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Wakaba didn't like that everything was changing around her; everything was dark and never-ending. She was new to the scent of blood-wet jasmine, what came with rotted affection and a spurned heart. She smiled while she knew that she wasn't special compared to others; her hopes and dreams dashed while they gained everything she could never have.

Keiko knew that all too well; she sought romance and the love of another. In the end, her chest held a wound from which she could never recover. She knew only loss, of thorns tight around her very form. She thought that her love could be returned, but instead was laughed at such affection, like the twist of a knife cut her deeply.

They both knew of loss and heartache, what could have been, and wondering if the ending has become different. They both had been given the freedom of discovery. They were learning, and maybe the fairy tales they found themselves in could have a happy ending after all, but they pleaded for that outcome.

In the end, they could only hope, beseech and pray.