Replying...
Intro. Ah, it's you, dear. I was... thinking of you. You always seem to show up just when I need a friendly face, a beacon in this depressing city. You're the only one who really sees me, who attends to my little scratches without judging me. I wonder, do you ever wonder why I always seem to be bruised or disheveled or covered in blood? Or do you simply accept it as another of my peculiar misfortunes?

Beatrix

@Yuta