Author's Note:

Well, it sure has been a while! This story was never meant to truly end here, but life (2 babies!) got in the way and writing was put on hold. I have been making more time for writing recently and finally bit the bullet and outlined the second and third book in this trilogy. I have just started writing book two, but I won't be posting chapters until the entire first draft is finished. In the meantime, have an epilogue. It acts as a bridge between the first and the second books.

Book two will be posted as a new story, so be sure to add me to your author alerts so you will be notified as soon as it comes out. Thank you so much for all of your support and reviews. I'm so sorry I made you wait so long, and I hope I will never do that to you again (I can't promise anything though- Cancer has made me realize that NOTHING is certain).

I hope to have the first chapter of book two out before the end of spring, but in the mean time, please enjoy the conclusion of book one (and feel free to check out my large collections of Sailor Moon drabbles as well).

Epilogue: Photographer

He opened his eyes slowly; they were gritty with debris from the explosion. He blinked a few times to clear his vision and gazed into the clearing dust around him. Slowly, the outline of the hotel began to materialize; but it was not the old familiar shape. The upper floors were completely missing: piles of cinder-block, bricks, and glass were charred and scattered around the property. One or more of the blasts appeared to have made direct contact with the hotel.

He adjusted his camera bag on his shoulder and climbed shakily to his feet. Not seriously injured, he was nevertheless certain that he would ache tomorrow from his many scrapes and bruises. On his feet, he saw that back section of the hotel was still standing; the same area that housed the ballrooms. Hopeful for the young bride and groom he had spent the day photographing, he picked his way across the rubble, longing to find them unharmed, or at very least, still alive.

Approaching the back of the property, he was horrified to see crushed wedding gifts, and a toppled table with the remains of a wedding cake. But as he looked around, he realized that there were no bodies hidden in the debris. What he did discover was that the ballroom next to the one that had housed the reception still stood. Hurrying to the door, the photographer cleared the area in front of it with a sweep of his foot before grasping the handles and pulling.

But even with all of his strength, he could not pull the door open. It was locked. He ran around the corner, looking for another door. The destruction was nearly as bad on the other side. The small courtyard garden was crushed by the remains of the upper floors, and, while he tried to look away, he could not help but notice that there were broken bodies mixed in with the debris here. His determination mounted and he searched harder for a way into the smaller ballroom. A second door was also locked, and in the light of the full moon, he saw that the cracks between the doors were sealed with a sparkling substance, hard and cool to the touch, like crystal.

Further down the wall, he noticed a row of small windows and ran to them. There was a glow emanating from within the ballroom, and once he had cleared the dust from the glass, he was able to see that the room was crowded with the bodies of the wedding party and their guests. The bride and groom lay in the corner, wrapped up in each other's arms, almost as though they were asleep, dreaming peacefully. No one appeared to be injured, though the guests looked as though they had collapsed; they lay awkwardly, a tangle of limbs and formal-wear.

Determined to get them to safety, he picked up a cinder-block, and threw it at the closest window. But instead of breaking the glass, it bounced to the ground. He hefted the block again, putting all of his strength into it this time, but once again, the large chunk of concrete landed harmlessly in the dirt at his feet. Lifting a hand, he knocked tentatively on the glass. It sounded like glass. It looked like glass. But the window would not break. Finally satisfied that he could not get into the ballroom, he stared closely through the window. He could see the slight rise and fall of chests on the closest guests. They were alive and unharmed, and if the brick against the window was any indication, they would remain that way, at least for the present.

He stepped back and his camera back thumped softly against his back. The newly purchased rolls of film rattled in the front pocket. Without stopping to think why, he pulled his camera from the bag and switched to a new roll of film, then adjusted the settings and the lens for the low light levels. Then he raised the camera to his eye and began snapping pictures. First he stepped up to the glass and photographed the wedding party and guests, illuminated by a strange glow that seemed to radiate from the area around the bride and groom. When he had filled a whole roll of film, taking pictures from every possible angle, he stepped back and took pictures of the outside of the hotel, being sure to capture both the extreme destruction of the majority of the hotel, while contrasting it to the relatively undamaged small ballroom. He climbed back out to the original reception location and captured the shattered presents and fallen cake.

He could not have explained why he focused on the hotel and the wedding when the entire city seemed to be under attack. All day he had a sense that there was something different about this couple: something special. He felt that he had to see things through. Their safe-haven in the midst of the worst of the damage was remarkable. It had been years since he had worked as a journalistic photographer, but he knew there was a story here. And if he could find it, he was certain that there were several papers in town that would take his work as a freelance photojournalist.

When the last roll of film was filled, he walked slowly away from the hotel, looking back over his shoulder often. He headed home, hoping that his apartment was unharmed. He would develop his film and write the story of the happy couple, now trapped in an unbreakable cell of a hotel ballroom. Then he would take the story to the press in hopes that they too would see something special in this tale of the captive couple.