A lot of the prompts on this list I found . . . they're just concepts.

And so a lot of the chapters in this story, and its sister, will probably come down to conversations between the characters. But I think that works, mostly. I think there's something artful about such a simple premise.

It feels like something that's . . . not unique to fanfiction, exactly.

But it definitely feels right at home, at least to me.

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"Are you happy?"

There was something about the way Kisara's face kind of twisted, her nose scrunching up in confusion and possibly disdain, that told Mokuba Kaiba she'd never really bothered to ask that question of herself. He thought there was something tremendously sad about that.

"I know," she said, eventually, "that my family has spent considerable time and energy, and have sacrificed many things, in order that I should be happy. I suppose it would be an insult to them, and to you, if I say that I am not. But I do not think that is an answer to the question you asked."

Mokuba shook his head. "No," he agreed. "It's not."

Kisara looked out the window at Seto, who was swimming laps in the Kaibas' pool, and seemed to fold within herself for a time. "There are many wishful people, especially those who have spent far too much time alone, who work themselves up into a frenzy about the one. They believe . . . if they meet a specific person, just one, then they will be complete. They will be happy then. They carry only half of a heart in their chests, and they believe their journey in this life is to find whomever is holding the other half. Only then will the gods reward them with proper happiness."

Mokuba followed Kisara's gaze. "Is Niisama carrying half of your heart?" he asked.

Kisara shook her head. "No," she said. "I would not insult him so."

Mokuba smiled.

Kisara went on: "There is a phrase that I've heard. Focus on the journey, not the destination. Now, I think that there is something innately human about focusing on destinations." She held out her hands. "What is a journey, after all, if not a transitional period? A liminal space in the soul? But there is wisdom in this saying. My prince does not carry my heart, he is not my other half, and he is not my destination. But we journey together. That, I think, is enough."

Mokuba slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Even if you aren't happy, you aren't alone. And maybe that's more important, in the long run. Right? That's what you're saying?"

"I think so," Kisara said.

"Do you know why you aren't happy?"

"I am . . . angry." Kisara clenched a fist and stared at it. She studied her knuckles like she was observing some alien creature. "There is much that has changed in this world since I last dwelled in it. But so much more of it is precisely the same. I do not know if I can be happy when such things as . . . greed, and fear, so clearly fester in the hearts of . . . leaders."

She said this last word with the timbre of a curse.

The smile came back, tentatively, to Mokuba's lips. "You sound like a revolutionary," he said. "I expect you to wear a beret, and a Che Guevara t-shirt. Go off and give speeches about the power of everyday people."

"Do you think a beret would look fetching on me?"

Mokuba laughed. "I'm not sure," he said. "We'll have to find one for you."

He watched Kisara walk away, possibly toward the kitchen for a snack or a mug of tea, murmuring "Che Guevara" to herself as she did.