[Word Count: 908

“I know who you are.”

She could see Palatine tense out of the corner of her eye.

It was a dark, moonless night, which was just as well to Ganymede as she continued to feel as if the moon often mocked her, saddling her with a war and a weighty responsibility she knew she could never shake until it reached its natural conclusion—whatever that would be. But Ganymede could pick out a few speckles of stars in the blackness, and the streetlamps and bright city lights dimly illuminated the park. They weren't entirely in shadow, but should anyone pass by it might be difficult for them to make out their strange attire.

Ganymede's hands gripped the chains of a swing. Her long, thin legs stretched out then bent at the knee, propelling her forward and back on the curved rubber seat. The swing-set creaked with age, shifting in the ground even under her slight weight, the chains a bit worn and rusted but still sturdy enough to offer adequate support. She leaned back to stare straight up into the night sky, her fair hair dragging along the ground, her long red trained pulled around and piled into her lap to keep it from snagging.

“Or I know who you were,” she amended after a long, silent moment.

Palatine sat on the swing to Ganymede's right, hardly moving. She held onto the chains but kept her booted feet rooted firmly on the ground. The white plume of her pink cap fluttered in the breeze. She sat stiffly, somewhat uncomfortable, and she turned to watch Ganymede with her face set cautiously.

“Who?” she asked.

Ganymede could not help but think that the squire sounded more guarded than usual.

“Your name was Elisabeth,” Ganymede said.

Palatine frowned in confusion. “When?”

“A long time ago.”

There was silence again but for the creaking swing-set as Ganymede swung back and forth, and the distant sound of night-time traffic.

“Is that why you follow me around?” Ganymede asked when Palatine did not seem intent upon saying anything else.

“I don't follow you around.”

“But you look for me on purpose sometimes, don't you?”

Palatine refused to speak. Ganymede could tell that she was frowning.

“Is that why?” Ganymede repeated. “Because you remember me?”

“I don't remember anything,” Palatine said.

“You don't remember that your name was Elisabeth?”

“I have an ancestor,” Palatine countered. “I don't have any real memories.”

Ganymede's heels skidded along the ground, disturbing the woodchips beneath her feet as she slowed. She gripped the chains tighter and pulled herself up, turning to Palatine to meet the woman's frown with one of her own.

“Oh,” she said.

“But you do,” Palatine replied. It wasn't a question.

“Some,” Ganymede said. “Not a lot. Not enough to make much sense.”

“And you remember... whoever Palatine was before.”

“Yeah, a little.”

Ganymede decided not to go into detail. Palatine was still tense, uncomfortable. She wore a curious expression, like she was holding something back. Though Ganymede had to wonder what it could possibly be, she wasn't close enough to the squire to feel like asking. They knew nothing about one another aside from their names. Ganymede never knew why Palatine had taken to seeking out her company, but assumed she was merely lonely.

It wasn't too much of a pain to indulge her, in any case.

“We had the same name,” Ganymede said.

Palatine's frown never left. She stared at Ganymede with such a serious expression Ganymede began to feel a bit uncomfortable herself.

“It probably doesn't mean anything,” Ganymede tried to make light of it, suddenly wishing she hadn't even brought it up.

“Mmm,” Palatine quietly agreed. “Probably not.”

But Ganymede wasn't sure she believed it. If there was one thing she'd learned after three and a half years of being a Senshi, it was that few things were without meaning. It might not mean much to Palatine, but the fact that Ganymede had remembered it at all among all the other mundane things she could have seen meant it had to mean something to her.

Or to Liesel.

The distinction was becoming increasingly more difficult to make.

“It's late,” Palatine broke the sudden awkward silence. She rose from her swing, brushed off her jacket and pants which weren't even dirty. “You should head home.”

“And you?”

Palatine grew quiet again and seemed against answering the question.

Ganymede shrugged and hopped off of the swing, letting her train fall about her legs as she retrieved her miniature top-hat from the ground. She set it back upon her head, pulled her hair over her shoulder to arrange it neatly, then lifted her arms to stretch and hid a yawn behind one of her gloved hands.

“Suit yourself,” she said, and made to walk away, tossing a wave over her shoulder with a mumbled, “Good night.”

She could feel Palatine watching her as she left, knew the squire would probably remain until they could barely sense one another's auras.

But Ganymede chose not to look back, and ignored the way her nerves slowly frayed, while anxiety rose in her gut to whisper that there was more to this than Palatine was willing to admit to her.

The universe was still full of secrets, and Ganymede was only just beginning to sort through them.