Scaramouche stood alone in the land of green, in his own world. Thinking about the proof of victory Buer left in him, the day he lost the gnosis is the same day the porcelain puppet now bears a crack across his face.

He couldn't care less to be flawed, but it reminds him of that day which he despises.

"Ah." Scaramouche silently watches as the sunset sets, but an even brighter sun approach. He wanted to hate it, as he was used to people with stronger personalities. Such kindness is new to him, and only Kazuha bears that.