The room was dark; the smell of sanitizer stung her nose. Everything she touched was cold, even her own body. A distinct metallic taste had pressed itself onto the roof of her mouth. Trembling, the little girl hid in the corner, gripping two glowing rings in one hand. What were these things again? Her golden eyes would not look down at the rings; her grip tightened.

Did she need them?

Her left arm would not move, could not move. It was drenched with something sticky, awful smelling.

Blood?

She wanted to go home, she needed to go home.

Did she have a home? Had she ever known anything outside of this small room?

The darkness and loneliness felt all too familiar.

Waiting.

But what was she waiting for? Was she waiting for a person, or something much more ominous? Why did her head hurt so much? Was she crying?

Fear.

She was absolutely terrified. The silence had been broken by footsteps; another soul breathing. Holding her own breath, she slowly pushed herself up, rings sparking as they pressed into the floor. The door had begun to creak open; the sudden stream of light blinded her. A tall silhouette stood before her. Their eyes seemed to glow in the light from the hallway that created a halo around their form.

Should she charge? Hide?

Kill.

A whispered command, an instinct, came rushing forth through the two glowing rings. Unfamiliar words escaped from her lips; cold fingers burned as a yellow light burst forth before her. The silhouette was dissolved; the little girl blinded by the light she herself had created.

"Pudding, please don't tell me you've forgotten."

The soft call came from beside her. Arms enclosed around her waist, pulling her close to the darkness. Warmth exploded in the places the little girl was touched, the warmth of contact. Like a mother's arms.

Did she have a mother? No; no, she did not. The pain of loss had not been forgotten. Then who was this person?

Her eyes began to adjust to the light; someone was smiling down at her. Pink eyes lit up with warmth drew her in. She knew this person.

"I-Ichigo o-onee-chan?" the little girl asked, tears still streaming down her face. The cat ears atop the girl's pink hair popped up in excitement.

"Pudding!" Ichigo cried, pulling the girl into a tight hug. Pain erupted in the young girl's left arm, but she couldn't comprehend the pain. All she could feel was the warmth of the embrace, the joy of a person found.

But why had she been trying to find her again?