Restlessness and an eager June sunrise made for a cruel mixture.

Anne didn't try to fight the celestial body's heartless intrusion, going ahead with scraping herself off of her mattress shortly after getting woken up. There was much too much on to do today to give into exhaustion, it could wait until her plan was done. Or at the very least, Anne deeply hoped it could.

One advantage of waking up at such an inhuman hour was that nobody else did. That's not to say nobody else was awake once Anne snuck out of her room and towards the kitchen, though. Father got up even earlier, the truth attested to by the muffled shouts and occasional bangs coming over from his practice court. The vicious sounds brought her twisted relief- after all, if he's practicing, that means she wouldn't accidentally run into him.

Small pile of toast, two cups of tea, one of Dylan's disgusting 'energy drinks'- let's head back.

Importance of her plan weighted too much on Anne to even let her eat in peace. Each moment wasted eating was one fewer left to pack and double check everything, and she only had...

6:11 AM

...a bit under twelve hours left. Time to get to it.

The dressers were disemboweled one after the other, their cloth innards dumped in the middle of the room in a large heap. Vital things first. Underwear, shirts, pants. Things to look vaguely presentable in. Each individual item scribbled down in the ever expanding wall of text of Anne's notebook.

Essentials into one pile, everything else into another. If she had any space left by the end she'd consider some, but now they all had to wait. Sweep around the rest of the room. Useful to write off things she wouldn't need at all right out of the gate. Notebooks. Pencils. The cutesy Hypno-themed pencil case.

...let's throw that last one onto the 'maybe' pile.

She didn't have to look deep for documents, thankfully. Everything she could ever need, all piled up in the small, hidden drawer on the inside of the desk. Diplomas, acceptance letters. Her ID, the photo used making her look almost as exhausted as she was right now. Documentation of one of those newfangled debit cards. Faxed paperwork on the leased apartment she'd secured in Castelia a few weeks ago. Plane ticket for one. Paperwork of her bank account. Mom applauded her independence when she set up a bank account entirely on her own. To get into saving and growing wealth with stocks or bonds or whatever it was the soulless suit wearing ghouls on the board of directors of Father's gym were into this week.

No other motives there whatsoever, of course.

Continuing the loop around the room- a whole drawer of cassettes. She really wished her Walkman hadn't broken earlier that week, both to help choose among them and to have something to fill the heavy silence with. Again, can be left until later.

...except for this Post-punk one. And that Alt-rock one. And-

Stop, focus.

She was almost done with her sweep of her room by now, just a handful of shelves left. Not too much there, thankfully. A few books she knew she had to take, dozens more she knew she wouldn't. Handful of undecided ones, and-

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sigh

Yeah, she had to take her.

As focused as Anne had tried to be until now, she found her attention getting drawn back to the plushie on the shelf above her bed and away from completing the sweep of her room. The part of her brain that loathed being distracted during something as crucial as this found itself in a direct conflict with the inner three year old whose curiosity had kicked off the chain of cause and effect she was now at the tail end of.

The three year old always won.

Surrendering to this temporary lapse in focus, Anne gave herself a temporary permission to slow down and climb up onto her bed to reach the shelf the plushie sat on. Her hands were as gentle as they could be while they brushed all the dust off of the white and green fabric, just like she'd be with an actual Ralts. Sure helped that the plushie was life-sized, further driving the awareness just how teeny these little psychics actually were.

And how small she was when she first ran into one.

Couldn't have been older than three, maybe four. Excitable, curious, utterly unaware of her immediate surroundings. The stupidly thick but undersized lenses didn't help any- she remembered full well just what a revelation suddenly not having built-in tunnel vision was when she got her first full-size glasses.

Doing whatever three year olds do in the sandbox when Dylan shouted over- mom's here, time to go home. Blip of despair, slow acceptance, dash towards her older brother along the fastest possible trajectory.

Right in front of the swings.

Dodged the first one, the shouts made her freeze right in front of the other one. Glance up at the boy in the seat. Shock giving way to anger giving way to shock once more. No way to stop in time. Shoes right on collision course with this stupid girl's face. Mouth opening to shout-

Blue glow, freeze, silence.

The whole playground turned to stare, but Anne looked away first. It was amazing, someone did magic! But who? She looked around the stunned fenced in area, eyes glazing over all the fellow kids in search of more of that glow. Where was the magician? Gasp- over there, in the bush, she could see some shining out! Someone small, much smaller than her, almost like they were hiding. Had to see, she just had to see, running over the moment she saw them, eyes wide in anticipation-

Gone, not there, a gasp behind her as the boy finally finished his swing.

If what Mom said was to be believed, she would not stop asking about what she'd seen that day for weeks afterwards. Mom didn't know and wasn't about to interrupt Father to ask. Probably hoped little Annie would just get over it. Annie did not get over it.

Finally, a resigned trip to the library. Short chat with the clerk. An illustrated book about psychics. Page 32, Ralts and friends, vague obsession solidifying into a lifelong fascination. Only needed a bit more begging for Mom to get her this plushie for her next birthday. Highest quality available at the time.

Loved as much as a four year old can love anything.

The red plastic used for fins didn't stand the rest of time, the UV light noticeably discoloring it over the years. Everything else was as nice and soft as Anne remembered, the observation verified with a hug. Good memories flooded her mind. The name she gave to her, 'Clara', chosen after a preschool friend. First it was just her and Clara, then with Marie once she was around, and then, later on, with Pippi too. And then, gradually, less and less of Marie, and less and less of Clara.

She remembered Father once mentioning getting her an actual Ralts instead of just a toy once she was old enough to be a trainer. At the time, she was overjoyed.

In hindsight, she wanted to throw up.

Before she could think back to anything more vile, the stirring behind her interrupted her train of thought with a smile. Glance over her shoulder, a Clefable trying to wake up, her struggle unsuccessful. One eye squinting open. That lovely human was nice, all the light pouring through the windows? Hard pass. Eventually, she managed to roll onto her side and free her hands to sign, motions even more slurred than usual.

> "Just five more minutes..."

They had the time.

The alarm goes off at six.

> "Take your time Pip, it's all good."

With her, everything was.