It was always something.
The window that faced the courtyard.
The bold pink ribbon that she tied her hair with.
The cherished book of fairy tales she read each night before bed.
With each she would feel a peculiar tingle of remembrance.
It was endlessly frustrating; the mere flashes of a distant memory teasing her.
Over and over again.
Always it was just out of reach; managing to slip seamlessly through her fingers.
Wakaba knew there was something.
What was it?
Was it something important?
Since she couldn't remember, she doubted that it was.
Still it nagged at her.
And sometimes.
Sometimes.
She wished that she could remember what there was to remember.