IMPORTANT!! I just took the longest unexpected break. For those who have read my stories, they may now that for the past year, I have been missing from Fanfiction. No updates, no hiatus warnings, and no reassurances that I would come back. I am deeply, truly, sorry. I am afraid that I find it much too hard to juggle all of my commitments. Yet, it was unfair to not notify readers that this hiatus was happening. So, forgive me. I probably won't be trying to make any new stories, but I definitely plan on finishing my other stories. The process might be slow, especially since they're on different fandoms, you may not see that I'm updating anything. But, I assure you, I am. Slowly, bur surely.

It was like coming up for air. Begging for oxygen, she clawed her way to the surface, her hand stretching upward, her legs propelling her forward. Up, up, up. The water pushed against her, it pulled her into sweeping currents. She wasn't even sure if she was moving up. She left the bottom weeks ago, so sure of her direction, of her plan. She should have known better, though. Nothing goes as planned.

Somewhere on this earth is a girl. Somewhere, she is laughing, smiling, crying, screaming, yelling, feeling. Somewhere on this planet there is a soul traveling so far from it's body that it is close to floating away. Somewhere in this world there is a chaser: A wild-haired, barefoot, human-like demon who chases dreams. Somewhere on this soil there are feet that run from nightmares. Somewhere in this atmosphere there is a mind, one that imagines worlds, beings, happenings. Somewhere on this planet there is me, searching.

The surface broke, its shiny glass ceiling giving way to first a hand, an arm, a shoulder, and then a body. The river finally spit up the remains of a beautiful girl, who is nothing but broken dreams and splintering, withering, emotions. Damaged goods, they will say; whoever picks the breathless body up and delivers it to someplace safe will look down and wag their tongues. They will shake their heads at the fragile heap.

The story of an identity is interesting. It is complex, and it is thrilling, how one identity could hold so much. Some believe the identity is comprised of numbers; codes that prove who we are and what we do and even what we stand for. Unchanging, unforgiving, and never wrong. Others believe identity thrives on change. It feeds off of growth, and it basks in the light of newness. Some people believe that identities should never be hidden, or concealed, because a hidden identity is dangerous. Others like the thrill of mystery; they engorge themselves on speculation and they quiet their hunger by hunting. For some, the mystery of the identity is fun.

She does not remember. She can feel the water on her skin, and she can still feel the ice closing around her throat. But where does not remember where she was or why she was there. The questions are too sharp and too many and each interrogation feels like a whip. She is fine, she is happy. She looks for a face that she knows, but the shadows reveal no one. It is not until she makes her escape, that she finds them. She can feel their warmth and she tries to press herself closer; she wants to soak up every bit of the sunlight that sticks to their skin. It is ages, decades, until she can form the words. She looks at them imploringly, and they all look at each other, at her. Do they dare indulge her with such fantasies? The smiles come quickly, teasingly, and once she sees their knowing glances, she laughs. Everything is okay, because they are here. She spreads her arms wide, and gives her audience a toothy grin:

"Go on. Ask me a question."

Thank you, reviewers, for you have helped me grow as a writer.

Thank you, readers, for you have the largest amount of patience that ever existed.

Thank you, authors, for providing me with countless stories to devour, love, and wait for.

Just, simply, thank you.