Dear Reader,

I have to open this letter to you with a confession – I am in a heightened state of worry over Fuuka's mental state.

Since Naoto has moved into the apartment, we've had all manner of wacky escapades in ensuring the little-known secret that I'm not quite the 100% ordinary human I have otherwise claimed to be. It really has taken its toll on Fuuka's nerves. She is often awake at night when she would otherwise be safe asleep. Since I've had to leave in the evenings, telling them my goodbyes before sneaking back inside, Naoto has been suspicious of possible break-ins to the apartment and is busy organising all sorts of security cameras and other measures to ensure their own safety.

Fuuka has argued unsuccessfully to the implementation of this security system, telling Naoto that she likes to keep the doors unlocked, if not outright open, at night 'as a symbol of trust in the city and its inhabitants', and when that didn't work, was forced to "confess" that she 'liked the danger and secretly wanted people to break into her room at night' while she slept. That false revelation took Naoto aback, and she did not continue arguing further after that, but it is likely she will attempt to change things again soon. The stress of having to constantly be alert has left Fuuka withdrawn in her work. I can see the flashes of light and sparks flying around her room when I hover outside her window using my legs' rocket propulsion to glide gracefully in the sky, but I don't yet know what she is doing. (She doesn't know I regularly look in to her bedroom window, so I haven't asked when I see her during the day.)

In the hours between me leaving the apartment and me artfully sneaking back in, I wander the city.

It has been so wonderfully quiet lately – the streets are usually empty, and what people I do see wander alone as I do, faces down at the pavement as if deliberately avoiding all human contact. I'm not like that at all – I want to talk to them, but I don't know how.

Thankfully, I have Elizabeth to keep me company on these otherwise lonely nights. She appears at the local Chagall Cafe nightly now, and we spend our idle hours in conversation. Like myself, she is currently at an impasse. She is often busy working very unusual hours – so unusual, in fact, that when I questioned when she works she was unable to respond.

I am not entirely convinced she understands the concept of time.

Whatever mysterious inquiries she involves herself with, progress has been slow. She told me that something very important will happen on the next full moon, two days from now. I am to meet with her outside the cafe at midnight at this time.

I will approach the upcoming full moon with a degree of trepidation, as I cannot help but have a bad feeling about this.

Of course, dear reader, that is only the bad news she told me. It would be inappropriate of me to only inform you of these moments of disquiet, for although they weigh heavily on my mechanical form, they should not be the defining experiences of these past few days. I went on a city-wide excursion with Elizabeth before the more problematic issues were discussed, and had an absolutely 'fabulous' time. The first order of business one fine afternoon was what Elizabeth called 'a thorough examination into the modes of transport available in this city.'

It was at this time we rode on the train.

There was something about this train in particular that I found deeply evocative of human feeling.

The carriage we sat in was mostly empty, with a handful of businessmen in suits reading papers and escaping momentarily their horrifically banal existences in the comfort of their own minds. They seemed disconnected from the heart of the train, from its gliding on the rails, crossing a bridge overlooking the simple neighbourhoods, street corners and newsagents, the elderly out for walks in order to keep their bones from decaying and imploding like they did in an educational medical manga I once read, the stray dogs and cats engaged in games of chess in the city park... they didn't care about the world outside of their own bubble, and that is why they did not love the train as Elizabeth and I did, with all our body and soul.

Even now as I write this to you I am unable to fully describe the emotions I felt with the train, and am thankful that Elizabeth was more eloquent than I and could allow my feelings to be laid bare.

'It is only during moments like these that I can understand why He chose to protect the world.

When He faced Nyx alone, with only the spirits of all of us at his side, cheering him on, praying for his success, I know that He knew what He was fighting for.

For anyone who ever suffered, or felt alone, alienated, guilty for actions they perhaps didn't quite understand.

For anyone who ever held a fervent desire to help others, to be with the people who suffer, to guide those who are lost, to heal the sick, to love the despised, to unite the separated.

But all of those people were mere footnotes to the main body of his desire to protect the world... for He knew one day He would ride on this train.'

I clapped, I cheered, I thought about crying but was unsure if I could. I wanted to become the train, and fulfil a greater purpose than the mere heavily-armed state-of-the-art advanced robotic mechanical maiden built to destroy Shadows that prey on human fears I was. Being a train would be a much more satisfying existence. The happiness of becoming one with the train, along with Elizabeth, now brought me sorrow, because I knew I was incomplete.

After we left the train, we visited a hat shop. I bought a sombrero. It was a good day.

-Aigis