I stopped the memories. I don't know why I lived through that again, but seeing as it was done...

I had started studying her story board straight away, finding out how she wanted the story to go. She left notes - Third book. Darker.

I took the pictures - the sketches she had done for the second book. It was about half done, and any that weren't there were done roughly in pencil. The story had been decided by me, so it was easy to write. It still took another year to make.

Then her story board - it was more chaotic. It was harder for me to understand. And there were no pictures. I had to call in a friend.

Dave arrived a week after I asked. He was carrying his bag of ties. He looked through the books and sipped tea that my mum had bought up - then nodded.

"I would love to help you do this. Are you sure you want me?"

I smiled faintly. "Us outcasts got to stick together."

He laughed. "I'm a outcast - you've become more accepted then most of us."

That was true - or it had been. Once Iro died, they had left me alone. That was fine by me.

I stopped my educations at eighteen. The outcast group had grown by then - a boy who grew up thinking he was gay due to his family, but wasn't. A gender fluid guy who was a girl. Me. And Dave.

Dave did a amazing job - it wasn't quite as good as Iro, but nothing would be for me. He adopted her style, and mimicked her characters. If anything, the change of style suited the tone of the last book. He stayed on to university - Cambridge university - just before the books were done. I would get packages of drawings every week for the book for me to choose from. Thanks to his constant dedication and willingness, we got it done just as he ended university.

He had taken law, so when we presented the idea to publishers, he could be my Agent. Free of charge. We got it out for the world exactly ten years after Iro died.

It was what she wanted anyways.

Now we were... Well, what you would class as famous. I had adopted the starry head look again. There were few pictures of what I actually looked like around anywhere - even on the internet. For some reason there was a brown haired women everyone thought was me. I didn't go to book signings. I just wanted everyone to see the story.

It wasn't technically my book anyway. Not according to the author area.

Now I looked at my - our - books in the shop. Not in the window, but not shoved at the back either. In what was just about the right position for it. And due to it's weird shape, it had it's own shelf, where it got enough attention.

Patchwork,

By Iro Hayes.

Is... it over?

The pain can stop now?

Yep. Sorry this one's short, but I didn't think it'd need much to end on. Don't think it was only you guys being hit with the pain - I had to write it up.

Now the question is one that I'm doing anyway, but I want your opinion. Should I write up their stories? So you can see exactly what they were writing? Or leave it for your imagination? I've made up a plan book, but I can just keep the real story to myself, and let you guys decide what it's like among yourself.

Until next time,

~Glitch