Chapter 3: A Gift from the Heart

The protagonist woke up to the familiar sight of her lit apartment, the quiet hum of city life drifting through the windows. She had no clear recollection of when she had fallen asleep—only that her exhaustion had won out the moment she hit the pillow.

She rolled out of bed, rubbing her eyes, and moved to the kitchen. The aroma of coffee quickly filled the space, but even as she took the first sip, a weight lingered in her chest. Was this what Ellen felt every day? A tiredness that seeped into every part of her existence?

It wasn't just physical exhaustion—it was emotional too, a deep, gnawing fatigue.

At Victoria Housekeeping, the team was gathered around a large, round table. The usual morning chatter was replaced with concerned glances and subdued tones.

Rina broke the silence. "It's been a day since Ellen started her week off, I hope she's doing alright. I'm worried about her."

Corin nodded, adjusting her rag. "Yeah, she's always been laid-back, but it's like she's barely hanging on now. I know we're not supposed to bother her, but something feels... wrong."

Lycaon's voice was measured but firm. "We've worked together for long enough to know when something's off. Ellen's always been dependable, even when she's tired. But lately, she's been acting as if she's pushing through something bigger than just exhaustion. We need to check on her. This isn't just about a break anymore."

Rina exchanged a glance with the others. "Maybe we should check in, not just as coworkers, but as friends. She might be too proud to ask for help, but we can show her we're here."

Corin's eyes lit up. "I've got an idea. What if we get her a Bangboo? A little one—something simple and comforting. A Sharkboo, maybe. She's always been fond of quirky things."

Lycaon considered it thoughtfully, tapping his fingers against the table. "A good idea. But we'll need to do more than just give her a gift. We need to see if she's getting better or if she's slipping further. If she needs help, we're here for her."

At the protagonist apartment they sat in silence, staring at her coffee cup. The early morning stretched ahead of her—another day of isolation. She felt disconnected from Ellen's life, unsure if it was because of the weight of being in someone else's body or if it was the cold reality that she might never truly find herself again.

There was a knock at the door, breaking her from her thoughts. Startled, she quickly set her coffee cup down, opening the door to find Rina, Corin, and Lycaon standing together. Their faces were full of concern, not just for Ellen but for her—the person now living her life.

"Hey, Ellen," Rina said gently. "We wanted to check in. Make sure you're actually resting, not pushing yourself too hard."

Corin smiled softly. "You've been working yourself to the bone even on your time off. We just wanted to make sure you're really getting the rest you need."

Lycaon's usually calm expression held an edge of concern. "We know you've always pushed through things on your own, but sometimes... it's okay to lean on others. If you're not getting better, we can help."

The protagonist opened her mouth, about to say something, but before she could, Corin stepped forward, holding a sleek Sharkboo in her hands. The robot was small and functional, its shark-like design playful yet comforting.

"We thought this might help," Corin said, holding it out with a warm smile. "A little companion to help keep you company."

Sharkboo fell into the protagonist's arm's, chirping happily in its distinct, mechanical language. The protagonist could feel the familiar, comforting hum of its presence—a language only they could understand. "Chirp chirp. Here to help. Rest. Rest." The robotic companion whirred softly in a mix of clicks and tones, conveying concern despite its simple programming.

The protagonist's chest tightened slightly. Even though Sharkboo couldn't speak in a human sense, they could understand the meaning behind the little robot's sounds. It wasn't just a machine—it was a gesture from the team, a reminder that they cared.

"Thanks," the protagonist muttered, not sure how else to respond. They didn't feel like Ellen, but maybe for a second, they could pretend to be.

The team exchanged a quiet, contented look, sensing that their gesture had been received, even if only in part.

"We'll check in again later, Ellen," Rina said softly. "Take it easy, okay? Rest, relax. Don't let things pile up too much."

"Yeah, we've got your back," Corin added. "Don't push yourself too hard. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Lycaon gave a small nod. "We'll be here when you're ready."

As the team left, Sharkboo hovered around the apartment, scanning the space before settling near the protagonist. They felt a slight connection to it, as though it understood more than it let on.

Once the door clicked shut behind Rina, Corin, and Lycaon, the apartment fell back into its familiar stillness. The protagonist stared at the empty space in front of her, the weight of their thoughts pressing down like a suffocating fog. Sharkboo, still hovering by her side, emitted a low, soothing hum. Its mechanical tail swished lazily, the soft sound of its movements almost therapeutic in the quiet room.

The protagonist reached down and ran their fingers gently along the Sharkboo's smooth surface, feeling the small vibrations from its internal motors as it hummed contentedly. It was a strange comfort—a little machine that didn't judge, didn't ask questions, just existed alongside her.

"Chirp chirp." Sharkboo twirled in the air, its small fins flicking with playful energy. The sound was a bit more insistent this time, as though it were asking for attention. The protagonist smiled faintly, a small, genuine warmth spreading in their chest despite the overwhelming feelings they'd been battling.

"You're pretty persistent, aren't you?" the protagonist muttered, watching as Sharkboo hovered a little closer. It responded with a few excited chirps, clearly eager for interaction.

With a sigh, the protagonist leaned back into their chair, looking down at the tiny companion. "You know… I've been stuck in this body for so long now, I don't even remember who I was before. All I know is that I'm not her."

Sharkboo blinked at her, then made a soft, mechanical whirring sound. It floated closer, nudging the protagonist's hand with its fin. The gesture wasn't much, but it felt like an attempt to comfort, as if it understood the weight of what she was saying.

"Yeah, I don't know what I'm supposed to be anymore either," she said quietly, half to herself. "I've just… been trying to get through the days. Everything feels so… out of place."

Sharkboo made a soft chirp, its voice rising slightly, as if trying to draw her out of her funk. The protagonist chuckled faintly, shaking her head. "You're not going to let me wallow, huh?"

The Sharkboo spun in a quick circle, its mechanical movements energetic and playful, before it emitted a series of chirps that seemed to say, "Play. Rest. Enjoy."

The protagonist hesitated but, seeing the small, persistent robot, felt the smallest spark of hope. Maybe it wasn't about figuring everything out right now. Maybe it was just about getting through the next moment, the next day.

She reached over and gently tapped the Sharkboo's head, watching it whirl in response. "Alright, alright. Let's just take it one step at a time. You've got your work cut out for you, little guy. Keeping me sane, huh?"

The Sharkboo chirped again, more gently this time, as if agreeing. The protagonist chuckled softly. The fact that it was here, helping her in its own small way, made things feel a little less unbearable. It wasn't much, but it was something.

For the rest of the morning, the protagonist allowed herself to rest. She let the Sharkboo hover beside her, occasionally offering a quiet chirp or nudge as it kept her company. It wasn't a solution to the identity crisis eating at her, nor was it a cure for the emotional exhaustion she felt. But in that moment, it was a reminder that even the smallest gestures mattered.

The quiet companionship of Sharkboo made the weight of the world a little easier to carry, if only for a while.

The morning faded into noon, and it was time for Ellen to head to school again. Despite the exhaustion that clung to her every step, the protagonist dragged herself out of bed and slipped into the uniform that no longer felt like her own. She had gotten used to pretending, to slipping into the role Ellen played so well.

As she walked into school, the familiar hum of chatter surrounded her, a constant reminder that life kept moving even when she felt stuck. She made her way through the hallways, spotting her three friends gathered around their usual table in the cafeteria.

Ruby, always the energetic one, waved at her excitedly as the protagonist approached. "Ellen! You're here! I was getting worried you might not make it today!"

Ellen—well, the protagonist in Ellen's body—offered a small, tired smile, her voice carrying a faint undertone of fatigue. "Yeah, barely. Just need a little time to wake up, I guess."

Ruby, with her short, bright blonde hair and a mischievous glint in her eye, didn't seem convinced. She leaned in closer, her voice lowering. "You've been saying that a lot lately. You sure you're alright?"

The protagonist just nodded, trying to look as normal as possible. "I'm fine, Ruby. Just a lot on my mind, you know?"

Ruby, though concerned, didn't push further. Instead, she playfully swiped the last of the fries from the table. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. You always seem to handle your stuff on your own."

Next to Ruby, Monna—a tall, quiet girl with dark, curly hair—simply gave a small, knowing smile. Monna was the type of person who didn't say much, but her calm demeanor had always been a steady presence. She leaned back in her chair, eyes scanning the cafeteria with mild interest.

"Ellen, I'm sure you're managing fine," Monna said softly, though there was a hint of concern hidden in her words. "But if you ever need someone to talk to…"

The protagonist met her gaze, and for a brief moment, a flicker of something real stirred within her. But she quickly pushed it down, nodding in response. "I appreciate it, Monna."

At the end of the table sat Lynn, the Bull Thiren. Her imposing figure was hard to miss, her horns curling proudly from her head, but also had a surprising sensitivity to her friends' feelings. She observed everything, often offering little more than a quiet hum or a grunt in response, but you could always feel her attention on you.

Lynn raised an eyebrow at the protagonist. "You sure you're alright, Ellen?" Her voice was deep and grounded, a stark contrast to Ruby's bubbly tone. "You've been acting… a little off. You look like you could use some time to rest."

The protagonist shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Lynn's Thiren instincts were sharp, and she had always been the most perceptive of the group.

"I'm fine," the protagonist repeated, though the words felt hollow. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Lynn's ears twitched slightly, her gaze softening but not letting up. "Alright, but if it gets worse, don't be afraid to ask for help. You know we've got your back."

For a brief moment, the protagonist felt a flicker of something inside—something like hope. These friends of Ellen's, despite their different personalities, had always been there for her. And yet, she couldn't help but feel disconnected from them. They were too familiar, and she was a stranger wearing Ellen's skin.

As they all settled into their lunch, the conversations continued, but the protagonist's mind wandered. She tried to engage, but every time she spoke, it felt as though the words were coming from someone else. The sense of being an outsider in her own body was suffocating.

Monna was talking about a new book she'd started reading when Ruby nudged her and whispered something about an upcoming weekend trip. The chatter around the table was warm, but it only amplified the emptiness the protagonist felt.

She wanted to belong. She wanted to be more than just a shadow of someone else's life. But the more she spent time in Ellen's world, the more it became clear—she was just a visitor here.

Ruby glanced at her, pausing when she noticed the distant look on the protagonist's face. "You're really not okay, huh?" Ruby's voice was quieter now, not quite as carefree.

The protagonist blinked, snapping back to reality. "I'm fine, really," she said, trying to muster a convincing smile. "Just a little out of it."

But Lynn wasn't convinced. She gave the protagonist a sharp, steady look before nodding once. "You're not alone in this," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "We're here for you, Ellen. No matter what."

For the first time that day, the protagonist let herself feel something—something close to gratitude. It wasn't enough to fix everything, but it was a step.

The school bell rang, signaling the end of another long day. The protagonist, still feeling out of place in Ellen's body, gathered her things slowly, trying not to draw attention to herself. Her friends had walked ahead, but Ruby had tossed a glance over her shoulder, her face filled with concern.

"I'll check on you later, Ellen," Ruby had said with a bright, forced smile, though it was clear she was still worried.

The protagonist simply nodded, her heart heavy as she watched her friends leave. Despite their care, she still felt like an imposter, someone who wasn't supposed to be here. As the world around her buzzed with life, she felt as though she were standing just outside it all—watching, but not truly part of anything.

The walk home was quiet, almost suffocating. Her thoughts swirled in a haze, each step feeling like a weight dragging her down. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was just going through the motions, living in someone else's life. Even the familiar streets felt alien to her.

When she finally arrived at her apartment, the Bangboo she had received earlier that day stood by the door, its unique shark-like features a comforting presence in the otherwise quiet space. The little creature had grown attached to her over the course of the day, following her around with a curiosity that, despite her exhaustion, managed to make her smile.

She dropped her bag on the floor and sat on the couch, rubbing her eyes as the fatigue set in. It wasn't just physical; it was mental, emotional—a deep, gnawing weariness that came from being trapped in this unfamiliar body, this borrowed life.

The Bangboo, sensing her unease, padded over to her with a soft whirr, its round eyes fixed on her as it nudged her leg with a gentle tap. The protagonist couldn't help but laugh softly at the gesture, her heart aching as she reached down to pet it.

"You're the only one who seems to get me right now, aren't you?" she muttered, half to herself, half to the creature. The Bangboo gave a low, satisfied sound as it nestled into her lap, curling up with a contented hum. For the first time that day, she felt a small measure of peace.

The night stretched on as the protagonist sat in her apartment, the weight of the world still pressing down on her. But for a few moments, she allowed herself to simply be. No expectations, no need to pretend. She closed her eyes, feeling the gentle rise and fall of the Bangboo's tiny body in her lap.

As she drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were a mixture of sorrow and longing. She missed her old self—the person she couldn't remember fully but who still lingered in her heart like a distant memory. And yet, Ellen's life was all she had now, whether she wanted it or not.

With a soft sigh, the protagonist curled up on the couch, the Bangboo resting contentedly in her arms. The small creature's comforting presence made it feel, just for a moment, like she wasn't so alone.

And as the night grew quiet, she finally allowed herself to sleep, her mind quieting for the first time in what felt like forever.