Everything in this world is so unfamiliar, and he doesn't understand that. How can he, when he's never known familiarity? There is nothing that's his. Nothing that feels like its a part of him. These mixed-up recollections aren't doing him any good either; the images of yellow flowers and pink dresses make him feel lost.

He takes a walk through the streets, trying to clear his head, as it's been a long day. No one stares at him for the gigantic sword strapped to his back. He supposes they're used to that sort of thing. Funny, he's not.

A merchant begins to hassle him, pressing his goods and wares. The diminutive man is a brave soul, but his courage fades with a stern look. His potential customer isn't interested in spoiled vegetables and unraveling fabrics. He doesn't want those things - he wants a memory.

More walking, more aimless wandering. He doesn't notice when a flash of green and white enters the corner of his vision. He only stops when a voice inquires him as to whether he'd like a flower or not.

There's something in that question, something precious. He lifts his head, and sees a heart-shaped face and a mass of curls and ribbons. He forgets the meaning of courtesy, and stares. Her head cocks in amusement, and as he forces himself to walk away, he can't shake the feeling of having seen her before.