Disclaimer: I own Chrono, yes I do! I'm a liar, how 'bout you!

Author's Note: See chapter one or chapter seven.

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Ticks of the Clock

Photograph

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"Granmma, what's that a picture of?"

The old woman paused beside the little boy, gaze following the finger that was pointing towards a faded black-and-white print on the wall. His wide, brown eyes bored into her own, chubby five-year-old hand raised; his chest pressed to the back of the old armchair upon which he stood.

She considered him for a moment before grinning gently, shuffling over to unhook the frame, seating herself on the sofa and providing the child a lap on which to snuggle. "This is a picture," she began quietly, trembling fingers tightening, "of my friends and I, when I was very young."

The little boy's chocolate pools widened, lips parted in surprise. "You're in there, Gramma?" he breathed, stunned. His grandmother chuckled, nodding—indicating a small girl with flowing silvery hair. "Yes," she murmured, "that one is me."

"Wow! You were pretty, Gramma!" he squealed, delighted. But then he paused, a frown marring his round features. " . . . Who are the others?" he inquired after a moment, blinking up at the senior. "Where are they now?"

". . ." The old woman sighed, gently placing the child back down on the ground before hobbling over to the wall; hanging the picture back up. "They've all. . . passed away. Satella—her, here—just recently. . . she's the one who left me this photo." She stared at the photograph for a moment, licking her chapped lips with a sad crease upon her brow. The boy hesitated before moving to stand beside his grandma, staring at the print as well.

"Mama says that she was named after one of your friends. Is that friend there?" he questioned, pushing himself to his tip-toes, still watching the unmoving group. His grandmother nodded, a tiny smile tugging on her lips.

"Yes. . . your mother was named after her, Rosette," she whispered, pointing to a tall girl with pale locks and a large grin. "And you. . . were named after him."

". . ." He wrinkled his nose, dark orbs narrowing; examining the short boy with the exasperatedly nervous expression and the long, braided tresses. "He looks kind of. . . scared."

The woman snorted, amused. "Yes, Satella did that to him. Oh, now, don't look so disappointed. Your mother didn't name you after a fool! She used to love hearing stories about her namesake's devil partner. He was, after all, the most loyal, brave, kind-hearted—"

But she was interrupted by a loud gasp.

"I'm named after. . . a devil. . . ?" the child breathed, shock written all over his face. But said shock quickly transformed into a wild grin. "Aaaa—! That's so cool!" Stars in his eyes, he turned towards the elder woman. "Gramma, tell me more! Tell me about the people in the picture! Pleeeeeeeeease?"

"—?" Azmaria gave a start, taken aback— then began to laugh, beaming; leading Chrono back to the couch. "Very well. . . it began, I believe, back in the year 1920, in an orphanage known as Seventh Bell. . ."

(Note: Old idea I had with a new twist. The original was much more depressing than this. . . but little grandson Chrono got stuck in my head. Guess he wanted to be written about. XD Oh, and before anyone starts saying Az shouldn't still be around, I want to say that she could—she'd only be 93, if my calculations are correct. (2005-1924 is 81, she was already 12, so. . . ))