Step by agonizing step, Godric moved through the castle corridors, weaving silently among his fellow students. Their eyes followed him as he passed—some filled with visible sympathy, others with detached indifference. His story had become the subject of idle conversation throughout Excalibur. In the library, over supper in the Great Hall, or whispered among the secretive members of The Congregation, the tale of the Lion of Ignis and his duel with Volg Dryfus lingered as a topic of intrigue and debate.
Yet, what most avoided discussing was the aftermath—the true weight of the story. They knew Raine had left for the Howling Mountains, rumored to be her ancestral home before her capture by slavers. Some speculated that Godric and Raine had parted ways after a falling-out, creating theories to fill in the gaps. But the few who knew the truth shared in his sorrow, their hearts heavy for him. And then there were the handful who understood the full extent of what had happened that fateful night at the pavilion by the lake—those who knew of Bran's actions. For them, the whispers cut deeper.
As Godric walked, he could hear the low murmurs trailing behind him, voices rising and falling in faint, indecipherable tones. Though he couldn't make out the words, he didn't need to. He knew. He was the subject of their conversations, their debates, their pity. A bitter scoff escaped him as he turned a corner, heading toward the older, quieter parts of the castle—the same forgotten hallways where he had once found Raine in the derelict bathroom so many moons ago.
The halls here were different. Scarce. Almost desolate. The only sound was the soft whisper of the winter wind slipping through the cracks in the stone walls and windows. Godric stopped, his gaze falling on the door to the abandoned bathroom. For a moment, his chest tightened, the memory of that day flashing in his mind. The weight in his heart grew heavier. He closed his eyes and shook his head, forcing himself to press on.
He didn't make it far before he stopped again, his attention drawn to a door left slightly ajar. His brow furrowed as he glanced around, finding no one else nearby. His curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped closer, cautiously pushing the door open.
The faint glow of crystal lamps flickered to life, illuminating the small room beyond. It was no larger than his dorm, its air thick with the musty scent of age and disuse. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with faded boxes draped in tattered tarps. Old books sat in disarray, their spines cracked and covered in a thick layer of dust. Phials, beakers, and mechanical parts lay scattered across the room, forgotten relics of an era long past. Next to it sat a box filled with dyes and paints in a variety of colors, though the majority were long dried, cracked, or reduced to empty containers. Only a few remained usable, their vibrant hues dulled with age.
Godric took a step inside, his boots stirring the dust beneath him. It was clear that no one had set foot here in years. Letting out a quiet sigh, he turned to leave. But as he reached for the door, a faint whisper brushed past his ear, barely audible yet unmistakable.
His eyes widened, and he froze in place. Slowly, he turned back toward the room, his gaze scanning its shadowed corners until it landed on something large, hidden beneath a thick leather tarp.
His brow furrowed as he stepped closer, a strange feeling twisting in his gut. He set his bag on the table and moved cautiously toward the covered object. His fingers curled around the edges of the tarp, and with one swift motion, he pulled it free.
Before him stood a tall mirror, its ornate frame tarnished with age but still exuding a regal elegance. The frame, carved from aged wood, bore an intricate design of twisting vines and curling motifs that once radiated grandeur but now seemed worn and earthly. His gaze drifted over the gothic script etched into the frame, the letters curling and sharp, spelling out: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. Godric's lips moved silently as he mouthed the words, his brow furrowing in confusion. It made no sense. To him, it was nothing more than gibberish.
The mirror's surface shimmered faintly in the lamplight, but unlike a typical mirror, it wasn't clear. Instead, it appeared hazy, as though fogged over, murky with an unnatural depth that seemed to ripple faintly under his gaze. Godric's reflection stared back at him, but something about it made his skin prickle. A faint unease crept down his spine, his instincts whispering that there was more to this mirror than met the eye.
Then, the surface shifted.
A shadow began to take form within the depths of the glass, slowly fading into view as though stepping out from a fog. Godric's breath hitched, his crimson eyes widening in disbelief. He froze as the figure came into focus, and there she was.
Raine.
Her long, snow-white hair cascaded over her shoulders, glowing faintly as though catching an unseen light. Her golden eyes shimmered, warm and familiar, as her soft smile tugged at his heart. Her wolfen tail wagged gently behind her, a subtle movement that struck Godric like a dagger of longing. She was just as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on her.
Godric's lips quivered as the disbelief gripped him. His heart pounded in his chest. He turned around abruptly, expecting—hoping—to find her standing behind him, but the room was empty. Nothing but shadows and silence greeted him.
"What… what is this?" he whispered. "What's going on?"
His gaze snapped back to the mirror; his breath unsteady as he stepped closer. "Raine?" he said. "Is that really…?"
The figure in the mirror smiled. She lifted a hand, pressing it gently against the mirror's surface. Godric's chest tightened as his own trembling hand rose instinctively, mirroring hers. When his palm met the cold surface of the glass, aligning with hers, something inside him broke.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a small, fragile smile touched his lips. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks as a sob escaped him. He gritted his teeth, his body trembling under the weight of his emotions.
"I miss you…" he whispered. "I miss you so much…"
His tears flowed freely as he pressed his forehead against the cold glass, the image of Raine unwavering, her golden eyes gazing back at him with a tenderness that pierced his very soul. "I'm so sorry, Raine," he choked out.
In his mind, her voice echoed softly, a melody of comfort that he thought he'd never hear again. "None of that matters now, my love. What matters is that I'm here now. No one will ever tear us apart again."
Godric wiped the tears from his eyes with trembling hands. He straightened slightly, his reflection merging with hers as though they were one. A small, warm smile broke through the storm of his emotions, fragile yet genuine.
"Yes, my darling," he whispered, filled with a desperate hope. "No one ever will."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to believe in those words, even if only for a fleeting moment.
****
"Ugh, I can't believe it's only been three weeks since the start of the new term, and already Professor Eridan is drowning us with homework," Helga groaned, laying her head dramatically on the long dining table. "If I have to spend another day researching Vanishing Spells, I might just vanish myself."
"I actually find the Evanesco Charm rather fascinating," Rowena replied, cutting into her steak with precision. She lifted a piece to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. "It's simple in theory but surprisingly challenging to master."
"And quite useful for hiding certain… questionable items from the needlessly prying eyes of the Prefects," Salazar said with a smirk, dipping a piece of fish into tartar sauce.
"Ooh, I like the way you think, Salazar," Helga said with a grin.
"For goodness' sake," Rowena muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Magic is meant for far more than tools of mischief, you know."
"But it certainly doesn't hurt," Salazar quipped, his emerald gaze suddenly catching sight of Godric approaching. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly at the faint smile on Godric's face. "Curious," he murmured to himself.
"Hey, everyone," Godric greeted, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.
"Godric!" Helga said warmly, sitting up straighter. "You're looking… better."
"To be honest, I do feel better," Godric replied, a small smile gracing his face despite the dark rings still shadowing his eyes. "I guess you could say I've found something to help take my mind off things."
"That's great to hear, Godric," Rowena said. "Come on, sit with us. You must be starving."
Godric shook his head lightly. "Thanks, but I've got… somewhere else to be." He reached out and grabbed a piece of bread from the basket, giving them a quick smile before turning toward the entrance. "I'll catch up with you later, alright?"
The three friends watched as Godric walked off, his stride brisk, leaving the Great Hall with a sense of purpose.
"Hmm," Rowena murmured, her brows furrowing as she watched him disappear through the doors. "Is it just me, or is something going on with him?"
"For once, you and I are in agreement," Salazar said, leaning back in his seat and intertwining his fingers. His expression was pensive, his green eyes narrowed. "Something feels… off. I don't care how strong we think Godric is—no one goes from the depths of despair to a spring in their step in a fortnight. Not without reason."
"Oh, come on, you two," Helga said, trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe we should give him the benefit of the doubt. After everything, we need to believe in him. That he's finding a way through this."
Salazar sighed. "I want to believe that too, Helga, truly. But what concerns me is how he's coping. If he's found… something to dull the pain."
Rowena's head snapped toward him; her sapphire eyes wide. "You don't mean… you're not suggesting that Godric is…"
"I'm not accusing him of anything," Salazar clarified. "But we've all seen what desperation can do to even the strongest of people. And we've all heard the rumors about Shimmer… particularly Swallow."
His emerald gaze darkened as he continued. "They say it gives a fleeting sense of euphoria—recreationally, it's used for an exciting night out, a quick escape. But for someone grieving, someone drowning in their own despair, it a fleeting promise of peace."
He shrugged slightly, though the gesture carried no hint of ease. "But like all drugs, it's a deceiver. A cruel, seductive lie. It doesn't heal; it only masks the pain—temporarily. It's a crutch that clings to you, and the moment you try to stand without it, you crumble. And in the end, it doesn't just leave destruction in its wake—it leaves you more than hollow. A shadow of the person you once were."
Salazar leaned forward, his emerald eyes sharp and unrelenting. "I know Godric. He's not the sort to willingly seek out something like that. But when a man is at his lowest…" He trailed off deliberately, his words heavy with implication. "Who's to say what he's capable of? Just ask Volg."
At the mention of Volg, Rowena's expression tightened, a flicker of unease crossing her face. She let out a slow, measured breath, her sapphire gaze drifting toward the door through which Godric had disappeared moments earlier.
"I hope you're wrong, Salazar," she said softly.
"So do I," Salazar replied.
"Well," Helga said gently, her amber eyes softening as she folded her arms on the table. "There's no use jumping to conclusions based on assumptions. Maybe someone should check on him."
Salazar's lips curled into a small, knowing smirk. "Leave that to me," he said, rising from his seat and brushing off his robes. "Whatever our wayward lion is up to, I'll get to the bottom of it."
****
"And so," Godric said, grinning as he recounted the tale, "Salazar came back with an empty bucket, all huffy and cross, and told me the cow was defective—that it wouldn't give him milk no matter how hard he tried." He stifled a laugh. "I took one look at the cow, gave him a look, and said, 'Salazar, that's a bull.'" He burst out laughing, slapping his knee. "Oh, the look on his face! Priceless."
Back in the quiet storeroom, Godric sat on the dusty floor, his back pressed against the cool surface of the mirror. Behind him, the image of Raine appeared, her figure facing away from him as if mirroring his posture. Her laughter joined his, light and melodic, as she glanced over her shoulder, her golden eyes glowing with warmth. Her wolfen ears twitched with delight, and her tail swayed softly as a smile graced her lips.
"Sounds like you and Salazar had quite the adventure back in your town," her voice echoed gently in his mind. "I'm glad you got to share those moments with him. You always said how beautiful your home was."
"I did, didn't I?" Godric replied as he leaned his head back, gazing upward. "Funny, I've only been away for half a year, and it already feels like a lifetime. It was great seeing my Uncle Gareth again… and Wendy." He let out a deep sigh, his lips curling into a bittersweet smile. "To think she's already married and a mother, no less. I'm so happy for her, truly. Her husband is a good man, a good friend."
Raine's ears drooped slightly, her expression tinged with sadness. "I only wish I could have been there with you," her voice murmured in his thoughts. "I would have loved to meet your Uncle Gareth… to see your home."
Godric shifted slightly, turning onto his haunches to face her reflection in the mirror. His crimson eyes softened as he spoke. "Hey," he began, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "There's still a long way to go before the school year ends. But when summer comes… how about we go back to Dark's Hollow together?"
Leaning forward, he pressed his hand against the cool surface of the glass, his forehead resting gently against it. The shimmer of the mirror seemed to pulse faintly, as though alive with her presence. "What do you say?" he whispered.
Raine's reflection smiled, her golden eyes meeting his. She mirrored his motion, pressing her forehead to the other side of the glass, her hand meeting his. "I'd like that very much, my love," she whispered.
Godric's gaze softened. "I love you, Raine," he said, his hand firm against the mirror. "Always."
It was then he heard the faint creak of the door opening behind him. "Godric?" came a familiar voice as Salazar stepped into the room. Godric turned, his breath hitching slightly at the sight of his friend. Shock and surprise flickered across his face as he quickly stood up.
"Salazar… w-what are you doing here?" he asked. "How did you even know I was in here?"
"I didn't," Salazar replied, his emerald eyes scanning the dimly lit room. "I was merely passing by and heard your voice." His gaze shifted toward the mirror behind Godric. "Were you… talking to someone?"
Godric shrugged. "Well, yes. It's Raine—she's here." He stepped aside, gesturing to the mirror with a faint smile. "She's right here, with me."
Salazar's eyes widened slightly, his expression shifting into one of sympathy. He stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Godric's shoulder. "My dear friend," he said softly. "Raine is gone. You have to accept that."
Godric's brow furrowed. "I'm telling you, Salazar, she's here! Come on, I'll show you." He stepped aside, gesturing eagerly to the mirror. "Go on, look. She's right there."
Salazar hesitated, his brows knitting together as he approached the mirror. He leaned closer, gazing into its surface with a skeptical expression. "Godric… I only see us. There's no one else."
Godric's frustration flared. "You're not looking properly!" He took Salazar by the arm, guiding him closer to the mirror. "Stand here. Look again." He trembled with desperation. "She's right there. You'll see her."
Salazar's expression remained skeptical as he fixed his gaze on the mirror once more. His eyes suddenly widened, his features softening into a mix of awe and intrigue. "By the old Gods…" he murmured, his. "Is that… me?"
Godric blinked, caught off guard. "What? No, it's Raine."
Salazar's emerald eyes remained locked on his reflection. "I see myself… but not as I am now." A faint smirk formed on his lips. "I look different—more regal. Posh. Absolutely brimming with power and authority. A lord, perhaps. Or… something even greater."
"What?" Godric's confusion deepened. "Salazar, what are you saying? She's right there. How can you not see her?"
Salazar turned to him; his gaze sharp yet tinged with understanding. "I don't know what you're seeing, Godric, but the only thing I see…" He trailed off as realization dawned, his expression shifting to one of clarity. He shook his head as if to clear away lingering thoughts. "Now it makes sense. Your smile. The lighter air about you. This explains everything."
Godric's eyes narrowed, his frustration boiling over. "Salazar, what are you going on about?"
Salazar stepped back, his hand falling to his side, his expression grave. "This isn't just a mirror," he said. "It's an artifact. An object of immense power." He turned his piercing gaze to Godric. "Whatever you've been seeing, Godric, it's not real. It's a projection—a reflection of what your heart desires most."
Godric's face crumpled, his heart sinking like a stone. "No…" he whispered as he shook his head. "No, you're wrong. She is here. I felt her… I spoke to her…"
Salazar's eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth tightening as he stepped forward again. "I suspected something was amiss, but this…" He gestured sharply toward the mirror. "This is far worse than I thought. You must stop, my friend. It's feeding off your grief, showing you a dream—a cruel illusion. Not reality."
Godric's crimson eyes burned with desperation, flicking back to the mirror. "You don't understand," he said. "It's not just a dream. I felt her! I saw her smile. I heard her voice… it was real!"
"No, Godric, it wasn't." Salazar's tone softened. "This mirror is dangerous. It doesn't heal—it ensnares. It shows you what you crave most, but it's not the truth. It's a trap, one that will consume you if you let it."
He then placed a firm hand on Godric's shoulder, his emerald gaze steady and resolute. "You need to let it go," he said softly, pausing before his next words fell heavier. "You need to let her go."
Godric screwed his eyes shut, his jaw tightening as if trying to block out the words. When he looked back up at Salazar, his crimson eyes were hard, dangerous. "No," he said bluntly. "No, I won't."
"Godric, please," Salazar urged. But before he could say more, Godric shoved him away with unexpected force. Salazar stumbled back but caught his footing just in time, his emerald eyes widening as the sound of a blade being unsheathed cut through the air.
The gleaming sword was in Godric's hands, its sharp edge leveled at Salazar. Instinctively, Salazar raised his hands in surrender, his movements slow and deliberate.
"I won't let you take her from me!" Godric snarled, his teeth bared in a feral display. "I've already lost her once—I won't lose her again!"
"Easy…" Salazar said calmly. Slowly, he raised his arm, the golden pendant dangling from his wrist catching the faint light. The ruby-like stone encased within shimmered, its blood-red core glinting like a faint heartbeat. "Remember that hill, Godric? The day we swore a Blood Oath?"
Salazar's words grew quieter yet carried an undeniable weight. "We're Parabatai. We're brothers, bound by blood. Your life is my life. Your pain is my pain. And I won't let you do this to yourself. I won't stand by and watch you fall into an abyss you have no intention of returning from."
Godric's grip tightened on the hilt of the sword. Salazar held his gaze unwaveringly. "So, I'll ask you again—turn back, Godric. Turn back now, while you still can."
For a moment, Godric's crimson eyes flickered, the faintest hint of conflict breaking through the storm of his fury. But then he straightened, his jaw set. "I think it's time for you to leave, Salazar," he said coldly, the sword still pointed in his friend's direction.
Salazar exhaled heavily; a breath weighed with regret. "Very well," he said, lowering his hands. He took a step toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "But this isn't over, Godric," he said quietly. Then, with one last lingering glance, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
The room fell silent as Godric lowered his sword, his shoulders trembling. The mirror shimmered faintly, and the image of Raine reappeared, her golden eyes brimming with concern. "Godric, are you alright?"
"It's nothing, my love," he murmured, sliding the sword back into its sheath. He placed his hand against the mirror's surface. "I'm sorry. I hope I didn't scare you."
Raine shook her head. "No… if anything, I should be the one apologizing," she said, her wolfen ears drooping slightly. "I hate seeing you fight with your friends. Don't blame Salazar—he's only trying to help."
Godric's eyes softened, though sadness lingered in them. "I know," he said quietly. "But don't worry. In time, he'll understand." His lips curved into a faint, almost fragile smile. "I'm happy here, with you, my darling. I could let the world pass me by, as long as you're with me."
Raine smiled gently, her golden eyes warm. "I love you, my brave lion," she whispered.
Godric leaned closer, pressing his forehead against the glass. His lips brushed against the cool surface as he whispered, "I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."
****
Outside the door, Salazar drew a sharp breath, his chest tightening with a mix of sorrow and smoldering frustration. He had clung to the hope that Godric would find the strength to weather this storm, to claw his way back from the black. But now, all he saw was a path paved with ruin, a road to self-destruction. His jaw tightened as he tried to steady himself, but the weight of it all pressed down on him.
It was then he felt a familiar sensation—a cool, smooth slither winding its way up his leg, curling around his torso before settling on his shoulder. His serpent, Nirah, scales as pale as the frost blanketing the castle grounds, raised her elegant head, her forked tongue flicking in the air.
"I suppose I owe you both my gratitude and my apologies," Salazar muttered bitterly, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "For finding him… and for doubting you."
Nirah hissed softly, her tone low and urgent, her body coiling slightly as if in agitation.
"Now?" Salazar repeated. He shrugged, his gaze falling to the floor. "I can't do this alone, Nirah. But I can't bring the girls into this either… I can't let them see him like this. It would break them."
Nirah hissed again, this time with a sharper edge, her head swaying as her silver eyes bore into him.
Salazar's eyes widened slightly. "I don't know…" he murmured. He swallowed hard, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. "I don't want him to hate me for it. Despite everything, he's still my friend…" His gaze dropped to the pendant around his wrist. "My brother."
Nirah hissed once more, insistent yet measured. Her presence seemed to ground him, her resolve a mirror of the inner strength he was trying to summon. Salazar closed his eyes, drawing in a long, steadying breath before exhaling.
"I suppose you're right, my dear," he finally said. His emerald eyes shifted to the window, where snow drifted softly beyond the frosted glass, the serene scene a stark contrast to the turmoil within him. "May Godric forgive me for what I'm about to do."
****
Godric whistled as he made his way through the dimly lit corridors, his body swaying slightly with an unusual lightness, a spring in his step and a smile tugging at his lips. His whistles soon turned into a quiet hum, his heart thrumming with anticipation. He had been waiting all day for this moment—counting down the hours, the minutes—every tedious second dragging endlessly. Never had Professor Agatha's lesson on transfiguring a cat into a cauldron felt so insufferably dull.
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he recalled Salazar's unmistakable scowl during class, his arms crossed in silent protest. If sheer contempt could transfigure objects, that cat would have turned into a cauldron in the first five minutes.
Reaching the storage room, he pressed his hand against the door and pushed it open. "Hey, my love, sorry I'm late," he said as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. "It's been a long bloody—"
His voice caught in his throat. His entire body froze mid-step.
Headmaster Blaise stood in the center of the room.
The older man watched him with an expression that wavered between stern resolve and quiet sorrow, his hands clasped before him.
Godric's stomach twisted, his heart slamming against his ribs.
His gaze darted around the room, his breath hitching. The shelves, the crates, the dim lamplight—it was all the same. But something was missing.
Something important.
The mirror.
It was gone.
Panic flooded his chest, surging through his veins like fire. His breath quickened, coming in short, uneven gasps. His crimson eyes snapped back to Blaise, wild with desperation.
"What…" The words barely scraped past his lips. "Where…" He took a staggering step forward.
"Calm yourself, lad," Blaise raised his hands in a placating gesture.
"Where is it?" Godric whispered, his breath shallow, his muscles taut with tension as his hands curled into trembling fists. "Where is it?" His entire body trembled, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.
He looked back at Blaise, his expression twisting into something raw and furious. "Where is she?!" he roared. "Where did you take her?!"
The grief—the hollowness—inside him cracked wide open, spilling out in a desperate, consuming rage. His hand shot back to the hilt of his sword, his fingers curling around the royal-blue grip. He didn't think—he couldn't think. Every fiber of his being screamed to fight, to take back what was stolen.
But the moment he moved; his body locked in place. An invisible force clamped down on him, stiffening every muscle, freezing him mid-motion. His breath hitched. He couldn't move. His eyes flicked to the side. Professor Serfence stood in the corner, his wand raised, its tip glowing with a soft blue hue.
A body-bind curse.
The boy's his fingers twitched uselessly upon the hilt of his sword, locked in place by the curse. His mind screamed, every instinct demanding he move, fight, draw his sword, do something—anything—but his body refused to obey.
Blaise sighed heavily, stepping closer. His blue eyes softened—but only slightly.
"Godric, my boy," he said. "I am sorry it's come to this. I truly am."
Godric's breath tore from his lungs in ragged bursts.
"Now, Professor Serfence is going to release you," he continued, "but I need your word that we will have a peaceful conversation. No shouting. No threats. No swords." He met Godric's gaze firmly. "We will talk, lad. But only if you let me."
He leaned in slightly, his presence unwavering. "Blink twice if you understand."
His eyes darted to Blaise, burning with betrayal, then to Serfence, standing impassively with his wand still raised, the soft glow at its tip unwavering. The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of the crystal lamps overhead. Blaise exhaled slowly, the breath heavy with something unspoken. His gaze softened, though the steel beneath it remained unyielding.
"I know you're angry. I know you're hurting. And you have every right to be." He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "But all will be explained in time." His piercing blue eyes held Godric's, searching, imploring.
"Now," he continued. "Do we have an agreement?"
Godric's jaw clenched—but there was no winning here. Not like this. Not with Serfence's wand still trained on him, not with Blaise standing firm between him and the only thing that had kept him breathing these past weeks.
Slowly, stiffly, he forced himself to blink. Once. Twice.
Blaise nodded. "Release him, Edward."
Serfence flicked his wand, and the spell lifted in an instant.
Godric staggered as the spell released him, his limbs jolting back to life with a sharp, almost painful shudder. His knees threatened to buckle, but he caught himself just in time, bracing against the sudden rush of sensation. He felt their eyes on him—Blaise, Serfence, the weight of their silent observation pressing down like a vice. But he didn't look up.
He couldn't.
His chest ached, not with exhaustion but with something far worse—something suffocating, threatening to crush him from the inside. His pulse pounded in his ears, a deafening drumbeat against the emptiness that had hollowed him out. His vision blurred. Not from exhaustion, not from the strain of the magic that had just held him in place, but from the tears burning at the edges of his eyes, threatening to spill.
The mirror was gone.
She was gone.
Godric entire body trembled with restrained fury. His grip on the hilt of his sword was white-knuckled, but he forced himself—willed himself—not to draw it.
"Where. Is. She?"