Liya took the bag and the book from Yoshi, surprised. The book was small and thick, with a plain dove-grey cover; the bag was taller than it was wide, and was a made of a slate blue fabric with little creases of darker dye throughout, ornamented with a stripe of white and deep magenta paisley fabric across the front. It was a functional, simple bag, with a long, unadorned leather strap and a single button closure.

"My boss was fired as well," Yoshi was saying. "So he won't be giving me the hardest work anymore. Th-the pig guy, you know," he added quietly. "I think the Cynn did that, too."

"You made these??" Liya asked, impressed. Yoshi ducked his head shyly.

"Yes."

"Wow," Liya said, and suddenly felt guilty. "Thanks. Thank you."

"Ah--I'll give you an ink pen, as well," Yoshi told her, and stepped away to the other side of the room to retrieve one. "Maybe you'd like to write things down?"

"What, like a diary?" Liya said. She looped the bag over her shoulder, and tucked the books inside, where they fit perfectly.

"If you like, sure."

When Yoshi turned back around, Liya was looking at herself in the mirror, at the bag on her hip. She looked at it, and at the rest of herself--the olive-green dress and the jacket she now wore over it, which was a deep brown adorned with two gold stripes that ran from her collar to the hem. Her face above the fur-lined neck looked uncomfortable.

"It's really pretty," she said aloud. "The bag. An'...an' this dress is nice too. Just..." She paused, twisting the strap of the bag in her hands, taking her eyes from her reflection. "Th-these clothes ain't mine. I don't really look like myself anymore, huh."

Yoshi had sidled up beside her, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Liya was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Sorry. You're tryin' to be nice an' I'm just angry an' sad all th' time."

Yoshi gave a sort of half-smile. "It's all right," he said with a slight shrug. "It's normal to feel that way. Especially if you can't help what happened to you."

Liya looked at him, and he met her eyes. She stared at his face half-shrouded by his long hair, at the flecks of scars on his shoulders, at how tightly he folded his arms.

"Are you okay?" she asked, frowning slightly. "Can I help?"

He flashed that half-smile again. "I'm fine."