—So I began to draw. I remembered that when I was little, whenever I was afraid, whenever I wanted to cry, whenever I was in pain, I would think of it and want to hold it in my arms. That way, I could sleep well, even if I cried myself to sleep. But I could no longer do that. I always missed its button eyes, so I drew it. I even secretly took the notebooks my mentor had thrown away. I liked drawing it on blank pages. It helped me remember it, and it made me feel safe. I began sleeping with the notebook in my arms.
Although I had not cried myself to sleep in a long time, for some reason, tears would sometimes soak the notebook in my dreams, blurring it into a smear. In that muddled state, it looked a little frightening, but I still liked it. It could still make me feel safe. So I kept this sketchbook for many years, even after its pages had come loose.
Without realizing it, I had not drawn it for many years. Yet I still remembered it—remembered this dirty, stolen sketchbook with only half its pages blank.
Although I no longer wore dirty little dresses, although I was now a powerful Wizard apprentice, I still remembered it.
Then something even more interesting came along. With the gaze of death hanging over every Wizard apprentice's head, I still took the time and wasted the energy to choose the Magic Puppet branch as an elective.
I was going to bring it back to life.
Truly bring it to life, but at some point I had forgotten what it looked like. I only remembered a pair of button eyes. So I found this dirty sketchbook. It would be alive, able to wrap