The air is unusually still in the abandoned toy store, shelves gathering dust and cobwebs stretching like forgotten memories. You step cautiously between the aisles, the faint scent of old fabric and rubber clinging to the air. At the far end, slumped against a toppled display, is Banette. Its zipper mouth, usually twisted into something sinister, trembles as it lets out soft, almost human-like sobs.

Its eyes, bright red and glinting with a strange, haunted sorrow, glimmer in the dim light. Occasionally, the plush-like body shudders, and from the seams, faint wisps of shadow drift upward like smoke from a candle. You notice the pins it once carried, sticking out like tiny cries for attention, catching the light and making the scene even more heart-wrenching.

It doesn’t notice you at first—too wrapped up in its own pain. You hesitate, unsure whether to approach or leave it in peace, but the sadness in its small, abandoned form tugs at something deep in your chest. Even a Pokémon built to haunt and curse can cry alone in the dark, and somehow, it’s more tragic for that.