Once again, I want to say thank you so much for all of the love and adoration that you guys have given to me and Parachute! People are going to get tired of hearing me say how much in awe I am of my readers and their giant hearts, but it's so very true! This story wouldn't have been nowhere near as good as it was nor had the kind of response that it had without my loyal and fuckawesome Verucas! (Heh, haven't heard that in awhile, have we?) I am prostrate at your feet. (Not to be confused with prostate, lol) I owe you all so very much!

The blogs have undergone some work over the past two weeks. KitsuShel.blogspot.com will now be used as a hub for everything that I write, with links to actual story blogs. Parachute's will remain up, just under a different name. Parachuteff.blogspot.com My next fic, Rabbit Heart's blog is up as well. There are a few pictures and teasers up there as well. =) RabbitHeartff.blogspot.com

Rabbit Heart will start posting this Friday, February 18th and will follow the same update/posting schedule as Parachute. I hope that you guys decide to continue on that journey with me as well. =)

♥ Shel ♥

O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O_o_O

Teaser from Rabbit Heart Chapter 1:

The streets were eerily empty as the girl stealthily slipped out of the Beverly Hills house, although one could quite easily exchange the term mansion in its stead. Her shoulders were hunched as she made sure her hood was firmly covering her blond hair, her back laden with only an over-stuffed backpack and a guitar case. She needed to escape quickly, unseen, and today was the best time to make that happen. It was just after eleven pm, on Christmas Eve and there was practically no movement on Santa Monica Boulevard. She traveled on foot for almost three miles before coming across a cab running on the desolate streets.

She quickly stowed her meager possessions in the backseat before climbing inside.

"The nearest Greyhound station, please," she requested as softly as she could, but still within the driver's hearing range.

The older man glanced at her in the rear view mirror. If he thought anything was off about the way she kept her face hidden, he made no mention of it.

"Heading home for the holiday, sweetie?"

"Something like that," she murmured, staring out of the window and watching the lights pass by. They reached their destination in just under fifteen minutes and she handed him a $50 bill.