent over by his mother, and Harry's stomach rumbled in retaliation.

"And you don't need to be," Harry replied, finishing off his orange. The acidity of it hurt his stomach, burned his throat, but he remembers reading somewhere that vitamin C helped immune systems. He didn't know if that would help cure his flower disease, or something, but it made him feel a bit better about himself.

"We don't need to be, but we do," Hermione scoffed. "We care about you, Harry. No matter how much of a social hermit you have become," she rolled her eyes.

"Or how much of an arse you can act like sometimes," Ron interjected, making Harry sputter.

"We will care for you no matter what. We've been through a lot," Hermione finished smoothly, ignoring her fiance's interruption with years of practiced patience and exasperation. Harry scowled, but collapsed against the lush pillows and silk sheets that his hotel suite provided him.

"I get it, just don't act so... suffocating with it," Harry finally said, tired and still slightly hungry. His chest felt rather heavy, from his unknown disease and the onset feelings of mournful regret. His friends, family, cared for him, and here he was; keeping secrets. He scratched at his chest absently with a wan smile; it was for the best, it had to be.

His friends and family deserved the best, and deserved to move on without him.

They didn't need to suffer with him when tackling this unknown disease. No doubt they'd rack the world, both muggle and magical, to help find him a cure. Maybe after awhile, they'd realize that Harry had accepted death no matter how it came to him, but not before heartbreak and frustration. This isn't the time with you-know-who, Harry, no doubt they'd yell at him, you don't need to die yet!

Everyone dies eventually.

Why should Harry be any different?

"Mate?" Ron's voice interrupted Harry's train of thought, and he hummed to let them know he was listening. "You okay there, mate?"

"Fantastic," Harry drawled, with a wan smile.

Ron and Hermione stared at him skeptically, and Harry just stared back evenly. At last, they relented with a sigh and Hermione said, "We're going to let you rest, Harry; perhaps you'll feel better tomorrow?"

"No promises," Harry nodded, sitting up. Everything in his chest shifted, and Harry felt the familiar onset of a coughing fit creeping up on him. "Talk to you guys tomorrow, sleep well, don't forget to brush your teeth, and all that," Harry mimicked a fluttery mother hen, making Hermione snort and Ron grin.

"Whatever, mum," Ron responded in good.

"We should be telling you that," Hermione grumbled, and the connection was cut.

Just in time for Harry rush to the bathroom as his coughing fit shuddered through him, tearing his chest in half. Begonia flowers this time, and Harry stared at the flowers, breathing harshly through his teeth and his body still trembling from his attack.

Deformed; beware.

Either his flowers were telling him that he was deformed, or to beware.

From what? Harry sighed and shoved the begonia flowers into the trash bin and covered them up with toilet paper. Hermione was right, maybe some sleep would do him some good. He'll wake up tomorrow to have a light French breakfast, and go explore the part of France he was in, Nice. By tomorrow night, he'll be in Paris, France, and then he could go discover the catacombs the day after tomorrow. Smokey French cafes and the Eiffel Tower were also on his wishlist. He'll be very busy, and he didn't want to waste his precious time with worrying over what his diseased flowers were trying to tell him.

Maybe beware of all the crepes he was going to gorge himself on tomorrow, Harry thought with a slight smirk as he got ready for bed. He refused to acknowledge the feeling of dread and trepidation that came with thinking about the newest type of flowers he had dislodged out of his lungs.

In hindsight, that was rather foolhardy of him to wish for something like that.

He was Harry James Potter, after all.

-0-0-0-

Kawahira watched the dying Luce with cold eyes.

Her daughter was a weeping mess beside the dying Sky, her mother. Kawahira was standing stiffly off to one side, unhurried and quite awkward. While death was no stranger to him, it was still rather awkward to watch the Sky Arcobaleno curse finish it's business. Soon, the last of Luce's Flames would be sucked away, and the pacifier would look for another to help satisfy its need for balance and harmony, another Sky to help feed its insatiable hunger. The plan was for it to claim Aria as it's next Sky Arcobaleno, and thus the cycle would begin anew.

The rest of the Arcobaleno had refused to flock to the Giglio Nero main mansion, still sore and unable to face the traitorous Sky that had lead them right into the curse of the Arcobaleno. It was rather petty and childish in Kawahira's opinion, but Luce had accepted her fate with the same bittersweet smile and regal air she was known for.

"Mama," Aria was only 14, edging on 15, and she was suffering. Her own pure Sky Flames were wrenching around, almost overwhelming in their intensity and her mother, who smiled weakly at her. "Non andare già via," she sobbed. Kawahira mentally translated it to don't go away just yet, and he had to hold back a sigh of aggravation.

"Non te la prendere," Luce mused. Don't get upset.

Kawahira wanted to roll his eyes. Humans and their need for dramatics, he mused. It was death, and Luce knew what she was getting into. Even if she disagreed with it it, which she didn't, it wouldn't have mattered; it was fate. And humans, at the very least, needed to help the world keep it's balance after ruining so much of it. No matter how much they were Sepira's descendants, and how much they looked like her, and no matter how much of Sepira's very own presence carried into their Sky Flames.

"Signore," Aria whirled on him, and Kawahira cocked an eyebrow. He highly doubted it carried over through his iron mask, but Aria's expression crumpled before hardening. Grief was a human emotion, Kawahira thought. "Please, please, release the curse on my mama," Aira hissed, and Luce choked an a chuckle behind her. "She at least deserves to live her last moments free from her curse," Aria pleaded, wiping her eyes on her sleeves.

"Hm," Kawahira mused, before saying a very blunt, "No."

"You monster," Aria snarled at him, angrily and mournful.

"Aria," Luce murmured, careful and wistful. "Don't be angry," Luce smiled and Aria made a wounded noise, turning back towards her with wide and watery eyes. "I want to spend these last moments looking at your smiling face," she told her seriously, taking Aria's attention away from the silent and rigid Kawahira.

As the two Skies conversed, Kawahira melted back into the shadows and background furniture.

He was just here to make sure the pacifier accepted Aria, and to move on.

Back to travelling the world, and just existing, watching the world pace itself and run on by. Revel in the novelties that humans brought, reminiscing for the lost race that he was once apart of, lost in trying to live next to humans, who he still partly blamed for taking everything away from him. He'll live like this until it was Aria's time to go, and by the time the third Sky Arcobaleno had lived with this curse, then maybe the rest of the Arcobaleno would probably be ready to shift onto another sort of cursed existence.

And then another set of Arcobaleno would have to be chosen.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

This cycle will go on until humans finally die out. Perhaps the world itself would be ready to retire by then. Or maybe another lifeform would be ready to take care of the Arcobaleno curse, and the world. Kawahira felt apprehension thinking about the future, and felt the familiar tiredness ache in his bones.

"Signore," Luce's voice brought him out of his reverie, and he shifted his stare onto her. She was smiling, weakly, and her eyes were growing distant and cloudy. Aria was sobbing loudly into the bedsheets, fists clenching painfully at her mother's hand and the bed, frame shaking from the force of her grief. "I think it's... time...," Luce told him, and Kawahira expanded his senses.

Her Flame, which was one of the strongests in the world, was nothing but a faint whisper, a faint ember. It was somewhat disappointing. Her pacifier, the Sky's pacifier, was glowing and sputtering a tacky orange, signifying Luce's end of term. End of life.

Her death.

"I think so too," Kawahira murmured, stepping forward. Luce's pacifier was resting on her tiny chest, not hanging around her neck. It would have been quite awkward to have maneuvered it off of her dead corpse anyways, so Kawahira was slightly grateful. He cupped the warm pacifier with both of his hands, supplementing it with his own Mist flames; it was to temper it with his own flames, to gently wrench it away from Luce's own fading one, and transfer it to the new Sky.

"Mama, mama," Aria sobbed.

Luce's voice was distant, as she closed her eyes peacefully, and she said, "You'll always be loved by me, Aria."

And she died.

A silent release of breath, and Kawahira had to stop a grimace. Death was never a pretty thing. The pacifier had latched greedily onto Kawahira's Flames, and he had release another low sigh; already, it was searching for a suitable Sky Flame. It's reach could literally extend across the world, but considering that a very powerful Sky Flame was literally mourning and slouched over a bed right next to it, it should latch onto her pretty quickly.

As Kawahira was about to wedge the pacifier into Aria's clenched and pale hands, something unpredictable happened.

It refused.

Okay. What the hell.

Kawahira huffed, already pulling back from a very bewildered Aria. Her expression was crumpled, and her eyes were red; in fact, her whole face was blotchy with tears and an unhealthy flush. Her blue eyes vividly reminded Kawahira of Sepira, and he had to try to stop the dark shudder and mood that came over him.

"W-what... happened?" Aria sounded confused. Hopeful. Confused. Distraught.

"It seems like today is your lucky day," Kawahira drawled, making Aria's expression darken. "I don't need to explain myself, or the pacifier, to you." He was already stepping back into the more secluded parts of the room, darker with shadows, and he was already instigating his Mist Flames to help him. "Have a nice day, Aria; I may or may not be back depending on factors. Ciao."

Aria sputtered and stared, and Kawahira was displaced with his Mist Flames.

It was time to find the unlucky Sky that the pacifier had taken a liking to.

-0-0-0-

Harry had woken up in the middle of the night, and had coughed up mountain laurels.

Glory, victory, ambitions of a hero.

-0-0-0-

Harry had a sinking feeling all day, and it lasted through the night. He felt like he was being watched, and couldn't feel comfortable in his skin. The flowers that had taken the place of the mountain laurels were growing in full in his chest, and he felt eerily paranoid. Sadly, though, he couldn't tell if he was feeling this way due to being in a new place, and finally being out of his house for the first time in, like, forever.

Or something was going to happen.

Harry desperately wished for the former, despite the small voice telling him to prepare for the latter.

It was only when he was sitting in one of those smokey French cafes did something happen. Or someone, rather. Dressed rather peculiarly, and not being noticed by muggles, Harry was instantly on guard. Sadly, though, it was illegal to apparate in public in France due to the high probability of being found out. If you needed to apparate, you had to head to one of the more secure and safe apparition spots located here and there around the country. He had froze as the man walked up to his table, and sat down as casually as if they were long-time friends.

He soon found his composure and continued to nibble on his muffin, and sip his tea. His chest felt tight and uneasy, but the last thing he wanted was to appear with any weakness to a complete unknown. Harry eyed the unknown man, and wondered if he was a lingering Death Eater sympathizer, or maybe just a rabid fan. But his intent didn't feel malicious, just really... callous, and cold.

Harry had to give him props for that.

"Magical," the man mused, coolly. "No wonder I never knew about you," he said, more cheerful. Around his neck was a pacifier, a baby pacifier, that was flickering an odd orange color. Harry's eyes narrowed in on it, oddly drawn to it. His chest itched.

"Not know me? That's a first," Harry responded, after a long sip of tea. "I thought I'd meet a lot of people who think they know me," he mused. "What do you want?"

"Peace, peace," the man smiled. Harry only raised an eyebrow at him, expectant. "What if I just wanted to make conversation?"

"With your attire? And general... creepiness?" Harry scoffed, rudely. He rolled his eyes. "Don't waste my time, please. I'm on a tight schedule, and need to move on soon." Double meanings laced his words, a bit self-deprecating.

"Good instincts, I guess," the man mused, mostly to himself. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Common sense, I think," Harry said. Impatience was slowly starting to seep in, and Harry had to remind himself that patience yields focus. And makes him generally less of a dick most of the time, but Harry could hardly bring himself to care on some days. Today was one of those days.

"I'll be blunt," the man had said, at last. "You have been chosen."

"Lucky me," Harry grumbled, already not liking this. "What have I been chosen for? Money? Food? A survey?"

"To die," the man said, blunt as he could.

Silence, a bit of one-sided heaviness.

Again? "That all?" Harry tried to sound as unimpressed as he could.

"Are you not afraid?" The man sounded painfully amused and slightly bewildered. Harry couldn't see it, but he had a feeling that he was cocking an eyebrow at him. "Most would be afraid of death," he stated the obvious.

Harry gave him a wan smile. "I'm not most people, and death is nothing to be afraid of. It's apart of life, and death is just the next great adventure," he quoted solemnly, feeling the general rise of bitterness and regret that came with thinking of his late headmaster. "That, and it won't be the first time I have died, and I'm already on a death sentence as it is."

It was painfully silent and awkward now.

"Then I'm sure you'll accept this more easily, then," the man finally hedged, voice oddly blank. None of the inflicted sarcasm and patronizing tone that was there before. "There is a something call the Arcobaleno curse, and it is given to those who possess the strongest elements of the Sky in the world. As the name suggests, it's a curse, and while it slightly differs in your case, the point is; you will be cursed."

"Been there, done that," Harry mused, feeling oddly affronted. Another curse wasn't something he was really willing to go under, but if he was dying already... "I guess the curse is going to kill me?"

"You guess right," the man affirmed. "Your curse will be under the Sky Arcobaleno pacifier. Your curse will tie your existence in with a few others, other elements of the Sky. You don't have to meet them, or anything if you don't want to, just know that your existence will somewhat affect them. Somewhat."

"Others are already cursed?" Harry raised an eyebrow. The Arcobaleno Curse didn't sound familiar at all.

"The person before you to have received the Sky Arcobaleno Curse has already assembled them, and has recently died," the man told him seriously. Harry twitched, and frowned. "You originally weren't supposed to be the second Sky Arcobaleno of this set, but the pacifier wanted you." Harry's eyes once again narrowed at the pacifier dangling from the man's neck, and he sighed, heavy and suddenly tired.

"Who was supposed to take it?"

"A recently orphaned 14 year old," the man told him in brutal honesty, not sugarcoating it at all. Harry had froze, and he closed his eyes. Orphaned, huh? He tried to connect the dots and assumed that by that, it must have been their mother who was the previous holder of the pacifier.

"How long will it take to kill me?" Harry asked, watching as the man took off the pacifier and holding it out to him. He gingerly took it, and watched as the fluttery light of the pacifier die down a bit the moment he touched it. And then he felt something, something, latch onto him, and felt a gentle tug inside of him. As soon as he noticed it, the pacifier settled into a strong warmth and glow, the tacky orange a bit hard on the eyes.

"It depends on your Flame, and your will to live," the man told him, seemingly bored now.

So not long, then.

"Thanks," Harry offered awkwardly, slipping the pacifier on. It hung heavily over his tight chest, and Harry felt a coughing attack slowly creeping up on him, warning. It must be the flowers who wanted to warn him of something, or mock him with the meaning in their petals. "I'll see you when I die, then," the man gave him a bitter smile, and then he was suddenly gone.

Magic? Harry narrowed his eyes. But it was too silent for that. Thinking back, he had also said magicals as if he wasn't apart of it. Oh well, he did his job, apparently, and Harry fiddled with his newest accessory.

He suddenly wanted to go back home.

So he did.

But not before he had experienced yet another coughing attack, and only stared morosely at the bay leaves that were covered in his blood and saliva. His chest and throat burned with bile, and his coughing attack, his lingering and persistent coughs was still a bit wet. No doubt with blood.

Bay leaves, huh?

What a joke.

I change but in dying; No change till death; I change but in death

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read.

Some of you might be pleased to know that I have the first chapter of Dying Again 80% done.

Or do I...?

Lolololololol

-mms