Word Count: 569

Day after day passed with no progress. It had been weeks since she gained awareness, and Lucasta was no closer to finishing the task which drove her. The girl with the golden hair was nowhere to be found. Not in the parks or the alleyways, not around office buildings or schools. Lucasta knew not where to look; she didn’t even know where it was appropriate to begin. So she repeated the same routine from day to day with steadily dwindling hope.

There were many with hair the color of sunlight. They walked the streets and filled the shops; some even stopped in an attempt to pet her. Lucasta did not let them. She observed them long enough to determine that they were not the one she was looking for, before going on her way.

“A stray,” they called her.

“Poor thing,” they sid.

“She must belong to someone,” they speculated.

They were not incorrect. She was a stray, for she had no home. She was cold and hungry, deserving of their sympathy, though she wanted none of it.

And she did belong to someone. She knew this as surely as she knew her name, as surely as she understood her duties. Somewhere out there was a Senshi with golden hair, the other half of a bond that spanned... Lucasta was not sure. Decades, perhaps. Centuries. Or lifetimes. Lucasta didn’t know which was more appropriate, only that it had been years and years since they first met.

How long had it been since they last saw one another? Lucasta had no way of knowing. Would Ganymede remember her? Was Ganymede searching for Lucasta as Lucasta searched for Ganymede?

Or had Ganymede forgotten? Perhaps Ganymede gave up long ago. There was no way to tell until Lucasta found her.

And find her she must. Her sense of duty would not allow her to do otherwise.

So she wandered the city by day and dwelled by a stream in the park at night, beneath a bridge that served as adequate shelter. She observed the people that passed her by, but never let them draw too close, for they were strangers to her, and she did not know their intentions. She kept her distance from other animals, felines and canines alike. All those except the rodents that fill her belly.

One day she came upon a large photograph affixed to the window of a building that seemed to be a school of some sort, though the building itself was quite small. A majority of those who entered were young girls in tight clothing. The girl in the photograph wore a tight bodice of cream and pink, and a wide, stiff skirt. She stood on the toes of one foot; her other leg rose high behind her, her arms held aloft. There was a pleasant look upon her face — not quite a smile, though there was a certain light in her eyes that spoke to the depths of Lucasta's soul.

Paris LeFay, said the words upon the picture. Destiny City Ballet, 2012 – 2013

A name. A year. A starting point, she thought. Lucasta scrutinized the school more closely, watched the girls as they came and went, but Paris LeFay never showed herself.

Day after day passed, and Lucasta returned each morning to the little building with the picture in the window, and watched the sun rose upon a familiar face.