I'm really sorry! I abandoned this again. I'm working on another chapter, I'll try to get it posted before Monday night.

I'm so, so sorry everyone! I've been having issues having the inspiration to finish the writing that I start for the past couple of weeks, but I finally finished a chapter of the solo write. Once again, thank you so much to whoever's keeping this topped, it means a lot to me that you want to see this finished, and I'm going to do my best to get this done competely before Halloween, because I know I won't be able to post anything in November. I believe that there will be only two or three chapters after this, and I'm doing my best to get another one written before this Wednesday, although I can't make any promises.

Chapter Seven — Iduna

So, thought Yameneko, there's another person gone. Out loud, she said, "Iduna?" She bowed her head in tribute to the fallen Lola. "Could you hand over the papers?"

Iduna was still kneeling on the floor in shock, but she managed to raise her head and look at Yameneko in the eyes. "No."

The younger girl stepped back. She was used to not having physical necessities, but she had always made up for that by using her words to make adults do her bidding. Most children were quiet and submissive; she was quiet and manipulative. She liked it that way, and she wasn’t used to having anyone say no to her when she asked for something.

But Iduna did. “No,” she said, clutching the papers to her chest. They were all that was left of sweet, cheerful Lola. The girl that had died because of her. She was not going to let go. “They’re mine.”

“Please?” Yameneko made her big, brown eyes even bigger and sadder. A few tears spilled over. She didn’t like having to retreat like that. Her tactics always worked the first time. She sized up the person she wanted something from, and she played on their emotions. She had been sure that Iduna’s heart would be touched by that bend of her head, that tribute to their lost companions. But, for the first time in her short life, she had been wrong. “Please?”

“No.” Iduna held the papers tighter and closer to her heart. It was hard to resist those big, tearful eyes, but she was not giving Lola away. Silly Lola, with her tubes of lip gloss and her pink Crocs. She looked down at Saylor’s feet, where the last part of Saylor resided. How could it be that there was no more Lola, only a pair of shoes and a packet of papers? A single crystalline tear rolled down her cheek.

But Yameneko was not touched. And she would not back down. She needed those papers. “Now.” She injected steel into her voice. No. Iron. Iduna was not a strong person, no matter how much cool disconnect she projected to the world. She could be broken down. And Yameneko could do it.

Unfortunately, Iduna did not take kindly to being ordered around by a little girl. She stumbled to her feet and looked up towards the ceiling. There was a slightly wild look in her eyes, as if she had been pushed beyond her limits. Her dark hair seemed to float around her head, as if there was a breeze that only cared for her. No one could take Lola away. Especially not little cat girls who stole Clay.

Saylor stood to the side, overwhelmed. What was happening? What was wrong with Iduna? And why wouldn’t she give Yameneko the papers? For that matter, why did Yameneko want them so badly? She started to step back into the living room behind her, but she stumbled into a solid stone wall. What? She turned around. There was no door behind her. Only stone. She whirled back around. Yameneko was still there. And Iduna, too. But they both looked. . . different somehow. Wilder. Terrifying. She shrunk back, afraid. And her foot hit against something warm and soft. 

Lola held back a shriek, knowing, somehow, that she did not want to draw attention to herself. She looked down, and saw Bandit, the little raccoon. Altoos’ raccoon. Silently, she knelt down, and allowed the tiny animal to crawl up onto her arm. Saylor held Bandit close to her heart. How could it be that only earlier that morning she had been screaming because the poor thing was nibbling at her skirt? The raccoon’s warmth melted into her like the sun on a warm spring day, comforting her, strengthening her.

Everything will be okay, she told herself. And then she looked up.

Yameneko was, despite her lack of height, towering over Iduna, who was, once more, shivering on the ground, clutching a packet of papers. But this packet was thicker. Could it be?

Yes.

Somehow, when she wasn’t paying attention, Iduna had taken possession of the papers containing the stories of the other authors. And Yameneko did not seem to be happy about it. Her eyes were bright and furious, and. . . there were dark shadows emerging from the floor? Literally? Saylor thought. This is NOT Percy Jackson. Dark shadows emerging from the floor is not a part of any story I want to be a part of.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. There were dark shadows in her story, and some blindingly white light seemed to be leaking from the walls as well. Saylor shivered in fright, watching as Yameneko summoned more and more shadows and light. The girl’s dark brown eyes were slowly fading to a golden yellow, and the pupils were turning into slits, like the eyes of a cat. Saylor hugged Bandit close to her chest, so tight that the raccoon started squirming and scratching, tearing a long rent in one of the sleeves of Saylor’s white blouse.

“Stop,” Saylor yelled, but Yameneko ignored her. She twitched one hand towards Iduna, and the shadows started closing in, swirling around, mixing with the light, until it looked as if Iduna was in the center of a small tornado. And then, they were gone. Nothing was left except for a few scattered papers; the chapters that Iduna had stolen from Yameneko and a  new stack, as well.

The cat girl scooped them up and smiled, turning towards Lola. Her incisors were sharp and gleaming white. She nodded slowly, and read aloud the newest words.

Chapter Seven — Iduna

So, thought Yameneko, there's another person gone.

Wow, I have another chapter ready today! I'm so proud of myself! (:

@Blackfooted Bobcat: Thank you so much! I was originally going to have Yameneko stand up to Kytleen Marsh (me?) in the end, but I decided that this was more interesting after all. I would love to get this published, but I don't feel like there is enough of a plot besides the getting-turned-into-paper thing, so most of the chapters are practically carbon copies of each other. But I love to hear that you think it's good! 

Chapter Eight — Saylor

Allen stepped out into the hallway. He had seen Lola race up behind Iduna and push her away, and he had heard Iduna’s scream a moment later. He had seen Yameneko slip out of the room after Iduna had read aloud the first sentence of Lola’s remains. But he had not seen or heard anything since then. And so, logically, he decided that it would be wise to go into hall, to see what was going in.

But when he left the room, all he saw was a hallway. It was a lovely hallway, to be sure, with golden velvet carpeting and rosebud wallpaper, much nicer than you would think the halls of a publishing company’s headquarters would be, even if said headquarters are in a mansion. But it was just a hallway. And no one was there. Iduna, Yameneko, and of course, Lola.

They were all gone.

So, logically, Allen did the only thing he could do.

He screamed.

Then, because he felt rather ashamed of himself for screaming, he began to scour the house, looking for his missing companions. No. Friends. Somehow, in those few, terrifying hours, Allen had made friends. The first friends that he had known since he was a boy and the pretty young librarian had been kind to him. Even pink-loving Lola and funny, cat-like Yameneko. They were his friends. And he was not going to let them disappear.

And yet, they had disappeared. How? He did not know. They had searched all over the mansion earlier, and there were no exits. Not even a mouse hole or a window with weak glass. They had to be somewhere. Somewhere that Allen could go to and find. So that he could rescue them.

Yes.

He would rescue them. He would be one of the heroes that he had always dreamed of and read about. After all, how hard could it possibly be?

As it turned out, it could be very hard. After thoroughly looking through every room of the mansion at least twice, he returned to the living room. There was only one place he hadn’t looked at yet. The herb garden. He somehow couldn’t bear to go back there, not after what had happened to Myra. And yet. . . something inside of him was pulling him towards that little, insignificant seeming door. Slowly, carefully, he approached it, like a sleeping beast that he didn’t want to wake.

He turned the handle.

And opened.

Allen closed his eyes and braced himself for the rush of memories and head that he knew would be triggered by the sight of the garden. A song raced through his head, an old folk song, Scarborough Fair.

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.

Mostly thyme. He remembered that. It was a thyme garden. The memories were rushing in, even before he had seen the garden. It couldn’t hurt to open his eyes. He had memorized every inch of the garden when he was there before, standing behind Myra, then later as well, when he found her papers. Opening his eyes would only show him the image imprinted in his mind. Yes. He would open his eyes.

He didn’t open his eyes.

It was too soon. He wasn’t ready to see the garden again. Not yet. He would look through the house, all over the house, the kitchen and the bedrooms and the foyer. He couldn’t bear to be in the garden again. He turned around, with his eyes still screwed tightly shut, and started to leave.

And then slammed face-first into a stone wall. His eyes flew open.

He was not in the herb garden. He was in a tiny room made of gray stone. The walls were smooth and silky to the touch, but still hard enough to make his nose bleed where it had slammed into them. The ceiling and floor merged smoothly into the walls, so smoothly he was hardly able to tell the difference between the three, which was. . . disorienting to say the least. And, standing in the center of the room was little Yameneko. Across from him, plastered across the other wall, was Saylor, shivering in fright, with Bandit held to her heart. That didn’t make sense. What could be scaring her? There was no one in the room except him and Yameneko. Her friends. And she hated Bandit. Why would she be hugging her? Where was Iduna? Why were there shadows and shining lights emerging from the stone of the room? What in the world was going on?

Then, Yameneko turned around, and he forgot everything in his fright. The little girl’s eyes were yellow, with slitted pupils. Her teeth were sharp, like daggers, and brilliantly white. She looked like a cat. A demon cat. Allen shivered, and wished that he had a scary raccoon to cuddle with.

The cat-girl nodded slowly. Somehow, he couldn’t bear to think of her as Yameneko. Yameneko was a sweet little girl who loved cats and had oddly powerful leadership skills. This. . . thing was not that girl. She looked him in the eyes, and he felt as if he could collapse in a dead faint and stay that way for at least a year, until she stopped looking at him. She flicked her fingers toward Saylor, and the shadows swirled around her. But the cat-thing didn’t give a second glance. The papers, all that was left of Saylor, flew into her hand, and she pushed them into place at the bottom of the pile in her hand. It was as if Saylor was completely unimportant. But, unimportant or not, the cat-thing recognized the rules. Every chapter must end in the same way that it began. And so, she read aloud.

“Chapter Eight — Saylor

Allen stepped out into the hallway.”