So, I Decided To Try And Get Mafuyu's Bday Card, And,

So, I decided to try and get Mafuyu's bday card, and,

ONE TEN PULL. OH MY GOD.

From there, I decided to try for her new bday card with my twenty pulls, and

HOW??? MAFUYU I LOVE YOU TOO WELCOMEEEEEEE

This is going to tie into two separate games: Twisted Wonderland and Project SEKAI. Trigger warnings: mentions of death, wanting to dissappear, abuse, manipulation, implied suicide. Jeez, that's a lot.

I'm going to talk about, specifically, Asahina Mafuyu (Yuki) and Riddle Rosehearts. There's a lot of similarities. It doesn't seem like that at first, but bear with me here.

In pjsk, we are first introduced to Mafuyu as a cheery, kind, agreeable, and helpful person. Her voice has emotion, but something's off. And you can't tell.

In contrast, the audience's first impression of Riddle is akin to that of a strict, controlling force, who opposes our poor prefect's shiny new friends.

And there's no way you'd think them alike if you don't look past that. If you skip all the stories and ignore Riddle's overblot and Mafuyu's trained card art. Because that's the point. It's not supposed to be obvious. You're supposed to view Mafuyu as "normal" and Riddle as "annoying" and never look closer.

Exept, you are supposed to look closer. You're supposed to squint at them and put them under a magnifying glass. And there's some genius in Mafuyu in particular- in pjsk, each group's main story starts with the group leader's backstory. Mafuyu is not a group leader. We don't start with a glimpse of her past. We start with her facade.

Mafuyu pretends. Her cheery face and higher-pitched voice are forced, and she is miserable. And when do we see that? When it's too late. When Mafuyu tries to dissappear into a world made of her emotions, a world so barren it's literally called "the Empty SEKAI."

Because Mafuyu doesn't know who she is. Because she's being abused. Riddle is in the same scenario.

Both of them have helicopter moms who try and control every aspect of their lives. Riddle's mom succeeded- and that's where their differences originate. Mafuyu rebels. She joined an anonymous online music group to vent and try and learn who she is without her mother's interference. Hell, she helped start it. That group started as two people, and she was one of them.

Riddle, on the other hand, gave in. He became an extension of his mother, of his abuser, and realizing that drove him to overblot. That desperation to emulate her was programmed into him by years of having no will of his own.

And yet, Mafuyu fought. She fought, and things got worse, and, as of writing this, her arc of escaping her abusive, overcontrolling household is Nightcord at 25:00(the music group she helped form)'s main arc, and it has yet to be resolved.

Mafuyu struggles. She doesn't know who she is. Her mother doesn't want her to learn, she wants her to be a perfect little honor student who becomes a doctor and studies all the time. Riddle's mom wanted that too, in a son- and she got it.

Riddle doesn't know who he is, either. After his overblot, he confesses: he never liked being an extension of his mother, but he suffered through it. He followed every rule, got every point, and he was in pain. In a way, he's lucky. At some point or another, that would've killed him.

And, when Riddle learned, he rebelled, too. Even before he knew, he fought because autonomy is critical to a child's healthy development, and they will always want to seek it eventually. He fought because he needed to. Otherwise, I doubt he'd've survived his freshman year at NRC. All those tarts, all forbidden... He'd've done what Mafuyu tried.

Riddle gave in. He gave in, and it killed him. He and Mafuyu are two sides of the same, ruined coin. One is being more actively molded and resisting, and the other only just became aware.

We see their development. In the Twilight Festa event, we see Mafuyu learn that she genuinely enjoys helping people. In book 2, we see Riddle run in the hallways to catch a rule-breaker. Riddle's progress is way subtler: he only just started trying to find himself. Mafuyu has a head start.

And... in a way, they're one and the same. They are lost bodies, searching for their souls. And I hope they both succeed.

In the end, they are both misfortunate children.

And, in a way, aren't we all?

You’ve come to the right person.

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 5 AND 6

Oh man Rook Hunt? He’s so mood, haha. One half of me really like him as a character because he’s so outlandish. Man practically worships Vil for his beauty, stalks students to know them, and loves a lot of things that other characters take for granted. Even though he is in Pomefiore, he focuses a lot more on others without neglecting himself.

If I was more over-the-moon for Rook, I would kin him completely… except for the stalking, since that is weird. I’ve been stalked before in real life and it isn’t fun, trust me.

Bbbuuutt this is fiction. We know the motives behind Rook’s attitude even though other characters don’t. He’s also extremely funny, lol. I find his sense of style and his actions very humorous, and that only adds to his charm. If he were real, I feel as if he and I would be able to talk about each others interests so genuinely. I’d also be able to joke with him well!

Spoilers ~~~~~~~~~~

This is a buffer sentence.

I also find the fact that he comes from Savanaclaw very interesting. It would explain why he’s so good at being a hunter in nature, and being Le Chasseur D’Armour (The Hunter of Love) for multiple interesting folks. It makes me wonder about the geographical and sociology that enables people from the Afterglow Savannah (Sunset Savanna for the EN folks) to be sensitive to sounds, sights, and smells.

After all, Rook isn’t a… what’s the name? He isn’t like Ruggie, Leona, or Jack, who have deeply interwoven animal traits. He’s human (I think), which makes his biological data more interesting.

Oh man, and when he went to the Island of Woe (IoW) to see how he could get Vil back to Night Raven College (NRC), he cleverly uses his social patterns to get in. I believe I looked him up on a website called TVTropes (a wonderful place to see all the tropes that different movies, series, and characters have. It’s an AMAZING website, I highly recommend taking a look), and it explained why he did what he did.

By disguising his real motive as wanting to give Vil his beauty products (so that he would continue being beautiful), he managed to get himself, Epel, and the MC into S.T.Y.X. His actions are so outlandish, but fitting to his character that Ortho and Idia capture them instead of eliminating them or whatever. It’s something only Rook would do.

And that is SO FASCINATING!

Chapter 5 was one of my least-liked chapters. However, it was still a catalyst to diving into Pomefiore as a whole. Rook usurps the expectations that the audience has for them, especially when dealing with Vil before his overblot. Man was going to DRINK that damn liquid that would have KILLED Neige to 1. Express how much he wanted to believe that Vil wouldn’t do such a thing and 2. So he can risk getting a taste for poisonous fruits.

Rook literally admires Vil’s beauty first before jumping to action upon the danger that his overblot indicates.

HE ADMIRES VIL’S OVERBLOT!

HOW CRAZY IS THIS MAN?!?!?

He also does ballet! SLAY KING ballet is SO HARD!

This is also a buffer sentence.

Spoilers End! ~~~~~~~~

I love seeing how Rook ticks, like how he loves seeing how others do. He would SO be either a psychologist or get into the beauty industry, if not into a job that enables him to ‘hunt’ others better. ROOK HAS SUCH A FLEXIBILITY TO HIM THAT IT DRIVES ME NUTS JUST THINKING ABOUT HOW COMPLEX HE IS!

Then there’s the other half.

It’s a lot more selfish and deeply connected to my desire to know and be known. It’s extremely hard for me to trust people (especially in our day and age) because the world is so corrupted. My mother would tell me about how children would run in the streets unattended because they were safe. Parents would take care of kids from different families. They let them walk lengths to school without worry.

But it’s so distrustful now.

You don’t see children running around anymore in droves. Lots of people don’t show care for others anymore (not only because they might not care, but if they do care, it’ll be seen as creepy). I go walk alone in DAYTIME and fear that a car might hit me, or I’ll get assaulted somehow. I can’t even fully trust my own friends and family because you just never know what they might do.

I can’t even think about getting into dating because if I don’t balance taking it seriously and feeling the emotions, I’ll most definitely be taken advantage of. The idea of a partner is exciting, but thinking about how it might apply to me is terrifying. I wouldn’t be able to do it.

Which is why I feel so close to Rook, both as someone I would be and as a character.

As a fictional character that I hyperfixiated on, I know a LOT about him and his motives. I can predict how he would be. I don’t know his entire history or syllabus, or what his next action might be sometimes, but I know and love Rook for everything that he is.

The best part is that he would most likely do the same for me, just because of how he acts generally. He would desire to KNOW me like I know him now.

I could see Rook gathering so much intel on me that it’s not funny. He would see how I act, and why I act the way I do. He’d know what I like to do, what I don’t. He’d know what gifts to get me, know what I would need, even before I tell him.

He’d be such a great friend, and if it comes down to it, an even lovelier boyfriend. We share the same desire to know, and sharing those interests together is… it reaches into my very being and pulls something out.

We both admire beauty in things that others might not see. We’d both admire the clouds in the sky. We could both people-watch together to pick apart what makes people who they are. We’d write poems and fawn about the structure of them, the diction. Maybe he’d teach me about makeup, or I could teach him about origami.

I desire to know about him. I desire to be known. Knowing Rook, he would share that same deep desire to see, to think, and to know.

If there’s anyone that I could even fathom trusting with my life, it would be Rook. Sharing each other’s personalities and needs in a way that I don’t have to worry about in real life.

TLDR: Rook is a fascinating character. He has a kooky personality, funny attitude-style, and very interesting history. There’s a lot of traits he has that, when they come together, makes Rook a fascinating character to study. He’s complex. I both relate to him and want to be with him because of who he is.

And those are my thoughts on Rook Hunt.

Now, let me turn that question onto you, @mentallyshattered. Who is one of your favorite characters? What are your thoughts on them?

If y’all want to rant about a character too, feel free! This isn’t only for Shattered.

This is part 22 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

Sam's shop. I've never been there before, but it's about time to change that, I'd say. We need the distraction. Grim is enjoying it fully, probably thinking about the tuna he's sure to get.

And here we are! Admittedly, I'm not sure if we can afford anything that's not on sale, but it's worth a shot, right?

The shelves are stocked high, but not too high- many students are a bit short, so the items are only about two and a half meters off the ground at the highest. Despite that, there are stools along the ends of the rows, magically attached to their paths along the edges of the isles. I don't need them.

"Okay, Grim, can you smell the tuna or anything? I don't know where to look."

"No need, dear customers! I'll show you, just follow me."

Grim and I follow the man in the patchwork top hat through the expanse of items and prices, recognizing him as Sam, the owner. As he leads us, an odd feeling settles itself into my being. What is it? Oh, that's it- though the shelves are short, the store is vast, stretching onward like a neverending maze. Following Sam through all this feels a lot like I'm walking through a limnal space, guided by a supernatural entity of unknown origin.

"Here we are!" In front of us, Sam is motioning to a shelf with stout cans of tuna stacked one atop another. Sure enough, the price tag on the edge of the suspiciously strong plastic reads "SALE" and is followed by a slashed-out price displayed above a price that's worth half the original, written in larger font. I don't need to look to know Grim's reaction.

"Thank you!" I wave to Sam, grab some tuna, and turn back. He's gone by then, so I just move Grim to my other shoulder and walk to the counter. Sam is waiting there, smiling as usual, and sends us off with an enthusiastic "Thank you!" When we pay and leave.

How unusual. Oh, well. I'll let Grim have a can of this now, and the rest can be saved. Now, where's a trash can?..oh, over there!

...huh. There's a spot in the trash bags over here that's cleared out, about the size of a first-year student. Why? I can't see any reason someone would clear this out. Other than boredom, but this looks like it's been here for a while now. How odd. Meh.

I trash the lid and walk away. We have better things to do. Say, for example, hiding pencil erasers in Ace's bag until he notices and says something, or trying to figure out what the hell is up with Korrak.

"Myeeh, do you hear that?" I stop walking, merely two steps from the indent, and attempt to fine-tune my ears. When I hold my breath, I hear it. Music.

I'm a sin, but I'm half of the hourglass, glass, glass

I don't recognize the song, but I hear it. There is definitely some kind of music playing. But from where? A quick glance at Grim's ears tell me it's toward the pile of trash.

I turn around, slowly, silently, and look a little closer. The music is decently loud now, but I can't see its source.

"Hold my can." I take the half-eaten can of tuna from Grim with one hand and lower the other to allow him to jump down. He ignores the platform entirely and jumps down without my help, landing on concrete and quickly deciding he'd rather move the bags with magic than with his paws or face. The one right in front of him glows somewhat, rises, and reveals a pair of beaten-up headphones plugged into a strange, once-white rectangle.

Grim looks at me. I reach in with my free hand, grab the headphones, and Grim releases the trash bag the instant nothing is under it anymore in favor of hopping onto my arm. When I'm fully upright again, I pass Grim his tuna.

"Myeeh, thanks." He returns to eating. I try and examine the device. It resembles a rectangle when viewed from the front or back, but looking at the top gives it a more almond shape- if almonds were pointed at two ends and not rounded at one. It's very thin, too, much thinner than an almond.

The music still plays. I can't identify the song, but this is probably on a playlist, so I wait for the song to end. It loops.

Dah dah dah dah, da-dah dah dah, dah dah dah dah dah dah dah dah

The music kicks up. I still don't recognize the song. The headphones don't fit over my head, but, in my endeavors to put them on, I see him, on the edge of my vision. Barely visible.

Korrak. I don't see Rook. Why is he here?

Ok, Yuu, hold on. You don't want to sound suspicious. That's your roommate and friend. He doesn't know I've seen him yet. So...

I turn to face him and ask, "Hey, are these yours?" He startles. Okay, maybe that wasn't the right move. Still, he attempts to reply- a series of quiet chitters and chirps I can't understand, yet still too loud to miss for my now cat-level hearing, even over the wind and faint music.

"Yeah," Mandible nods, presumably translating for Korrak, "those are ours. Thanks for finding them." I can't be sure as to why Korrak stutters and Mandible doesn't.

"Well, here you go. Your song is still playing." Indeed it is, the singer's voice calling out to be remembered for hundreds of years. Korrak, upon seeing my outstretched hand, visibly relaxes and reaches out to take it.

I've seen that reaction before, on videos, in photos, and in the mirror- not the magic one- when I realized something I saw as precious hadn't been stolen or lost, but was being returned to me.

I saw it in Grim's eyes, reflected from my own when I saw him before the entrance ceremony.

These must be important to them. They've probably had them for years and years, a persistent source of comfort through tough and easy times alike.

Grim was like that for me.

"Thanks," speaks Mandible. It takes me a moment to register his words as his, momentary confusion clouding my judgment of Korrak's voice vs. Mandible's jaws moving. The confusion clears with a single word rushing into my mind: ventriloquism.

Another question rises from the ashes of my puzzlement, burning like a Phoenix: why doesn't Mandible stutter?

Just as quickly, the question abandons me, and nothing more comes of the interaction- rather, a new one begins at the moment's end, with Rook walking up and playing a hand on Korrak's unoccupied shoulder. Korrak briefly panics, a flash of intense fear taking root in his eyes, but that fear is pulled up when he realizes whose wrist the black-gloved hand is attached to.

"Monseurs," Rook begins, nodding at me and Grim as well as Korrak and Mandible, "Come with me. You are going to brew potions in class soon, and I have been instructed to ensure that you all know the basics and how to apply them."

I approach when Rook motions with his free- well, not really, he's holding his bow with that one- hand for me and Grim to follow his lead. A short-feeling walk later, we're back at Pomefiore's main building, through the lounge, down a flight of stairs, and standing in a dark, basementy room that reminds me of medieval castles- if they were cleaned and the atmosphere of a damp, uneven-floored chamber were intentionally crafted. Rook leads us over to a cauldron, and I see the nearby bench against the wall. Epel is sitting there, head slumped a little to his right like he's drowsy, but not yet asleep.

Rook snaps his fingers. Epel jolts upright, his head turning rapidly from side to side until he spots us and hurries from his seat to a spot beside the cauldron. He's in his labwear, and, with a flick of his magic pen, so is Rook. Korrak follows suit, swapping his neatly-buttoned jacket, dress shirt, and Pomefiore-purple vest for a dull white lab coat and a pair of the goggles every Pomefiore student has. Mandible chitters something I don't know at him, and, a moment later, me and Grim are the only ones not in labwear- a fact soon made false. Clearly, my practice is paying off.

Rook waves his magic pen again, filling the cauldron with a shimmering liquid I initially fail to recognize as water in the opalescent lighting of the room. Epel looks at us all, moving his goggles down his face to sit over his eyes once Grim taps the clear frame of the cat-adjacent familiar's protective eyewear.

"Now, then," the vice housewarden speaks up, his voice steadfast, "Every Pomefiore student worth their salt needs a flawless pharmalogical grounding." He briefly moves away to fetch a cart with three levels, the upper two of which are covered in a thick, single layer of small glass vials with corks. The top jars look to contain herbs, judging by the faded green and slightly-wilted brown reflected and refracted by the smooth, light-bending surface of their containers. The ones on the middle level, however, appear to contain a collective rainbow of various spices, rocks, furs, and everything else Crewel hasn't let us touch yet, with the exception of equipment.

I squint at the sudden, unmistakable scent of mint wafting off the cart, in spite of the fact that it's on Rook's right and I'm on his left. Grim moves to cover his nose with his paws, but stops when he remembers he's wearing lab gloves and that might not be a bright idea. Looking over, Mandible's nose is twitching like mad- he and Korrak must be getting the brunt of it.

In asingle half-second, I realize Rook is holding his breath, his chest steady instead of slowly moving with his lungs, and then he pushes the cork down onto a vial I hadn't noticed him reaching for, closing it. The aggressive scent of mint wanes and blows away. Rook exhales and inhales, clearly relived. He's a hunter; his sense of smell is sharp. Too-strong oders must be overwhelming to him- they are to me.

A memory surfaces in my mind- falling asleep in a bed of mint, wild mint, dug up and moved to one spot, with Grim in my arms, and then it fades, vanishing like clear gel tossed into the sea. Another event rises into the forefront of my attention, more solid and vivid than the last. The mix of disappointment and sorrow that rose then comes with it, soon yet gradualy overtaken by the sense of apathy that settled into my being back then. That numbness stuck around for years until fate dragged me into this school to reunite with Grim and feel again.

Why did that particular memory surface? What is it that ties then to now, only now? Laying in a bed of mint- oh! My nose is sharper now, much sharper. Back then, I could lie in a bed of it and rest well, but now a meter and a half away is too close.

My familiar stands on all fours and stretches straight up, claws digging ever-so-slightly into the surface of my skin and coat. I snap back to the present. That's right, I'm busy. Busy doing what? Oh, that's right, Rook's helping with upcoming potionology work.

"Now, then..." Rook doesn't talk too much, evidently favoring the act of guiding us by our hands and arms, only commenting when the herbs become involved. Contrawise, he hums near-constantly, one of the melodies bringing the earlier encounter with Korrak and Mandible to my immediate attention. It's the same song.

Rook was there. Good. That means Korrak had some other company. I was a little worried, but now that I know Rook was there to keep an eye on them, some tension I was previously unaware of dissapates like smoke set free from a jar and into the cool evening breeze.

Soon, though, we are back upstairs, in the Backstage Room, discussing as we usually do. I hear someone say the time and our roommates leave me to complete my last two steps with ease, choosing to brush Grim until we're both off to bed. Korrak is asleep by the time we get there, and, soon, Grim curls up in his cat bed as I curl up in my human bed, and then we both close our eyes for the night. My dreams are a single, simple phrase:

"Memory Lane"

This is part 23 of the "What if Yuu didn't want to go back?" Series!

(I, the author of this work, do not consent to this work being crossposted/translated without my knowledge or used to train an AI, ever.)

Masterlist

I have several questions.

1. Why am I here?

2. Where is "here?"

3. When did I wake up?

5. What time is it?

6. How did I get here?

7. Who are they?

There are several other questions, of course, but these are the ones that press most persistently at my mind. Some are easy enough to answer- Grim's my familiar, of course he's here- while others- maybe there aren't any crickets because of the time? They should be active if it's still night- aren't so obvious.

Ah, well. The lane in front of me is long, as is the portion behind me I've absentmindedly walked prior to realizing I'm not somewhere I already know. The atmosphere here doesn't feel aggressive, hostile, or even unwelcoming. It just feels... calm. Strangely, unfamiliarly calm, like I've been here all my life without realizing it. Like a freshwater fish moved to a cleaner, kinder lake.

On my left and right are smoke-lined "screens" with short videos playing, repeating from what I assume to be the start after a second or two of playing. Each "screen" is about my height, hovering slightly above the ground beside the path, but I soon realize I'm taller. The bottom of the screens aligns with my ankles, not my feet, but the tops are still about level with my scalp. About a meter and a half from the side of the walkway is a row of trees with a deep brownish-black I've never seen in nature, much less alongside the pale blue, almond-shaped leaves. In form, some of the trees resemble simple oak, while others split at the base like birch. The variety is undeniable regardless of trunks: some droop like weeping willows; some branch straight up; some don't bother with limbs and just grow their leaves directly off of their bark. The nonpath ground that doesn't have a tree on it is covered in what looks to be clover, flowerless and evidently lacking in the four-leafed variety, favoring five-leafedness as some noticeable portion of the apparent population.

The path itself is a shifting shade of grey, then purple, then blue, and then I hold my head still and stare. Above me is a strange, dark sky, the same shade as right before a thunderstorm, when dark clouds coat the sky and hide the sun. In spite of the color, not one cloud is visible- just a series of small, silvery streaks, some pale blue and most are a very light, shiny grey that appears white against the dark sky. The streaks are scattered like faraway stars; some even form a bizarre sort of image, a constellation of abstract made to resemble a hundred shapes at once. If I look straight up, they resemble a fox, but if I turn a little to my left and peer slightly lower than before, It's an upside-down stag.

What a weird, wonderful world.

In my arms, Grim starts to stir, yawning as he does when he's sleepy. I smile. How cute. His eyes slowly blink open, and he hops out of my arms to stretch like normal, padding over to sit beside me once he's done.

I wait. Logically, he's going to ask where we are soon- but that "soon" never comes. He just sits there, trident tail silently swishing behind him, until he speaks:

"Where're we gonna go?" He says it so casually; I'd think he knows this place if I didn't know any better.

...Do I?

Maybe he knows. Perhaps this is his signature spell. Perhaps it is not. How should I know? All I've been given are strange, vague clues, many of which would seem so out-of-place anywhere else I'd absolutely remember if I've seen them before.

Grim is in front of me now, his paws moving the loose, sandlike material of the path into a tiny trail, documenting his steps. His eyes are staring right at my face, curious and patient. Heh. Never thought I'd call him that, but here we are. Oh, I should ask him.

"Grim, do you know where we are?"

"Sorta," he starts. "I've been here before." He pauses and looks around for a moment before he continues, "Well, here-ish. The path and trees were a different color, and the screen things weren't floating or smokey. The videos were of other things, too, and there were way more sky streak things. Oh, and the sky was darker."

I look around and focus my attention on one of the videos floating on my right. It's of a young child, about eleven if I had to guess, celebrating something with a group of others who appear to be about his age. Just before the loop restarts, a presumably adult figure who's mostly out of sight starts handing out popsicles, starting with the boy in the center of the screen. The kid doesn't ring any bells, but I recognize him regardless- not because he's familiar, but because his familiar is familiar.

Atop the child's head is a very distinct oppossum. The boy must be Korrak. Is this a memory or a dream? I can't be sure.

I reach out to touch it, and all of a sudden I'm in that park, Grim by my side, as a small Korrak kicks a black-and-white soccer ball into a goal made from what I think is PVC piping. The kids cheer, but the other team, a pair of acne-faced young teens, tries to rush the lady keeping score, claiming "offsides." The lady laughs them off, presumably having seen the goal and the fact that the ball didn't touch any of the sides, and tells them to act their age instead of whining.

A chittering Mandible runs to join the cheering children as they toss Korrak into the air- I didn't know they could do that, but I guess little kids are stronger in groups of fifteen- and an adult hands out the "trophies," one for each winner. Korrak clearly isn't the only one with a familiar, as the instant another grown-up reaches to pass Mandible an ice cube with some grapes frozen inside, a small, many-legged clump of colorful fur bolts to her, barking and cooing and chittering and meowing that doesn't seem to be speech so much as just shouting. As the treats are handed out, I see a border collie, a raccon, a cat, and a pigeon quiet down and rest beside their respective winners to rest and eat. The border collie, still not fully grown, jumps onto the lap of a boy with brown hair that reminds me of tree bark, while the raccon runs to a young girl I don't clock as "not a boy" until she undoes her ponytail. The cat, a mostly white shorthair with black paws, an equally dark head, and a tail to match sits on the back of a very pale boy with hair that makes his skin look worse as he lies on his stomach to eat, and the pigeon flies directly into a nearby oak tree, where a small, dark-skinned boy with dreadlocks and wide eyes climbs to meet it.

Eventually, small Korrak finishes his reward, and, tongue stained purple, announces that his mom told him to be back before dark, and leaves, Mandible on his shoulder. The sunset has dyed the sky a bright, beautiful orangey-red, and then I am back in on the path, Grim beside me all the same. The portion of the memory is still looping like is was before on the smoke-lined screen, as though nothing changed. Nothing did. How odd.

Wait, I said something. There was a phrase- "memoir lake," was that it? No, it couldn't be. I don't see a lake.

"Weird," begins Grim. "I've never tried to go through one of those before. Did you see how the grass kinda doubled and split when we touched it? Like, some of it was unaffected, but some was kinda see-through and didn't just phase through my paws."

"I wasn't paying attention to the grass..."

Grim shrugs with his little kitty shoulders. "Fair enough. I barely did." He pauses, paws shifting nervously on the sandlike path. "I used to just...be somewhere a lot like this sometimes. I'd start at the end of the path, and there'd be a light of some kind, and I'd touch it like you did with that memory thing, and..."

I remember. I never went anywhere particular to find Grim, he'd kind of just... show up. I would fall asleep in the woods, as one does when they aren't attending a prestigious magic college, and wake with my familiar in my arms or curled against my stomach. I never questioned it; he'd been appearing like that for years. It'd been part of my "normal" since I was a little kid, and I thought nothing of it, the way rich kids think nothing of their money until they learn their classmates live without it.

I smile. My magic was always there, I suppose, I just couldn't use it until I was there, too.

My magic. My magic. My magic. Is that really what this is?

Grim finally asks me what I've been asking myself: "Is this your signature spell?"

It's mine or his, right? Grim's been seeing this kind of magic for years, and it connected to me then, so it has to be one of ours, right?

I stop and look left. Another memory, with an even younger Korrak. He looks to be hiding behind a small pile of black plastic trash bags, presumably playing hide-and-seek. An adult, a presumably a police officer, steps into the frame, head and chest still out-of-sight. He steps loudly around, leaving a young Korrak to breathe again with relief. The memory loops. I watch, still and silent, as a Korrak who can't be any older than six dashes into an alleyway, digs 'neath the garbage bags, and stashes himself away, holding his breath.

I break away when the cop leaves again. What the hell? That didn't look like a game.

Before I can stop it, my hand reaches out and presses against the screen. For a moment, it feels as though the world has stopped, and then I'm standing on sidewalk as a slight breeze ruffles my hair. Small Korrak bolts through my legs like they aren't there and forces his body against its momentum to make a sharp left into an alleyway. The cop runs up, noticeably slower than the five-or-so-year-old, and stops affront the escape route. He walks forward, slowly, boots thumping on the concrete, and I follow.

The police's face is blurry and obscured. This is a memory, and Korrak didn't get a good look at him, so that's not too surprising, but when I fall onto the trash bags I realize Grim was right- each bag duplicates into two, one of which phases through me, and the other of which doesn't.

The cop leaves, Korrak exhales, and I watch as he cries. Cries little child tears, curling into a ball of scared with Mandible clutched in his arms. The trash bags must be some kind of safe haven to him. Is that why his headphones were where they were when we found them?

A small, quiet whine tries and fails to echo in the dark outdoor halls. Mandible chitters. I don't know what he's saying.

The memory ends. I'm back on the path. What is there to do now but learn more?

I step twelve paces forward. All of the screens' loops would suggest Korrak has never had a house. Further back, more of the same. Farther and farther into his past I glance, and there is not a single instance of Korrak being raised by humans. I don't see a single plane.

The "pilot parents" lie has been very disproven. He grew up homeless? That explains so much! The fighting must have been a necessity out there, and the aforementioned lie was a practiced cover for why everything he owns fits in a single bag. He was probably raised by opossums, too, and learning a human language was probably a challenge.

Poor Korrak. He must have had a difficult life.

I venture into the nearer past. Teen and preteen Korrak does not appear to have been taken in. He has, however, learned to read, which seems to have lead to an interest in science. He doesn't get to indulge that.

Finally, I see the black carriage approach. He's going to Night Raven. Screens further ahead show the entrance ceremony, our dorm room, the Backstage Room, us. Rook taking him to Vil's room. The leaders of Pomefiore taking him and Mandible under their wings as they did Grim and I.

Vil brushing Korrak's hair while Rook smooths Mandible's fur with a brush. Getting a phone for the first time in sixteen years, from our housewarden himself. Clutching Mandible in his arms while trying to curl in on himself, just like he did all those years ago, but now Rook is there, too, hugging him- wait, that's the clearing we saw him in!

Much of this is giving me dejá vù. Rook and Vil treat Korrak and Mandible the way they treat me and Grim: like birds encouraging their fledgling chicks to spread their wings and fly. How come I didn't know of this sooner? As glances of the past would suggest, mom and dad- what the hell, they aren't my legal parents or guardians, I'm getting ahead of all this- went out of their ways to give us privacy. How nice.

I jog to where I started. A "fire" burns there, emitting smoke but no flame. I could walk through if I wanted.

"Myeeh, we need to leave! I don't wanna be late," shouts Grim, trident tail straight up. He's right, we need to go! But how do I...

Two words come to mind: a name. My signature spell's name.

"Memory Lane," I say, and I'm back in my bed.

The second line of this exact Idia dialouge from the GloMas event describes my feelings towards this perfectly

According to all known laws of #wriolette, there is no way a #ortho shroud should be able to #glomas.

OKAY, I'M GOING TO GO BACK TO WRITING!

MY DAD GOT OUT OF THE HOSPITAL ALIVE. MY MOM'S HUSBAND GOT OUT OF THE HOSPITAL ALIVE. NO MORE DISTRACTIONS. WOO!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!