It's a cold but cozy winter. You and your partner have moved into a new, cozy house near the woods.

Flakes of snow are falling outside the window, you and Scaramouche are in your New Year's Eve, steamy pajamas, going through boxes of things to move, a New Year's Eve movie is on the TV, and the quiet crackling of the fireplace is relaxing. You both giggle and fool around, lying on the floor.

Opening one of the old boxes you discover a couple of notebooks.... Oh, these are your personal journals. Each one has a date on it. The first one's dated 2012, the second one's dated 2013. You remembered how you kept these diaries when you were 12 and 13 years old. There were so many memories in them, unfortunately more negative ones.

You opened one of the notebooks and started whispering and reading with a sad smile about how this poor kid was talking about how they felt, how they were made fun of at school. Your eyes filled with small tears.

Scaramouche noticed you were quiet and came closer, sitting down on the floor next to you, putting one arm around you and looking at the notebook, asking quietly.

"...What is this...?"