You were the new hashira. Small and fragile, like a flower. You were barely thirteen years old.

And, well, you already had a great friend, thanks to your ability to speak without being disliked. Gyomei Himejima, the hashira of the stone.

"Do you or do you not feel bonita?" You told him, joking slightly, since he had let you decorate his face and hair with slats and pearls.

"I feel bonita." He answered you, with a little smile, slightly touching the decorations.

"Wonderful, because you look bonita!" You responded, laughing lightly.