A/N:

- Anonymous, MISTER Anonymous, You are far too kind, my good man. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for such lovely words. Pacifica's doctor will get some explanation. Though I hope it will be satisfactory. Thank you again.

- a very angry ravage, Thank you so much for your comment. It is greatly appreciated. I hope you are enjoying the story. Only one way to find out regarding your question.

Gravity Falls: Red Moon

Chapter four: Lady in red

Eiofvre pus ucoekwee, xmws r aavbgv mr tuqksdie trburs hf zxeoy.

Sjaefsu, pqh, sfvcz, fxiv yzh poii, rmxhyw, exubbgzk mbu paxfse.

Gf me srqk xa gvc ilk we aapxstruzq azlpw is gsel fvzlsw noti.

Nyf o yszkdm mmuh dsjrurs pvlqefv jjmf evfsxh zck zq jafxmfxqb.

"Is it still far off?!" Van Hadeschant called, a few paces behind her.

The man had to yell to be heard. Amidst the now white forest, the winds blew something fierce. The falling snow barraged her face. Yet she pressed on through the landscape, only vaguely being able to tell where snow-covered land and treetops stopped and where the white sky began.

"Shouldn't we be, like, silent or something?!" Wendy Corduroy shouted back as she moved forward. At least the wind was working in her favor. It almost claimed Dipper's hat multiple times though.

"Vampires are weak during the day!" The man explained, struggling to put one foot before the other. "They rest!" He added using a tree to push himself forward, clearly out of breath.

Their savior, everybody.

She waited for him to catch up.

"Besides." He continued as he closed the gap. His face was nearly as red as her own hair. "Your vampire could be aware without our loud shouting anyways."

"Want me to carry that, old timer?" She asked in a teasing yet not bullying demeanor, pointing at the bag filled with weaponry against the undead.

"Nein." The man curtly yet politely refused. "It is no bother. Are we still far, though?"

"Not that far." She said shortly before setting out again.

"You try to seem focused." He said, following suit. "Yet you are clearly distracted."

"What are you, a shrink? Dude?"

"No. Almost though. After I became a doctor in medicine, I tried to get a degree in psychiatry. I never completed it though."

"Why not?"

"A story for another time perhaps." He called out. "I'm trying not to waste my energy here. It would be un-gentlemanlike to let a young Fraulein such as yourself carry this heavy bag instead of me. But I will admit, I am growing a tad tired with the exercise. Suffice to say for now, I did not complete it because, as I believe you youngsters say: 'I've seen some shit?'"

She snorted at his attempt at sounding in touch with youth. "Don't ever try that again old-timer." She laughed. "It's fine by me that you want to stay mysterious and all. You just sparked the conversation man, that's all."

"I just want you to stay focused." He replied. "That is all. Our lives may depend on it. So what has you distracted?"

"The wind." She replied, showing him what honesty could do. "This storm that is picking up."

"Why?" He shouted back. "If it's summoned by the vampire and this is all it can manage, we should consider ourselves lucky!"

"Yeah it's not a problem for us!" She called back. "We're on the ground."

"Oh. Right." The man replied, understanding what she was getting at.

"I don't want to die!" The young boy named Gideon shrieked in terrified fashion. "You get me down to the ground safely, you understand? I don't care what it takes. I paid you enough for this man! Me! That's all that matters."

As the small airplane shook and heaved in the blizzard, enough to put fear in the heart of any man, the young charlatan's woeful performance in the face of peril was still enough to awaken the sarcastic side of Mabel.

"What a hero." She noted dryly, buckled in and holding tight to her seat.

It was not that she couldn't understand his reaction. The storm that had caught them by surprise was a particularly feisty one.

"You hush, woman!" The white-haired boy shouted desperately back at her in distress, clinging onto the back of the spare seat in the cockpit himself. "I will not die like this, you hear me?! Claude!" He added, turning to the pilot once more. "Put us down now! What am I paying you for you no good for nothing, double-crossing money-sponge!"

If Claude had been more level-headed than he'd already proven himself to be, one would be able to build skyscrapers on him. But in such a fierce storm as this, with the winds banging on the sides of the, seemingly, riggidy airplane, not even he was sturdy enough to calmly explain that, as a matter of fact, both Gideon and Pacifica, as well as her parents, were paying him to keep his full attention to steering the plane through impossible odds and that, if Gideon so desired, he could have a go at it himself if he thought he could do a better job because, frankly, the prospect of purposefully crashing the plane, sort of speak, was looking more and more welcome as long as it meant taking that little, screaming, tacky-suit wearing troll down with them.

So instead, the pilot's reply was: "Shut your yap and let me focus, brat!"

"Whoah!" Mabel heard her brother shout as the plane dropped a few feet in what felt like an air-pocket. Seated in the seat across her, he had to turn his head to look over to the white-haired kid. "Gideon!" He continued at the former villain. "Get over here and strap yourself in!"

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" The irrational boy threatened, pointing his finger at her brother as hard as he could.

"Just let him fly in peace you idiot!" Pacifica screamed.

The blonde too was worried, like all of them. Like both the Pine-twins, she seemed to make a desperate attempt to find a new dimension in her chair to crawl into and hide. One of her hands was clamping hard onto her brothers. But he didn't seem to notice, clamping down at his armrests as hard as he could himself.

"You'll get us all killed!" Dipper screamed.

"Hello?! Hello?!" The pilot shouted into the micro built into his helmet as he continued to peer through the front windshield. Mabel hoped he had better luck up front. Because from here all she could see was whiteness. "This is Northwest One. I repeat, this is Northwest one. Sending out a distress signal. Is anybody reading me? We are flying blind out here! Is anyone getting this. Mayday. Mayday. Anyone respond. Zero visibility. I repeat: zero visibility. Is anyone getting this?"

Static returned.

"We're all doomed!" Gideon wailed dramatically as he grabbed onto the pilot, shaking his arm.

"Someone get him out of here!" Claude yelled.

The buckles were off before she even knew it.

"Mabel, sit down!" Dipper yelled. "It's dangerous!"

His words were accentuated by the particularly heavy tumble the plane took. Mabel felt herself lifted into the air smacked to the ground.

"Mabel!" Dipper yelled over both the loud motor and the heavy, pounding winds.

She crawled up though, steadying herself carefully. "I'm cool bro-bro." She said, edging forward to the cockpit slowly. She could see Gideon, squirming and frothing was trying to recover from a fall himself. From the corner of her eye she could see Dipper trying to undo his own belt. He even tried to rise from his seat, all to drag her back to hers.

Before she could even tell him to remain seated, however, Pacifica did it for her.

"Don't go!" She shrieked, holding onto his left arm for comfort and burying her face in his right. "Don't leave me here!" She continued irrationally

To her credit, the plane did feel like it was about to be ripped to shreds.

"I got this Dipper!" She shouted over all the ruckus. "Trust me!"

He glanced at her, with that serious look of his and then, begrudgingly, nodded.

It was all the approval she needed. As if she ever needed any.

Clawing her way past the sofa's she neared the sobbing and frustrated peer. "Gideon!" She called out.

"I repeat. This is Northwest one! We need a baring on our current location. Radar is down. Visibility is zero. Is anyone there? Please respond!" She heard the panic even in the pilot's voice.

It reminded her, despite the Gleefull boy's pitiful performance, to understand his reaction.

"Gideon!" She tried again.

"I don't want to die!" They boy said, his little stumpy legs wobbling underneath him as he clung to the passenger seat. The tears were in his eyes. "I don't!"

"You won't!" Mabel shouted back, trying to comfort him. Holding herself to the wall with one hand and focusing most of her energy on her two legs to keep her steady in the heavy pressure inside the hollow of the aircraft, she extended her free hand. "Please come with me!" She added. "Let's go sit down!"

"No!" He screamed, turning his gaze aside. "No! I can't!"

"Mayday! Mayday! Please respond!" Claude interrupted.

Mabel was growing desperate by this point.

"Do it for me, Gideon!" She tried, figuratively feeling the bile in the back of her throat as she spoke the words. Yet they seemed to have some effect.

"What?" The boy asked through wet eyes, cringing.

"Be brave!" She explained, offering her hand once more. "Come sit with me! Keep me safe!"

He stretched out his own hand gingerly. It seemed to quiver more than the plane did. "All… Alright. Mabel, alright." He said as he took it carefully. Reaffirming his sweaty grip he stepped forward, back to the seats with Pacifica and Dipper, dragging her along. "Let's go." He said, dazed and shocked, but less afraid somehow. More determined for sure.

"Is anyone reading me?!" Claude tried once more as she started to move away from the cockpit.

Even here there was nothing but white outside. And static from the radio. It matched.

"Mike." An old, taped voice burst through on the radio before she moved out of hearing range. "Echo. Mike." It continued.

"What's that?" She called

"Oscar." The voiced trailed down the list.

"Just an old, short-wave numbers' station or something!" Claude answered.

She almost couldn't hear the radio say "Romeo." As he talked through the transmission.

"Buckle yourself in kid!" The pilot shouted.

"Yankee." The station added before Claude turned it off.

"This is going to get bumpy!"

They made their way back to the seats, slowly and tiresomely. Finding some of his southern-charm back, even in the face of danger, Gideon made sure she was seated first. She was more than apt to buckle herself in. But she didn't protest when his chubby little hands fumbled to do it for her. It would be faster this way, rather than arguing about it. And after she'd managed to get him this far, it would be best not scare him off again. Only when she was tightly in her chair did Gideon strap himself in.

His face was as white as his hair by now. He was whispering something underneath his breath, to himself. But she couldn't quite make it out. By the looks of it, he kept repeating it as some mantra.

"I think I see the lake!" Claude called out from out front. "Hold on tight, we're going in!"

Her eyes locked with her brothers, seated in the exact same position she was. Her mirror image. She was certain she had the same scared yet, against all odds, trying to look comforting look about her. With her eyes she tried to comfort her brother; tell her it would be fine. As he did for her.

She felt the decline in her gut. A most unpleasant, anxious feeling. Her ears were ringing with the drop in altitude. Her teeth were clenched. Her eyes shut. She had a falling sensation. And a building dread for when it would stop.

Until it did.

The snow retaliated; even as Wendy's footsteps crushed it, step by step. Amidst the white, low hill it formed, the dark hole she'd chased her personal white rabbit through last night, loomed. She took a moment to collect herself as the good doctor drew up to her. He too peered down the abyss, trying to will it into something more favorable through sheer willpower.

"I am sure they are fine." He offered eventually.

"And if they are not?" She asked, standing before the void outlined by the ancient slabs of stone. "I called them here. Mabel and Dipper might be coming here as we speak because I asked them to. They might be out there, in that storm. If something happened to them, it'd be my fault. Just like what happened to Tambry. And I can't have anything happen to them at all. They are like, the best kids in the world and junk."

"What happened to your friend is not your fault. It's the fault of whatever might or might not be waiting for us in these depths. And whatever happens to your other friends is not in your control right now. Focus on what you can do. Remain vigilant. Remain focused. Think of the job at hand and nothing and no-one else. I beg of you."

"I got in and out last time, didn't I? And that was in the dead of night."

"Do not underestimate the vampire." Van Hadeschant warned. "Think only of it."

"Well." She said, taking out her phone. It was mostly full, having recharged earlier last night. "Let's go save the day." She said, flicking on it's light.

"Yes." The doctor agreed, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

With one of his arms he opened his long coat. And with minimal effort he pulled out a long torch hanging inside it. She gazed upon it with wide-eyed wonder as he pulled out a golden container, popped off it's exquisite top and drenched the rags bound around the wood with it.

"Really?" She asked. "A real life torch?"

"Burning with holy oils." He agreed, bringing a silver lighter to the drenched rags.

With the flick of his thumb they were a lit.

"You have your ways, youngster. I have mine." He added, pocketing the lighter and walking into the darkness.

"Does that matter?" She asked, for once following him somewhere. "The holy oils? Do holy things fend of vampires?"

Van Hadeschant hesitated as he descended the ancient and crumbling staircase made of stone. "It's difficult to explain." He said.

"Try me."

"Holyness is a key part. But… It's in the eye of the beholder. A vampire is emptiness incarnate. Therein lies it's hunger. And from that hunger and lack of attachment and distraction comes it's power. But it is it's greatest weakness too. A man raised in a Christian land may fend it off with a cross. A man raised in Jewish culture may use a star of David. Or anything else he's learned. There are all manners of customs and talismans and rules one can use to fend off the vampire. And all depend on what the defender makes real. Holiness is a concept, one we strengthen ourselves. It's what we truly find value in, that repels the vampire. Exactly because a vampire can not bestow value. It can only consume. That is all it knows. I was raised, believing in the importance of sacraments. Of holy oils and crosses. Of blessed water and garlic. Of salt and stakes and decapitation. They've become my weapons because I learned to see them as such. My guess is, you coming from a similar culture, have overlapping idea's on this."

"So… whatever we value, is something we can use against the vampire?"

"Yes." He agreed. "So if you're like any other teenager, that smartphone of yours must scare the unliving hell out of it."

For a second time in less than a day's time, Wendy Corduroy found herself descending into the darkness of the forbidden tomb. Yet it's shadows, dancing in the light of her companion and herself, were no more familiar than last time.

She pictured the shrieking, horrid faces of the thralls that had awaited her down at the tomb's lowest level. No matter where she shone her light, however, she could not find a single one. She knew she should feel grateful for that much. But she couldn't shake the dreadful presence that weighed on her in the darkness. Something looming just out of reach, hidden in the shadows. Yet with every step they took, descending deeper and deeper into the void, she knew they got closer.

"You said; stay focused on the vampire?" She tried eventually, hoping to break the silence that had befallen them, before only broken by their soft but echoing footsteps. "But what of it's thralls?"

"The thralls are just an extension of the vampire. They have no will of their own, poisoned too much by the creature's control. They are mindless puppets now, but in essence nothing but a sword for the monster to wield."

"What will happen to them, after we defeat it?" She didn't dare say 'if we defeat it'.

"Without a vampire master; the thralls will return to their old selves. Of course, those that have been it's undead servants for tens or hundreds or thousands of years, will return to what they would be now. Dust. They are held together only by the willpower of this monster."

"If they don't have a will of their own, what is the point?" She asked, trailing behind the shadow-clad doctor. Her grip on the ax firm as she looked about, expecting to encounter resistance at every turn.

"Excuse me?"

"If they don't retain their own personality… Their own will… What is in it for the vampire?"

"I still do not follow?"

"You told me vampires are hunger incarnate. An emptiness hoping to consume all. But they always try to dominate people. In any flick I've ever seen, they view themselves as aristocratic lords. They see themselves above the human populace whom they view as cattle. But they wish to be acknowledged in their superiority. If you make a thrall an extension of yourself, rather than someone bound to you because you make them, then that's not dominating; that's just being. Why would vampires try to look beautiful?" She remembered the ample figured redhead in the mirror. Beautiful. And terrifying? "Why would they live in castles? Why would they even talk to humans? They always do in the movies. But if you don't look to another to measure yourself, than why keep up the pretense? Why pretend to dominate when actually, you consume?"

"Because it does not understand it cannot do both."

"Come again, dude?"

"Despite all their attempts to boast and impress, despite their veiled attempts to seem mysterious and knowing, a vampire is nothing if not simple. Dangerous. Ja. But simple."

"You have a way of not making them sound dangerous, though. You're telling me it doesn't even know a thing abot interaction? It sounds like we're fighting a toddler."

He turned. The flames trailing after the torch, illuminating and darkening his features all at once. "They are dangerous." He assured, his eyes drenched in shadows; accentuating his impressive brow. His glasses dancing like liquid gold as they reflected the flame. "This is exactly why I need you to focus. Not only it's weakness but also it's power lies in it's simplicity. Is a shark less dangerous because it can't be distracted by art? Is a wolf less dangerous because it doesn't wake up pondering societal decay? A vampire is a predator. It may have a single-track mind, but one that leads to death, despair and decay. It desires to dominate. But it aims to consume. It knows nothing of empathy. You are right, it does not know how others work. It can not comprehend it. A mind outside it's own is a foreign idea. All it knows is itself, and all it cares about is itself. It does not understand emotion, worship or individuality. Yet it craves them. It hungers for it. It will not stop, unless it is stopped because it does not understand. It can not grow through sharing itself with another. It thinks it grows by taking, not by giving. Unlike we humans understand. So it will turn everything into it's puppets and leave nothing but corruption. Nothing but itself. We're not fighting an entity, Fraulein Corduroy. We are fighting a virus with a brain."

He turned once more, now facing his back to her. The contempt in his eyes for the lowly virus was still burning bright in her recent memories. Despite his age and the faint reek of alcohol still on him and more apparent than ever in this stone cave, he showed no signs of wavering as he continued deeper into the void.

There was a distinct tugging and pulling, long before Dipper opened his eyes. Uncomfortable and accompanied by an unintelligible droning. His head hurt and his neck and shoulders felt strained. Those were the first sensations he could make out as the recollection of the past events bubbled to the surface of his wandering, beaten and cowering yet wandering, mind.

The sudden storm that had unpredictably arose. The hysteria. The panic. His sister leaving her spot in the airplane to fetch Gideon. The pilot's shouting and then… The shock alone should have been enough to make him open his eyes. And still he hesitated. It had potentially been a bad fall. And who knew what damage it would have wrecked.

Dazed and confused, he couldn't quite sense everything yet. Perhaps his legs would be broken. Perhaps he would be paralyzed. Perhaps his sister… All manner of terrible prospects arose as his grasp on reality returned without pity. And yet, to open his eyes would be to take away all doubt. His lids were the only protection he had left against those horrid possibilities.

It wasn't until he recognized some of the droning as a grunt or a moan, coming from his sister. And as his eyes took in the light around him, the world turned from blurry to sharp. From unreal to real.

Claude loomed over him, shaking both him and his sister by the shoulder with those long arms of his.

"Come on kids." He spoke in a gruff demeanor. "Dead passengers ain't exactly good on my resume."

"I'm up." He moaned, eyeing his waking sister. She looked not half as bad as he felt. A few bruises maybe, but no bones protruding from flesh. No teeth on the floor. No blood, even.

"What happened?" The Pines boy asked automatically, as he unbuckled himself.

It was a stupid question, he'd later admit. He knew damn well what had happened.

"We were crashing." Claude reaffirmed, though, turning his full attention to Mabel. "I managed to put her down on the lake though. A bit of a rough landing but..."

"Any landing you can walk away from, right?" Dipper asked. He rubbed his legs, glad to feel they felt his touch. He could even move them, he realized. "How is she?" He inquired.

"Dipper?" His sister's voice croaked warily.

"She's fine." The man blotting her out reassured. "Can you check on the blonde?" He asked. "Mind her neck. We don't know how it is. Hey kid…" He continued his last part, solely to Dipper's twin-sister. "How many fingers am I holding up?"'

Dipper turned to his side and saw that Pacifica had been slung to the other side of the chair whilst remaining buckled in. She seemed to be sleeping. If anyone could sleep in such an uncomfortable position. The young investigator left his seat and hunched over.

"Pacifica." He whispered.

Her closed eyelids twitched. Carefully he leaned in closer. His hand touched her left arm carefully.

"Pacifica." He repeated.

Her eyes appeared through two narrow slits.

"Dipper?" Her voice full of fatigue, wonder and confusion. "Is that you?"

He was so relieved the words escaped him. Instead he simply smiled.

"Am I dreaming again?" She asked. Sounding like she was about to fall into unconsciousness again.

"Uh..." Was all he could stammer, his grip on her arm tensed slightly.

"You brought the entire Sev'ral Timez ensemble too, right?" She continued, closing her eyes.

"Wait… What?" He uttered, utterly confused.

Her eyes shot open as she pulled herself up into her chair. Her former display of lethargy now fully gone, in the blink of an eye. In one fell swoop she returned to the standoffish, haughty rich girl he knew and… well liked would have been a big word, really, wouldn't it?

"I owed you for that one." She said, as if it were an explanation of sorts. He was lost for words. "See how you like it." She grunted, undoing her buckles. "How's your sister?" She asked in a less annoyed fashion, looking over, after she finished.

Claude moved out of the way, revealing a battered but steady Mabel. She lifted up her index-finger and shouted, dazedly "I am Goddess amongst mortals!" She shouted. "Immortal. Industructible. And as beautiful as I am Eternal. Fear my reign!" She sagged.

Dipper glanced over to a wide-eyed Pacifica. "She'll be fine." He answered, not impressed.

"Look." The pilot said, taking charge as he lifted Mabel from her seat.

"Wow..." The girl interrupted. "Where am I?" She clamped onto the man's shoulders as he straightened up.

"I'll get your sister out." The man continued. "There was a building nearby, we should check it out. Maybe it's got a land-line or something. And with the motor off, this plane will get mighty cold real soon. You two take care of your chubby friend over there and meet us there."He turned on his heel and moved to the other side of the plane. Even with one arm free, he managed to opend the door on the side of the plane. As the cold air greeted him, he didn't even shirk.

Dipper shivered. California was a lot warmer than this sudden, unexpected storm. And while he was glad to back in Gravity Falls, or at least in it's general vicinity, he wished he'd brought a thicker coat.

"Come on." He said, rather than complaining. As he scooted over to Gideon, he beckoned him with the boy's name.

When he'd tried a second time with an equally meager result, a fear seemed to take hold of Pacifica. "He isn't…?" She started.

Dipper spared her the need to finish. "No." He answered. "Gideon's breathing."

You could see it if you kept your cool and knew to look for it. The boy's round belly moved as the boy in- and exhaled silently.

"Gideon." He repeated, slapping the boy gently on the cheek. "Wake up man. You in there?"

The televangelist-like kid shrugged. His short arms flailed oh so slightly. And his pudgy face frowned deeply. He was mumbling something. Dipper found himself leaning closer, placing his ear next to the boy's mouth to hear what it was.

"What are you…?" Pacifica started.

But he cut her short, hushing her with his lips on his index finger.

It took him a few seconds, but he finally understood what the boy was saying.

"Just… forget..." The boy whispered feverishly. "Forget all of it… Please… For… Mabel… Forget it… Forget."

By now, Dipper was frowning too. He hadn't liked the idea of Gideon Gleeful running around with a memory-gun to begin with. Now it seemed like the worst idea possible. Carefully, as not to wake his former foe, he reached for the fat boy's inner pocket. Inside the suit he'd find that dangerous contraption. If he could take it from him and smash it on the floor, there would not be any problems. And Gideon wouldn't even be able to prove that it'd been him. The bumpy landing could have caused it; if he made it look right. But in any case, he had to get his hands on the gun first.. Pacifica was staring intently on the opposite side, unaware of what exactly was up but without a doubt feeding on the tension. He tried to move aside the fine fabric, but tugging it, with his hand on the boy's man-boob, was enough to wake him up.

"Huh… What…?" The dazed kid asked, still coming to, to his surroundings.

Dipper reacted fast, pumping his hand down on the boy's chest.

"Come on, breathe!" He shouted. "Seven. Eight." He counted, releasing the grip.

Faking CPR would either prove to be his dumbest move yet, or his greatest feat of thinking on his feet ever.

He grabbed the boy's nose and pinched it shut between his thumb and index-finger. Much to his would-be patient's dismay. By the time he moved in to perform the mouth-to-mouth, Gideon was protesting quite passionately.

Dipper was the wrong twin, after all.

Truth be told, he was most grateful Gideon had gotten his bearings in time. He'd never have lived that moment down. It was one thing to save your sister's mermaid-fling. It was quite another to lock lips with a spewer of hogwash. To put it kindly.

"What in tarnation!?" The white-haired kid protested, angrily slapping away Dipper. "What is wrong with you, boy?!" He continued to shout.

"Gideon!" Dipper feigned his exuberant glee. "You're back! You had us worried there for a second."

"Don't you ever…!" The shocked kid began. "Dipper Pines. If ever the Grimm Reaper comes a callin' for this here youngster again, and the only alternative is your kiss of life, let the angels sing me to my rest, you hear?!"

"Crystal, dude." Dipper replied, making the gesture of excellence. "You feel ready to get out of here? Claude and Mabel are outside already."

"I don't need no help from no-one." The angry kid spoke, obviously still dazed and alerted, admittedly understandably so, by the entire ordeal.

He fumbled with his seat-belt impotently. Grunting and cursing as he did so, failing to unbuckle it.

"Need some help with that?" Pacifica asked, mockingly.

If looks could kill, Pacifica would be pushing daisies by now.

Dipper seized the opportunity of distraction to press the release mechanism on Gideon's buckles. The latch released and with it, for better or for worse, Gideon was once again free to roam Gravity Falls.

"Come on." Dipper said, slinging the boy's arm around his shoulder, carrying him slightly. "It's been a rough ride, but you can lean on me."

"But… I..." Gideon fumbled, clearly wondering if this was the afterlife. What other reason would Dipper Pines have to be so kind?

"What are friends for, am I right?" The Pines-twin added cheerfully, dragging him along.

It couldn't hurt. If there was some wicked scheme brewing in Gideon's head surrounding the memory gun, a display of friendship might either deter him from it. Or on the other hand it gave the impression that Dipper was oblivious to it.

Nevertheless, as he passed her, he locked eyes with the suspicious Pacifica. Without getting caught by the white-haired kid, he aimed two fingers at his eyes first and then at the struggling con-artist.

By the look on her face, he knew she understood.

Keep an eye on this one.

When they reached the altar-room at long last, they found it still lit by the torches hanging about the circular walls. It would've been classified as mysterious and suspicious to find them all still burning as brightly as the night before, rather than burned up and cold. But Wendy had seen too much truly strange things in her short life growing up in Gravity Falls. This barely registered in comparison.

Van Hadeschant seemed impressed though. To say the least. He eyed the room, golden and shimmering in the light of the other torches. She was finally able to once more gain the lead on him, as she walked past his frozen figure.

"You okay, man?" She asked. "Yo. Is there a doctor in the house?" She continued after he failed to respond.

"Ja. Ja." He spoke, shaking his head. He sounded a little irritated.

"Something the matter?"

"Nein. It's just..." He sighed ponderously.

"Just what?"

"I told you vampires crave. Desire. They don't understand why luxury and beauty and high standing are what they are. But they crave it none the less."

"Right?" She asked, pocketing her smartphone.

"This is most undignified." He explained, raising his arms to encompass the room.

"This is not just a tomb..." He said. "This is a tomb." Something in her gaze must've betrayed her confusion. "It's not fancy enough." He explained. "I don't know why the vampire would want something like this to be it's home. It is a mess."

"Does it really matter?" She asked. She gestured for the pile of dust by the man's feet. "Try not to walk in mister thrall over there." She said, before beckoning him over. "Just take a look at this altar. Maybe you can get an idea about how to stop the vampire from this." She added, walking over to the place where she'd found Tambry. The broken mirror still hung over it. The shards still lay atop it, blotting out parts of the weird markings of the stone slab.

"Wendy." The German called.

She turned to face him. Only to find him pulling a silver cross from his bag.

"I told you." He went on. "This is a tomb."

His emphasis on the last word struck home. Slowly, she turned back to the altar. This time seeing it for what it was.

"You mean..." She asked, backing away slightly, as she pointed at the high, stone box.

She was grateful to hear his approaching voice. He pressed the cross in her free hand and she accepted it immediately.

"Ja." The man said.

She could see the wooden stake and mallet in his hands. The shoulder bag dropped to the ground. His torch abandoned at the entrance of the burial chamber, smoldering on the floor. His eyes were fixed on the same grave that held her attention.

"She's in there?" She heard herself ask dimly, hating the confusion in her own voice.

A nod.

The man's gaze flickered to the heavy broken mirror. His thick brow frowned in puzzlement.

"So what now?" She asked.

Van Hadeschant, still holding the stake and mallet, placed his hands on the corners of the heavy slab atop the shrine. "Do not let dwindle your attention. Stay focused." He ordered. "And keep that cross up."

"Right." She said, complying.

He turned his head, looking up at her. "When I open this, you do not lower that cross for anything." He warned. "Not a single thing."

"Right." She nodded.

"It will try to trick us. It will try to make us lower our guard. It may not succeed."

"I said right, alright?" She bit back, reaffirming her grip on both the cross and her ax.

"Okay." He agreed, returning his full attention to the slab.

With some grunting and a lot of effort, it began to move. The scraping sound filled the chamber. And Wendy tried to look past the darkness Van Hadeschant opened. But as he pressed it along, his body hung over the upper part of the vampire. She expected the body to jump up and tear off the man's throat. But it remained silent and still. Perhaps because she was doing such a stellar job with the cross. She liked to think so in any case.

With a final push, formidable and admirable for an old geezer his age, the slab toppled over. It' thud echoed through the depths of the tomb. When he straightened himself, Wendy could finally see more than the exquisite red and dark red, Victorian dress. She could see it's occupant. And it was not a pretty sight.

Honestly, she hadn't known what to expect inside the grave. And perhaps this was not far-fetched at all. But she really hadn't expected to find a rotting, ancient corpse.

"WTF, man?" She said, lowering the cross only slightly.

Van Hadeschant's own arm swung up to correct her error immediately. But still, the corpse had not moved an inch. It's dark brown and black arms were crossed at her waist. The pose she'd been left in was a dignified one. But whatever beauty the maid may have once had, it was long gone now. Dark holes where eyes had been. Dead hair. And she could see all of the woman's teeth. Her skin having rotted and retracted all around the eternal smile. Wendy wouldn't have believed she'd just met a vampire, if it hadn't been for the fangs.

But most telling of all was the stake already piercing it's heart. It plowed straight through fabric, bone and what must have once been skin and tissue. Straight into her chest. The top was blunted from where a hammer must have struck once, repeatedly.

Her eyes fell to the stake still in Van Hadeschant's hand. This made little sense. If the larger one, still protruding from the woman's chest, was supposed to have put her down, what had been all this business before?

"Das kann nicht sein." The doctor breathed.

"Hey…" She said, trying to brake the tension. "It's bigger than yours." She said, pointing at the wooden stake sticking the corpse.

Though she thought it funny, or at least clever, under these circumstances, it did not ignite any laughter. Nor any notable response for that matter.

"So what now?" She asked.

He grumbled. "This might require some creativity."

His hand moved for hers, without as much a glance. When it became clear he was reaching for the cross, her voice shot out. "You told me to hang onto this."

"Don't be daft, girl." He said, grabbing hold of the silver cross and tried to yank it from her grasp.

She didn't let him. His eyes, behind those gold-reflecting glasses, pierced her.

"This is no time to question the chain of command."

"You're different." She accused. "More angry. How do I know this isn't some trick?"

His gaze remained transfixed for a few seconds. Then, he smiled miserably.

"I'm not different, Fraulein." He spoke, his voice a mixture of irritation and shame. "I just have a headache and feel sick to my bones."

"The vampire?" She asked. Perhaps it was exhausting some dark spell or a wicked effect.

The man shook his head. "The hangover." He replied. "It is kicking in."

"Oh." His eyes were red-shot behind that dancing gold, she reflected. "What do you want the cross for?"

"Holding it up will be more dangerous than rummaging through my bag." He answered. "I need you to find a vial called the balm of Lysea. You'll also find an old book in a language I don't expect you to understand. Could you fetch them for me, bitte?"

Her pause and silence was telling.

"You don't trust me?" He asked.

"I don't know you." She answered. "Corduroy's didn't survive by relying on strangers."

"Fine." He answered. She couldn't tell if he was annoyed or amused. It was hard to guess with the grey fox. In any case, he let it go, sighing "Sie folgte mir hier." He spoke louder as he dropped to one knee: "Fine, then just keep that cross up."

With her cross in one hand and the axe in the other, he showed in no way the same concern she had; presenting his for any strike that may come. Her own idle pondering scared herself for a moment. Where such a dark thought had come from, she had no idea. Perhaps this cursed place or it's undead occupant was having an effect after all. Weighing the weapon in her hand, however, she knew she'd never be able to actually do such a thing.

All in all, however, she was most glad when the old gentleman rose back up, a vial in one hand and an old leathery book in the other. He pulled the cork from the small, dim, light-blue glass bottle with his teeth and continued to spit it out unceremoniously. The content was poured over the well-dressed corpse. It's fragrance more than enough to make her nose wrinkle. The bottle discarded with a blind toss.

"You don't happen to smoke, do you?"

"Uh… no." She replied.

He sighed again. Rubbing the cold sweat from his forehead he asked. "Not even the occasional joint?"

She stared at him with some confusion and a lot of hesitation. "… No?" She replied eventually, cautiously and unsure of just what the hell was going on.

"You don't have a lighter then?" He asked. He went on sighing, distracted and seemingly feeling truly sick. "Kinder in diesen Tagen ... Das ist eine Arzneimittel."

"No sorry, man."

"Ugh…I hate getting down and back up." He said, sinking down to the bag. He did look like he was about to faint. With the book in one hand he rummaged through the bag until he found a yellow box of matches. He drew out a lone bulb of garlic as well. He needed to support himself on the way up, and was obviously trying to keep the contents of his stomach from coming up themselves. He was swaying just a little and breathing heavily.

Making all manner of disapproving grunts, he opened the vampire's mouth brutishly and shoved the garlic all the way down into the cavern that was it's mouth.

"Ax." He croaked, miserably but effectively.

Though loathe to do it, his voice left no room for disobedience. It was one tired but rich in authority from fighting a losing battle. In his case; sobriety. She handed it over.

He raised it in one hand. And then thought better of his actions.

"You may want to look away." He offered, glancing at her.

But she was a Corduroy. Made from sterner stuff than your average teenager.

"I'm cool as can be."

He merely shrugged. And then, without warning, the ax swung down relentlessly. The corpse had dissolved and rotten enough for it to pass through the neck in one fell swoop. With a discontent groan, he pulled it from the stone underneath and handed it back to her.

At long last, he pulled out a match from the little yellow box. With one strike he lit it and dropped it on the corpse. The body was aflame within a second, burning brighter than any of the torches across the room.

For a few seconds, they stood there, watching the body, dress and stake being consumed by the fire. By then Van Hadeschant had opened the old book. It's pages were withered. Ancient ink on ancient paper. The language one she could not read. Nor understand as he spoke it. As the old man read from the pages, it wasn't until he got to the end that she realized he was, in fact, speaking Latin.

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen." He concluded, snapping the book shut.

"Overkill much?" She wondered out loud.

He didn't answer, but proceeded to do the first thing she could relate to, standing at the awful sight with that penetrating smell of burning oils and remains. The man turned and retched fiercely, just outside of the grave with the burning remains.

"Maybe you should not drink anymore, man. Doesn't look like you can handle the sauce." She offered.

"You don't really have much respect for your elders, do you?" He croaked, hunched over and leaning on the grave.

He pulled a handkerchief from his inner jacket-pocket and wiped his mouth.

The smell, already bad with the unholy barbeque going on, had only grown worse.

"Why is it that you 'adults' always say respect is earned?" She asked, leaning the handle of the ax on her shoulder. "Yet you seem to think you're entitled to it just by being you. I mean, if I were hungover instead of you, what would you do?"

"As a doctor..." He said, straightening himself. He still looked pretty miserable. "I'd inform you on the dangers of alcohol to your body and mind."

"You don't find that a bit hypocritical there?"

"I'm a do as I say, not as I do kind of doctor, Fraulein. Now let's get out of here and go check on your friend." He said, tossing the handkerchief to the flames. "I could do with some fresh air."

Pacifica plowed through the heavy snowfall, seeing barely a foot in front of her. In the distance, however, the blurry shape of the building mentioned by Claude loomed. She hoped it would provide comfort. The metal plane, danged up from the landing as it was, without a functional motor, would not keep them very warm. Nor could they make a call for transport in the state it was in. Rubbing her arms for warmth she made her way, following in the footprints left behind by her chauffeur. Somewhere behind her Dipper was helping along Gideon down the same path. Not through malignancy but rather through familiarity it never once crossed her mind to lift a hand herself. Besides, she was already preoccupied with her own furious thoughts. Explaining the damage to the plane to her parents would need some work, so it was best to already get started on it. Perhaps she could pay her chauffeur to go to town on the thing with a wrench and blame it on hooligans or the blizzard. The latter would, strictly speaking, not even be a lie. Rather an omission of truth, if she opted not to tell the plane had not been firmly on land when it suddenly hit.

When the building finally came into focus, it resembled a flat-topped, one story prison. It was built sturdyly but with little eye for finesse. The builder obviously had efficiency and productivity in mind, over the welfare of those that would frequent it. It wasn't a surprise, as it was a most familiar building. Her father had never concerned himself about luxury when it came to his employees.

Standing in front of the heavy, red metal door between the gray-bricked building, Claude stood shivering. He was still holding Mabel in his arms, who was either doing worse than Pacifica would've guessed or looking for warmth herself in the tall man's embrace. Knowing Mabel, it could very well be the latter in any weather.

"We should head b-back to the plane." Claude warned, his teeth clacking. "Place is closed and no-one's home." He added.

It was true. The few windows behind the heavy metal bars were shut and as dark as could be. The place had been shut down years ago.

"At least t-there it'll b-be w-warmer." Claude shivered.

"Don't lose your panties to frostbite just yet." She told him dismissively as she walked up to the heavy metal door.

The control panel at it's right was still there. She pulled the code from memory and dialed it in. The door creaked, but it opened none the less. Thank God for back-up generators.

She walked in without hesitation. Her employee was quick enough to follow.

"What is this place?" He asked, out of the wind and into the darkness.

The room they entered was vast and not well lit. She knew there were lights around here somewhere, traversing the walls, she looked for them.

"Property of my parents." She spoke bitterly. "Put down the girl and help me look for the lights." She ordered.

"But she's..." He started, sounding concerned over Mabel.

"She's only interested in your strong arms." Pacifica interrupted him.

She could see him hold her at a distance, examining her, still expecting to find her unconscious. The discomfort and confusion was easy to read on his face when she spoke.

"Heh." She said in a tone of voice that at least had the decency to sound a tad embarrassed. "It's true." The brown-haired girl admitted. Squeezing his biceps she added. "Those are quite some guns you have there, Claude." To say her voice was flirty would've been to say old man McGucket occasionally had a slight senior moment. "Have I ever told you how much I want to see Paris?" She asked, pronouncing the city's name with an admirable accent. "Beaucoup, Claude." She finished in a whisper. "Beaucoup."

He placed her down, wide eyed and fearful, in silence. In true-Mabel-fashion, the girl seemed oblivious to his dismay. Pacifica had to admit though, after the man's betrayal, it was fun to see him in such an uncomfortable position.

"Lights." She reminded him.

He seemed grateful to have something to do.

"Dipper!" Pacifica heard Mabel call her twin as she continued her search.

Apparently the last two of their group had arrived. And they sounded as surprised and captivated as her chauffeur had been.

"What is this place?" Gideon and Dipper asked in unison.

It could only have been timed better if she'd been the one to find the switch. But she'd settle for Claude proving his worth. As the light's flickered on, her companions could see the warehouse for what it was. A large, mostly empty room. Pallets and conveyor-belts were scattered everywhere amidst the complicated and dangerous-looking machinery. Metal and concrete in abundance. Stacks of white sacks and bleak lights present as well. The place looked more depressing inside than out. And that was saying something.

As she twirled around, she raised her arms dramatically, showing them the full extent of one of the Northwest's failures.

"Welcome." She hosted. "To the abandoned Northwest Salt refinery."

"Oh I remember this." Gideon said, breaking free from Dipper as he moved deeper into the room on his short, stubby legs. When he reached on of the 40 pounds bags and eyed the blue logo on top, his suspicions were confirmed. "Yeah…" He said, attempting to hold one of the bags up and failing miserably "The Northwest 'Salt-East Shaker' company." He explained.

"The very one." She admitted, joining the rest of them. "Claude." She ordered as she walked. "There's a thermostat right over there." She pointed at the far-end wall.

"Yo, pump up the heat!" Mabel threw down.

He was off quickly. Though Pacifica suspected it wasn't quite to adorn Mabel's wishes. As her peer waved him off, she leaned in to the Northwest heir and in a whispering tone asked: "Is there a miss Claude?"

Pacifica crossed her arms and felt like she should say something sarcastic. Truth was, however, she'd actually missed this. So instead of going the full mean mile, she snorted amiably. "Mabel..." She countered. "That guy is like two and a half times your age."

"I'm not hearing a no." The wild girl concluded happily.

"He's way too old for you, dingus." Pacifica smiled.

"I'll have you know I've grown up a lot since we last saw each-other face to face, Pacifica Northwest." Mabel replied putting up a mocking performance of being offended.

"That would be more convincing if you didn't have pink cat with heart-shaped sunglasses on your sweater."

"And the words 'Smooth-loving cool cat'." Mabel insisted firmly.

"So this place is your parents'?" Dipper butted in, looking about the giant room. "What happened to it?"

"It got shut down." Pacifice replied. She turned and beckoned them all to follow. "Come along dorks." She said. "There are land-lines in the offices. Maybe we can use them to call someone."

"Why did it get shut down?" Dipper continued.

"Why do you think?" She asked, leading the way. "My father heard about a salt-reservoir deep underground. These grounds were perfect for getting to it, and with a proper processing facility, he could make a fortune. So he bought the land from the original owners for little money. I suspect he... pressured them to sell. At first, the business went well, with little cash flowing in, he managed to draw a lot out. But the quality of the stuff…"

"It wasn't good?" Dipper asked, walking up next to her.

"Oh it was the greatest." Gideon professed. "I thought I'd never get to season my dishes with this stuff anymore."

From the corner of her eye she could see he'd taken two smaller bags of the stuff along with him. The same stuff that had been there, unattended, for years and had less than adequate to start with.

"The taste was fine." She admitted. "It was the true quality of stuff. My parents cut back on inspections, the machinery, health-regulations, the refining process, … Just about anything really. When a mandatory health-inspection came, however, it turned out they'd delved so deep into the reservoir that they'd started to come across a different soil. I don't remember the name, but it was actually slightly poisonous. Nothing major in small amounts, but some people eat fries with their salt, of course."

"Only the finest of American traditions." Mabel nodded knowingly.

"So they got a cease and desist, huh?" The male twin asked.

They'd gotten to a door, metal with a little frame high up. Pacifica pushed it open, revealing a circular room inside. Apart from a small walkway at the edges, the place was one and all water. It was a thick, smooth stone tub; deep and wide enough to host a fairly large pool-party. In the middle of the stone tub stood a pillar. Currently it wasn't moving but in the old days it's one, long arm would go around and around, all day long.

"What's that?" Mabel asked as they edged their way, sticking close to the walls.

"Some unique and cheap way to purify the salt in the water, or something." The blonde answered. The office lay just at the other end of this room. Despite the difficulty, it was a shortcut.

"Anyways..." Pacifica went on. "It wasn't a cease and desist." She explained. "Father realized it would just be cheaper to bribe the inspectors rather than needing to either pump more money into the refinery or give it up all together."

"I guess that means those bags are poisonous, Gideon." Dipper said as he edged along.

The fat little boy didn't seem to care however. "You heard the lady. Only in large amounts." He said. When that got a judgmental stare from the rest of them, he added, in his defense: "What? It's really good!"

"Anyways." Pacifica continued as she crossed the half-way point on the circular room. "Less salt, more poison. Even with the health-inspection turning a blind eye, it couldn't last long."

"Lawsuits?" The junior detective ventured.

She nodded. "We got sued by the dozens. Kidney-problems, hormones out-of-whack, people reportedly hearing colors, ..."

"That's awful."

"Oh no." She countered absentmindedly, focusing on not slipping into the giant, deep reservoir. "We had pretty good lawyers, they handled everything."

"That's not why it's awful!" Dipper spoke with righteous indignation. "It's… Nevermind." He sighed.

"Anyways..." She stated, matter-of-factually, as she reached a larger part of the platform near the door they'd been trying to reach. "The place became a recognized safety-hazard and production was breaking even with the lawyer's fees. Dad shut down the plant because of it." She pushed the heavy door open and lead them in. "Of course he should've torn the place down. Elongated stay here is toxic, just ask the workers. But it was cheaper to make that order disappear rather than actually going through with it. So here we are..."

And here they were. The office was not a grand one. But it would serve. Amongst the four groups of four cubicles were plenty of phones adorning the plain desks. Dust and cobwebs hung about the place, along with forgotten calenders sporting cats hanging onto trees and motivational posters only the very gullible or the very self-absorbed would fall prey to.

"Like..." She said, moving to the nearest, simple, metal desk. She reached for the phone. "When I was little I was taught to believe we were helping the town with this place. But we just robbed the natural environment of it's resources, forced the locals out of their land and poisoned everything without having to pay the consequences."

"Only the finest of American traditions." Mabel repeated herself, laying it on thick this time.

"Well… Maybe I'm paying for it now." Pacifica said. The phone, pressed to her ear, was as dead as could be. "It's not working." She complained, hanging it up.

She could feel the irritation well up inside her.

"It's going to be okay." Dipper offered gently, placing his hands in his pockets. "At least we're warm." She couldn't tell if he genuinely wasn't worried, or was simply putting up a convincing act. "We can wait out the blizzard in here, whilst we continue to build up enough poison until we can hear colors." He added, lightheartedly, in his cracking voice.

"Or..." Claude spoke. His unexpected return was enough to give her a fright. Though she tried to compose herself thereafter soon enough. Her chauffeur closed the door they'd come in through as he continued. "We could walk to where I parked the limo. It's not that far off, definitely walking distance. I can have the snow-plow on it in no-time." He added. "We'll be back in town in no-time."

"Walking through that blizzard is insanity." Gideon objected, sounding cross. "And my atire's taken plenty a' poundin' already, might I remind you. If ya'll think I'm going through that one more time, ya'll are more deluded than a tourist at the Mystery Shack."

"What blizzard?" The chauffeur asked, indicating them to listen with his index-finger.

There was nothing to hear. No howling of the wind. No pounding of the snowfall. High up, the greasy, dark windows didn't permit them to look out easily. But Pacifica bet that if she could, she would find that the blizzard had stopped.

"Finally, some good luck." Mabel spoke cheerfully.

Van Hadeschant looked like crap. But still… The clear and fresh air seemed to be agreeing with him, Wendy reflected. He drank it greedily, filling his lungs with them as much as he could. She had to admit, she was glad to be out of that hell-hole too. Entering it twice had been about two times too many.

Despite the storm and snowfall having ceased, it was still freezing out there. Yet the leaning man, back against the stone entrance to the tomb, was sweating like a pig. He seemed feverish and shivered something fierce.

"You going to be okay?" She asked, confronted with his appearance all the more in, relatively, bright daylight.

He smiled with his red face and pointed upward. "No more snowstorm." He said. And added "Sunlight."

He was right. From between the thick, but dispersing, clouds a few lonely columns of sunlight graced the earth below.

And it wasn't that she wasn't grateful.

But… "You going to be okay?" She pressed again.

He waved it off brusquely. She had to admit, she enjoyed the buzzed Van Hadeschant over this one. Perhaps the man did too, and that was like to be the problem of it all. It could have been a manner of bad timing, and his stupor having been a one-off thing. A binge on a night he hadn't expected to work. But in the composed manner he'd handled himself last night, she could read the signs. She'd seen them before. The man had come to a point already in which he needed a drink or two to function properly. He'd spent so much time intoxicated that he'd learned to present himself well when being in that state. She, however, also knew of the phase that would come if such daily abuse continued. And him being a doctor, he probably did too.

Either way, he didn't seem concerned about it now; more focused on the agony he faced at the moment. He pushed himself off the stone wall and, dragging the heavy bag along, walked into the woods.

She followed suit. "I thought you said the real vampire wouldn't go down quite that easily?" She asked, absent-mindedly studying the silver cross still in her hand.

"I assure you…" He said. "No one's ever been more glad to be wrong than me." He slung the bag over his shoulder and added. "Though we should remain vigilant for now."

She concurred, sliding the handle of her ax beneath her belt. She knew she should return it, and she would, but it could wait until they were certain all danger had come and gone.

"You think Tambry is fine now?" She asked.

He pondered that for a second, as they traversed the snow and roots in silence. "Hm." He spoke eventually. "She might still be weak. But I'm hopeful. If the vampire's hold over her is broken, she should make a full recovery." She could tell he was trying to be comforting.

But she remained doubtful as she ploughed through to the town. Wendy would never have denied she could at times be a bit of a slacker. Knowledge of one's self was an honest and useful trait, after all. But, for once, she couldn't help but shake the feeling that all of this had been a bit too easy.

The eternal sensation remained present. Hunger. Her eternal companion. The need to feed fueled her. It was always there; her bedrock. Inescapable. Fated. Destined.

It could never be blotted out. Not a need that great. Not a desire that encompassing. There was no escaping it. There was no denying it. There was no ignoring it. Hunger was her very being.

And yet, something long forgotten had now resurfaced. It could never take that need's place. But for the moment, in it's challenge, it seemed like it could. It was burning with a passion she'd not felt in ages. Anger. Rage. Fury. The names returned with the experience. And for the briefest of moments in her existence, it drove her.

They'd desecrated everything. They respected nothing. They faced something greater than themselves and did not recognize their own puniness?! How dare they? Their existence was futile. Their lives an insult to what truly mattered. Her. All there ever was, was Her.

The memory of indignation was strong. It fed her. It made her strong. For the longest of time she'd longed for no more than to feed on prey. But now it was different. She had adversaries. Enemies. Feeling her fury grow stronger and stronger still, like a raging storm, she knew they'd fall like any other of the lesser beings that had ever crossed her path. But not to feed. No. Simply to destroy. To annihilate. To right the affront they'd committed. To quench this entirely new form of desire.

All she needed would come. And all would be settled. All would be made whole. As long as she held onto that hunger and rage. As long as she kept the memory.