Little note:
This story contains reference to religious beliefs. I'm not particularly religious, and this story doesn't have that many references, but it mentions Christmas, it's mostly set in a church, and so forth. Just warning people in case they may have a problem with it.
Also, this is an AU, and it's not necessarily in modern times. If I had to pick, I'd just randomly say 19th century London? Don't know why that came to mind, but I was envisioning this story looking all old-fashioned.
Rant over! Read on! (Sorry that I had to just stuff a little rant in here...)
Disclaimer: I don't own Pokespe, or anything else.

"It's still not quite the way it was,
But you promised me,
This is love.
So stay, and watch the hospital,
That's just across the street from your apartment balcony.
And I'll never ever leave there.
I'll never leave."

Evermore

It was late on the night of Christmas Eve. Sister Belle was sweeping between aisles of seats, listening to the bell chime overhead and occasionally glancing at the snow drifting down outside, wondering if it would make sheets on the ground. She heard the church doors swing open and smiled to herself in amusement.

"Sorry, you missed the evening service." It was nearing midnight, of course they had missed the service, but Belle thought she'd have her fun trying to joke a bit. She devoted her life to her religion, however that didn't mean she couldn't tease every now and again, especially at Christmas time. The thought sharply occurred to her that whoever was coming in so late at night could be someone so cruel as to want to harm the church or her, but Pastor Cheren was in the other room so she didn't think she had much to worry about regardless.

"I know ma'am." Belle narrowed her eyebrows at the voice; it was a boy's, but too high-pitched to be someone who should be out so late at night. Belle turned around to see a ragamuffin of a boy standing in the doorway of the church. Instantly worrying for the poor boy in such frigid weather, Belle dropped her broom and raced over to the door, ushering the little boy into the church and shutting the door tightly.

"Honestly, what are you doing here at this hour?" Belle asked with worry, crouching in front of the boy and tightening his scarf. "Shouldn't you be home in bed? Heavens, you could have caught a cold!"

"I came to pray ma'am." She stared at the boy in shock. He seemed like he indeed needed a Christmas miracle; his medium brown hair was messy and longer than some other boys', and he looked scuffed up quite a bit, however his deep brown eyes held looks of hope and strength in them.

Belle gazed apprehensively at the boy, wondering if his parents knew where he was. "What's your name, sweetie?"

But the boy didn't answer. He just, moved aside her and kneeled before a mural, removing his hat and clasping his small hands together and shutting his eyes. Belle gawked at him in wonderment; he really had trekked through the early snow on Christmas Eve, when all children should have been asleep dreaming about sugarplums, simply to pray. She watched his lips move silently as he prayed, although she didn't know what for. Was the boy having problems in his home? Was a relative cruel to him? Was his family poor? Had someone died?

He stood up and started for the door, sending her a smile before pulling the large oak doors open on his own, with all of his small might, and stepping out into the night.

Shaking herself from her trance, Belle surged forward to the doorway. "Wait!" she called, but she could no longer even see the silhouette of the little boy. As to not catch a cold herself, Belle quickly retreated inside of the church, closing the door reluctantly. She heard footsteps and glanced over her shoulder at Pastor Cheren.

"Who was that?" he asked uncertainly.

Belle shook her head. "I have no idea."

The process repeated itself.

The next time the little boy came to the church was in mid-February. Sister Belle had told the tale of her encounter with him to a few other members of the church, however she had begun to think that he wouldn't return. And then, another night when she was left mostly alone, the only remaining stragglers in the church back in a separate room practicing and wanting to be left alone. So yet again, she was the only witness. She could have called Pastor Cheren—who was not in at the moment, but she wanted to prove that she was not delusional—however instead she steered the child in again. She reprimanded him lightly for not having his scarf although the weather was still frosty, however he simply shrugged.

"I have a high threshold for the cold," the boy informed her. His voice and appearance was so young, yet his soul in the way he spoke seemed so old. Then he stared down at the ground, his eyes becoming shadowed. "Some don't and they get in trouble," he mumbled.

"What do you mean?" Belle asked, confused. But, just as before, when he apparently did not want to answer, the boy kneeled before the same mural, taking of his hat and praying. His hands shook slightly, but whether it was because of the cold or because of something else, Belle didn't know. She didn't hear his prayer again, and didn't have the chance to inquire anything else before he scurried out of the church again.

He came again in shorter time. Only two weeks had passed when he appeared at the church once more, although it wasn't late at night. Belle had just finished teaching a Sunday school class when she saw the little ragamuffin poke his head around the doorframe, after all the other children had left.

"Ah, so you snuck in and came down here?" She wore an amused smile when she received a nod.

"I didn't think there would be so many people…" the boy admitted timidly, rubbing the toe of his worn shoe into the floor. When footsteps passed on through the halls, he jumped into the room, shuffling away from the door almost as if he didn't want to be seen. He's like a ghost, Belle thought, but shook it away when she saw the childish glint in his eyes. She vaguely observed that his hair looked lighter, with a slight orange tint, in the daytime.

"Now, you never did tell me your name," Belle notified him, smiling as she shuffled some papers together and pressed them crisply into a folder. It was like a real classroom almost, which she enjoyed after playing teacher for so long as a child.

"I'm Black," the little boy introduced himself finally, grinning and not seeming to think about saying his last name.

Belle crouched down to his size and held out her hand, which he promptly shook. "I'm Sister Belle, but you can just call me Belle." She snatched his hat off of his head. "Are you off to pray?"

He nodded determinedly, not noticing that his brown locks were all mussed up, however his willpower suddenly melted into a sheepish expression. "But, uh, there's still a lot of people in the church today…" he muttered.

"Well some of them are here to pray as well, same as you," Belle pointed out and guided him back to the main room of the church. "Come now. I'll stand right here." He received no stares, as he seemed to be pleased about, when he kneeled before the mural and prayed like always. When he stood and saw that Belle had not left, he swiped his cap back and glanced at the clock, his brown eyes widening.

"I should hurry if I want to visit for long enough," he stated, before scuttling out of the church as though his life depended on it.

"Visit?" Belle wondered aloud to no one in particular, watching as a group of adults entered the church in place of the child called Black leaving. "Huh…"

"Did you touch them, did you hold them?
Did they follow you to town?"
"They make me feel, I'm falling down,
they make me feel, I'm falling down."
"Was there one you saw too clearly?
Did they seem too real to you?"
"They were kids that I once knew, they were kids that I once knew."

Pastor Cheren was the one to discover him first the next time he arrived. It was only a week later, a rainy day in March and poor Black looked soaked when Cheren dragged him to Belle by the collar of his jacket. Belle nearly dropped her holy book when she saw them, but quickly regained her composure.

"This kid says he knows you," Cheren said in a grumpy yet slightly confused tone.

Belle covered her mouth in shock and set down her book, rushing over and making Cheren set the unfortunate child down, before she crouched to his level in the way that she always seemed to do. "Black, sweetie, you could have asked someone else if you needed help."

"But I like you best," Black told her. "You're the youngest and the nicest." Cheren made a sour face and Belle had to stifle a giggle at his expression.

She cleared her throat. "But don't your parents ever want to come with you?"

Black shook his head. "Dad's always working and Momma's not all that religious. Plus, she's got my baby brother to take care of. I'd ask Miss Touko, but she has other things to worry about than me." Belle simply nodded as if she understood, avoiding asking the kid more questions.

She stood up. "Come on then." The two of them walked back to where the mural was and Belle waited for him to pray yet again, however Cheren didn't seem to feel the need to follow. Once more, Black excused himself and left the church when he was done. For a moment Belle stood and saw him off, and when she turned to go back to her usual customs, none other than Cheren was standing there. She nearly jumped yet again and threw a hand over her heart. "Heavens, pastor, you frightened me."

"Pardon my asking," Cheren began inquisitively, "but what exactly is your business with that child?"

Sister Belle merely shrugged. "He comes here occasionally to pray. Pray for what, that I am unsure of, but the church is open to all, is it not?"

"You have a fair point," Cheren agreed, "so keep an eye out for him."

Belle nodded responsibly. "I will indeed."

It started being that Black would go to the church every day to pray. Belle would find him around somewhere and he would kneel before the mural like always. Many members of the church came to recognize him, although he always asked for Belle. It was interesting that he would always return, and although he didn't answer many questions, Belle was able to gain some information on him.

He was about nine (soon to be ten, he'd hastily added) and very bored with the trivial things that nine-year-olds were supposed to do. He didn't loathe school entirely, he was just advanced it seemed, judging by how he supposedly tutored someone in his class and was always finished with assignments earlier than everyone else. For another thing, he didn't like crowds or large groups, so he didn't play with groups of kids a lot. He would rather just play with his lone friend than be swallowed in a group of countless others.

Another thing Belle had uncovered was that his last name was Touya, and that his family simply consisted of himself, his parents, and his toddler brother. Along with that, he despised his middle name, Hilbert. It was little peculiar details about him that made him seem like such a kid, and made Belle feel as though it was all normal. The sun would shine brightly through the church windows and turn parts of the floors different colors, the light reflecting off of windows. Belle would be teaching Sunday school classes, or just doing her average business, and she would see a mop of brown locks, and big chocolate brown eyes, and so she would go off with Black and watch as the young boy went on with his tradition, chatting with her during his time in the church.

Sister Belle found all of these things, yet he never answered the question of why he was praying or who he was always visiting. His family didn't seem poor; they weren't rich however, more like on the low end of the middle class, though that was not a bad thing. He always seemed happy, with a grin on his face.

Though some days his eyes told of an unspoken sadness. Somewhere along the way he'd turned ten, and when Belle asked what he wanted for his birthday, he'd only answered grimly, "I'd just like my prayers to be answered." It was as if he was praying for something so important, but Belle couldn't fathom what it would be. Christmas even rolled around and he began to look more tired, though when she asked what he wanted for a present, he only gave the same reply.

It had been more than a year since Black had started coming to the church, and whatever he was praying for didn't seem to be getting better.

"Oh, no one is watching now,
Sing like you just might drown,
But always come back here.
'Cause I never got to see you once more, no,
I guess that's all I wanted.
Yeah, I guess that's all I needed."

It was on a brisk day in January that Black for once didn't come. He'd dragged himself through rain and snow before to get to the church, and because he was absent was why Belle was pacing the floors in concern.

"What if he's just caught a cold?" Cheren suggested.

Belle nodded, less so agreeing and more trying to reassure herself. "Yes. That must be it."

The next day he didn't show up again. Belle was growing more worried as the sun set, so to calm herself she began to sweep the aisles. People trailed out and Pastor Cheren retreated to another room to avoid being hit by Belle's broom, as she was rather clumsy sometimes.

However, as the sky turned a lovely shade of orange, the oak doors creaked open and the head of a ragamuffin poked through the entryway. Belle could have cried in the relief that spread through her post her panic, however she realized that the child standing there was not Black.

The boy in the doorway was much, much thinner than Black, almost skeletal. His jacket—the same exact coat that Black wore—was loose on him, the sleeves hanging long past his hands. The boy even wore Black's hat, and the bangs poking out from underneath were a dark coffee color. Plus the child looked hunched over and a sickly pale, without the usual spring and jovial air that Black had. The most noticeable difference was that the boy in the doorway had the most beautiful, wide, ocean blue eyes.

The boy stumbled into the church, so frail that Belle was sure that if someone blew on him he would collapse. Belle set her broom down and quickly rushed to the child to help him into a seat.

"T-thank you, ma'am," the high-pitched voice greeted her. It was soprano, much more shrill than Black's. It was only then that Belle realized how small the child was, though he couldn't have been any younger than the brown-eyed boy Belle had come to know.

"What can I do for you, dear?" Belle asked, worriedly.

"I came to pray ma'am." Belle's eyes widened. Those were some of the first words Black had ever said to her. Before Belle could get a word out, the child continued. "My best friend Black comes here every day to pray to Arceus, and today he's just gone and tired himself out. I made him rest, so I felt like I should come and take his place for the day." The child removed Black's had and a fluffy ponytail swooshed down. Belle wondered how she didn't realize that the kid was a girl, though she decided to ignore her blunder.

The little girl pointed at the mural that Black always knelt before. "He chose this one, yes?"

Belle nodded. "Never even seemed to consider praying before another one."

The girl grinned. "That's my Black. A one-track mind. He's real loud sometimes." The girl picked herself up from out of the seat and knelt before the mural, silently praying, however moving her lips like Black did. Belle couldn't read lips and didn't know what she was saying, but she could have sworn it was almost the same as Black's prayer.

When the girl stood, putting the hat back on but keeping her coffee brown ponytail hanging down, she gave Belle a sweet smile. "It was lovely meeting you, ma'am. I'm sure Black will return here soon." Before Belle could say anything else, she was out the door, just as her friend always had been. They must be really close, Belle thought with a smile. I'm glad that Black has a good friend.

As his friend had predicted, Black was back in the church the next day. Belle greeted him with a smile, per usual. "Glad to see you've returned, Black. I saw your friend yesterday."

Black's eyes widened. "You did?!"

"Yeah. She's really sweet."

"I told her not to come!" Black muttered underneath his breath.

Belle narrowed her eyebrows in perplexity. "What?"

"Nothing," Black simply replied, and went on as usual.

"Tell me everything that happened, tell me everything you saw."
"They had lights inside their eyes, they had lights inside their eyes."
"Did you see the closing window? Did you hear the slamming door?"
"They moved forward, and my heart died, they moved forward, and my heart died."
"Please, please, tell me what they looked like. Did they seem afraid of you?"
"They were kids that I once knew, they were kids that I once knew."

It was a sunny yet chill day in February that Belle was able to see the little girl again.

The door swung open and there she was, this time clinging onto Black's arm, as if for support, grinning all the way and once again sporting Black's hat. She gave off a wave to Sister Belle and Black smiled, though he was looking at his friend when he did so.

"Hi there," Belle greeted them. "I feel really bad, but I never did get your name," Belle explained to the little girl.

"I'm Whitlea," the girl chirped.

Belle smiled. "What a nice name."

Whitlea gave off a few light coughs and Black glanced over at her, wide-eyed, asking, "You okay, White?", but she only shrugged it off. Black guided Whitlea over to the mural and they prayed as always, though Belle hoped that that would be the day she would finally get an answer. When the two children stood, Belle asked like always, "What is it you two pray for?"

Whitlea gazed uncertainly at Black, as if she didn't know what to say. She finally settled on, "It's…just a long story. Something we've always hoped for. It's sad that it's taking time, but I'm sure Arceus hears our prayers and will fulfill them." She punctuated with a convinced nod. It's funny, Belle thought as she watched the two kids walk out of the church and down the street, side by side, they're so much alike. I see that they really appreciate each other. They're lucky they understand each other so much. It's cute that Black even nicknamed her "White".

The two of them, as Belle realized, were like counterparts and one wouldn't go without the other. They were like two different pieces on a chess board or employees doing the same job in an agency.

Belle smiled to herself. Who knows? Maybe when they're older someday I'll see them back in this church, both wearing clothes the colors of their names, underneath a wedding canopy…

In March, Black always looked worried.

He would start praying first thing. He would run into the church and kneel and pray before anything else. After, he would say hello to Belle and talk to her, but he seemed to feel like he needed to pray first. It was like he needed a miracle, and quickly. Belle wished she could understand why he felt this way.

Instead of cutting to the chase, in mid-March she asked him, "Black, why do you always pray before that particular mural?"

He gazed at it for a while before answering. "It looked hopeful to me," he replied bluntly, "and it also is centered all around Jirachi. He grants wishes, and I needed mine to be granted." He stared at his feet. "But that hasn't exactly happened yet."

"You know you can tell me if something's wrong." Belle crouched to his size and he nodded.

"I know," he responded. "I know…"

"So, is Whitlea going to come back with you again?" Belle asked brightly, trying to change the subject, although she felt as though she wasn't succeeding in lightening the mood, perhaps even making it worse.

"I don't know," Black answered uncertainly. "White always tells me she wants to come back. I just don't know if she can."

Belle nodded. "That's fine. I understand if she can't."

"So I've been sleeping with this silence in my mind,
And all I see scares me.
And no one knows it, but she.
She saved me."

In April, Black hadn't come for a whole week.

Belle knew she shouldn't have been concerned, but she was. There were no missing children reports filed, and she was sure he was probably just with his family, but she couldn't help but be apprehensive.

When he finally came in, it was on a rainy afternoon. There was almost no one in the church and he had come without an umbrella. He rushed in, and Belle expected him to head straight to the mural, but instead he went to the podium holding the candles in red glass containers, and lit a candle. Belle was about to comment, when she realized that he was still dripping on the church floors.

"Black!" Belle exclaimed. "You're soaked and it's down pouring outside!" She was going to teasingly scold him with a smile on, as she would have if it was a normal day, when she noticed how he only stared intently at the ground. There were red rings around his eyes. Belle pulled him away from near the candles over into the corner, and crouched down as she always did, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Oh honey, what on Earth happened?"

Black sniffled, still not looking up. "Sister Belle, do you ever feel like Arceus doesn't listen to your prayers?"

"Oh Black, you know it's just taking a little while for Arceus to answer to your prayers, but he will in time. Everything will be alright," she assured him.

"It's not alright!" Black screamed, his head shooting up. "There's no time left! Arceus just let her die, nothing's alright!"

Belle placed her hands on Black's shoulders to steady him as his deep brown eyes swam with tears. "Who died, Black?"

Black sniffled again, already wiping at the tears falling down his cheeks. "White. White's dead."

Belle's eyes widened to the size of dishes. She felt as though she had just been punched in the gut. Sweet, polite, young Whitlea had just died? It didn't seem real. It didn't seem rational. She was even a little bit younger than Black, far too young to be dead. Belle grabbed an umbrella and Black's much smaller hand and made a beeline for the door. "Come on. We're going for a walk today."

They treaded the soaked streets beneath the navy umbrella, the dark, clouded sky still raining down on them. Belle watched out of the corners of her eyes as people with or without umbrellas rushed through the rain, ducking into houses or little shops. She trekked through the streets silently, listening to Black's mournful tale.

As it turned out, for the past two years, Whitlea had been chronically ill. She had managed to catch tuberculosis from a family member who had been cured of their minor case shortly after. However, Whitlea had gotten the disease, and because of her young age, it quickly affected her. She was in the hospital for those two years, and when her case wasn't getting any better, Black, who had come to visit her every day, decided that he would try praying, hoping that Arceus would save his best friend. However much Whitlea had attempted to hide it for the sake of Black, over time she was only getting worse. He had stopped going to the church prior to her death, crushed in grief. He couldn't believe that after so long, after she fought so hard, she had just ended up dying.

"It's just not fair." Black's voice cracked when he spoke. "Why did she have to get it in the first place? Every day I would hope for her to be cured, and she would always try to make me feel like everything was fine when it's not, and she would hide that she was coughing, and she just kept getting worse and she could hardly stay awake from her fatigue in March, and…"

As Black went on, Belle listened to the way he spoke his worries. They were so serious, they should have been left to adults, not to a child. Black shouldn't have been anguished; he should have been splashing in puddles and playing in the rain like a normal kid. And Whitlea should have been with him, instead of dead. She hadn't even had the chance to grow up, to truly live. She had been sick for two years, and the only part of her that attached her to the world was Black, her only and best friend.

Belle noticed they had turned into a cemetery, but didn't comment. She also speculated that Black seemed to know exactly what grave they were going to. Belle tried not to think about him visiting the grave, refusing to leave it even as the rain poured down.

Black was staring at the words on the grave they had stopped before. His throat was dry and raw from crying so much. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop remembering the last time he saw White, just before he'd found out that she died. She looked as though she already knew it was her time.

"Black," White said, almost grimly, "do you think that in heaven, all the little kids who die in this hospital play together?"

Black paused, taking in his best friend's ghostly pale features and considering her question. "I'm sure they do. It would be lonely up there without their parents. But you're not going to join them, because I'm praying for you. And I promised that you would be okay. So I guess you're just stuck with me down here on Earth." Black flashed her a grin.

White tried to smile back, but she looked shaky. "Black…I'm scared…what if I really don't," she paused to let out a few coughs, "make it through?"

Black took her ghostly white hand in his. It was quivering like a leaf at the center of a storm and was clammy. The only color in White's face was the deep purple bags beneath her shadowed eyes and above her hollow cheeks; she looked exhausted. Deciding that just holding her hand wasn't enough, he pulled her in to hug her. He wasn't afraid of getting her disease; he watched her struggle through it so strongly every day, and if she could then that would give him the power to also. But White felt so thin in his arms, almost…nonexistent. "You're going to make it through," he promised. "You have me to watch over you, and I already told you I wouldn't leave your side." For a ten year old, Black knew he talked like he was older. But he'd learned to, having to deal with such a serious situation.

White wrapped her skeletal arms as best as she could around Black and buried her face in his neck. He swore he could feel tears slide down her cheeks, but neither of them said a word more.

Black wiped away his own tears and forced himself to look at her name, even though it was already engraved in both the stone and his mind.

Whitlea Hilda Touko

She shouldn't have died. Black wouldn't have said it, because everyone would have told him he was too little, but he really did love her. He always imagined that she would be cured and he would walk her back from the hospital. And then he would always walk her home from school and she would look healthier, not so thin and lifeless. She would laugh like she used to, and not just pretend to feel joy for his sake. And they would stay best friends throughout school, and someday he would ask her to marry him, and they would be together for their whole lives. However, that could never happen. Because she was dead, and she wasn't coming back.

He didn't care that Sister Belle was next to him, and didn't know why he was saying what he was, so he spoke anyways. "I think all the kids do play together in heaven. And I think that somewhere, you're happy. You're laughing and smiling," his voice cracked again, like a broken record, "and it's almost like you'll live on the same. But I'm still down here. And I hope you're waiting for me. I promise I'll come find you. I'll always wait until I can see you again." He didn't try to stop himself from crying at this point. He couldn't stop it if he tried. "I'll miss you White."

But the crashing rain was the only response. His speech, like his prayer, was not answered.

Somewhere on a cloud, wearing a pure white sundress was a little girl with bushy brown hair and the most beautiful bright ocean blue eyes. Her cheeks had a tint of pink, her skin was a peachy shade in comparison to the clouds, and she was smiling. She could have been living, if she was not in heaven.

She was kneeling in the cloud, listening to the boy she knew and loved so much talk as though he knew she could hear his every word. Tears spilled past her own eyes as she heard his words. All the people who had learned to accept their fate and become happy, had resolved their old lives, were all together, spread throughout their heaven. But she had one piece of her life left unfinished, and she was gazing down at him, allowing the tears slipping down her cheeks to blur her vision as she felt her throat grow tight even listening.

When Black was done speaking to her grave, she whispered, "I'll wait for you forever here, Black. I'll wait for you, and after you've lived your life and learned to be happy, we can meet again and play together here. It'll be just like old times. Until then…goodbye. I already miss you, so much."

Black was leaving the cemetery. White leaned back after watching over Earth from the cloud.

She would watch over him for as long as he lived on, forever being his guardian angel, and although he wouldn't know or hear her, she would always answer him when he tried to speak to her, his deceased best friend. Even when he didn't know she was watching. She would wait. She would answer. Someday, she would be with him.

She would do all of that.

Forever.

"I can say it but you won't believe me,
You say you do, but you don't deceive me.
It's hard to know they're out there, it's hard to know that you still care.
I can say it but you won't believe me,
You say you do, but you don't deceive me.
Dead hearts are everywhere,
Dead hearts are everywhere."

Larger, more annoying note:

So, I honestly have no clue why I wrote this. I have no message to get through, I have nothing against these characters, I just came up with this depressing story. It just kind of came to me, and I expected it to be a lot shorter than it is, but it's kinda long.
The writing in this was eh. This could have been written so much better. I really should have put things in the beginning that tied into the ending, but I didn't so it seems a bit unbalanced to me.
Yes, the disease I had White have is tuberculosis. People in the 19th century died all the time of that, and some symptoms are coughing, fatigue, and weight loss, which I lightly included.
Did anyone get the reference? "The two of them, as Belle realized, were like counterparts and one wouldn't go without the other. They were like two different pieces on a chess board or employees doing the same job in an agency." Reference to the fact that they're counterparts, and the whole Chess and Agency thing...
And I believe when Black was talking to Belle about his parents being unable to bring him to the church he mentioned "Miss Touko". That would be White's mum, since Black is White's best friend and always visits the hospital he would know her. I just wanted to clear that up.
Also, the part at the end with White? I was describing how I felt ^_^" I love Agencyshipping so much. Why the hell did I write this?!
About the setting, I said before that it's 19th century London, so because you and I have never actually seen 19th century London in person, just imagine…old fashion stuff ^_^" I don't know.
One last thing is the definition of the word evermore. The definition is literally "always", so I thought it was fitting. Albeit out of the blue since I never mention it in the story, I did write forever at the end, and the remembrance is kind of a general message, and "forever" is a synonym for evermore. So. Those are just the reasons I chose the word. And it sounds fancy.
Sorry about the dual rants! Thanks so much for reading!
-Silvia
P.S. (I swear, this is the last note!) The things in italics that occasionally interrupt the story. Those are lyrics to two songs that I love. I really like to put just like a line or two of lyrics into my fics, and I've done that for my most recent two stories, but I kinda went a little crazy on this one, even though this is NOT a song fic. I just wanted to put too many parts of each song in it ^_^" so, then I got this. I think they fit well to the story though, no? Tell me if they're annoying you. I can take them out.