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She'd been someplace grassy when she'd gotten dizzy and gone blank. There was no grass now. Jada must have fallen; Her cheek was pressed to grit and dirt, her mouth dry. She swallowed, pushed herself up from the ground. Opened her eyes to light. It burned, and she closed them on reflex. Her lips felt like they had been sandpapered. Opening the purple orbs again, she realized that they possibly had been. Light was shimmering off of an expanse of sand, and little else. The sun was low in the sky. Slowly, Jada pushed herself to her feet. She'd been going towards the Art Gallery downtown, planning on finding something for one of her Humanities papers, when she'd suddenly just felt... tired and the world had gone black. Now Sailor Scylla was pushing herself from sand, brushing grains from the folds of her skirt. The grains glittered like silver stars against the material of her skirt, the small pieces that were lightly embedded in her skin hot and painful.

Thirsty. She was thirsty. Her eyes felt gritty. She spun in a circle, trying to see what she could see. No trees. No birds. No water. Only dunes of molten silver. How long did she stand there, staring around before she picked a direction in which to go? What instinct chose her direction for her? She didn't know. She had no way of doing. The sun set in the west, even in the desert. It always set in the west. Would night come? It was so hot. She was so thirsty, her parched throat swallowing grit as she tried to summon a mouthful of spit. Scylla started moving, wandering across the sand with a stumble. Better to die moving than still.

And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less -
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

Dear Lord, what was she doing in a desert? How did she get to such a godforsaken wasteland from the little town that she had always known? If it were a ransom, there would be people around, not just earth and sun. Her feet wouldn't lift off of the sand, and her hair was limp, clinging to the back of her neck. Even her skirt seemed to have no volume, clinging to her legs limp and flat. Her heels stuck in the sand, and she took them off, placing a bare foot on the sand. It burned the soft skin until she put the shoes back on. Limp. Limp. Everything limp. She coughed softly, the effort almost hurting her dry throat. Where was she? Where was anyone else? Inside her, a great wail rose, spilling from her throat as a broken gurgle. She walked towards the illusion of something, following the fading light in the sky, or what she assumed was a fading.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars - on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

She'd been underground. She'd had a torch in hand. Raite, Howl, Boreas; they had all been with her.

Maybe she had died? The world had gone dark, and there had been nothing.

Nothing until she heard the sound of strings. Strings? That was... Brahms? Her eyes were so heavy though, and she stayed there, listening to it. Her limbs were heavy; she had a pain n her arm reminiscent of the IV she'd had to wear when she was in the hospital. And her ear ached; that was the source of the noise. The sound of beeping broke in over the sound of the noise in her ear; A soft, small hand touched her own, moving it, and her bed shifted as someone got in the bed with her. The air smelled like sanitizer and astringent; there was no denying it. She was back in the hospital.

Calling, doctors? Her thoughts were fragmented. She moaned, twitched; her ears hurt. And then the music was gone, the sound of panicked orders from the bed next to her filling her ears until another voice pierced the veil. “Jayj?” Zora's voice was small, frightened. “Jayj, are you there?”

She opened her mouth to speak; her mouth was filled with cotton. Still, it was a force of will that pried her eyes open to stare into a matching pair of bright purple. “Zora.” It was mouthed, her voice failing her.

“One moment.” Zora glanced at the next bed, then tugged a bottle of water off of the small table between hospital beds, opening the bottle. Jada was laying in the bed; she wouldn't be able to push her up, so the teenager poured a cap full of the Fiji liquid and held it to the other young woman's open mouth. Jada tried to be careful, but it was difficult when you seemed to have... little control over your own body. “You missed your birthday.” Zora told her sister conversationally. “You're 18. Congratulations.” She'd missed her birthday? What about her presents? And the party? And graduation- not that that part was important. What about prom, and her beautiful dress she'd planned?

What about...

What had happened while she'd been...?

“A bunch of people all got knocked out at once. The entire city has been shut down. No one had prom.” Leave it to dear little Zora. “People all just started waking up or dying though... a couple days ago.” After the first had died. Zora hadn't been here when it happened. And after... it had been terrible. The last days had been terrifying for the redhead; would Jada wake up? Or would she just stop, like so many of these others? Would some of her last memories of her sister alive be the memories of that terrible night, when Zora had committed the sin, and Jada had suffered for it? “That woman who gave birth to us didn't care to try and call.” After the first week, Szelem had become unreachable. “Kayley called a few times. Lucas and Daddy will want to know you are awake.” The child started to pull out her I-Phone and then froze, glancing at the next bed.

The beeping stopped, and a sobbing cry rose up from the mouth of the woman who had been Zora's occasional lunch partner as her husband was one who slipped away. And then a nurse was bending over Jada, beaming. It was a plastic smile. It was brittle. The teenager in the bed didn't smile back. “Well, good morning.”

“Morning.” The word came out with effort; Jada didn't say anything else.

“Lets help you sit up, shall we?” Silently, with a familiarity that told Jada this particular gesture had been done before, the woman shooed Zora away and the girl slipped over her body. Pillows were stuffed under her back; Zora was lifting her? Like a child, and it was disconcerting until Jada was able to look down at herself. Weight lost. The plump curves of her healthy body had given way to skin that was almost translucent covering almost skeletally thin arms. Perhaps the way she saw herself was overly dramatic in nature; every person had their own way of viewing themselves. She'd been skinnier than normal after her last hospital release, but this was...

Something in her eyes must have given away the thoughts that were not able to spill from her lips. “You lost a little weight, Jada, but that's okay.” the woman reassured her. “You're still healthy. It is just a little strange, I'm sure.”

“Thirsty.” She said it finally; Zora handed her the open bottle of water. Jada reached out for it, finding it oddly queer that her arm wasn't gloved in sand-covered white; However long she'd been in that... place... it had felt like forever to her. Her skin was unburned, she was not dehydrated. Slowly, the hand trembling, she lifted the bottle to her mouth and drank.

The water was delicious, and it was cold; the cold was a shock of clarity to her bewildered mind. “When may I leave?” It took a few hours; they checked her vitals and her responses. They did... well, whatever it was that doctors did, before decreeing they wanted to keep her overnight but no longer.

Zora pushed her through the ward in a wheelchair after the nurses conceded. “Just stay out of the way of people who are trying to work.” Such common sense; many beds were emptying, but none had been fully cleaned up. Names she recognized. People she recognized. Audrey's mother and father were lying still in a bed. Jada pointed them out to Zora, had her push the chair close enough for Jada's warming hand to be pressed to their bland, still ones. She stayed at their side for a few minuted before continuing on.

Classmates.

Friends.

Strangers.

Young people, old people. Children. Parents.

Marlo? Jada blinked at the boy lying still in the bed. There was a woman near him, so she didn't approach. But she clenched her hands even more tightly as they continued.

Teachers. Students. “One of my friends from school died, Jayj.” Zora's voice was small.

“Lets go outside.” Together the girls made it out to the courtyard; Jada turned to her sister. Zora knelt down next to the wheelchair, resting her head against Jada's leg.

And slowly, Sailor Scylla woke back up to the world.

She was sprawled out on a pile of pillows in the center of her living room floor; her coffee table had been moved to the edge of the room to accommodate, and her couch was devoid of softness. The three-story residence that Jada was able to claim as her own was as still and silent as a tomb around her, and from her location here she was able to appreciate (and loathe) the size of it. And how alien it was, unfamiliar after a lifetime in her ancestral home. The ghosts here were unfamiliar. Her belly was flat to the pillows, her slim legs kicked up in the air. Her mass of hair was spread everywhere as though a curly blanket, thick and warm.

The television was off, yet the girl stared at it intently, ignoring the bills and open checkbook in front of her; her attention was on nothing rather than the something in front of her, such as the open diary that said only 'September 21, 2010' or the trademark purple pen that was begging to be chewed upon, or handled. The television was off, yet in the blank black reflection, she could see something, and it intrigued her.

What? What was so intriguing to her, she wondered. In the big-screen reflection, there was no polished debutante. There was no shining paragon of... whatever. Jada wasn;t able to woo the television with diamonds and smiles to make it reflect her as more beautiful, or brighter; the television was a crueler, harsher mirror, cold and honest.

And in the reflection of the television, there was just a girl. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap tank top, track pants slung low on her wide hips. Her eyes were a little too big, but nicely shaped, eyebrows thick and dark. There were circles under them that had nothing to do with makeup. but instead everything to do with exhaustion. An ingrained insomnia that had nothing to do with the power of Dylan Rasmussen and the Pyrite Prince; nor anything to do with his death or the death of the woman who loved him. The girl in the reflection was slender, unhealthily so, and it was almost as though skin hung from the bone in places, though that might be an illusion.

On the pillows next to her lay her cellular, the light blinking to tell her that she had a text message. She knew she had at least one; the light had been blinking for two days. It might be an email. Or a missed call. her phone, the never-ending and eternally demanding master of a socialite, had gone ignored from the moment she sank into her contemplation.

It was Jada's second day without seeing the sun, answering phone calls, or even moving from the general area of her living room. She hadn't gone to the kitchen area, just to the bathroom; she hadn't gone upstairs to sleep, but instead slept in her pillow pile when she needed rest. A pile of books was toppled nearby, and the lamp that she'd been reading by was turned off.

Her curtains hadn't been opened. They should be. Jada always opened the curtains in this room.

She didn't want to.

Fifty-two missed calls in two days. Most of them were from Zora, but a few were from friends worried about Jada; the heiress always answered her texts! But no... she'd be fine. She rolled from her belly to her back, still staring at the television. Her stomach rumbled, and she almost reached for the phone; her stomach rebelled, and her slim hand dropped back down to the pillows. Dark lashes closed over pale cheeks, and Jada sank into her thoughts again.

The phone rang; Fifty-three missed calls.

Monaco was gorgeous- as a tourist trap ought to be, Jada decided as she disembarked the private plane she'd taken to get there. A corporate expense, Michael had said firmly, his displeasure at his daughter's trip visible in his lining face. No one had argued with him. Szelem had been allotted one week of her time; Jada wanted to be back to Destiny City in time to finish the planning for her own Halloween event. Then there was the city party she was hoping to make it to.

The weather in Monaco was very Mediterranean. It seemed obvious to say, but there was no other way to describe the clear skies and the beautiful water she'd seen from above. The breeze was balmy, and the temperature was delightful. Jada's choice to bring a selection of sundresses for day wear had been a good one. The country was beautiful.

But best of all? Szelem was staying in a hotel dazzlingly close to the Monte Carlo Casino.

Gambling.

Bright lights.

The ability to win and lose obscene amounts of money- or both!

Glitz. Handsome men in tuxes. Bond, James Bond.

Her henshin pen was packed securely in her purse, not that there had been even a whisper of monster-or-coma activity mentioned on this side of the world. She had to slide it through some little customs check, which would be simple enough- she'd hidden it very well, and chances were with the way she'd come in, she would have only a cursory scan.

It was all over very quickly, and a taxi was being hailed by one of the suit-clad bodyguards she often forgot she had. The cab was bland, but clean, and she provided the name and address of the hotel she would be staying at. He gave a second glance in the back mirror, and scowled as one of the men- Vic, her father's burly yet eminently capable 'assistant'- got in the front seat next to him, the other watching their bags get shoved brutally into the trunk.

He tipped. He got in next to her- his thigh pressed against hers accidentally and she recoiled with an anxious sneer. She really hated it when she could remember that her life wasn't just youma hunting and college classes.

The tab driver listened to oldies, and the backseat felt oddly crowded with two people. They were paid to remain unobtrusive and forgettable. She'd gotten then since The Incident, as she referred to the unfortunate night when Zora...

The sky was very blue, like the denim of Vic's jeans.

The taxi driver was named Philippe, and he talked too much. Vic and the bodyguard were quiet. All in all, it was far too long before they pulled up in front of the hotel and she spilled out of the backseat, ignoring the bodyguard who reached out for her, ignoring Vic as he stepped in front of her to block her escape and instead moved around him and toward the hotel without waiting for luggage or man. Bellhops were already swarming the vehicle, and she wanted a shower before she met her mother for dinner.

Szelem had never been a very good mother, not since Jada had been very young, and not since money had come back into the Chamberlyn lifestyle through Michael's wise investments. And apparently, based on the gentle curve of her mother's belly that Jada was seeing under the gown that she wore, she was continuing that trend, and had carried it over to her former marriage.

“You cheated on Daddy.” It had come out more of a shriek, for all that she felt numb and dull.

“Don't say it like that!” Szelem cried, and buried her face in her hands.

“Then how am I supposed to say it?”

“It was a moment of weakness.” the older woman had snarled it, and reached for her glass. Alcohol. Jada could almost smell it from her spot standing. It only took a step or two to get to her, reach out, and slap the glass from her mother's hand without thinking. The red wine splashed across cream carpet, the crystal goblet falling to the ground.

Line eyes met Violet, furious, narrowed. It wasn't hard for Jada to keep her face blank. “And just what do you think you're doing Mother?” Alcohol was terrible for babies, and what they needed right now was not Szelem taking on alcoholism as a hobby.

“Taking a drink. Moving this glass to my lips, or I was. You're paying for the carpet cleaning.”

“Not while you're pregnant. Even Lucas would know that much. Have them add the cleaning to my tab.” Her sibling. Christ on a Cracker. Jada was eighteen. Zora and Kayley were thirteen. Lucas was ten. And Szelem was pregnant.

The laugh startled her, and she turned in time to see Szelem crumple to the floor. Jada went with her, catching her in her arms and pulling her mother close. “Oh lord,” Szelem breathed, “What will Michael say?”

“Oh, I'm sure there will be plenty.” Jada's lips twisted. “Starting with, 'Couldn't she have waited until the ink on the divorce papers was dry' most likely.” She watched the dark head jerk up, and the face that was so like hers jerk into a snarl, contorted in something that Jada didn't understand. That Jada never wanted to understand. And then just like a ripple, the face was smooth as glass.

“Go away, Jada.” Szelem told her as her eldest daughter let go of her. “Get out. You've always been my biggest disappointment.” It was what Szelem's mother had last said to her. Such a dysfunctional Mother-daughter relationship.

It was Jada's turn to laugh, and she reached out for a bottle of water. “Then why did you call me? You don't want to admit that you're pregnant to Daddy, obviously. And it is kind of hard to hide it when you have four children. What did you want, an ally? Or...” Ah. Yes, that would be true. “Money, mother?”

“No.” Szelem looked sullen.

“You're greedy. Father gave you so much, and you want more?” Jada regretted it now, not being able to stop the hate that poured from her lips.

“No!” the older woman screamed it at her, finally breaking, throwing a pillow at her head. “Get out! You were a mistake, you always have been!”

“Well Mother,” Jada snarled, “You always made fabulous mistakes.”

Silence.

When the green-eyed woman spoke, it was slow. Deliberate. “I did you a disservice, when you were growing up.” They were both going to regret this fight in the morning. It was the kind of fight she'd never wanted to have with Jada. It was the kind of fight she'd always been waiting for, pushing Jada to the edge, pushing her over it with every decision she'd forced onto her in her childhood. Why shouldn't Jada think Money was Szelem's only motive? Jada had seen what happened to the love Michael and Szelem had felt for each other. Money was the thing she'd taught her oldest daughter to value, more than relationships, or feelings. Szelem was seeing the consequences of her own actions for the first time, in poison poured out of the mirror.

A mirror with Michael's eyes.

As for Jada, she was nauseated. Where had this gone wrong? Why was she saying these things? “I shouldn't have come.” Jada's voice was thick, bile rising in the back of her throat.

“You're right.” Szelem had her hands on her stomach, her face pale. “I shouldn't have asked you.”

There was silence, until Jada stood up and her mother stood woodenly with her. They were like little toy soldiers moving to the door, one foot in front of the other in perfect tandem. Jada's soft lips pressed to her mother's powdered cheek, ignoring the taste of makeup and salt. “I love you.” she whispered. It was true.

“We'll talk in the morning.” Szelem said woodenly, and closed the door in her face.

It was October throughout the world, and in the Swiss mountains, the hills weren't alive – they were frozen solid, from what Jada could see. The weather broadcast she'd seen on the plane had put the two days she would be staying in Switzerland in the mid forties, Fahrenheit. Blonde curls and her mother's green eyes were all that Jada was able to really see of Kayley before the other girl flung herself into Jada's arms. “Jay!” Kayley's voice was thick with something similar to relief.

“Hey Kayley.” Her thirteen year old sister smelled of the Edelweiss soap that Szelem had brought them one year for Christmas. Jada had been twelve, perhaps. The soap had been stamped with a little indentation of the flower, wrapped in a box. Hotel soap, the box reading off the meaning of the Edelweiss flower. With it, she had given them each a little music box. Jada had hated that particular gift too. That all aside, Kayley smelled clean and young, lacking the heavy stink of perfume and makeup that the Senshi of the Kraken had been expecting from her little sister. “I brought you some Thanksgiving gifts from everyone.” she slung an arm around the shoulders of the teenager, nearly as tall as Jada herself and five years younger to boot! The beam was innocent and sweet as it should be, and Jada and Kayley slid into the backseat of the rental car, their quiet companions sliding into the front.

It was a short enough drive to the boarding school where Jada had gotten permission to stay the night in the dormitory with her sister, as her trip was to be shorter than expected and over the weekend to boot. The area was quaint and quiet, and the school bore a fantastic reputation. Perfect for Kayley, who was nothing like her twin except in a love for video games; It would have been a prison for Zora or Jada, who were both freer birds than the blonde girl.

Some of the students already seemed to know Kayley, a few of the girls giving her small, polite waves. Some of the girls stuck up their nose, and Kayley's hackles went up. The normal fighting for the Queen Bee position, it seemed, and Kayley wasn't on top just yet. If Kayley was anything like her mother, and Jada knew she was, she wouldn't stop until that had changed!

“You came on Friday,” Kayley said anxiously as she dropped off Jada at the administrator's office, shuffling from one foot to the other in a single swift motion. Most would attribute the motion to what it seemed to be, a body in motion. “I have a class later that I must attend, but I was excused from most of them. Do you mind fending for yourself briefly? Someone will see you to the library or my room and I can meet you there, I am sure.”

“I'll be fine. Get to class. I've been to a boarding school before.”

“That was only Crystal.” Now that was Szelem-style snobbery to a 'T', yet what in her mother was infuriating, was amusing in her sister. For now.

“I'll be fine.” the younger girl was assured. And Jada was, quite! The library was lovely, the gardens were peaceful, and when Kayley was able, they went and relaxed in her room. Kayley tore into her gifts with an abandon that spoke in volumes. Saturday morning they got up early and went for a jog. Rather, Jada jogged and Kayley panted. One benefit to being a senshi, it seemed. Jada was in better shape than ever after her relaxation, where before, she would have been panting as much as Kayley herself, not jogging in place and encouraging her sister on. They showered, spent some time in one of the music rooms, and later went down to the town for lunch. (Swiss chocolates were bought by the pound at one of the local chocolatiers.) The second night, the two gained back all the calories they had exercised away by gorging on popcorn and being sedentary, watching some ridiculous 'chick flick.'

And on Sunday Kayley was crying softly into a handkerchief as Jada was forced to turn around and move forward, and onto the plane that would take her back to Destiny City, to face her own decisions.