Waking up to a lack of silence is almost never a good sign of what is to come. That morning, no exception, the rumblings of rock ambient to an extent, the water around me flurried. Barely awake as always, and only really being able to watch, a vase then shattering onto the floor, falling from some other surface, those pieces of the vase shimmering even more brightly in parts.

And then nothing. As soon as the quake came, it fled, the water fleeing with it, replaced with new, as all the same as always. Such was the way of life in Sugarteara, and soon, of course, hearing about what damage a tsunami caused in the various landlubber towns above our heads. And with that sheer noise of shattered glass, tumbling myself out of that bed I still couldn't call mine with sincerities, getting to what was best for shards. Disposal. A broom in my closet, a minute or two of keeping my claws undamaged with earnest care, and the vase would be forgotten about in a few days. Maybe I could replace it with another.

But I don't think the vase would like that. I wouldn't like to be forgotten, and then replaced with something new and better and not as broken. But I also don't know if the vase has feelings, either. It can't express feelings. What if it had feelings? I didn't want to hurt that little vase.

A claw dug through the trash, and put the shards in a different bag. No. The vase would not be forgotten. It would be reforged.