Author’s Note: I just had to settle my urge to write Shiki/Rima drabbles, so please feel free to critique and comment (constructively). NOTE -- the ages are in human years, so if they sound remarkably mature, I did it on purpose.

Dedication: For Ailey, Anne, Annie, Jilly, Kits, Missa, and Ren – thanks for all those times you guys encouraged me.

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i. Age Three

Shiki was the type of baby who was quite content to simply sit and stare at nothing all day. His mother and servants never failed to bring him toys that would catch his interest, but all that hype lasted only for a few days – a month at best – and he saw no purpose in exploring his ridiculously large abode. One mistake taught him that there were plenty of evil mechanisms that would try and make him fall, mechanisms he would later know as stairs, swinging doors, and chairs.

Sleep was good to him and so was his bed. He liked the dark, yet colorful shades that surrounded him in the form of blankets, pillows, curtains, and comforters. A soft teddy bear watched over him diligently as he slumbered and never questioned his apparent laziness like the other figures in the house.

However, his philosophy on lack of activity was seriously challenged when a companion in the form of flesh was brought to him one warm night. He mistook her for a doll – so starry were her silvery-blue eyes and so flushed were her plump cheeks – and pulled (not so gently) on one of the delicate blonde bundles of hair that hung in two clumps off her head.

She promptly hit him on the mouth.

Now, Shiki wasn’t a crying baby either, but his uninterested expression had changed into one of shock and clouded irritation. In his knowledge, dolls weren’t supposed to hit back.

Were they?

Then she began speaking halted, almost-nonsense words and he realized that she was like himself. It made him quite happy then, to have someone who wasn’t towering over him and made him feel small. She was the perfect playmate and he had no idea.

He couldn’t quite pronounce her name correctly at first with his developing teeth. But “Wima” didn’t seem to mind, not when she discovered his playroom and every toy in existence that dwelled there. She demanded, in the way that children have, his participation in her make – believe games and although he reluctantly consented, Shiki found himself drawn into the aspects of the stories she created.

She was active and energetic, so whenever she came over, she found it fun to run from room to room. He was drawn to her, naturally, so when he spied the blonde strands darting away from the corner, he followed obediently, quickly.

Shiki never fought the transformation, nor did he ever protest to her methods of fun; after all, it was a lot better having her play with him and at three-years-old, little Shiki was already afraid of losing her.

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