With closed eyes, the Observer watched a vision of the Little Match Girl which had taken place four years following the addition of Kaguya to the Dawn.
At first, the Observer believed the girl to be a cut-and-dry Blood Maiden.
Something about her, however, set her apart from others.
Unlike the others, she did not live in a commune alongside fellow Blood Maidens.
Instead, she lived in the slums of the Liberated District, peddling matches to ignorant passersby.
Curiously, despite the Dawn’s efficiency at locating Blood Maidens, none of their members nor the townspeople had any clue of this girl’s existence.
The girl stood rooted in the same place each day, offering her humble matches to anyone who would listen, but it was for naught.
There was no conscious or organized effort to neglect her. She just slipped through the cracks. It was as though fate conspired for her eternal solitude.
The Observer’s curiosity became too great to handle. One day, she decided to speak with the Little Match Girl herself.
Today, like any other day, she was without a single customer. Tucked away in a dim alley, she struck one of her matches and entered the realm of daydreams.
“Oh, come on guys. No need to fight over me... Hehe... Hehehe.”
She was hunched over pathetically, muttering to herself. Just then, she felt someone tap her shoulder.
“Hello. Are you alone?”
“Wha?!” snapped the girl from her dream. She fluttered her eyes in confusion.
“Yes. Can you see me...?” replied the doe-eyed girl.
“Of course. It’s not like you’re a ghost. In any case, I made too much food. Would you like to share it with me?”
The smiling woman’s question took the Little Match Girl by surprise.
“What...? Are you sure?”
“I’m the one asking you to help me. Doesn’t it look good? Don’t be shy. You’re doing me a favor!”
Perplexed by this stranger’s kindness, the girl scrunched her nose before the Observer led her away by hand.
　 ◯ “Thanks for the meal.”
“You’re very welcome.”
After dinner, the Observer smiled, prompting the timid young woman to speak up.
“U-Um, why w-would you give food t-to a stranger like me?” stammered the young woman.
“You see me, but no one else does...”
“Hm. I wonder why. ‘Seeing’s’ not exactly a problem of mine.”
“Seeing...?”
“Pardon me. We don’t have to act so formal. What do you say? Let’s be friends.”
“FFFFRIENDS?!” jolted the Little Match Girl.
The realization that it was her first time speaking with someone for more than a few sentences slowly crept upon her.
Now, this stranger wants to be friends? The idea was foreign to her.
“Oh yeah, what’s your name?” asked the Observer.
“I-I-I-I don’t have one... I just sell matches,” responded the girl tepidly. “Even though,” she clarified, “I’ve never made a sale. Hehe...”
The Observer tilted her head. “You don’t have one?”
All Blood Maidens were self-identifying.
The Observer bit her lip, pausing for a minute to contemplate if she had made an error in judgment.
But the Little Match Girl merely looked on and chuckled.
It dawned upon the Observer. Excitedly, she said, “I’ll give you one!”
“What?”
“Please? Hm. What to choose...?”
Without giving the girl a second to answer, the Observer shut her eyes.
Younger.
Petite, adorable.
I want to protect her. Like a little sister.
All of a sudden, a name appeared in the Observer’s head.
“...ry.”
“Ree?”
“Mary! How about Mary?!”
The girl blinked at her proposal.
(The hell’s up with her? She’s cuckoo.)
Nevertheless, the girl let the name echo in her head, letting its cadence roll down to the tip of her tongue.
“Maaaary. Mary. My name...”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah. I mean, y-y-yes! Um, I...don’t deserve it. Hehe.”
The girl let out a strained laugh.
“Hey, don’t put yourself down, Mary,” responded the Observer. “I want you to be comfortable with yourself.”
“Comfortable... Me?”
“Yes.”
The girl, now beginning to look at herself as Mary, nodded with a renewed sense of purpose.
“Alrighty then...!”
Right away, something in her tone of voice had changed.
The true Mary had emerged.
“Tell me your name. It’s not right...that I don’t know...if we’re friends.”
“Oh, of course. How silly. My name is...”
But the Observer cut herself off.
She had a name.
By the time she was taken into the Liberated District, she had it.
But curiously enough...
Another name felt more appropriate to say.
“...r....”
“R?”
“Charlotte... My name is Charlotte.”
And thus, their friendship was born.