4. "You look so worn out."

Dorothy is six years old when she gets her first Digiegg. He's a pretty shade of purple-blue, and fits in her lap like the old doll that had been looking more and more annoying as the weeks went on. (She knows he's a he because the egg wobbled when she asked!)

Her mama had looked so happy to see her happy, like she was the little girl instead of Dorothy herself. It was very odd, but Dorothy rubbed the egg and didn't care. It was kinda cool too.

Her papa was home today too! She had her own Digimon interface now, a gift from him. She couldn't get it broken no matter what! That meant being careful in puddles, even though splashing in them with her boots was the best. Oh well, it couldn't be helped.

Dorothy got so involved in her thoughts that she almost missed two large hands picking her up by the armpits. She squealed. "Papa, no! Not an airplane?"

"You're not?" His voice, still tinged with an Earth accent of some sort, teased easily. "Then I guess you're not a pogo stick either."

"No!" She gave a firm shake of her head for emphasis. Then Dorothy frowned, lips in a heavy pout. "What's a pogo stick?"

There was a sudden, too light-heavy silence.

Her mother sighed. "We haven't taught her about pogo sticks. What have we been doing?"

"Nothing good." Papa started to spin her around. Dorothy shrieked with laughter and broke the light-heavy air. Mama picked up her egg and set him in her lap.

"Don't make her too sick for cake." The warning was dampened by her smile, the pretty smile that her Auntie said Dorothy had somehow been born with too.

"No promises. She's enjoying this, aren't you?" When her papa kissed her forehead, Dorothy found it easy to bounce up, to cheer up.

It was easy to enjoy the good things.

Even years later, Dorothy could smile at her mother's grave. She could brush away the jagged marks on her shoulder, the scars from an old accident. Her mama saved her from that accident, and lived. Called the Immortal Dancer, she had fought in a lot of battles, and saved many lives.

But the phoenix couldn't save her forever. Not that it really wanted to save anyone now.

Dorothy ran her fingers over her mother's name, and noted the space at her own side. Of the few people she had been surrounded by, there weren't many left now. And their lives were tainted too.

She brushed her eyes with her thumb.

"You did your best, didn't you Mom," she asked the stone. "You tried as hard as you could, but it stopped mattering after a while. They won't change, I think. Not for you. You messed up and it hurt, but you tried to make it right. It still hurt. It's not fair, Mom. I love you but it's not fair."

Not that it was fair to blame her mother either. Not when the woman had done everything she could to make up for her mistake, only to be blatantly told that everything was never going to be good enough in the face of pain.

No wonder her parents had divorced.

"What does it say about me, anyway?" she asked her mother's grave.

She really didn't want the answer.