Alrighty, thank you everyone who's been reviewing: DSorry that I haven't kept upthatwell. School's been a pain. Garrr. Anywho, enjoy!

Engel's Zimmer
Chapter 3 -- Bad Memories

"Every good story starts with a memory, Haru."

Haru didn't know where to start. She had begun with Mrs. Shizuku's story, but that wasn't her own tale to tell. It wasn't her own little adventure. And every time she would try to write in it, her words would go gallivanting off into some distant Cat Kingdom where an evil King ruled and a fair maiden waited to be saved.

Well, she had to admit that she often liked embellishing the facts. Like how she was a maiden waiting to be saved, how her accomplices weren't at all as unusual. Yet once she started her story, it was hard to write. It was hard to characterize perfect people.

Often, she would look back to the still Baron and remember that dance. That wonderful dance in the ballroom all those years ago where she lost track of time, lost track of existence as she swirled and stepped and leaned into a strong chest. Gentle hands guiding her, ever guiding her through the great ballroom. Through darkness and light and everything evil. Those hands held tight through everything good.

So there she was, sitting at her desk at home with a pencil halfway hanging out of her mouth, staring out over her little city block. Muta was licking himself somewhere down the brick fence-way, and a few other cats crossed her eyesight too. But never Yuki. Never Prince Lune.

"Haru," her mother knocked before entering, "don't you have school work?"

"Done it," Haru lied casually. "Mom, what would you write about if you could write about anything in the world? But the only catch is, it has to remind you about someone so much that they had to come back to life."

Her mother thought for a moment. "Are you speaking from a real experience?"

Almost doubting she should, Haru nodded.

"Then I would write a Memoir. A recollection of that someone as a memory."

But, she didn't want Baron to just be a memory. She wanted Baron to be alive. "A Memoir? But that's like an essay."

"Not if you tell it like a story. Through your eyes." She caressed her daughters thin hair before she got up and left the room again. "Don't forget you have school tomorrow."

"Yes ma'am."

"I have a feeling that she will do the opposite."

A Memoir? Her mother didn't know how hard it was to write one. How many painful memories she had to go through, the memories she had devilled through in writing these short pages worth. Pages, she admitted, that weren't all that great.

But who needed memories? a small part in her mind asked. Who needs reminders of things long gone?

Haru waited until the door closed, then tore out ever single page she had written in her book. Tore them up and balled them in her fist. Once her notebook was barren, she scrambled for the lighter in her desk drawer and flung open her window. And one by one, she lit the pages aflame. Goodbye dull characters! her heart cheered. Goodbye sappy stories!

When the last page burned away, she whispered, "Goodbye, bad memories."

---

"Haru," Hiromi complained. "Why does ever teacher have to assign classroom duty whenever Tsuge has a match? They know he's the school's star player!" In Ping-Pong.

Haru smiled to her friend as she put her school books into her bookbag. "I'll take your duty for today. Go cheer on Tsuge."

"Really?"

"Sure."

Her best friend hugged Haru giddily before cramming the rest of her school things into her satchel and scooting out the door. Things she did for friends, Haru had to reminisce, thing she did so other people could have a good time. So she cleaned the classroom with the other people on duty and took the trash out like she always managed to wind up doing. Though, as she stopped by the little courtyard where that annoying cat offered her the Prince's hand in marriage, a field-full of cattails, catnip, and lots of lacrosse sticks, she just had to smile. Smile and remember this was also the place where she was instructed to find the Cat Bureau.

"Reminiscing isn't usual for you, Haru."

Sighing, she heaved the trashcan back into her hands and continued on until faint footfalls came running through the brush. Muta skidded out from under a bush, panting heavily. He motioned in the direction he came.

"Haru! Prince Lune's here!"

"What?" Haru replied, flustered. "Why?"

"I don't know, but he says it's urgent!"

"But I have to finish ---"

"Now!"

Haru dropped the trashcan. "Coming!"

"And I thought she would be more responsible. Tsk. Tsk."

A shadow bent to the dumped trash and began picking it up to finish Haru's job.

---

In the rush, Haru almost forgot to open the door on her way in, and almost forgot to climb the stairs instead of hurtle up them. She closed the door behind her and looked to the bed where a man sat. Something Haru didn't expect at all. In fact, she almost took off down the stairs again, until his polite voice said, "No, Haru, I'm sorry. I told Muta to warn you."

Muta pounced up on the sill lazily. "Slipped my mind."

She turned back to the man with dark blue hair, almost black, and cocked her head. He smiled to her, his multi-colored eyes extremely familiar. He wore a leather jacket, a black t-shirt, jeans, and --- strange --- flip-flops. Royalty usually didn't wear flip-flops in public. No, cats weren't supposed to wear shoes at all. "Prince Lune?"

The Prince smiled. "Yes, it is me."

"But how, isn't there --- something's not . . ." Haru slapped her hands to her forehead in confusion. "What's happening?"

"I'm not all that sure," the Prince replied. "Last night, I went to bed as a cat and this morning I woke up as a human. To be honest, I was hoping you could tell me. I can't run a Cat Kingdom if I'm not a cat!"

"Oh dear, this is a problem."

"This is a problem," Haru echoed, her hands suddenly guided towards her backpack. Sure, her story was similar along the lines, with quirky characters she'd met along the way. And stranger? There was a character in her newly plotted story with the name of Lune. And he looked just like the Prince did now. "I --- I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell him something, Haru!"

"I-I think it might have something to do with the story I'm writing. I don't know though. Really. I don't. Not yet."

"Story?" Prince Lune raised his eyebrow. "Haru, are you trying to bring the Baron back to life? I heard he was taken by Death, but Haru --- Haru listen, that's insane! You don't know what type of sorcery you're messing with."

Haru was suddenly very protective. "It's nothing bad! I just want him to come back."

"Using the wrong means. What you're doing is --- is witchcraft, Haru. If you truly want to bring him back, do it in memories. Not in fake memories of real people!" The Prince stood, towering over her with a good six inches. "Listen to reason, please."

The young woman shook her head. "I won't write memories! Memories are gone ---- they're the past! There are other ways, I know there are!"

"And you will keep mucking with other people --- animals --- until you find that way?" Even the Prince had lost his temper. "Can't you just retell a story?"

Tear brimmed in her eyes as she looked up to the Prince. "Can you relive something dead?"

Lune couldn't answer. He stood there with a shocked face as Haru ran out of her own house, down the street, clutching onto the fake memories she had written down. She couldn't bare to start over again. No, she wouldn't start over again. Bad memories led to nightmares, which led to Baron, which led to Death.

"Are they really that bad?"

She stumbled to a fountain in a neighboring park and sat at the edge, drying her stifling tears. Her notebook lay in her lap, something quite imposing now that she thought about it. It was a stupid idea, she had to admit, to think she could create some parallel universe where things were so different, they were opposites of her world. Her reality.

Opening the book, she carefully tore the pages out and looked over them once more.

"Why are those memories so bad, Haru? Why are they so broken?"

Carefully, she laid the papers into the fountain, and submerged them until the ink ran through the pages, and the words became lost in the gentle flow of cool water from a fish's mouth. And then she left them there, floating on the surface so anyone could come by. Come by and not recognize a single word, only a memory, a small memory soon to be forgotten.

Drowned by the shattered thoughts rebuilding, the linking chains slowly coming back.

"See?" came that long-forgotten, gentle voice. "They aren't so bad, now are they?"

No, she smiled, no they weren't.

Continue: Yes? Maybe No?