Another battle in Elysion, and again, Fallon felt like a loser.

The Blood Moon Court had a plan the second time, but it still was not a battle they were prepared entirely to fight. Each time Ares entered the dream realm, she had no idea what she might encounter. One night, it had been a strangely civil conversation with Tanzanite, a woman she felt an electric draw toward, and this time, it had been a full-on Nega versus Senshi assault.

It pained Ares to watch the Negaverse march on to the battlefield like a proper battalion while the senshi emerged as brothers and sisters-in-arms – but without the same crisp formation. So far, the senshi had survived the assault of the Negaverse. If only the others could learn to see things her way, if only they could realize how important it was to applaud the strengths of their enemy, then perhaps they could win this war. Yes, the Negas were the enemy. But it didn’t mean that they didn’t have important lessons to teach for the senshi to learn.

In her dreams, Ares saw an army of senshi marching just like the Negaverse, forming squads just like the Negaverse, holding each other to the same rigid standards of the Negaverse. There was too much hand-holding in the senshi ranks, too much sugar-coating. What was the point of babying a soldier? A Nega would not care how new they were, or how afraid. So why should the senshi be so ready to forgive the failures, weaknesses, and shortcomings of the least worthwhile among them?

It was a thought that ran circles in her mind all day during her classes. Fallon was barely passing school. The only reason she hadn’t failed out was Eilian. If Fallon wasn’t being forced to study by the girl, then she was openly cheating off of her tests. There had been a point in her life where Fallon dreamed of culinary school and opening her own restaurant. Now she only dreamed of stabbing the banner of the Blood Moon straight through Queen Beryl’s black, icy heart. School held no meaning; it was merely a way to spend time between patrols.

Having quit all of her extracurricular activities, Fallon found her daily schedule had opened considerably, allowing her more time to focus on the Blood Moon Court. That afternoon, she did what she always did: stopped for a tea at the corner café, picked up some fresh cut flowers from the shop down the street, and walked the long path through the park across town to her mother’s empty condo.

Iva Novette-Naim had moved to Destiny City several months back. At the time, Fallon hadn’t known why, though she doubted her mothers claims it was to “be closer with my baby girl” from the start. It took a drunken night at Jada’s debutante ball for the truth to come out: Fallon’s parents were getting a divorce. At the time, the teenager had just gone through a remarkable change herself and was now home to not only her own soul but also that of the Parallel Senshi of Smoke. It was easy to block out thoughts of her parents’ divorce by immersing herself in the Black Moon.

Then Tartaros came, and Fallon fell into a coma.

Tragedy was a funny thing. In their daughter’s hour of need, Fallon’s parents rallied. Her largely-absent father took an extended leave from work in France and flew to be with Iva in America. Between sobbing hugs, they whispered apologies to each other and prayed in Hebrew over her body night after night. They held hands and swore to God that they would be better, more loving, more caring – anything if it meant bringing their daughter back once again from the brink of death.

Then something wonderful happened. Fallon woke up. While teenagers all around her died, Fallon survived. Iva and Bertrand knew why: God had saved their daughter. God had answered their prayers. And they now owed God all the things that they had promised, starting first with their vow to honor the sacrament of marriage by forgoing their long-time-coming divorce.

After bearing the countless reassurances by Fallon that she was going to be just fine, Iva and Bertrand left their daughter to go on a one-month couples retreat to Aruba. Fallon got postcards, letters, weekly phone calls, and gift baskets. She wrote them back letters full of lies about all the friends she was making, how much she was enjoying French club, and how she hoped that the Culinary Institute of America would consider her for early enrollment – anything to keep them off her back.

When they wrote back last month to say that they were thinking about staying a bit longer for some additional therapy, Fallon was fully supportive. It was difficult to be a senshi in Destinty City when you had parents breathing down your neck. Things were so much simpler when they just stayed away. For the first time in her life, Fallon felt happy that she had the sort of parents who were so self-involved that they couldn’t detect the strange behavior of their only daughter, the same kind of parents that were okay with keeping her in a city that had nearly killed her on multiple occasion simply because she was absolutely insistent that it was where she belonged. Iva and Bertrand let their teenager decide how she should be raised. That was how it had always been.

When Fallon entered her mother’s condo, she slipped immediately out of her shoes. She hung the keys up on the ornate iron hook beside the door. She set her schoolbag down on the chair in the foyer, and stretching her arms high above her head, she padded barefoot into the kitchen. Her hand had just gripped the handle of the refrigerator when Fallon suddenly froze.

There, on the kitchen counter, was a half-empty glass of orange juice. Someone is here. Slowly, her hand darted to her pocket, tracing the length of the henshin pen hidden there. She had just begun to pull it out so that she could transform and kill whoever had broken into her home.

A voice behind her turned her blood to ice. “Fallon?” the voice said.

The teenage girl turned slowly, mouth falling open in surprise. There, dressed in a bathrobe, was a person she had not expected to see again for months – maybe longer. Fallon tried to swallow in a dry throat. When she spoke, the sound was pinched and tiny:

“Mother?”

Iva Novette-Naim smiled widely, opening her arms just as wide. “Mommy’s home, baby!” she said, crossing the distance between them to embrace her daughter. No sooner had she gotten close that she stopped and stared hard at Fallon’s head. “Oh, Fallon, honey, is that a bruise on your forehead? Oh! And this one on your wrist, too! My little girl… what trouble have you been getting in to while I have been away?” Iva waved a hand. “Well, no matter. I’m back! Isn’t that wonderful?” She hugged her daughter again.

Fallon stepped back, a shaky smile creeping up her face. “Right. Wonderful,” she said, meaning: This is not good.