Chapter 1

February 21, 1936

Dear Lovino,

Sorry the reply took so long, but I didn't get your letter until last night. Things are kind of crazy, you know? Anyway, you really need to tell me more about this cute girl in your history class! You said she's blonde, right? I love blondes! And she's curvy too? Man, it sounds like you've got it made over there in America. What about Feli? How old is he now? Fifteen? Has he started looking for a lady? Because I know a few over here that would be perfect for him. You remember Annetta, right? Well she's grown into quite the woman, and she won't have me, but I'll bet she'd love Feli. And what about Miss Elizabeta? Is she still single? I find it pretty hard to believe considering her lovely face. But I guess that just means I've still got a chance doesn't it? And that job of yours sounds pretty nasty. I know how much you hate being nice to people, especially grumpy men! Ha ha!

Grandpa's grave looks great still, by the way. That was a little random, wasn't it? Sorry, I'm just kind of writing what I can think of, since nothing has really changed since your last letter. I kind of thought that by now, the villagers would have forgotten the old war horse, but everyone in town keeps his grave clean and there's almost always some sort of flower on the stone. I went just the other day to talk to him for advice, and there were some very nice daisies. I think he'd like being honored with daisies, don't you? I can't believe it's been almost three years since he died. Sometimes I walk out of the house thinking I'll see him in the cantina or in the market still. And you know, even though you don't sound too happy where you are, I think Grandpa would be proud of you and Feli. I'm not so sure about your dad though. Have you heard from him in the last month or is he still missing? We really miss you two over here. You all ought to come back over for a visit soon. No, I take that back.

Things are pretty bad here right now. There's a lot of tension what with the government, but it's alright. Rumor has it that Mussolini and Hitler are talking. I'm not sure I like it. Then again, I don't like either of them. I'm sure anything they come up with can't be any good. Some people are even saying that Hitler will pull us into a war! This whole thing smells! There are rumors of fascist takeovers in a whole crowd of countries over here, like I think I heard a rumor about Greece, but I can't say whether it's true or not. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we? And I think someone said the Spanish government is in trouble. I'm glad Italy's a little more stable, even with the nationalists taking over. Plus, it could be worse; we could be communist!

But how are things in America? I actually need some help on a project. I need to get information on the depression, but I need information from people I know. I've already interviewed all of my family, but I think I could use some information from America. I heard the depression was bad over there. But maybe you don't remember it very well? I know I don't remember anything about the depression here. Oh, and I have another question. Have you ever been to Vegas? I hear that there are some pretty nice casinos over there. Maybe instead of you and Feli visiting us over here, I'll come and visit you and we can go gambling! Papa taught me how to play poker, and I've gotten pretty good. I could probably make us a whole bunch of money! Papa said he would take me to Monaco soon to try and get some more cash…

Lovino looked through the rest of the letter haphazardly. As much as he enjoyed hearing about Marcello's everyday thoughts, what he found most interesting was the tension his cousin barely had mentioned. He scanned the other pages and found nothing of interest. As he went back to reading, a thought slowly dawned on him.

"I should go back to Italy this summer." It was abrupt, to be sure, but most of his thoughts were. And once set in his mind, they would not disappear. "I need to go back to Italy." He couldn't place what it was that he was feeling. It almost felt like someone had opened a window and the long settled dust was stirring. There was something out there for him.

He raced down to the kitchen of the apartment and stopped in the kitchen doorway where his brother, Feliciano, and their "stand-in parent", Elizabeta, were cooking dinner together.

"I want to go to Italy this summer." Elizabeta and Feli looked up from the plates of steaming food.

"You want to go back to Italy?" Eliza asked. Lovino nodded. "Hmm. That's strange. I didn't think there was a Vargas family reunion this year." Her nonchalant response pissed Lovino off.

'Keep a cool head,' he reminded himself. Lovino had a terrible temper, but was also aware of Eliza's desire to control it. 'Just talk, don't yell,' he seethed. "Yes, but Marcello is talking about how great everything is over there, and he wants to go gambling in Monaco, and asked if I wanted to go with him."

"That doesn't sound right," Feli said looking concerned. "The news is always talking about how turbulent it is over there. Plus I thought you hated Mussolini."

"Feli, it's not about Mussolini," Lovino had to grit his teeth to keep and anger from slipping out. Sometimes, his brother just didn't understand the finer points of lying. The two cooks put some more food on the plates and started setting the table. The three of them rented out a tiny apartment in the Bronx, so the kitchen was little more than a stove and a shabby table, but it was functional and clean for the most part.

"I'm not sure I could send you over to Italy with a good conscious, Lovino." Elizabeta's words were soft and deliberate. Lovino made a careful study of her face to see if there was any chance of winning her over. He did not like what he saw. "I know all about the turbulence going on over there. And I don't particularly like the leader," Lovino rolled his eyes, "And even if that isn't relevant, I'm just not too keen on the idea of sending you. Now come and join us for dinner, Lovi."

"Don't call me that," he spat. He quickly grabbed his coat off the rack near the door and briskly walked towards the exit.

"Lovino, where are you going?" Feli called from the table.

"Out!" He slammed the door behind him. It was still cold and slushy out in the streets, but he didn't care. He just needed to take a moment. To be honest, he wasn't sure where the sudden urge to go to Italy came from, but for some reason, that small paragraph from Marcello had struck something in him like a chord. A few of the other people on the streets called out to him in Italian, but he ignored them. Most of them were asking about his brother anyway.

Was it really about Mussolini? Sure, Lovino hated the guy's guts, probably from his father's influence, but for some reason that wasn't really it. It wasn't about Hitler either. Or fascism, or communism. Lovino whittled away at the issue for a good half hour before he realized why he wanted to go back "home." Lovino was very bored. He was tired of going to school every day, going to the same classes, and then going home to do the same thing the next day. Even if Italy sucked, it was still different. The slurry mess on the concrete streets made a rhythmic crunching sound under his feet. He should have put on some boots, or at least a scarf. He almost laughed outright at the little kids playing football in the grimy mess. He kicked the ball back at them when it came his way and continued on his walk through the alleys of the city. His stomach began to growl and the thought about returning home. Feli and Eliza would be finished with dinner by now. There would probably be a slightly cold plate of spaghetti and vegetables waiting for him, like there always was when he ran out before a meal.

He fought with his hunger for a few more steps before the sunset caught his eye. He'd always enjoyed the sky when he was younger. In his little boy mind, it symbolized horizons and opportunity and chances. But nowadays, he found more and more that the smog was overpowering the blueness. Even now, when it wasn't blue, the reds and oranges that he remembered from his childhood were missing; in their place were shadows and monochromatic ghosts of color, and it made him sick. If he were a bird, his wings were clipped. When Lovino's stomach churned, it made a gargling noise that practically compelled him back home. The streets were mostly empty now. It didn't matter much to Lovino.

He quietly opened the back door and snuck into the kitchen. Neither Feli nor Eliza were anywhere to be seen, so he grabbed the plate of food waiting for him and tried to sneak back into the room he shared with his brother. Unfortunately, Lovino had never been very good at sneaking and in the darkness he found himself tripping noisily up the narrow staircase to the bedrooms.

"Fuck!" he whispered to himself.

"Lovino, are you home?" his brother called from their room. Lovino tried to clean up the mess of his dinner as quickly as possible, but his brother thumped down to help him before he could finish. "Aw, you tripped again? You really ought to look where you're going, Lovino! You're going to get hurt one of these days!"

"Shut it. I can clean up by myself," he attempted to push Feliciano away with little success. In all honesty, Lovino was terrible at cleaning up after himself, and he knew it. He'd always leave crumbs, or completely miss spots, or knock something else over. What he hated most though was that everyone else knew it too. Finally, Feli stood with the plate of ruined food away and returned to the stairs with a wet wash cloth. He wiped up silently for a while before trying to talk to Lovino.

"So why do you want to go to Italy, really?"

"Fuck off."

"Lovi!"

"Don't call me that!"

"You can tell me! Come on! I won't tell Lizzie!" Feli stopped scrubbing to shake his brother's shoulder. "I wanna know! Tell me, tell me!"

"You're not going to shut up until I tell you, are you?"

"Probably not even after you tell me!" Feliciano laughed. As much as it displeased Lovino to admit, he'd silently known that before Feli had said it. His fifteen-year-old crap of a brother had an annoying habit of saying nothing when he talked.

"Fine, fine! I'll tell you!" Feli clapped his hands and twittered happily. Lovino couldn't help but smile a little too. Even if Feli was more than a bit of a pain, Lovino just couldn't stay too mad at him. "I want to go, I think, because it would be a change, you know?" Lovino admitted slowly. He was a little afraid of his brother judging him, or accusing him of trying to run away and abandon him. He tried to clarify to the best of his abilities: "There's so much out there, all those possibilities. I guess I'm really just bored with New York." He hated the way it sounded as he said it, all awkward and unplanned. He could tell that Feli didn't understand, since he didn't truly comprehend his own feelings.

"How could you be bored with New York?"

"I don't know, I just am. Plus, think about it Feli: if there's a war, and I were over there, I could lend a hand somehow. I'm sure the Italians could use a little help with the underground, you know? Beat the fascists at their own game."

"So it is about Mussolini."

"Ugh, sure, it's about Mussolini."

"I kind of want to go back too, b-but I don't think it's for the same reasons. I want to see everyone again. It's been almost three years since we've visited. You still keep in contact with Marcello, right?" Feliciano played with the ratty cloth like he was trying to distract himself. Lovino could tell there was something wrong, but decided that right now it wasn't important. Feli's fidgeting stopped when Lovino answered.

"Yeah, his English is getting better, too."

"You make him write in English?"

"No, he said he wanted to for practice."

"Oh. I'm so jealous of him. He's so smart. I mean, he learned a whole new language!" When Lovino didn't fawn over their ten-year-old cousin's accomplishment, Feli reiterated himself, "He can speak two whole languages!"

"We speak two languages too, Stupid."

"Yeah, but we never really learned them, we've just always known them." Lovino looked at his brother as if to say, 'really?' But the younger boy simply grinned. Feli alighted from the stairs and reappeared without the rag. They sat on the stairs together for some more time. A scratchy rhythm came from Eliza's room.

"You like this song, don't you Lovi?"

"Yeah." An uneasy silence wedged itself between them again. Feliciano shifted his weight and made the wooden step creak under him. Lovino hated silence so much, especially when it was with someone like his brother, the cheery-hearted talkative one. He felt like he needed to fill in the void. He knew that he wasn't good for much, so when the chance came, he'd always try to over compensate. Unfortunately, in conversations, it happened frequently. He was wracking his brain for something to say, anything to say, when Feliciano said something for him.

"Do you really dislike New York that much?"

"It's not so much of a dislike, Feli. I'm just…tired. I'm bored and I feel useless over here." Feli opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, looking kind of bashful. The music from Eliza's room got a little louder, and they listened as their guardian began to sing along.

"What do you think Papa is doing right now?"

"Probably nothing important, that ass kissing jerk."

"Lovi, be nice! You can't just call Papa names like that."

"Watch me," Lovino glowered. Feli sighed and rose again. He asked if Lovino wanted any food since his dinner was in the garbage. Lovino replied that he wasn't hungry anymore.

"I'm going to bed, okay Lovi?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"If you need anything-"

"Yeah, yeah, just get out of here, would you?" Feli chuckled to himself before turning up the stairs and slowly closing the door. When he was sure Feli was in bed, Lovino stood quietly and went to the ice box. There was still a little milk and cheese left, so he ate them with a piece of bread. He made a note to go get some more fruit. Lovino sat at the little table and brooded some more. He still needed to find a way over to Italy.

He woke up the next morning, only to find Feli was missing from the bed across the room. Lovino flopped back into his covers with a sigh. How his brother managed to wake up early every single weekend was beyond him. The little shit probably had breakfast made and out on the table. And he'd probably been to the market already too. Lovino took his time getting dressed and ready to go to work. And when he got to the table, there was breakfast, all spread out, like every weekend. Every single weekend. Elizabeta was sitting there with the radio on the table. That meant that Feli had been listening too, since the radio only came out of Lizzie's room when he asked for it. She looked up from her plate upon Lovino's entrance and greeted him in the usual way.

"Good morning, Lovino."

"Morning, Elizabeta." She just went back to eating and listening to some British man drone on about tea prices or some other bull shit. Lovino plopped down and shoveled his food into his mouth. Feli made the best scrambled eggs. He could tell something was up with Eliza though. She was usually chatty and cheerful in the morning, which Lovino hated, but today she was eerily quiet. The meal continued for another minute or so until Lovino couldn't take the silence anymore. "Okay, what's up with the passive aggressiveness?"

"I thought you hated it when I tried to talk to you in the morning!" she said in mock surprise. Lovino bit his tongue, once again trying to contain his anger. He could feel the vein in his neck begin to throb.

"I do. But this is weird."

"Oh, I see." And then she stopped again. Lovino tried to let it go, but could not. Elizabeta didn't show any sign of surprise as he stood and slammed his hands on the table in a fit before taking a deep breath. He muttered something about women and the silent treatment before shoving his hands in his pockets and proceeding out of the kitchen.

"I'm going to work."

"Have a good day."

The world was grey that day. No, the world was grey every day, Lovino decided. The random slurping noise the slush made the under his boot irked him greatly. He knew it was silly to be angered by such a silly thing, but at the same time, he also felt justified. It was such an unmelodic, random, pointless noise to him. It had no rhythm and no purpose. Lovino personally felt that if there was no beat, there was no use in having sound. He couldn't stand it anymore, so he shook his head and focused on one of the other many things he hated.

Lovino hated his job. He and his brother worked at just another restaurant in Little Italy. They worked every weekend and every day after school, even skipping on Fridays to toil in front of the stoves and sinks for a few extra cents of pay. Feli was in charge of breakfast and lunch specials and Lovino made most of the dinner and desserts. They had to work to support their family, since Elizabeta was unemployable for the most part. She was an Eastern European immigrant and a woman on top of that. She was always going on about how she hated being idle and how great it was when she was working at that bank back in Hungary, to which Lovino would respond, "Then why don't you go back?"

When Lovino arrived, his brother was stirring a pot of farfalle for lunch and singing an Andrew's Sisters song. He steamed as he washed Feli's dishes. He knew he should be thankful to even have it, but good Lord, did Lovino hate his job! Or at least this part of his job. He didn't mind the cooking so much, but the washing and serving parts were awful. Lovino hated serving the most. He was terrible when it came to people anyway, but if he had to be nice, well, you might as well ask him to stand on his head, because he couldn't do that either. Fortunately, most of the customers were more angry Italian men, so Lovino could "handle" himself, but when a pretty girl came in, it was very different.

Lovino and Feli would often fight over the table any girl happened to be sitting at. Then when Lovino won, he'd try and flirt. Sometimes it worked, but most the time, the girl didn't understand. She'd order her food, pay her money, and walk out the door thinking the establishment had the greatest customer service New York had to offer. It was even better when a group of girls came to eat. Then both Lovino and Feli had a chance. But today was slow. Unbearably slow. Lovino could practically feel the song Feliciano was singing digging through his eardrums and stabbing his brain. It was too quiet.

"Isn't there a radio somewhere in here?" Lovino asked as he set the dish down in the clean pile.

"You don't like my singing?"

"You sound like a dying cat."

"That's mean!"

"Where's the radio?"

"I think Signore Rossi took it out front for the checkers players." Perfect. Lovino just adored the grumpy old men who insisted upon using Signore Rossi's storefront as a place to argue over a children's game. And if they had the radio, that meant Lovino wouldn't be seeing it for the rest of the day, or rather, he wouldn't be seeing the sound making apparatus. The cord would no doubt be draped and coiled in the most inconvenient way possible. Whenever the men took it outside, the cord liked to play jump rope with the Vargas brothers. Neither of them was very good at jump rope. Whenever the old men took that radio outside, it led to plates of food flying into the air and landing on the floor. Feli started singing again and Lovino reprimanded him a second time, saying that his singing was like a "mutilated squirrel in a record player" or something along those lines. In reality, he knew that Feli's voice was actually very pleasing, but he hated that he had to add yet another thing to the "things Feli can do better than you" pile. He sighed, trying to resign himself to the monotony and disappointment he was sure to face for the rest of the day.

But then he thought about how many times he'd done that before.

And he realized that he'd never stop. Every day of every year, he'd just try and make himself content with his pre-planned life. He'd continue school until graduation, then he'd become a full time employee with Signore Rossi, probably marry a woman he could barely tolerate, take over the business and then die. He could feel terror grip him for a moment and Feli's singing seemed miles away, fading away into silence. He dropped the plate he was washing into the dirty water on accident with a plop.

"Lovi? Are you okay?"

"F-fine," he mumbled as the question pulled him back to real life. He needed to find a way out.

"Elizabeta, you can't just keep me here! I'm almost eighteen!" Lovino's day had not gone well. He'd been thinking to himself for most of the day, and in turn, had to sacrifice some of his mental capabilities. He'd dropped three plates, tripped over the radio wire more times than he could count, and burned his hand on the stove all because he could not focus on the task at hand. It had only gotten worse when he took over the kitchen. He couldn't help but want to take out some of his anger on Eliza. "I'm going to see Marcello," he said with an unwavering certainty.

"You only turned seventeen two months ago, and you are not going to Italy!" Lizzie was just as stubborn. The two stood over the couch with matching veins in their necks. Feli sat behind the old seat and listened with a sad expression, hoping that he wouldn't be drawn into the argument.

"And why not?"

"Because I said so!"

"Oh, that's such a great reason!"

"Lovino, stop it already! Just stop it! You're not going, and that's final!"

"You stop! Stop trying to rule our lives when you don't even contribute! Stop telling us what we can and can't do, but most of all, stop trying to be our mother!" And he stormed off.

Elizabeta tried her best not to show how his words had hurt her, but the small swallow and sniff gave her away. Feliciano had no clue how the fight had escalated the way it did. Since he'd been present from the beginning, he thought he'd be able to follow it like a progression; it had started out innocent enough, with Lovino asking about the reason Eliza had left Hungary but had quickly gone downhill. She'd given a strangely ambiguous reason, something about trying to escape the depression and get married, but she'd never been a good liar. It was clear she didn't want to talk about it, but Lovino kept pressing. Somehow, the two managed to get to the topic of Italy again, and they just exploded. The front door slammed and Elizabeta collapsed back into the couch.

"What am I going to do with you two?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," Feli responded. "Are you going to let him go?"

"To Italy? Of course not! But he seems set to go somewhere."

"He told me that he's tired of New York." Italy fidgeted with his sleeves and had an unusually morose look about him. Elizabeta did her best not to notice.

"Everyone's tired of New York, Feli. Everyone but the young and the rich."

"Lovi's still young."

"Yes, but he likes to pretend that he's not."

Lovino trudged down the grey and black streets as best he could. It had snowed again during the day, and the grimy sludge made it difficult to walk without slipping. Grumbling to himself, he lit a cigarette and continued stalking through the alleyways. He was so angry that he'd gone past his normal limits of Little Italy and wandered into the Irish section of town where thick brogues and smell of potato seeped from the buildings. He hated potatoes. He hated whiskey. He hated everything about this place. Yet he still rushed himself into the first crap of a bar he could find. It was dark inside, but the oven in the back kept it warm. There were worn out red stools in front of an ancient looking oak bar with green lamps hanging over it. The man behind the bar probably hadn't slept in few days, judging by the heavy circles under his eyes and the shocks of unruly red hair jutting out from his cap. There was only one other man at the bar, so Lovino took a seat at the opposite end. As he sat, the bar stool heaved and Lovino snuffed out his cigarette in the cracked ash tray the fine establishment provided him.

"Whaja like?" the bar tender asked. He was drunk. The bar-top groaned under his weight as he leaned forward to blow the foul smelling words into Lovino's face.

"Excuse me?"

"Ya 'erd me. Whaja like?" Lovino could not understand this man at all. The bartender seemed to be growing irritated and Lovino could feel another argument welling up in his gut, but the other man at the bar, or rather boy, translated for Lovino.

"He wants to know what you want to drink," the boy said with a smile. Lovino caught himself scoffing. This little blonde boy must have been younger than Feli, and yet there he sat with a drink, half gone, like he was just another customer. Lovino looked back at the Irishman.

"Whaja want?"

"J-just a beer."

"Fity cents." Lovino placed some coins on the table and took his drink.

"I wouldn't have pegged you as a beer type!" the boy said. He had hopped off his stool and moved closer.

"I wouldn't have pegged you as over the drinking age."

"Hey, mind your own business! My dad knows I'm here, and Mr. McCabe knows I won't drink too much."

"How old are you kid?"

"I'm not a kid! I'm almost fifteen!" Lovino snorted and took a swig of beer. It was disgusting. "Don't laugh at me! I'm mature for my age! I can do whatever I want."

"As long as Daddy knows where you are, right?" the older boy mocked. The blonde stared at his drink and pouted. "What's your name, kid?" Lovino couldn't resist. He could see a whole bunch of his brother in this blond boy, and maybe even a little of himself.

"Alfred! Alfred Jones! But all my friends call me Alfie. You can call me that too if you'd like, Mister."

"Sure kid."

"What's your name?"

"Lovino."

"Italian!"

"Yeah."

"Why are you here all alone? Don't you have a girlfriend to go out with or a family to spend the night with?"

"Hey, kid, didn't you say something earlier? Something like, oh, I don't know, mind your own business?" Lovino tried to make the sarcasm as obvious as possible, just in case this kid really was dense.

"My name's Alfred," the boy corrected in a slightly irked tone.

"Right." Lovino was starting to regret talking to this kid. Alfred had moved into the seat next to him and was inspecting him carefully with his big blue eyes. Lovino was starting to feel uncomfortable, but couldn't manage to finish his beer. "What do you want?"

"Why are you here all alone?" he asked again, more forcefully.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you seem nice. And you also seem upset."

"Well I'm not nice, alright? And I highly doubt you could do a thing if were upset, which I'm not."

"Yes, you are! And yes I could!" The boy was ridiculously energetic and impossibly optimistic.

"Listen kid: unless you can buy me a ticket to Italy, you're not much help." The boy's face fell as he said it. "Yeah, sorry, but you can't solve everything with determination and a smile. It's best you learn that now."

"Why do you want to go to Italy?" Lovino was becoming really frustrated now. Why did little kids always ask so many questions? Barely containing himself, he managed an answer.

"That's not important. And you really need to learn how to keep out of other people's business." He took one final gulp of beer before leaving a few extra cents of tip and grabbing his coat off the rack near the door.

"But maybe I can help you!" Lovino laughed and picked up his hat. "I always help people! All the time! I'm gonna be a hero one day, so I want to help as many people as I can before then. Like for training!" Lovino opened the door to leave. He hesitated, then looked back and gave his good-bye

"You can't save everyone, kid. And sometimes, there are people who aren't worth saving. Have a nice life, Alfred."

Lovino came home around midnight and found the apartment quiet. He was feeling a little queasy from the beer and had to drink some water before he could feel safe going up the stairs to his bedroom. There was no light coming from under either door, and there was no music coming from Elizabeta's door. He hadn't been expecting either of them to wait up for him, but at the same time, he was a little disappointed and hurt that they hadn't. Lovino tried to carefully open the door to his bedroom without waking his brother. At that moment, it occurred to him that his brother was only a year or so older than that kid from the bar. Alfred must have had a baby face, then. He shook his head. Why was he thinking about that stupid kid? He'd never see him again. That was why he went to the Irish quarter; so he wouldn't be recognized.

His brother stirred and Lovino froze in the doorway. When he could hear Feli's breathing again, he slowly undressed and slipped into his bed. He tried desperately to fall asleep but could not. As he tossed and turned, he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of failure. Failure was nothing new for Lovino, but this time it seemed so much worse. Thoughts kept spinning in his mind and he was restless. He could feel his legs reaching out below him for new ground and his hands twitching for something to do. He wanted to up and go somewhere, and he wanted to go right away, but he couldn't.

He no longer cared about Italy in particular either. Hell, he'd go to mount Fuji if Elizabeta'd let him. He just felt normal in a normal place. If he was going to be normal, which he knew from kindergarten he would be, he at least wanted to be normal in an extraordinary place. Or a new place. Or even a slightly different place.

'I have a whole other life to live,' he realized, 'and I'm never going to get to live it.' He tossed a few more times in his lonely bed. The jerkiness in his limbs slowly turned to silent numbness. 'Maybe I have two other lives. Maybe I have twenty. But who gives a shit anyway. I'm going to be stuck in New York for the rest of my life.'

A/N: This fic is part of an ongoing, much larger WW2 AU including over 30 characters and lots of excitement. That being said, I want to say that this Fic/AU may or may not get finished. I have about four more lengthy chapters already written (which I will publish eventually), but I have a very tight schedule, and not as much inspiration as I'd like. Thank you for reading!

~Bastet