By: A.S. Wynterway



Amento Lexington. A modern desperado. 

Chica Crimson. Given no choice. 

Aala Mar’anaz. Left behind. 

Morgan Rhett. Tauntingly close. 

Four planets search for the lost planet, where what they need most lies. 

But what happens when even that runs out? 


…She’s a good girl, loves her mama… 

Sacramento sat in the front row of the auditorium at The Ninth Chord Concert Hall, his eyes fixed on the performer on the stage. Despite the beautiful music, his mind wasn’t on the melody. It was on the girl. The drop-dead gorgeous, amazing, beautiful, talented girl that sat on that stage and played her heart out on that viola he had given her for her thirteenth birthday. A grin formed on his face. A genuine smile, not the kind he faked to avoid her questions. Not the kind he faked when he was with his friends. An actual smile on his face, one of the few since…but this was a happy occasion. Sacramento put it out of his mind and looked back at the girl on the stage. The girl he loved. The girl he adored. The girl he’d do anything for. He sat back, closed his eyes, and let the music take him away, the melody mingling with his love and creating something beautiful.

Galaxies, she wasn’t breathing. Sacramento bent over her, ignoring the pain that shot through his skull. He murmured her name over and over as he tried CPR, LSP, whatever could get her back. Whatever it would take for her to get up, smirk at him, and playfully scold him for thinking anything could possibly hurt her. Whatever it would take. Sacramento tried again, pressing down on her chest. He was shouting her name now, his voice desperate in a way that surprised himself. He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Son,” a kind voice said. “I think she’s gone.” He didn’t look up, but he stopped pushing. He stopped yelling. He stopped trying, and the effort nearly made him stop breathing. But although he was silent, her name still remained in his mind, so much so that when he woke up in the hospital days afterward, it was the first coherent thought he had.

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