WishStone-Dragon

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"Good Afternoon. Please pardon the intrusion." The elder Tatsumi looked up from her work and smiled. "Naoto-san! Please, please come on in. Welcome!" She stayed knelt and bowed to her. Naoto smiled and bowed low in return. "How does the day find you, Tatsumi-sama? And, please, it is Naoto-kun. You have met me often enough now I would think." Naoto had visited frequently since that winter night. Part of her did not understand why, as Kanji oscillated from painfully-awkward to shockingly bold in his interactions with her. Sometimes he would be unable to speak a single sentence while she chatted with Rise-chan or his mother lightly; other day

Clutching her pants just above the knee with her left hand, Naoto’s right grabbed at her chest. Each breath burned like fire in her lungs; she had no idea how long she had been running through the stark neon lights of Marukyu’s Refined Entertainment locale. The monotone beats of heavy bass had numbed her ears what felt like hours ago already. Wheezing for air, she rummaged in a pocket for a restoration item, something, anything, really, that could give her an edge. As the dozen or so times she tried before, there was nothing. The junior Shirogane righted herself, releasing Algernon from its hostler. “Persona,” she ras

Naoto would rather forget the disaster that was the stage play. Their only saving grace, really, had been that their audience walked in with no expectations and left laughing, thinking it was a comedy.   That Teddy had blown the cover of that blasted dress was even worse. She had managed to not physically punish the bear-Shadow in the end as he id surrender; and she would never lay hands on anyone who would submit to her. She had put the fear of social isolation on him, however, something she knew she had no pull on but apparently his worst fear. Teary-eyed he promised to never again mention the dress, and she told him to just keep it. That w

The hooded boy stood at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the eternal waterfall. Several of his companions had been called to Spira at once, not something that happened all too often. That he had not been called upon did not surprise him. Few summoners were powerful or determined enough to actually bond with him, and of those even fewer truly needed his powers. He loved the Farplane. And he hated it. Even the most beautiful of sights would grow stale after a few decades. And while the spirits of the Send kept them company, the Fayth did not often mix with them. No one remembered their true names. No one would come to speak to them now. The pla