She was twelve years old again and sitting at the bottom of the stairs at her parents' house. She was twelve because that was the last time there was a "her parents' house," and not just a "her mom's house" and a series of houses, or apartments, or other mysterious locations her father lived somewhere else that she didn't see. In Rochester, New York there had been a her-parents'-house. In Rochester, New York, they'd all lived there -- her and her mom and her dad and Ruth and Annie. In Rochester, New York, they were all living there now.

She was wearing white sneakers and a gingham dress. The sneakers kept coming untied, so she sat down to tie them again.

"Hey, Miriam," said her dad. (She looked up; he was sitting across from her.)

Her shoes had to be tied right, so the bows matched. "Dad?"

"Hey, Miri," her dad said, smiling at her.

"You don't call me that," she said, because he didn't.

Christopher Jacobs smiled at her again. There was something wrong with the way he was smiling at her. He never smiled this much at one time, not even back then. These days he mostly looked at her and looked kind of nervous and looked away, but back then he always used to stare at something else. There was something wrong with the way he was smiling at her.

"What has been corrupted can never be made whole, Miri," he said.

When she looked up he was wearing a black Negaverse uniform and had a sword at his side -- a Cavalier sword. Her sword, with Venus's heart emblazoned on the pommel. She willed herself to transform, but it didn't come: it didn't become because she was twelve and she was Miriam Jacobs, that was all. She willed herself to say something, but that didn't come either.

She stood up and started to run upstairs; but the stairs collapsed into rotting black wood under her feet, collapsed down into a pile of black rot, into a black rotting hole into the middle of the house. Her dad caught her somehow and trapped her between his hands while she struggled and tried to scream, but what came out of her mouth was little rattling noises -- little, strangled rattles.

"It's all right, Miri," said her dad, and stroked her hair and at the same time caught a handful and yanked it back -- his other hand plunged into her chest, through her gingham dress and her sternum. She felt an electric shock -- her starseed, his hand closed around it stranglingly tight.

When she looked up again he was himself, but he was Nephrite. "It's all right, Captain," he was saying.

"No," she said, surprised she could speak, and then tried to scream again -- but all came out was, in a normal speaking voice, as if answering a question, "no, no, no, no, no." A high, small voice. She was twelve years old.

"No?" he questioned.

"No," she said, and struggled to kick him -- but her shoe came off when she tried and her sock picked up some of the black rot. The stink rose to her face.

"But I don't think you mean that," said Endymion with his hand closed around her starseed and his breath on her hairline, young and handsome and black-haired. "You know, this feels different. Have you been corrupted by any chance, Captain?"

"No," she said, because it was all she could say.

The Prince backhanded her, shaking his head. "Liar," he said. "Do you know, what has been corrupted can never --"

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no --"

"Shut the ******** up, Miri," said Endymion, and kissed her hard on the mouth (which he had to bend his head to do, as he was quite a bit taller) as he ripped out her starseed with one electrocuting jolt -- and then tossed her onto the pile of bodies, her mother, Ruth, and Annie, which had always been there in the rot, and he walked away; but she wasn't dead, she was General Kunzite again in his uniform and white hair, and Christopher Jacobs turned at the door.

He got a bit of a mixed look on his face. "I never wanted a son," he said, and then walked out while the house in Rochester rotted and fell.

****

She woke up to Hero's hand on her shoulder, which shocked her more than anything in the dream and nearly caused her to brain Hero with her own forehead as she sat up. The two of them stared at each other. Was it Miriam's imagination, or did Hero's eyes get kind of gigantic in the dark?

"You were dreaming," blurted out Hero. "You kept saying 'no' -- I thought you might be -- you were dreaming --"

"Did you just wake me up?" Miriam blinked at her, still breathing hard.

Hero stared. "Um -- yes, that's what I was just --"

"You just woke me up," Miriam reiterated. "Oh my God, I was about to hit you, I thought you were a. A."

They both stared.

"A." Miriam took a deep breath. "I'm going back to sleep," she said.

"You looked distressed," said Hero, somewhat defensively.

"Wait for an SOS next time," said Miriam from under her blankets.

She did go back to sleep, but she didn't dream for the rest of the night. She woke up a little unrested: but she did find in the morning she'd been gripping her sheets close over her chest, wrinkled in her fists over her heart.