A/N: Okay, I'll be honest: This was supposed to be just a side thing I'd do while trying to write for some of my other pieces, but I didn't mean to leave it alone for this long. I'd apparently been working on it until last September, if my Drive's dates are any indicator. SO. Well, here you go, I guess.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot line. Kudos to Satoshi Tajiri completely.


"Mommy, when's Daddy coming home?"

"He's working late tonight, sweetheart," her mother replied, tucking a small Dawn into bed for the night. The tableside lamp threw a soft glow across the woman's face as she brushed the bangs away from her daughter's eyes. "He told me to tell you he loved you, and that he hopes you have sweet dreams tonight."

Snuggling beneath the covers, Dawn pulled a book from beneath her pillow. She'd stuffed it beneath it earlier that day in hopes of a story being read to her. "Read for me please, Mommy?"

Smiling, she took the book from her daughter, turning to the first page. As she read the first lines in a soft voice, Dawn began to drift as she curled by her mother's lap. The lamp lit her dreams that night, guiding her way through the darkness.


Fog was the only thing she could see. It clouded her vision, filled her ears like the waves that had drowned her—it was as if it were a part of her. This was impossible, she knew, but what else was she supposed to think? She was dead. There was nothing she could do about it.

Ever since the last of the vision had faded away, Dawn had been lying on the cold ground. She didn't move, didn't think, she didn't even breathe. Why would she need to? She didn't need oxygen anymore so why even pretend she did? It was an old habit she couldn't break just yet though, and soon her chest began to rise and fall again in the movement she'd known since birth.

Muffled voices surrounded her every now and then. They were always unintelligible whispers, always at the edge of her hearing. It was like someone was holding a speaker next her ear with the volume turned almost all the way down—it was unnerving.

Time passed like nothing, the voices coming and going. To Dawn the idea of time had no meaning anymore. She wouldn't age, she wouldn't see her friends or family anymore. Family . . . Now that she thought about it, her death must have broken her mother's heart. Dawn's father had died when she was only a child, leaving her mother alone to raise her young daughter.

This must have killed her, she thought as she lay there. Huh, funny since I'm the one who's dead. A twitch of her lips betrayed the beginning of an ironic smile, but it faded, just like her subconscious.

It was a while before she roused. She had no idea how long she was out, nor did she really care. As far as she knew she was stuck in this fog-filled limbo; the voices were thankfully gone for the moment. Maybe this was where she belonged. Who was she to decide where she was supposed to end up in death? Sometimes she desired a glimpse of her old life: her mom, her friends; anyone who could help her feel normal. Or at least something like normal. Nothing was normal anymore. She'd realized this long ago.

It was boring sometimes, just laying there. She didn't require food so she never got hungry, nor did she need water. At times she would draw circles on the ground, swirling the fog between her fingers. Nothing ever happened when she did this, but this time something was off. The fog still swayed around her hand, but for some reason it didn't dissipate or fade away like usual. Dawn watched as the water vapor around her hand began to swirl, spinning into a ball before her. She pulled her hand away and it dissolved, dripping to the ground. Leaning forward slightly, she snuck a peek at what was forming.

To anyone's ordinary eye it would have looked like any other puddle. But Dawn knew better. She'd been around this fog long enough to know what was "normal" and what was "weird," and this was definitely in the odd category. There had been nothing like this puddle wherever Dawn had roamed when she'd had a rare burst of energy some eons ago. As she watched it, it slowly solidified, forming what appeared to be a mirror. Curiosity got the better of her, so she placed her hands near the edge of it to balance herself, leaning forward to peer into its reflective surface.

Dawn's reflection stared back at her for a moment before it began to shimmer, the image transforming. It wasn't a mirror, but a looking glass, she realized. It showed her nothing but her wavering reflection for a few seconds, but then it faded away. Slowly it showed her something she wasn't expecting: someone's bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, the only furniture in the room a wood-framed bed, a matching dresser, and a desk with a computer sitting on it. The sheets on the bed were unmade, piled in a heap on the middle of the mattress; clothes littered the floor, dark sweaters and pants piled by the dresser; stacks of paper covered the desktop. The papers were what drew her attention the most. They were colorful, with red crosses and diagrams of people on them. One even looked like an official document, it had a signature and everything. Dawn's curiosity was peaked, so she tried to lean forward and see more. She didn't even notice when her face went through the surface of the looking glass.

The depth of her vision changed as she submerged into the reflective image before her. She hung upside down, her view of the room flipped from her original one, as if she were looking at the outer curved side of a spoon. This went unnoticed to Dawn though—she was too enraptured by the bedroom. It had been so long since she'd seen signs of life—anything besides her empty stay at limbo.

The room was obviously lived in, and if Dawn's hunch was correct, by someone of the male persuasion. Slowly she let herself fall into the room, her feet floating to the floor. There was no sound as her heels touched the hardwood boards. Her movements were silent as she began to explore. The insides of the dresser were too private for her to touch, but she looked at the documents that had first drawn her attention. There were indeed red crosses on them, and after further investigation she found that they were lifeguard training and license forms. There were names written along certain lines, but they only looked like squiggles to her, the handwriting was terrible. Leaving the desk she moved back to the dresser, admiring the mess in front of it. Toeing one of the sweaters, she flopped onto the bed, falling backward into the sheets.

I can't believe this. Tears pooled in her eyes. She let them fall as she stared at the ceiling, her arms spread across the mattress on either side of her. Is this actually real? Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes she let out a sob. It felt like she'd been alone for what felt like so long, she wasn't sure if she could handle being around another person. Could she do it? She only had a moment to think about it, her crying interrupted by the click of the door handle being turned. Quickly crawling off the mattress she stumbled to her feet. Could they see her? she wondered. It was the first time she'd really thought about it. Would they see her if she just kept standing there?

The door opened silently, closing just the same. A boy walked in, his shaggy hair hanging in front of sleepy eyes. Removing his jacket and throwing it on the bed, he went and sat in front of the computer. As he waited for it to boot up, his eye caught something in the corner of his vision. Dawn's phantom heart began to race. She hadn't left her spot since he'd walked in; she'd just been standing there, looking at him. When his eyes turned to her direction she took one step forward in hope. But then his hand reached out to tidy the documents beside him. Her heart fell then. He can't see me, she thought dejectedly. Why did I even think that he could?

For what felt like hours she sat on the floor between the dresser and the desk. She hid in the shadows the dresser cast, the lines of her scars giving off an ethereal glow in the dimness. All the while the boy sat at his computer, clicking away at whatever was holding his attention for so long. Dawn nodded off after a while, the clicking seeming to keep time with her silent heartbeats.


It was night when she regained consciousness, her eyes fluttering open to the dark. It was so sudden that she panicked in her confusion. Where was the day? What happened to the light? The shuffling of her hands was silent as she scrambled to her feet. She used the desk as support, not noticing when the lifeguard documents went fluttering to the floor behind her. Stumbling, she reached out a hand to guide her. Don't leave me in the dark. Please. I don't want to be alone.

She was brought back to reality when her knees collided with the edge of the bed. Falling forward, she braced herself with her hands, landing on her elbows. Thoroughly spooked, she floundered some more until she realized the bed was empty. When she'd fallen there'd been nothing but messy sheets beneath her hands, now tangled in the fabric. Once her heart slowed down and her eyes adjusted to the dimness—moonlight shone through the thin curtains, just enough to see—she searched the room. The boy wasn't in it, but the door was open. A perfect line of light was across the hall, running parallel to the floor. A crack of light, she realized, to the bathroom. Then the light went out.

Quickly she scrambled from the bed. She knew he could not see her, but she wasn't sure if she was even corporeal. She didn't even know how long she'd been dead. But that didn't really matter, what was time to her anymore?

Huddling back against the side of the dresser, she listened more than heard as he collapsed onto the bed. The springs squeaked as they gave way beneath him, and soon his light snores filled the silence. In her little corner she listened, closing her eyes as she pulled her knees to her chest. Folding her arms across her knees she laid her forehead against them, trying to ignore the tears that escaped the corners of her eyes.


The dawn came quickly the next day, early rays of the sun peeking through the crack between the curtains. The thread of light shone across the floor, zigzagging over the bottom of the bed. As the sun rose the light moved across the room slowly until it crossed Dawn's face. When it landed on her eyes, the brightness made her stir. Blinking rapidly, she reached up to wipe the sleep away. How long had she been out?

When she tried to push to her feet, her numb legs gave way beneath her. She'd been in the same position the entire night apparently, if the red marks on her calves meant anything. Untangling her skirt from her unfeeling knees, she glanced around. Had the boy heard her? She wasn't sure if her fall had made any noise at all, but she was trying her best to be unnoticed. Thankfully, the room was empty besides her ghostly presence. Never before then had she been so relieved that she was alone.

Attempting another try at getting up, Dawn tried at a slower pace, first keeping herself balanced against the wall so she wouldn't fall over. It went a lot smoother this time, her knees stable instead of like jelly as she rose to her full height. Her skirt swished around her knees as she moved forward. She'd been in this room for what was probably already two days, maybe it was finally time to explore her surroundings.

Wandering into the hall she found that she was on the second story of what was most likely a house. Stairs sat at the end of the hall with three doors on either side of her, one of them the room she'd just emerged from. She knew the one across from the bedroom was a bathroom since she'd seen the boy come from it the night before. Maybe the other one was a bedroom as well? Upon closer inspection she found that it was, and it was a whole lot cleaner and neater than the other one.

This bedroom seemed to belong to an older person, the furniture of a mature nature: a queen sized bed that sat on a black wooden frame with a tall backboard; a low nightstand with a sleek-looking lamp that was currently off; a bureau that sat as high as her hip with a mirror sitting atop it against the wall. She kept her eyes off her reflection as she gazed around the room. She loved the decor of it, especially with how well it all matched, not only in color but in style. Whoever lived in this room knew style.

Moving from the second bedroom, she walked briskly to the bathroom—she wanted to see if everything in there matched as well. She wasn't disappointed.

Ducks.

Ducks were everywhere—the curtain, the bathmat, the soap dispenser, even the toilet seat cover, the toilet seat! It was difficult for Dawn to hold back her giggles as she shut the door behind her. Apparently the adult of the house had a sense of humor, because it was almost like with a sixth sense that she knew it wasn't the boy who'd decorated it.

Downstairs was no different. The couch was a deep red color, a stark contrast to the gray carpet that was like grass under her feet. The coffee table and entertainment stand were of a dark cherry wood finish, the reflection of light pouring in through a window glinting off the table's glossy surface. A flat-screen TV sat on the stand, a blurry reflection faintly showing on its screen. Again she ignored it, moving through the rest of the downstairs area.

She loved the kitchen. It was very modern, the lights hanging low from the ceiling over the breakfast island and above the steel sink. Low-backed chairs with what looked like towels hanging off their backs sat pulled up to the island. All the cupboards matched the living room with their cherry wood shine.

Whoever owns this house has some money, she thought, running her fingers over the spotless countertop. And they're a clean freak. Just like my mom . . . Shaking her head, she forced herself to think of other things. There was more than enough distractions in this house, she just had to find them. As she pondered just where to go next, a bark sounded from outside. Racing to the window beside the sink, she stood on her tiptoes to see over the frame.

"A dog!" she cried. Joy coursed through her as she rushed to the door, pulling it open hastily as she escaped to the outside. She loved animals, especially her family's cat Glammy, but absolutely adored dogs, especially puppies. Outside was a pen that took up about half the yard, lined with a chain-linked fence about her height. Beyond the gate that kept it enclosed sat a black puppy that was so big she thought it looked already fully grown. It stood on its hind legs and pushed against the chain link with its front paws, barking again.

Quickly undoing the latch that kept the gate closed she entered the pen. She dropped to her knees as the puppy ran toward her, hopping around her in wonder. It sniffed at her, breathing hot air on her as it tried to identify her. It seemed to think she wasn't a threat, but it never came within arm's length of her. Maybe it was a cautious dog?

After it completed its objective it sat in front of her, its tongue hanging lazily from its mouth as it huffed heavy breaths. Idely she noticed that it wore a red collar, a bone-shaped tag hanging from it. Maru, she read, murmuring the name. Its ears perked at her voice, causing it to pause in its huffing. Smiling, she reached out to pet it on the head, but it flinched, shying away from her touch. This struck a deep nerve in her—did it not like her? Did it . . . Did it know she was a ghost and not a living being? She wondered if it couldn't get a scent off of her, if she had a smell at all. This she contemplated as she stood, moving past the gate and latching it behind her.

What am I really now? Am I . . . Am I even a person anymore?

She hated that she couldn't come up with a satisfying answer.


A/N: This story is going to come out rougher than my other ones. Sorry!

Ciao, I guess?