[NOTE: cover image is of Babak Fatholahi's photo "Wind of Change". Link to original in my profile. FAIR USE NOTICE: NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED. ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO ORIGINAL ARTIST.]

A DISCLAIMER & AN EXPLANATION: So I was roughly 19 years old when I wrote the original version of this story and while I had a decent amount of writing experience at that point in my life, I was still very green and had lots of growing to do.

Regardless, I know there are quite a few of you who were incredibly fond of this story and though I'm deeply flattered that many have remained loyal to it after all these years, I would be a fool if I didn't remind you all that it has indeed been YEARS (eight, give or take a few months) since any of you have read it. Because of this, I feel compelled to point out that even though this story has been revamped from its initial state, the original integrity of the story and characters have remained unaltered.

This is very much the Ink on a Page my veterans will remember. A lot of it really hasn't changed much at all – it's just been scrubbed and some of the more problematic scenes and characters have been addressed, updated, and/or rewritten entirely as needed - not all, mind you. But the major ones were.

Long story short, a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and sleepless nights went into this story and at long last, I am content. Is it perfect? – HA! Hell no. Not even close. There is still so much more room for growth and improvement with this story, and even if I dedicated more time to reworking certain chapters or characters, I still don't think the story could ever be truly perfect because not only is perfection such a subjective concept, but I also understand that I will never be able to please everybody (as much as I may wish to).

So permit me to impress the following upon you: this story is pure, unadulterated fantasy (duh). I know that may seem super obvious considering this is fan fiction, but sometimes we, as readers, can get so caught up in a story, that we forget that things that are permissible in the fiction realm would never and should never fly in real life. I suppose my reason for bringing all of this to your attention is that I want you to bear in mind that this story at the end of the day – even after all the edits and changes – is a work of nostalgia. Some parts have been altered, yes, but fundamentally, it is very much as it was all those years ago. Certain characters still possess their previous imperfections and some of the subject matter is still not entirely suitable for an easily offended reader.

Despite all it's many flaws, I still love Ink on a Page. I love the history behind its origin; I love what it stood for, for me as a writer then and now – the good, bad, and still downright humiliating. This story is a piece of my history. It means so much to me and though I'm worried about disappointing some and offending others, I hope the majority of you will love it now just as much as you did back then. Flaws and all.

ONE LAST NOTE (aka: me covering my own ass): When I originally wrote this story almost a decade ago, I had been in the middle of my romance-novel recreational binge-reading phase. Because of that, there were a small handful of scenes that (if I remember correctly) were directly influenced or inspired by what I was reading at the time. Since then, I've tried to identify and remove the stuff that isn't entirely mine, but on the off-chance that I missed anything (and I don't think I did, but just in case) – if you see anything you recognize, it's probably not mine and I do not take credit for it. Please don't sue.

THANK YOUS: to sleepy bibliophile for being an amazing beta. As always, you've proven to be immensely helpful and I can't thank you enough. To Roux Barcelone for your excellent suggestions and your continued forbearance with my occasional bouts of insecurity and anxiety. To RegencyPoet and TheFemaleHistorian for being massively supportive when I needed it most and for just getting it. You have absolutely no idea how validating that is for me.

OVERALL STORY RATED "M" FOR: sexual content and situations, suggestive themes, strong language, and vampire violence/gore.

Will leave the rating at "T" for the first bunch of chapters, for the sake of story visibility; then I'll bump it up when things start getting more… heated.

I dedicate the republication of this story to you, my dearest readers.

To the ones who have been with me since I first started posting in 2005 and to those who stuck around even after I quit in 2010 with every intention of never coming back.

I may write for myself, but I'd be lying if I said that a part of me didn't do this for you as well.

Ink on a Page

"Only love of a good woman will make a man question every choice, every action. Only love makes a warrior hesitate for fear that his lady will find him cruel. Only love makes a man both the best he will ever be, and the weakest. Sometimes all in the same moment."
- Laurell K. Hamilton, Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - The Harlequin

I

The Discourse of Unfortunate Events

Hera smacked the keys of the piano in frustration. Placing her brow atop her folded arms resting on the fallboard, she exhaled heavily as the discorded notes echoed in the belly of the instrument, falling silent when she finally lifted her foot off the pedal. Naturally auburn hair that had been recently dyed a vibrant marmalade hue spilled over the young woman's shoulders. She idly observed the curled ends of her ringlets as they brushed against the brilliant ivory keys beneath her.

For the life of her, she could not focus.

Usually, Hera could take whatever it was that was bothering her and shove it into some remote corner of her mind, allowing her to carry on with her usual work. Had she not been so distracted, she'd be in the estate library now, drowning in her third doctoral dissertation, this one surrounding a variety of elements pertaining to the rise and fall of the Ottoman Empire.

But who was she kidding? She had barely touched the research in the last couple of months, far too enthralled in her recent side-projects, including her study of the wild and untamed areas of the eastern European region, more specifically the Transylvanian and Wallachian rulers, like the infamous Vlad Țepeș, or Vlad Drăculea of the house of Drăculești.

Having spent the last two months in that corner of the continent, Hera found herself wishing she had just stayed in Romania instead of returning home to her native country of England. Although she had been pleased to see her father, the world-renowned academic and historian, Sir Henry Garret, the news she had received upon her arrival from her best friend, Hailey Stevens, was news she could have gone without.

Still resting her head on her arms, Hera glanced over at her only other friend in the world outside of Hailey – her Northern Inuit, Isis. Isis, though technically the family pet shared between Hera and her father, had always preferred its mistress to its master. The dog hadn't left Hera's side since her return from her travels, and with the disappointing news Hera had received after coming home, she was secretly grateful for the silent and ever loyal company.

"You knew from the start, didn't you, girl?" Hera asked the canine, unable to keep from smirking when the dog's ears perked up before it tilted its head as though it were listening. "You were always a better judge of character than I was."

Straightening her posture and closing the fallboard over the keys, Hera finally stood, exiting the family music room with Isis following close behind as she entered the library in search of her father.

The estate library was the most handsome room in the entire house, its collection extensive, with two small studies and even an armory attached. More often than not, Hera and her father spent the majority of their time in this part of the house, and though Hera soon recalled that her father had gone out to lecture at a neighboring university and wouldn't be back until tomorrow evening, there was still something very comforting about being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of books.

She ran her long fingers over some of the spines as she passed, her observant honey colored eyes fixed on the view of the gardens just outside as her unusually sharp mind tormented itself with the sad and nagging truth of the grim job that had to be done this afternoon.

Hera Kali Garret had never been particularly lucky in the ways of love. In her twenty-five years of life, each and every one of her relationships had ended in some kind of disaster. She had been betrayed and used more times than she cared to count and her present relationship with one Thomas Prichard was on the verge of coming to an unpleasant end.

A despondent sigh slipped past her lips in a rush of hot air as she paused in her walk to lean against the pane of one of the windows.

Thomas had cheated on her while she had been away, and though in retrospect, she should have seen the signs, she could not excuse his behavior. He knew how much her studies meant to her, and he had had no issues in supporting her in the past so why had that suddenly changed? Did absence really not make the heart grow fonder as Hailey had insisted? Two months was indeed a long time to be separated from a person, but Hera had tried to call Prichard when she could and he had always appeared understanding.

The only logical explanation Hera could come up with was that Thomas had fallen out of love with her long before her trip to the continent, and, as usual, she had been too naïve and too unwilling to see the truth staring her in the face. She had been so determined to see the best, that she had made herself willfully blind to the worst, and it had left her hurt. Again.

"This really needs to stop, Isis," Hera said aloud with a defeated sigh as she glanced down at her attentive companion who licked her hand in reply. Hera crouched down so she could be at eye level with the dog, her fingers running through the short, dense coat.

"I thought we were working, Thomas and I," she continued, ignoring how the dog growled softly at the sound of the young man's name. "I mean, he's not an ideal candidate – his knowledge really only extends so far, and though he was kind enough, I could never really have a deep or intellectually stimulating conversation with him outside of his dissertation. I can't believe he was using me for my brain."

Isis moved in closer to Hera as she slumped down, sitting on the floor with her back against the window, the dog resting in the young woman's lap as she idly stroked her fingers through the dark fur, blinking back tears.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this, Isis," Hera whispered. "Why doesn't anyone want me for me? What's wrong with me?"

Before the shroud of despair could fully dominate her thoughts, the faint ringing of the doorbell caught her attention. Isis immediately perked up, standing and barking when the bell rang once more. Hera could hear the butler answering the front door and the voice of an all too familiar male reached her ears.

She visible cringed at the sound.

"François! Still working here, I see."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Prichard?" the butler asked with barely restrained disdain. Hera stood and after quickly regaining her composure and wiping a tear or two from her face, she made her way out into the hall and towards the main stair.

"I'm expected, your majesty. Hera said she had something for me. Is she in?"

"I'm terribly sorry to disappoint, Mr. Prichard, but Miss Hera is in the music room and asked not to be disturbed," François explained in his overly thick French accent.

François had been with Hera and her father for as long as she could remember and had always been more of an extension of the family than an actual butler. Unfortunately, because of his upbringing, Thomas Prichard had a nasty habit of treating people like they were beneath him, and despite Hera's attempts over the last year or so to correct his behavior, he and François had never taken too kindly to one another.

That, and the fact that Isis had hated him from the get-go should have been evidence enough for Hera to begin with.

Perhaps then she could have avoided the up and coming unpleasantness?

"Look, I get that she's been busy since she got back from her trip, but could you at least let her know I'm here?" Thomas continued. "If you were listening, you would have noticed that I had said I am expected. She has something for me and asked that I pick it up this afternoon."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Prichard, but that just won't be…"

"It's quite all right, François," Hera interrupted as she turned the corner and descended down the stairs toward the front foyer.

Her eyes fell upon the young man standing in the doorway, the light from outside flooding into the house behind him. Her gaze caught his, and her lips twitched into a slightly devious grin as she rapidly compartmentalized her present emotions, choosing to indulge in a desire for revenge over the temptation to be irrationally sensitive. She could despair over him and her woefully pathetic lack of a love-life later.

"Thomas and I have a few things we need to discuss," Hera explained. "I'll take it from here, François. Thank you."

The butler glanced over at the young man still standing in the doorway with an expression of unease and he flashed a knowing look over to Hera who smiled at him reassuringly, even with Isis growling low beside its mistress.

"Very well, Miss Hera."

"And can you take Isis with you? I'll come fetch her when we're done here."

"Of course," and he excused himself from the foyer, the dog begrudgingly following behind as Hera stopped at the foot of the stairs, her eyes still locked on Thomas.

"I take it you're here for your paper?" she asked him. Thomas placed his hands in his pockets and took a few steps towards her.

"The one for Doctor Carins' forensic psych class. You've got it?"

"It's in the parlor," she explained, motioning for him to follow, to which he immediately obeyed, trailing behind as they made their way into the east wing of the house.

"I can't thank you enough for writing that paper for me, Hera," Thomas replied. "That trip with my father and step-mom was just something I could not get out of. You've saved my ass from Carins' rod once again."

Little did he know of the scheming grin marring Hera's features and it was only continuing to grow wider as they neared their destination.

"Don't thank me, Thomas," she replied, opening the door ahead of her and entering into the darkened room. When she knew he was in eyeshot of where she was standing, she picked up the essay and handed it to him. "Here you are! Thirty pages of extensive analysis and there's even a title page. I made sure to include the list of sources you provided me before your trip. I trust everything is well with your family?" and Thomas took the essay from her, not even bothering to check it.

"Yeah, of course. They're all fine."

"That's surprising, given the circumstances."

"The circumstances?"

"Didn't you say your grandmother had passed away?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right, she did. I'm sorry… I've just been kind of out of it since the funeral. You know…" he managed, obviously lying.

Oh, the temptation to call him out here and now, but if Hera was anything, she was in control of herself, and she swallowed back her rage and her disappointment, continuing to smile pleasantly up at the man who had broken her heart.

He hadn't gone to his grandmother's funeral. His grandmother was still alive in a convalescent home somewhere in the states. Hera knew the truth, and just the thought gave her enough fuel to channel her disappointment into something that was borderline rage.

"I believe that's everything," she queued.

Thomas glanced at the title page and smiled in satisfaction.

"You're a life-saver, babe," he said, clearly relieved and he placed the essay down on the table.

"Isn't that why you're dating me?" she asked him with faint traces of acid in her tone.

But Thomas never noticed. He was much too distracted by the lovely curvature of her breasts in that fitted top she was wearing. The young man flashed her a charming smile before he shut the parlor door, leaving them in the secluded darkness. There was just enough natural light in the room so Hera to see the husky look in his eyes.

"That's not the only reason," he replied lustfully, making an advance.

Hera, though internally repulsed, had learned to play this game very well over the years and she smiled seductively up at him, running the collar of his shirt between her fingers with convincing thoughtfulness.

"Would you care to explain the other reasons?" she asked.

"Why use words when this works so much better?" was Thomas' reply and he grabbed Hera by the arms and placed a bruising kiss on her lips.

She groaned softly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back as he led her over to the closed door, pushing her against it so he could wantonly press his athletic body into hers. His hungry hands ran all over the well-known territory and the sensation of her clothed flesh beneath his palms excited him thoroughly. He shoved his tongue into her mouth and she let him, knowing fully well that it would be some time before she would ever be kissed again.

She tangled her fingers through his thick, golden locks, pulling his mouth closer, feeding his hunger, sating his thirst – something she had become so very good at. He licked her mouth like some kind of animal as he panted for air, resting his forehead against hers.

"When was the last time we had sex?" was his forward inquiry.

Hera had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

The man that had cheated on her was suddenly so eager to get between her legs – how classic.

"The night after you finished your midterms," she answered breathlessly, recalling the torrid affair with perfect clarity. He buried his face into the column of her neck and she felt the firm pressure of his wet lips against her skin.

"That was weeks ago. I think we're overdue, darling," and he jutted his hips forward so she could feel the swell of his crotch against her abdomen.

Hera rolled her eyes.

Oh the nerve of this boy!

In an effort to keep her rapidly heating temper in check, she forced out a throaty laugh, and playfully pushed him away from her.

"Not in my father's house, tiger," she chuckled.

Thomas grabbed her hand and kissed it avidly. He was a charmer – persistent, and one of the most, if not the most dangerous type of men.

"You call me with the date and time, and I'll pick the place."

She smirked and withdrew her hand, handing him his essay.

"I'll think about it," she promised.

He kissed her on the lips one last time before leaving the parlor, paper in hand.

"Thanks, Hera! I owe you another one!" he called as he bee-lined for the exit, suddenly eager to leave.

Hera followed after him slowly, the wickedest of grins on her face as she watched the front door shut behind him. She then sat down at the foot of the stairs, a look of mischievousness still playing in her eyes as François entered the room, Isis following close behind. The butler sent her a curious expression.

"What are you up to?" he asked her in French. Hera glanced down at the delicate watch around her wrist to check the time.

"Revenge is a beautiful thing," was all she said, her accent perfect, and the response was all François needed to hear. He chuckled quietly to himself before leaving the foyer again and Hera continued to watch the door, Isis seated obediently beside her.

Meanwhile, Thomas had gotten into his car after dancing around with his paper. He tossed it onto the passenger seat after kissing it and quickly reached for his mobile as he started up the car, peeling out of the driveway.

"Hey Vick? Yeah… I got it. I told you I would. She's so bloody oblivious, it's almost sad… No, she doesn't suspect a thing. She's still as wrapped around my finger as she was before she left for Romania…. Oh yeah. I'll be laying her before the week is out… I know you don't like it, but I need her if I'm going to get in good with Carins when it comes time to defend my thesis. One word from Hera, and I'd never pass and father would murder me, or worse – I'd be disinherited…. Nah, she can't resist me…. I know. I'm her prince charming and as long as I stay that way, I'll practically have her writing my dissertation for me…"

Thomas grabbed hold of the paper that Hera had written for him as he continued to drive and talk at the same time.

"Huh? Oh yeah – Professor Carins has no idea. That sadistic dominatrix just thinks Hera's rubbing off on me. Stupid whore. I swear to God, she's…"

Thomas stopped mid-sentence as he slammed on the brakes and stared in shock at the essay Hera had written for him. The only problem was it wasn't an essay on forensic psychology. In fact, on every single page – all thirty of them – was the message:

I'm not your slave and I'm not your whore. We're through, bastard. Tell Vick, or should I say Victoria, that I said hi and that her dear husband, who also happens to be your father, should be expecting a package in the mail with some very interesting pictures by the end of the week. Rot in Hell, Thomas Prichard.

He swore wildly and threw his phone on the floor of the car before violently flipping a sharp and illegal u-turn as he sped back towards Hera's house. The tires screeched in protest as he came to a sudden stop and he flew from the car, enraged.

"HERA!" he yelled, marching towards the front door of the estate. "HERA, YOU BITCH!"

Thomas went to reach for the handle of the front door to help himself inside, but before he could even touch the polished brass, the door flew open and a loud crunch followed by a stabbing pain shot through the front of his face. He stumbled back rather ungracefully, tripping over the stairs of the front entrance and landing flat on his back.

Little black spots danced before his watering eyes and when his vision finally cleared he saw Hera in the doorway, towering above him, eyes filled with an eerily controlled rage, her clenched fist stained in his blood. Isis was standing beside her, the large dog growling in his direction, brilliant white teeth bared.

He wasn't quite sure if he was more afraid of the animal that was clearly eager to tear his face off, or the redheaded woman beside it, glaring daggers in his direction.

Thomas touched his broken nose gingerly and winced in pain as he felt the blood ooze from the wound she had created.

"Something wrong, dearest?" she taunted sadistically.

"What the actual fuck, Hera? What did I ever do to you?"

The woman let out a hollow bark of a laugh as she moved down the front steps toward him, openly relishing in how he cowered back slightly, afraid she'd hit him again, or that she'd sick her dog on him.

"Where would I even begin?" she drawled, and she held up her fingers so she could visibly count off his offenses. "You used me to improve your GPA. All of those what I had assumed were intellectually based conversations were merely a ploy to get me to tell you exactly what to write and what to research for your courses. You manipulated me. You didn't even ask for my help, you just lied and took what you could."

Isis barked once as if to support the claim and Hera continued, revealing a second finger.

"Next offense – you slept with your step mom, Victoria, while I was in Romania. When Hailey caught you cheating, you tried to use your father's money and your name to threaten her into silence, so technically that's now three counts against you."

Hera took another step toward him as he began to crawl backwards on the driveway towards his car, Thomas' eyes bouncing back and forth between the terrifying hound and the woman he had foolishly jilted.

"I thought you were a decent man, but oh did you have me fooled! You're nothing but a leech, a womanizing chauvinist, and a lousy lay. You have a revoltingly unfound superiority complex, no honor, no integrity, and no brains. In short, Mr. Prichard, I have 'seen the light' and I'm through with you. Is that clear enough, or perhaps I should let Isis translate it for you?"

The dog snarled and barked twice in warning, and the two watched as Thomas staggered to his feet, leaning against his car for support.

"Babe, let's talk about this," he insisted, although he could tell this was one battle he'd never win. "Look, fine, I'll go. But don't send those pictures to my father. He'll disinherit me, Hera."

"Which is exactly what you deserve!" she shot. "You're lucky I don't contact Professor Carins and inform her that your work isn't even your own. Or would you rather I did that?"

"You have no proof!"

"I am Henry Garret's daughter. I don't need proof. My word is better than your daddy's money."

"You bitch! I swear to god, I'll…"

"You'll what, Prichard?" she mocked. "You're powerless in this, babe. Every professor in that university is my ally. Are you sure you want to go up against me?"

Isis barked again and Thomas cowered back.

"Now then, get your pompous ass off my property or I'll break something else besides your nose," Hera hissed. "Isis! Escort Thomas off the grounds."

The dog began to run towards the young man, who instantly jumped into his vehicle and sped away, even as the dog chased after his car, leaving nothing but a trail of dust clouds behind him.

When he was gone, Isis began to run back to her mistress, all tongue and wagging tail as Hera patted her on the head, rewarding her with a treat and a "good girl." But even with Prichard long gone, Hera's moment of triumph rapidly deteriorated into a debilitating sense of grief as she recalled how she had been used and disappointed once again.

She had allowed herself to be vulnerable, and then deceived, and she couldn't deny just how much the whole thing hurt, even if she was happy to be rid of Thomas.

And when the depression hit a few hours later, as it usually did, it was hard and unforgiving.

The clock struck six in the evening, the chimes echoing soothingly though the dimly lit house as rain gently pummeled the roof of the estate. Henry Garret had the summer off from teaching, but right now he wished he could be back in Oxford in a classroom full of eager young students. The prospect was infinitely superior to the woes and hormones of his depressed adult daughter.

He had heard the infamous tale of what had taken place two weeks ago and although he was overjoyed that Hera had finally put an end to any relations with that unworthy boy, it was hard to see her so dejected. Every relationship she had ever had had ended rather nastily, and this had to be the epitome of them all.

Exactly two days after the break-up, Hera had locked herself in her room, going through her ritual of binge ice-cream and chocolate eating and oppressively romantic movie after oppressively romantic movie. The Austen novels weren't helping either.

She was falling to pieces and there wasn't much that he as an aged, widowed father could do, outside of hiring a hit man to settle Thomas Prichard in for the long sleep, but as that was out of the question, it was time to call the reinforcements.

It had been a challenge, raising a daughter all on his own for the last two decades and it was moments like this that he missed his dearly departed Catherine, as well as his eldest daughter, Athena, who had passed shortly after the death of her mother. It had been a terrible year, losing two of the three most important females in his life, and though the journey of surviving the grief had been a difficult one, Henry Garret had always been grateful to have his Hera there beside him.

He looked down at his watch. It was six-thirty now and the moment he looked up, he heard the desired knock on the front door. François opened the door and Henry couldn't help but smile when his eyes fell on the young woman standing in the entryway.

"Hailey Stevens, thank God you are finally here!" he proclaimed as the girl stepped inside.

Hailey was a full-blooded American, her stepmother having dragged her back and forth between the long-divorced countries when she was a young teen. She had met Hera at a renaissance faire outside of London and the two had been thick as thieves ever since.

Mr. Garret, at Hera's proposal, had helped to pay for Hailey to stay in London to attend school at Kingston. He had also assisted the young woman in obtaining a scholarship to pay for school expenses, which left Hailey to earn her living expenses via tutoring history three days a week and bartending on the weekends.

Despite her impressive understanding of anthropology and ethnic studies, Hailey Steven's was the epitome of the phrase "appearances can be deceiving."

On the outside, she was still holding onto her more teenage gothic sensibilities, but with Hera's softer influence, Mr. Garret had come to look at Hailey's purple hair with a kind of genuine approval. The girl had an obsession for Victorian lace, leather, and corsets, and though Mr. Garret wasn't entirely thrilled with some of the American's fashion choices, she had always been an excellent companion for his daughter.

"Good evening, Professor Garret," Hailey replied politely, stepping out of the rain and handing her slightly damp jacket to François when he offered to take it. "How is she?"

"Does the phrase, 'she hasn't left her room in two weeks' mean anything to you?" he asked her a little incredulously.

Hailey chuckled and patted the old man on the shoulder before heading upstairs.

"It means infinitely more than you assume. So you don't mind then if I kidnap her for a week or two?"

Henry sighed heavily.

"I don't care what you do. Just… fix her, Hailey!"

The girl laughed as she turned the corner and headed down the familiar hall towards Hera's bedroom. When she reached the correct door, she knocked with purpose.

"Go away," came Hera's rather melancholic response.

Hailey rolled her eyes and opened the door to find her friend curled up on her bed, dressed in sweat pants and a tank-top, her laptop propped up by a few books with an assortment of romance novels, an empty gallon tub of ice cream, a few half-eaten boxes of chocolates, and several stacks of period dramas on DVD.

The woman was damn lucky she had the digestive talents of a goat.

Hailey leaned against the doorway and sent Hera a disapproving look.

"Hera, you promised…" she began, but the woman just ignored her, tears tumbling down her flushed cheeks, eyes swollen from all the crying she had done as she continued to watch the movie Somewhere In Time.

Hailey huffed at the sound of Jane Seymour's character, Elise McKenna, screaming for her lover as he was pulled back to 1980 and out of the year 1912. The scene only seemed to make her friend worse as she covered her face with her pillow and moaned.

"I want to die!" Hera wailed pathetically. "Why does it always have to be me, Hailey? Why?"

Hailey ignored the young woman's cries as she marched over to the windows and threw them open, airing out the stuffy room and letting the smell of rain wash out the pungent stench that had been festering.

"Hera, I told you Thomas Prichard was bad news, but you were so smitten by him, I wasn't going to press you. You should have seen it coming, but you didn't. God, you're too trusting, hon!" and she sat down on the edge of her friend's large bed, picking up one of the untouched truffles and popping it into her mouth.

"Hailey, I seriously thought there was something there," Hera sighed heavily and she sat up and watched as her best friend ate. "I mean, even if most of our intellectual conversations came out of him fishing for information on his school assignments, it was so nice to momentarily connect and debate with someone who isn't three times my age, and there were instants when we just really clicked. Like when we talked about philosophies on life and love and he'd quote Shakespeare and Byron…" Hera sighed heavily, lost in her reminisce.

"Anyone who has access to the internet can quote some Shakespeare, hon, or misquote it like he did."

"The sex wasn't that bad either," Hera continued. "Actually, sometimes he was really nice, when he wasn't totally plastered."

Hailey cringed.

"I am so not drunk enough to be having this conversation with you."

"He wasn't a bad kisser, either. I miss being kissed."

"Hera, you really need to stop thinking about this guy. He cheated on you. And to add insult to injury, he had sex with his mom."

"Step-mom," Hera corrected.

"Either way, that's disgusting. I swear to God, that guy had an Oedipus complex."

Hera made a face.

"He did not."

"Oh yes he did," Hailey snorted, pushing the chocolates aside as if doing so would remove the temptation. "Guy apparently has a thing for the cougars."

Hera's face distorted in disgust.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah… and from what I heard around campus, his old man is like a geezer – we're talking Ebenezer Scrooge status. Older than your father, and that's saying something."

"My father is only in his late sixties, Hailey. He's not that old…"

"Well, Victoria is in her early thirties and she looks like she jumped out of a porno. I'm telling you, hon, we all saw this coming and we all warned you. When are you going to realize that most of the guys around here only want you for your body and not your brains and sparkling wit? The majority of the male species are jerks anyway – they're good for one-night stands and rebounds to bad relationships and that's about it."

"That's not true."

"Okay, fine, so maybe there's a small handful of chivalrous knights still around, but until one shows up in your foyer downstairs to sweep you off your feet, then I stand by what I said earlier. So," and she clapped her hands together suddenly after snapping the laptop shut, "as your best friend, I'm going to do what's best for you since you clearly can't do so on your own."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm kidnapping you."

"You're what?" Hera asked as she watched Hailey get off the bed and move over to her closet to pull out some clothes, soon shoving them into a duffle bag.

"Your dad asked me to kidnap you for a week or two and not to return you until you're completely cured."

"And where exactly are you going to be taking me?"

"You'll be staying with me in London – that means no books, no music composing, no studying, no dissertation… no nothing. Only copious amounts of alcohol and sweaty night clubs."

Hera's eyes widened in shock.

"I can't even read recreationally?"

"Nope. The only thing you're allowed to do is watch some good action flicks with bountiful amounts of violence and gore, and if we're not watching movies, we're clubbing. Kapeesh?"

Hera rolled her eyes.

"Hailey, I just got back from Romania a few weeks ago. I can't just up and leave my father and Isis here alone in this house!"

"This was your father's idea."

"Well, I love him, but he's completely out of his mind," Hera stated in a matter-of-fact fashion. But her friend only grinned as she grabbed Hera's wrist and with a nice tug, she had pulled her off the bed and began leading her towards the door.

"Well, I'm determined to convert you to the dark side of the force. I've got my work cut out for me, I know, but we'll have Prichard out of your head in no time," Hailey announced. "Now come on. We have a long drive ahead of us," and she dragged Hera down the hall towards the stairs were Mr. Garret was waiting in the foyer with Isis at his side.

"You two off, then?" he asked casually.

Hera rolled her eyes as Hailey continued to drag her toward the door.

"She's kidnapping me, Papa. Quick. Call Scotland Yard," she muttered dryly.

"Even her sarcasm is passionless!" Henry proclaimed. "Hailey, I don't want her back until you have restored her to her regular self, you understand me? I don't care how long it takes. Spare no expense!"

Hera flashed her father a sweet smile and he kissed her cheek affectionately.

"See you in a few weeks," Hera said as Hailey pulled her out into the rain towards the waiting car. "And don't forget to walk Isis! Or she gets really antsy!"

"I know how to take care of a dog, Hera, now go!"

"I love you!"

"I love you, too."

Mr. Garret then watched as Hailey drove away with his daughter and into the night. Little did he know of the change she would undergo in her time away, and how just a week away from home would be more like two years.