Oh my god it's been a long time. I'm sorry, everyone - I'm in college now, and I don't always have time for writing. And that's on top of being a lazy bastard with perpetual writers' block.

So - you may have noticed that this is not, in fact, ThirtyOne. This is the continuation I promised. Whether or not there are more chapters (I'd like to think there will be more) depends on how many nebulous 'groups' I can stick people into. That means that there may be some chapters that are shorter than five entries as well as some that are longer. We'll handle that when it comes, though. For now, please enjoy - you've waited far too long as it is.

I. Bookmark

Fate closed his eyes. Fate opened his eyes.

"…Interesting," he said after a moment, looking around. He was in the girls' dormitory now – a large, almost cathedralic room that had once been a banquet hall, but was now stuffed with around a score of assorted beds collected from the rooms of the Palace that had survived the Fall of Ostia. He rarely spent time here; the girls would never have forbidden him to enter, and yet he rarely did. Out of a sense of propriety, perhaps? Archaic notions concerning women's bedchambers? Something to think about, when more time allowed.

In any case, exploring the minds of teenage girls was not his purpose here. Fate picked himself up off the floor – had she been so careless? – and strode across stone polished by generations of footsteps to stand before the full-length mirror bolted into the wall: Linara's handiwork. Linara had been one of the older girls even when Fate had first met her: at least ten, older certainly than Fate himself. She was a woodelf, quick to smile and laugh. Hers had been the bed in the corner there; it was empty now, as too many were. Fate felt a flash of – loneliness? – pass through him, and he quashed it, turning back to the mirror.

Here there was better news. Hair, skin, eyes, clothes – all were perfect likenesses. He held out a hand, pulling the sleeve back a little; the skin was cool to the touch, and hairless. Quite satisfactory. Even the little threadbare patch inside the cuff had been replicated. Fate allowed himself a small smile, then crossed to the door and knocked twice. The sound echoed in the chamber for a short moment, then the heavy oak swung aside.

"Well done," the newcomer said, stopping at the threshold as Fate stepped back. "The likeness is impeccable. How do you feel?"

"I noticed some emotional instability," Fate replied, turning to face the other person. "The technique still requires work in that respect. Perhaps I–" He broke off.

Fate raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter?"

Fate took a step back. "Nothing, I –" He was there. Somehow – he was there, and here. Fate-sama was standing in front of him, but wasn't she Fate-sama – she? She knew there was a reason he had come into the room, knew there was a reason for it – but what was it? What could she want with him – he – she was – she was –

A sharp sting of pain lanced through her knees. Pressure on her shoulders – the world spun –

Shiori opened her eyes. The floor seemed much further away than she would have expected, and it took her several seconds to realize that she was on her back, looking up at the ceiling. With some difficulty, she sat up; she was in bed. The light streaming in from the dormitory's windows dyed the covers over her knees orange, tinted with various colors by the dyed glass; she had to have been out for hours. It certainly felt like it. Her body was stiff, and her head hurt. She reached up to brush hair from her eyes, and stopped as her hand met resistance.

"No," Shiori breathed, pulling the covers aside. "Usagi-san?" But sure enough, the ragged old stuffed rabbit sat placidly by her pillow, the way he always had. "But… I left you in Ostia," she breathed.

"Are you sure, Luna?" Deali asked, concern wrinkling her forehead past her little horns. "I mean, Usagi-san's always been with you…"

"It's Shiori now, remember," Luna declared, setting the stuffed rabbit down by the stone wall that separated the girls from empty space. "And we're saving the world, Deali-san. Usa… stuffed toys are for little girls, not heroes. Not the kind of people Fate-sama needs. Not the kind of person I have to be for him."

"If you're sure," Deali said doubtfully, putting an arm around the eleven-year-old girl. A sudden soft footstep startled them both, and they turned to face Fate.

"Are your preparations complete? We're leaving for the Palace shortly," he said. If his eyes flickered over the stuffed rabbit, he said nothing about it. Luna stepped away from Deali, bowing deeply.

"I'm ready, Fate-sama," she said. Fate nodded to her and turned away, walking back to the airport where the Flying Fish awaited. Luna ran a few steps after him, turned to look one last time at Usagi-san, then followed Fate around the corner.

"Usagi-san…" she murmured, snuggling her nose into the familiar patch of worn fabric on the rabbit's belly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll never leave you again."

After a time, Shiori pulled her face from the covers and looked over at the massive oaken door. It was still ajar slightly; the balance had shifted ever so slightly since the Fall, and it never closed properly without a strong tug. And yet…

"Thank you, Fate-sama," Shiori said quietly. There was silence for a moment, then the door eased closed. Shiori smiled and buried her face into Usagi-san, not noticing or caring about the tears that sank into his fur. "Thank you."

II. Flame

Shirabe strode briskly down the hall, particles of dust grinding between the silk of her slippers and the polished, gold-flecked surface of the aurmarble floor tiles. Twenty years' worth of dust was a formidable opponent, but most of the halls had already been swept clean; she didn't really understand why Homura was given a pass on the matter, but if Fate-sama saw no problem with it then neither did she. For the most part.

The passage was an old one, even relative to the rest of the Gravekeepers' Palace; it was hewn directly into the rock the Palace had been built around, and though the ceiling and the inner wall had been shaped into elegant buttresses and elaborate arches and the outer wall was spaced with windows that let in the afternoon's vibrant orange light, Shirabe still felt like she was walking into a cave. The echoing whispers of her feet on the stone did little to help the feeling, and it only intensified as she neared her goal.

The door at the end of the hallway was a thick, dark sheet of wood, magically treated against any kind of intrusion or escape. It took up a full two-thirds of the far wall, a hulking guardian of the unknown. The chamber beyond had in fact been a cell at one point, though Fate had found its defenses inadequate for anything truly worthwhile. He'd given it to the girls after only a little begging on their parts.

"Homura," Shirabe called, not bothering to knock. The door wouldn't budge to anything short of a smack in Wood Dragon form when it was closed, though it was perfectly balanced when open. Fate had performed that spell; Shirabe suspected a locking sprite or two in the door, but there was no way to be sure. "Homura, dinner is ready."

There was no response, and Shirabe sighed. "I'm coming in," she shouted, twisting the ornate silver doorknob. The door swung open, and Shirabe stepped into hell.

The heat hit her first, rushing out of the room along with massive gouts of smoke. The floor, the walls and the ceiling alike had melted into glass stained with soot and char; ragged-edged craters dotted the room where flash-melted rock had burst into glass drops that cooled as quickly as they formed. Shirabe picked her way across the scarred, pitted floor, getting as close as she dared to the pillar of fire blazing in the center of the room. "Dinner's ready," she told it.

"I heard you the first time, Shirabe," Homura replied, letting the flames streaming from her body die down. Her skin faded from angry red to its usual light tone as the Aspect of Flame left her, and she dropped to sit on the floor with a huff. "I'm not hungry right now."

"When did you last eat?" Shirabe asked, not moving any closer to the other girl. Homura dragged her arm across her forehead; a quiet hissing sound rose from her skin as the sweat beaded there evaporated into steam. A small cloud soon surrounded the flame-haired Ministra, and she didn't answer. "Yesterday?" Shirabe guessed, finally.

"Call it two days ago," Homura said, shrugging. She let out a deep breath, almost a sigh. "It's fine. I eat when I have to."

"You haven't eaten for two days, and you say you eat when you have to?" Shirabe replied, circling around the room to stand in front of Homura. "Homura –" she broke off.

Homura jerked her head to the left, pointedly not looking at the older girl. "What?" she asked, almost belligerently.

Shirabe's face might have been carved from stone. "You did it again?"

"I didn't do anything," Homura snapped, turning to face Shirabe for the first time. "This is not my fault." There was silence in the room, broken after a few moments by a liquid splash. As Shirabe watched, another crimson line traced its way down Homura's cheek from her left eye to fall to the glassy floor.

"Dismiss it," Shirabe said quietly. "You need to rest now. Here –" she pulled a scrap of black cloth from her sleeve – "You forgot this on your bed."

"I didn't forget it," Homura hissed, making no move to take the cloth. "I won't wear it anymore. It's a sign of weakness." She stood in a fluid motion, turning away from Shirabe. "If you were going to bring me clothing, you should've brought me one of my dresses."

"Just put it on and come to dinner, please, Homura," Shirabe said, beginning to lose patience. "Come on. You've been using it too much as it is –"

"Endurance training," Homura replied, her voice rising. "I'm useless to Fate-sama the way I am now. I can barely use it at all at this rate. When the time comes, I'm going to have to be ready," she finished, shouting now. She glanced over at the far corner of the room, and her eyes widened.

Shirabe rocked back a step as a small explosion blossomed in the corner, hammering her with a shock of compressed air and heat. "Homura," she began, but she cut off as Homura let out a choked gasp and fell to one knee, pressing a hand to her eye. A renewed stream of blood dripped between the girl's fingers, and it mixed with her tears as she slammed a fist into the floor.

"I'm so weak," she muttered, seeming to collapse in on herself. "I can't even do this one little thing."

"Homura," Shirabe said, stepping to kneel beside her. She put her hands on Homura's shoulders – her skin had cooled, and now felt merely feverish to Shirabe – and helped the girl straighten up. Homura resolutely looked away from the eighteen-year-old, but Shirabe took her chin – gently, but firmly, brooking no argument – and turned her face back. "Here," Shirabe said quietly, taking a square of gauze from her pouch. Homura accepted it, pressing it to her eye. "Dismiss it," Shirabe said.

Homura's visible eye squeezed shut, but she drew in a breath. "Abeat," she whispered. The red slowly spreading across the gauze increased slightly, but after a moment she pulled the cloth away. No more blood seeped from under her sunken eyelid, and she dabbed at the trail slowly drying down her cheek. After a long moment, she silently held her hand out, and Shirabe handed her the eyepatch.

"Let's go," Homura said, settling the band above her pigtail. "Koyomi will complain if you're late with dinner." Shirabe smiled faintly and stood, holding out a hand to help Homura to her feet. The younger girl stared at her for a moment, then took her hand, standing without pulling on her. The two girls left the room together, and Homura turned to close the door. She paused for a moment as the solid wood slammed into place.

"Someday I'll burn this to ash," she murmured, reaching up to touch the dark material over her eye socket. She stepped forward into the hall, and the light of the setting sun wreathed her in liquid fire.

Shirabe nodded, following after her. "I know you will."

III. Calendar

Koyomi huffed out a deep breath, letting herself flop backward onto her bed. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable – all the furniture that had survived the looters during the Fall of Ostia and the ambient magic in the Palace for the twenty years afterward was – but it was horizontal, something Koyomi desperately needed to be at the moment. Across the room, sitting on her bed, Tamaki paused in applying what looked like wax to her horns and shot the dark-haired Ministra a questioning look.

Koyomi felt her face heat. "I was just wondering what we're going to tell Fate-sama," she said after a moment. "We can hardly tell him that we got our pan – our panties stolen by that musclebound, posturing, perverted gorilla," she muttered darkly. Unbidden, an image of Fate-sama's face came to mind: the rare bemused, half-curious expression he wore when faced with something he'd rather not think about. She would probably die of shame if he looked at her like that.

Tamaki tilted her head to one side. "Only you –"

"Okay, yes, it was just me," Koyomi ground out, rubbing at her eyes. 'Oh, man. I don't know about black, missy,' Rakan said again, and she bit back a frustrated scream. He would probably hear her, somehow, and laugh at her. Of all the opponents they could have been put up against… being defeated by the only man in the Mundus Magicus to weaponize sexual harassment was just embarrassing, whether it was Rakan of the Thousand Blades or not. Maybe especially because it was him. How someone so stupid became a folk hero…

She was so preoccupied lumping curses on the man that it took her several seconds to notice that she felt… odd. Truth be told, if she was honest about it… she felt really good. There was something magical happening to her ears, and she closed her eyes and leaned back into it, resting her head on Tamaki's lap as the other girl scritched her head.

…Wait just a minute here.

"Wha – wha – what are you doing?" Koyomi stammered, sitting up and clapping her hands protectively over the top of her head. The flush that had just left her face returned in full force.

Tamaki shrugged, folding her hands in her lap. "I had a cat," she said, after a moment. "She used to love being scratched, so I thought it might make you feel better…"

Koyomi's mouth hung open for a moment. "Tamaki, I'm not a cat," she said, reaching up to smooth out her hair. "I'm a Demihuman. Don't rub my ears."

"...Oh. All right." Tamaki was hard to read at the best of times, but there was a downcast turn to her eyes that suggested…

Koyomi felt like she'd kicked a puppy. She let out a breath. "I appreciate the thought, Tamaki, but I'm not a pet. I don't like being… I don't like…" Damn it, she did like it, and her own hands on her ears were only making it worse. And besides… somehow, Koyomi got the feeling that Tamaki needed it more than she did. She sighed and lay back again, and Tamaki's hand hesitated over her hair. "Just a little bit, okay?" she said, looking up at her kohai. For the first time Koyomi could remember offhand, Tamaki smiled.

"…Okay."

IV. Bracelet

"You're kidding."

Stonefaced, Tamaki didn't so much as raise an eyebrow at Koyomi's incredulous look. The cat-eared Ministra frowned, tilting her head in annoyance as much as curiosity. "No, really. You're kidding, right?"

Tamaki reached out from under the voluminous robe she was wearing, grabbing the drippy, unlit candle stub from Koyomi's bedside table. Without breaking eye contact with the other girl, she puffed out a sharp breath, lighting the taper with a small tongue of fire. Wordlessly, she set the candle back down.

"Okay, so you're not kidding," Koyomi allowed, absently putting the candle out with wetted fingers. "And you're suddenly breathing fire why, again…?"

"Dra—" Tamaki began. She clamped her mouth shut as a small fireball shot past her lips, nearly catching the edge of Koyomi's hair. Wide-eyed, she drew breath to apologize, but Koyomi clapped her hand over the other girl's mouth.

"I know it was an accident," Koyomi replied quickly. "Still, how about I get you some paper instead?"

A few minutes later, Tamaki was glumly using a long fingernail dipped in ink to write out the cause of her woes. Koyomi, standing behind her, couldn't help but ask when she was finished.

"'Puberty'?" she read, leaning over Tamaki's shoulder. "Dragonfolk puberty involves randomly breathing fire when you try to talk?" She seemed to be having trouble speaking, and Tamaki turned around to frown at her. The serious expression on the other girl's face only made it harder for Koyomi to hold in her giggles, and after a moment she stopped trying.

"I'm just saying, it's kind of silly when you think about it," she said after a few moments, smiling. Tamaki held up a slender finger, then dipped it back into the inkpot. Koyomi waited patiently while she wrote, and Tamaki held up the sheet of parchment for her.

"'No worse than that month you got all hairy' – that was fur, Tamaki," she replied hotly, blushing. "I'm a felia. It's only natural for that to happen…" she trailed off. "Anyway, you're breathing fire," she continued, regaining some steam. "I didn't inconvenience anyone but myself."

"Shedding," Tamaki said quietly, sparks dancing on her tongue. Koyomi nearly fell over.

"Did you want me to shave myself or something?" she cried, ears twitching. "Sorry I was furry! Geez!" She took a deep breath and sighed, visibly composing herself. "Okay, so, back on topic. What do you want to do about this? I mean, it's not like you talk much anyway…"

It should stop in about a week, Tamaki wrote, her claw giving the characters a sharp, strangely predatory look. Until then, I'd decided to hide out inside my Artifact. From what I remember, there are… other stages.

"What, like your skin goes scaly and stuff like that?" Koyomi asked, putting a companionable arm around Tamaki's shoulders. "There's nothing embarrassing about that."

More like turning into a full dragon and rampaging around for three days, Tamaki wrote.

Koyomi swallowed. "Oh. Uh." She looked around the dormitory – for its cathedral ceiling, it was relatively narrow, and the doors on either side were smallish as well. "Not… a little full dragon, right?" she asked, holding her hands about a foot apart above her knees.

Tamaki looked at her. Not really, no.

"Didn't think so," Koyomi sighed, standing. She stretched her hands above her head, standing on tiptoe, and sank back onto her heels. "Well, if you're just going into your Artifact, that should be fine, right? Why tell me?"

Tamaki cleared her throat, sending a puff of smoke out of her nostrils. The chance of hurting myself while I'm rampaging is pretty high, so I need someone to look after me. You're the best choice, since you can freeze me in place if you have to. More importantly… She paused, tapping her claw absently; ink splashed in little dots onto the paper and Koyomi's bedside table.

"More importantly?" Koyomi prompted, after a minute. Tamaki looked at her, then leaned back over the paper.

More importantly, I trust you.

Koyomi blinked, shocked. "Tamaki…" She patted the other girl's shoulder, then pulled her to her feet. "So, when are we going? You've told Fate-sama already, right?" Tamaki nodded, then held up her hand. Her claws made a sickening sound as they elongated; her skin already looked rougher.

"Now, then," Koyomi said, not terribly surprised. Tamaki nodded again and held up her card.

"Adeat –" a little burst of fire, and the dormitory vanished.

As always, the world of Tamaki's Artifact, the Encompanentia Infinitia, was filled with directionless white light; the horizon stretched out into a featureless void in all directions, and Koyomi stumbled a little as she looked up at the giant pillars several – well, they could be several hundred miles away, come to think of it, and just ridiculously large… after a moment, she judiciously lowered her gaze, focusing instead on Tamaki. The other girl was sitting down, hugging her knees to her chest; she looked up at Koyomi as the other girl approached.

"I was wrong," she said, addressing the air a meter to Koyomi's right to avoid blasting her. "It's happening earlier than I thought…" With some difficulty, she stood, then kneeled, folding her legs underneath her. Her hands rested on the strange not-stone of the pillar they stood on; as her fingers curled shut, her claws gouged deep lines in the smooth surface. "I'm sorry, Koyomi."

"Don't apologize," Koyomi replied, pulling her card from her pocket. "I'm glad to help—"

"No," Tamaki replied, her voice going rough around the edges. "I'm apologizing in advance… in case I hurt you." Before Koyomi could react, she had hunched over, shaking. Koyomi opened her mouth – and let out a squeak as massive leathery wings tore through Tamaki's cloak.

"Has anyone seen Koyomi-chan or Tamaki-chan?" Linara asked that night, frowning around the dormitory at the other girls. Dinner had once again come and gone with no sign of either girl, and the woodelf was getting worried. Fate would only say that they were working on an assignment together, but none of the other girls could recall them leaving, and none of the Flying Fish were gone. Not even Shiori and Homura were any help. "We should have heard from them by now, at least…" She jumped as a sudden thunderclap echoed in the confined space, causing several of the younger girls to scream.

"Don't worry… about us," Koyomi said, from behind her. Linara turned, gasping as she saw the two girls leaning on each other for support. Tamaki wore Koyomi's cloak and nothing else; the dark lines on her forehead had branched out again, creating a more complex design, and her horns were longer and darker than they had been. Koyomi's dress was torn in several places, and the fabric beneath the cuts was stained dark with blood; both girls looked exhausted. Stranger still, both were smiling. "We're just fine."

"I don't see why I shouldn't worry," Linara replied, a bit more sharply than she might have if they hadn't suddenly appeared from thin air. "Come on, sit down… you both look terrible." She led the pair to Tamaki's bed, sitting them down gently. "I should talk to Fate-sama," she muttered, shooting a glare over her shoulder at the door to the upper floors of the Palace. "Making you two do something like this…" she sighed, turning back to the pair. "What…"

She stopped. The two had fallen asleep, arms around each other. Tamaki's head was pillowed on Koyomi's shoulder, turned to keep her horns from hurting the cat-eared girl. Koyomi's hand rested on the back of the other girl's head, tangled in her white hair. It was fairly obvious that separating them would be a chore. Linara sighed and pulled her quilt off of her bed, tucking it over the pair. "We can talk to them tomorrow," she said, shooing the other girls back to their own beds. "Come on, go to sleep. I'm not making breakfast for lazy girls who sleep in tonight."

As the sounds of the other girls gradually faded away and the candlelight filling the dormitory faded breath by breath, Tamaki opened her eyes. Careful of her horns, she sat up as much as she dared to look at Koyomi. "Thank you, Koyomi," she murmured. Koyomi smiled in her sleep, and Tamaki settled back down, closing her own eyes.

For the first time in a week, she slept soundly.

V. Melody

When the light of the dying sun painted the mists and cliffscapes of Ostia in hues of delicate rose, rich mahogany and brilliant gold; when the sky grew dark and filled with stars, and the clouds below sparked and crackled with blue, purple and white lightning; when all of Ostia lay in serene, haunted sleep… the Gravekeepers' Palace filled with music.

Shirabe had kept only one physical reminder of her village. Bad dreams plagued her still, true, and the deep ache of wounds long ago healed sometimes woke her from her sleep; but this was different. She had chosen to keep this. She kept it in its cheap, slamrhino-leather case under her bed in the big dusty room she shared with the other girls, and no one – not even Fate-sama – was allowed to see it, or hear it. The violin – the violin she had pulled with trembling hands from the smoldering, embered ruins of the house her mother and father had built when she was born – belonged to her and her alone.

The Fidicula Lunatica was a beautiful instrument, but it was wrong. Its construction and materials should have produced the richest voice imaginable, the sweet tones of golden horsehair sliding across strings of the purest woven silver and amplified, echoing, by warm, mature oak – but no matter what, the notes it sounded were perversions. No matter the technique or the touch, it squawked and screeched, fighting against its player for every single inch of bow. When she had first activated her Artifact and laid her cheek on the welcoming ebony of the chinrest for the first time, the resulting cacophonous shriek and awesome display of destructive power had scared her so badly that she had refused to pick it up again for three days. No; the Madman's Fiddlewas an instrument only of war, an instrument in name alone.

By contrast, the charred violin was in terrible shape; ingrained ash marred the once-lustrous finish of the sprucewood, and three of the pegs refused to turn in their sockets. Most of the glue had melted away, and noticeable gaps stood between the back and the ribs in several places. Shirabe dimly remembered that it had always been uncomfortable to hold, even before the fire. The chinrest was poorly shaped and loose, the fingerboard only smooth by virtue of having exhausted its splinters on the fingers of countless players before her. By rights, it should have fallen apart where it sat, and every time Shirabe picked it up, she feared it would do just that. But as soon as she laid her cheek against the ancient wood and slid her fingertips into the ever-so-slight grooves worn under the strings, she felt the violin and herself grow whole again.

Shirabe picked up the instrument, but it was Brigitte who played, with silent tears streaming down her face. She played for her parents, for her friends; for her grandfather, who had taught her the violin, and her grandmother, who she had never known. She played for Koyomi and Tamaki and Homura and Shiori – not for the warriors they were, but for the girls they had been before tragedy ripped their lives from them in every sense but one. She played for Fate-sama. She played for herself.

Shirabe played her melodies of destruction for the sake of what she believed. She played the insane chords of the Madman's Fiddle for the future she believed in – for the Perfect World that was theirs to make. But sometimes – when the moon was full and quiet; when the wind whispered through the cathedral eaves; when not a single living soul stirred… she played for the imperfect worlds they had lost.

Notes!

I'll include the dates I figure these happened, as well as the age the major girl would be. Keep in mind that the series takes place in 2003.

I. Bookmark - 2000 - Shiori is thirteen.
No, Linara's not a canon character; I figured that, given that Fate picked up fifty-three or so girls, she might as well be one of them. Anyway, what I was going for here was a look at the long and, I'm sure, unpleasant process of developing Signum Biolegens. Note that I'm still not sure if it's Luna's Artifact or not; for the purpose of the fic, I'm saying it isn't.

II. Flame - 2002 - Homura is thirteen.
The entries are ordered in the order the girls joined Fate, based off flashbacks and the like. The only ones I'm not sure of are Tamaki and Shirabe, but hey. Back to this particular entry. The idea that Homura's Artifact is a glass eye is one that I can't seem to shake, and hopefully I've managed to plant it in a few of your heads as well. This entry also explores another bit of my personal fanon - that Shirabe, as the oldest of the Fate Girls, serves as a kind of mother/big sister figure to the rest of them, even Homura.

III. Calendar - 2003 - Koyomi is seventeen.
Oh, this one was fun. It's nice to get silly every now and then, especially after Flame. I'm a sucker for Cuteness Proximity, too, and I never even considered anyone but our resident stoic Tamaki for the scritcher.
I do have a continuation to this entry, of a rather more adult nature. If you're interested in reading the full version, leave a signed review and, in addition to replying to any comments or questions you might have, I'll also send you the link.

IV. Bracelet - 1998 - Tamaki is twelve.
This one was also fun! I'm sorry about the rather drastic mood change in the middle, but hopefully it's not too jarring. And yes, Dragonfolk puberty only takes a week. They're magic. Shut up.
I want to write a story that involves a tiny Tamakidragon rampaging around the Palace now.

V. Melody - 2003 - Shirabe is twenty.
This was the first one I wrote, actually, and I actually think it's still my favorite. It's a nice contrast to the others, which are mostly dialogue, and it really gave me the opportunity to go full-out on the description. I really hope we get some wide-angle shots of Ostia in the movie.

Well, that's about it for now. Let me know what you thought, suggestions for the next group of girls, anything - if you sign it, I'll reply to it! Thanks, everyone.