"You stole my book."

Miranda Priestly jumped as a quiet voice broke through the peaceful silence of the room. Snapping her head up she glared at the pale, tiny figure who seemingly appeared from thin air, right in the middle of her study. Andrea Sachs. For a brief second it crossed her mind that she should be surprised even shocked seeing the young woman in her home, but the thought passed quickly. Huge brown eyes that had haunted her in the past few weeks starred right back and the unexpected visitor raised an eyebrow, challenging her to deny the accusation.

"Nonsense." huffed Miranda "I most certainly did not steal your book, Andrea."

"If not stealing, then how would you describe the situation we have here?" Plopping down on the sofa in front of the desk, Andy motioned toward the bright pink journal in the editor's hand. "My book. In your possession."

Miranda shrugged nonchalantly. She carefully laid the book on the desk, dropped her glasses atop and leaned back, resting her head against the headrest of the chair.

"As I said before, I did not steal it. I merely made sure it did not end up with someone who wouldn't appreciate it."

"Besides," she added dryly, "you don't need it anymore. You're dead."

Miranda winced at her own harsh words and glanced at the girl offering an apological smile.

The young woman did not seem offended in the least and biting her lower lip, she studied the editor for a long moment, before nodding thoughtfully.

"Fair enough."

The loud bang of the front door woke Miranda abruptly from her light slumber. She suppressed a yawn and looked around a bit disoriented. She had couple of different color sticky notes stuck on her forearm and a very noticeable ink mark on her four thousand dollar, wort pencil skirt. Wonderful. She must have fallen asleep while editing the Book, curled up on the sofa. The door swung open and Cassidy, her younger daughter by two minutes, stormed into the study. She flopped down next to her mother and grinned sheepishly.

"Mom. We're back."

"Yes, Bobbsey. I can see that, not to mention hear it, quite possibly along with the whole neighborhood. Must you thump through the house like a herd of elephants every time you come home?"

"It was Caro. Not me."

"It was not. What's wrong Mom? Were you crying?" Miranda looked at her other daughter, who was standing at the door with a concerned frown on her freckled face. The editor tentatively raised her hand and touched her own face. The skin felt a bit puffy and there was a slight burning sensation in her eyes. Suddenly, the tragic events of the day came back to her mind with full force and she swallowed hard, trying to keep the new set of tears at bay.

"I got some bad news today, Bobbsey." She said smiling sadly. "But," she continued rising to her feet, "nothing for you two to worry about. Let's make some dinner. Shall we?"

She ushered the girls out of the study. Halting at the door she glanced back and sighed gravely when her eyes fell on the journal laying on the desk. The sparkling crystals of a thousand colors, were dancing under the light forming the name of the once vibrant owner of the book. Andy. The second time that day Miranda's soul died a little.