Sometimes, Kitty wondered.

Sometimes, she would see something that reminded her of him. Just trivial things, really, but he would suddenly cross her mind and she'd find herself thinking about him. On a conscious level she couldn't fathom why. But it was there, subtly, on the plane between conscious and subconscious, the wondering. The wondering if they would have been friends in a world without magic and demons, wondering if he'd been a decent person before politics got him, wondering just what would have happened if he'd managed to keep just that one last promise…

But the point was that he hadn't, she told herself with slightly less conviction than she would have been comfortable with. He was gone, and she hadn't known him—the true him—long enough to bother grieving anyway. It's better to not think about him, not even for a moment, because what's done is done and keeping her head in the past wasn't going to do anything for her. She figured that if she repeated this long enough she'd believe it eventually.

And the moment would pass—she'd almost force herself to think of other things, and determinedly ignored how she was suddenly blinking more than usual.

But Kitty still wondered.

And regretted.

It'd really make my day if you, the wonderful person who bothered reading, would review and tell me if it was a mistake to return to the realm of serious fiction or not.