October 15th, 1432.
Today, at work, I stood guard at the Shabboneau Castle, like any other day of the week. I stood there, in the same position I usually stand, together with my friend Barry. Barry, a grand person, was always there when I needed him to be. Just like always. Just like always.
Although, today was different. I stood there, in front of the castle door, like always. Barry was standing right next to me, also like always. But...something was not quite alright. Under normal circumstances, Barry was the life of the party. He always had something wonderful to say to liven up both our days. He would make a joke, tell me a story, or just tell me a funny anecdote. And it was grand.
As I was standing there, to the left of one of my greatest friends, I noticed something. The entire time that we stood guard here he hadn't once said anything to me, looked at me, or even moved. Barry just stood there, emotionless, not saying anything, maybe not even breathing! Only with bright blue eyes and a cycloptic sword clenched by his right arm.
Given his usual persona, I immediately thought that there might have been something wrong with my great comrade Barry. Was it me who had reduced this great man to an empty husk akin to the one a Shedinja is mostly made of? Was it I who made it possible that such a lively and lovely character Barry used to have just ceased to exist when he stood here next to me, clenching his sword...? His sword... which, which I just realised, had a ribbon that was creeping up the length of his arm...
Was it I ... who had given him that sword?