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"You've forgotten something, Moriko."

"What is it that I've forgotten this time?" Aforementioned Moriko, who preferred to be called Kari, questioned her sister out loud.

Moments ago, she was staring up at a dresser from her seat on the floor, feeling sorry for whatever tree was used to make it. Or, even worse, it could have been multiple trees, which she was quite upset about. Regardless, she tilted her head, trying to think about what she'd forgotten. Katana had a knack for reminding her of these things, thankfully.

"If you can't remember, why should I tell you?"

Scratch that.

"What's with the sudden change of heart?"

"Take a look at the calendar and tell me what day it is."

She was confused by her sister's request, but silently got up from her spot on the floor, strolling across the room to the door, which had the calendar located on the back. Kari's eyes scanned the sheet of paper that said it was the month of May, before saying, "Well, dearest sister, it appears to be May 10th, in the year 2006."

"This proves you can read, I suppose," Katana said in a way that irked her sister, before continuing. "What happened two years ago?"

"I don't know! You know, I hate it when you treat me like a baby and make me do these step by step things. Is this supposed to teach me a lesson, because I don't think I'm learning anything," the girl whined pathetically as she opened the door and left the room, thinking. She climbed down the stairs, asking herself what could be so special about today, then took a left into the living room.

Katana was amused by her sister's tantrum, "It wasn't meant to be a lesson. I only wanted you to remember that today is our birthday!"

Before she could absorb the statement, out of nowhere appeared streamers and balloons and glitter and about five boxes, big and small, wrapped in some of the prettiest colored wrapping paper that Kari had ever seen. Her mind went blank while her face donned a very suprised expression as the entire house seemed to ring with a cry of "Happy Birthday!" that everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs.

Kari would have smacked herself if it wouldn't have made her look crazy, because it was their birthday and she hadn't even remembered. Instead, she just ran over to the rather large group gathered in the living room and latched onto the nearest body with a bone-crushing hug (but she wasn't capable of crushing very many things anyway).

"Aw. You're all too kind!"

"There's nothing to do," she'd complain. The daily routine she was once satisfied with now seemed dull and tiresome. The children, they always had something to do; the fact that they were only children and were so easily amused must have been the best explanation. Kari was not a child anymore, obviously, no matter how much she acted like one.

"Get a job," her mother would reply. "I'd like to see you complain about having nothing to do once you get one. You'll just end up complaining about having too many things to do, you know," she pointed out. This was true, though the thule would never admit it. She'd just pout and leave the elder laughing at her antics. It was ironic; at one point, she said that everybody else complained too much.

The thought of a job was perposterous, though. No one would be there to take care of her garden as well as she could.

She thought for a moment.

"I want to go to the museum, then," the thule decided. "See some of my friends, maybe," not that she had a lot of friends; she hadn't seen anyone in ages, really, and those she once knew have probably forgotten all about her. Either that, or they wouldn't be able to tell who she was now, but, honestly, how many thule were there that were mechanical? It should've been easy, Kari thought, to remember such a distinguishing feature.

"Then go, you don't need my permission."

For only a second, that suprised her.

"Oh, right."

She wasn't a child anymore.