Welcome to Gaia! ::

𝐍𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞;

My name is Sophie, and I wanted to tell you about my past, the present, and the current future.
So... allow me to paint you a picture of it.

When I was young, my weekends belonged to my grandmother. Every Saturday morning, I’d eagerly pack a small bag and run out the door, my heart light with excitement.



Back then, my parents were still alive, and life felt like a dream—a perfect, golden bubble I never imagined could break.
My parents ran their own business, which often took them across the world on trips to far-off places I could only picture in my imagination. While they were away, I would stay with my grandmother in her cozy little house, nestled at the edge of a quiet neighborhood. The scent of fresh paint and old parchment always filled the air, wrapping around me like a familiar embrace.
She would spend hours sitting by the window, sketching and painting, lost in the dance of her pencil against the paper. I would watch in awe, mesmerized by the way her hands moved, effortlessly bringing to life people, places, and dreams. She had one special mechanical pencil, a sleek silver thing that never seemed to wear down. She told me it was magical—that it breathed life into whatever it touched. And, of course, I believed her.

One day, when I arrived at her house, I found her hunched over her easel, her brush gliding across the canvas. As I stepped closer, my breath caught in my throat. She was painting me—my laughter, my bright eyes, the warmth in my smile. My chest swelled with happiness.





At that moment, I knew. I wanted to be like her. I wanted to paint my dreams, to give them color and form, to make them real.

Day after day, year after year, I practiced.



My fingers grew smudged with graphite, my sketches slowly improving with each stroke. The pencil she used fascinated me, and though I longed to touch it, I never dared. On my 18th birthday, my grandmother handed me a small, timeworn box. The edges were frayed, the surface scratched from years of use. I opened it with trembling hands, my heart pounding as I stared at what lay inside.

Her pencil. The magical pencil.




"Thank you Grandmama!" I said, I was so happy.

My grandmother smiled, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "My work will become reality," she whispered. "You will be the best artist, far beyond anything I could ever be. Draw your dreams, because they will never fade away." We told each other how much we loved one another, as we always did, but she had her way of winning. “I love you most,” she said softly, her fingers squeezing mine. “Now and forever.”
That night, as I lay in bed beneath her roof, an unshakable feeling crept over me—a quiet dread curling in my chest. Something felt… wrong. As if the universe itself had whispered a warning in my ear.

When morning came, the house was too quiet. I tiptoed to her room, expecting to find her awake, maybe already at her easel, lost in her art. Instead, I found stillness. A deep, endless silence.

She had passed away in her sleep.

Even now, I still have that pencil. I hold it every day, its weight familiar in my grip. The magic she spoke of—it’s real. Not because the pencil holds some 'otherworldly power', but because she believed in me. And as long as I keep drawing, she’ll never truly fade away.

It wasn’t until much later that I learned the truth about my parents. The flight they were on—the one that took them away from me—was the same flight Makoto’s parents had boarded.

That plane never made it to its destination. It never touched the ground the way it was supposed to.
It crashed.



And just like that, the perfect world I once knew was gone.




Prequel to Said Events

It’s my last year in college, and we are finally getting new dorm rooms. I’m really excited because we get the fancy rooms, which means more space! But I have to share a room—that’s the downfall. As I entered my room, I had a bunch of bags with me. Knowing what to expect, I thought I’d show up early, but little did I know, my roommate had the same idea.
As I opened the door to my new room, I braced myself.

"Okay, here goes!"

I pushed the door open, only to nearly knock out the person on the other side. We bumped into each other—she was running out as I was coming in—and we both collided, tumbling to the floor.

"Oof!"

The unknown figure stood up just fine—who knows why, but her tall, slender frame made it look effortless. Then, she laughed at my expense.

"Sorry! You must be my roommate, right? Here, let me help you up!"

"Ah—i-it’s okay! Clumsy me!" I stammered nervously, taking the girl’s hand as I stood.



Now that we were both on our feet, we finally got a good look at each other. The girl in front of me had strawberry blonde hair—not quite ginger, but not fully blonde either. Her bangs parted on either side of her face, and behind her, I noticed an extremely long, low ponytail. "Whoaa..." I let out without thinking, making her tilt her head.

"Whoa what?" she asked. "Ah! You have such pretty hair—s-sorry, I have a habit of blurting out what I’m thinking!" Rubbing the back of my head, I felt really silly. The kind girl shook her head and smiled. "It’s fine, and thank you! My name is Yuki... and you are...?"

Blushing a little from embarrassment, I answered, "Um, my name is... Sophie." I hesitated slightly.

"Sophie? That’s a pretty name." Yuki beamed a smile towards me, her smile was infectious.

I nodded and smiled, looking away. "My.. grandmother named me."

From there, we got to know each other and became good friends. She blessed me with a nickname, "Soph" for short. Over a few months, we shared our interests and dreams together, I probably overshared more than her. It was nice to not feel alone though. I showed her my drawings and paintings. I felt comfortable around her presence.

But the reality was, I didn’t know her as well as I thought.



The Bullying Begins

College was hard—I won’t lie. I took art classes and worked a part-time job. On the surface, it sounded nice, but in reality, it was hell. Yuki and I kept things from each other. I was often late coming back to the dorms.

The truth was, I was getting bullied in my art classes. The students there weren’t nice to me, maybe they felt threatened? Who knows, I didn't bother to ask. I had my part-time job as a waitress at a local café. It was a nice escape—until some students found out where I worked and started waiting for me when my shift ended.

I became really closed off when the bullying got more frequent. Yuki asked me a few times why I was so quiet, but I never told her the truth, and I guess in some way, we both were hiding stuff from each other.

My mental health suffered, but I wanted to make my grandmother proud, so I pushed through. I tried to ignore it. I could have taken acting classes, I would have aced those too.

The school bell rang. Days like today, I dreaded. The night shift ended.

"Sayonara!" I called out to my manager as I closed the back door. It was dark by the time I finished. My schoolbag was with me that day. As I took my usual walk home, I turned a corner, and there they were.

"Oh look, it's little Miss Perfect. Have a nice walk home?" One girl stepped out of the shadows. They were your stereotypical bullies.



"Perfect cheater." Another girl emerged, standing beside the first. The third girl shoved them aside and stepped closer. Before I could react, she grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. "Give me that precious pencil."

I clutched my schoolbag tightly, my heart pounding. "Just leave me alone." My voice came out quieter than I intended.

The tallest of the three girls stepped forward, her smirk dripping with malice. "Oh, come on, Sophie. You know exactly what we want." The second girl crossed her arms. "That pencil. The one you "claim" is magical."

My breath hitched. I shook my head. "No. I—I don’t have it!"
The leader narrowed her eyes. "Liar!"

Before I could react, she grabbed at my bag. I twisted away, clutching it to my chest, but the other two girls joined in, clawing at the straps "Stop!" I gasped, struggling, but they were stronger. Three against one.

One of them kicked my leg out from under me, making me stumble. The moment my grip loosened, they yanked the bag away.
"Let’s see what’s inside, shall we?" The second girl unzipped it and started digging through my belongings.
I swallowed hard, my hands trembling. My grandmother’s pencil was safe—it was in my pocket.

But then—

"Where is it?" The leader scowled, shaking my bag upside down. My books and supplies were scattered onto the pavement.
"Maybe she wasn’t carrying it today." The second girl frowned, picking up scissors.
"Wait, what’s this?" The third girl had stopped searching. She was holding my sketchbook.

No. No, no, noooo.

She flipped through the pages, her lips curling into a smirk. "Wow, you actually think you’re an artist?" My chest tightened. "Give that back!" I stepped forward, but the leader shoved me back against the wall.
"Relax, we just want to appreciate your talent." She ripped out a page.

My heart plummeted.
"Stop!!!" My voice cracked as I tried to push past them, but they just laughed.

RIP. Another page.

Torn fragments of my work fluttered to the ground like fallen petals, crushed beneath their shoes.
"Oops," the leader sneered, tearing another. "Guess dreams really do fade away." She snorted into a laughed, she found this absolutely hilarious.
I lunged again, but the second girl grabbed the back of my long brunette hair and yanked it back. "Agh!" I winced.
The leader crouched down, picking up one of the torn pieces of my art. She examined it with mock curiosity before crumpling it in her fist. "This was never going to take you anywhere, anyway."
Then, before I could react, she shoved her hand into my coat pocket.
Panic shot through me.

No—!!

"Ohhh, there it is."
I froze. She held my grandmother’s pencil between her fingers, twirling it. "b***h, you were hiding it from us, huh?"
"Give that back!" I reached for it, but she held it high above her head, grinning.

"You really think you deserve this? You think some stupid pencil is gonna make you great?" She scoffed. "Pfft--Please."

I lunged, desperation kicking in, but before I could grab it, she punched me—hard—right in the stomach.
Pain exploded through my torso.
I crumpled to my knees, gasping, clutching my stomach as burning tears blurred my vision. My entire body trembled, the sting of humiliation almost worse than the physical pain.
Above me, I heard laughter.
"Come on, let’s go." The leader turned on her heel, tucking my grandmother’s pencil into her own pocket.
I couldn’t move.
I could barely breathe.
As their footsteps faded into the night, I felt something inside me shatter.
The last piece of my grandmother—gone.
I stayed there, curled on the cold pavement, sobbing silently.



I had lost everything.

Little did I know at the time, on the rooftop of a towering building closest to where this happened, a lone figure stood shrouded in darkness. She watched intently, her presence unseen yet undeniable. The moonlight caught the sharp glint of her emerald-green eyes—piercing, unwavering, and brimming with intensity. Though I couldn’t see her myself, the weight of her gaze bore down like a predator stalking its prey. Her expression was cold, her glare like ice, yet beneath it simmered a raw, unmistakable fury.



They must have stumbled upon the scene midway, trying to figure out what was going on. I sat there, sobbing until the pain faded, and I was able to get up and walk back slowly to the college. By the time I got into the dorm, Yuki was asleep. Like every other day, I had to pretend I was okay.

Once I had left, the figure jumped down from where she was and picked up the pieces of my art that had scattered. The pieces weren't there the next day when I walked that same route to school.



The strands that bind us

The next day came, and yet again I was back to that dark reality. The girls had gathered again, waiting for me as per usual. What this time?

I stepped out of the backdoor, gripping my bag strap tightly, my body still aching from last night. I kept my head down, my pace quickening as I tried to escape unnoticed. But, of course, that was never an option.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to show up. You know working the late shift is dangerous... you could get... hurt..."

I froze.

The leader of the group stood in the alleyway, arms crossed, a smug grin on her face. The other two flanked her sides, looking just as amused. "You still look like a mess, Sophie. Didn’t sleep well?" One of them snickered.

I clenched my jaw. I knew better than to respond.

"Aw, come on, don’t ignore us," the leader cooed, stepping forward. "Or are you still mad about last night?"

My heart pounded. My grandmother’s pencil—gone. I refused to cry in front of them. Not again. I forced myself to turn away, pretending I hadn’t heard them. If I just walked away—A hand grabbed my wrist, but I also felt another grab the back of my hair, pulling my hair. I gasped, my body tensing as the leader yanked me backwards.

"Not so fast. We’re not done with you."

I tried to pull away, but her grip was ironclad. "Let go of me!" I cried out, but I felt like anything I said was just a whisper to them.

"Oh? Now you want to talk?" She laughed, twisting my arm slightly. "Where’s the fun in letting go when we’re just getting started?"

I winced but refused to give her the reaction she wanted. One of the other girls stepped forward, pressing something into the leader’s waiting hand. My heart sank. My scissors. They must have stolen them from my bag the other night. Panic surged through me as I thrashed harder, my breaths coming fast. My muscles burned with the effort as I twisted and kicked, landing a solid blow against the leader’s shin.

She hissed in pain before snarling, her fingers tightening in my hair.

"You b***h!"

The next thing I felt was the sharp tug as she yanked my head back even more. Then—the snip. The sound of metal slicing through strands. Chunks of my hair tumbled to the ground. I writhed, kicking, clawing, trying to free my hands—anything—but the other two held me firm.

The leader didn’t stop. The scissors hacked and tore unevenly through my waist-length hair, reducing it to jagged strands just past my shoulders.

"I said STOP!" I cried, my voice cracking as hot tears blurred my vision. But they didn’t care. My hair was the least of my worries—I just needed to get free. I needed to somehow fight back. I struggled harder, twisting, desperate. I had to get away.

Then—something... no, someone—landed as if they had just stepped off a building. They came out of nowhere.

A fallen angel? I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified it was another bully—or worse. But it wasn’t.

Whoever they were, they had interfered.

"That’s enough!"

The voice came from behind us.

Everyone froze.

The three girls loosened their grip and turned toward the figure. The hold on my wrist slackened just enough for me to yank myself free. I stumbled back, my breath hitching. Shaken, I collapsed to the ground, catching myself on my palms. My fingertips trembled as they brushed over the fallen locks of my hair.

A figure stepped out from the shadows. I had never heard that voice before. It wasn’t Yuki.

My head turned slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of the woman’s hair, the deep red strands reflecting under the moonlight—and her piercing, emerald-green eyes glared at the three girls. I noticed what she wore seemed intimating enough if I were to pass her on the street, I'd avoid, moving away to give her room to pass me.

Tall. Confident. Unfazed. And in her hand—my torn artwork from the other night.

My heart skipped a beat. The bullies turned, their confusion shifting into something darker. "Who the hell are you?" The leader scoffed, stepping forward.

The figure didn’t respond right away. Instead, she held up one of the ripped sketches, running her fingers over the torn edges. Finally, she spoke again.

"You have no idea what you’ve done."

Her voice was calm. Cold. And for the first time ever—the bullies looked uncertain. I sat there sobbing, trying not to make any further noises, but I was clearly upset.



The unknown figure stood tall, her posture effortless yet strong—like she had nothing to prove. Most of her deep red hair was tied back in a low ponytail, but a few strands framed her face, her bangs falling neatly to the side.

Her eyes—vivid, almost unnaturally green—pierced through the darkness with quiet intensity. They weren’t just looking. They were seeing. Calculating.

Dressed in dark clothing, she had an effortless edge that made her stand out. A fitted black halter tank top hugged her toned frame, and dark gray pants, studded along the sides, gave her a rebellious, unbothered air. Heavy boots scuffed against the pavement as she shifted her stance, her mere presence commanding attention.



Her expression remained unreadable—cool, unwavering. But beneath it, something simmered. A quiet storm. And in her hand, between her fingers, were the torn pieces of my artwork. She let them flutter slightly in the night air before curling her fingers around them. The leader scoffed. Then, without warning, she hurled the scissors straight at the woman, intending to cause one last bit of harm. The blade spun through the air, but the woman caught it effortlessly, as if it had been drawn to her—like a magnet.

The bullies hesitated, their bravado cracking. Then, one by one, they turned their backs and walked away, muttering and whispering horrible things.

Even as they disappeared down the alley, the woman’s glare followed them, making sure they were well and truly gone before she moved. I sat frozen, my breath unsteady, staring after them.
My chest ached—not just from the punch, but from the awful realization. They had taken it. The pencil.

My fingers curled into fists against the pavement. It was gone. The last piece of my grandmother. The one thing I promised to cherish forever.

A shadow moved beside me.

I barely flinched as the stranger who saved me knelt down, leveling her piercing green eyes with mine. Up close, I could see the quiet strength in the woman's face, the way her sharp features softened just slightly in concern for the hurting brunette.

She hesitated for a brief moment before speaking to me. "I'm so sorry."
Her voice wasn’t rough or cold like before. It was softer now, edged with something real—empathy. My breath hitched. I wasn’t used to people caring or standing up for me like that. But Yuki would have if she knew.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to say. I just sat there, trembling slightly as I struggled to keep myself together.

The woman exhaled quietly before reaching out.

"Here, let me help you up." Her voice was steady, her touch firm but careful as she took hold of my arm, helping me to my feet at a slow, steady pace. She didn’t rush me. I swayed slightly but managed to stand. She had a soft caring touch, she was careful with me.

"T-Thank you..." I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. The woman studied me for a moment, her sharp green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Her grip on the torn paper in her other hand tightened slightly.

She’d seen those girls before. Last night.

Slowly, she extended the crumpled artwork toward me.

"I'm Liara... and you're Sophie, right?" Her tone was a little softer now. "I saw your name signed on your drawings..." She hesitated, glancing at the torn pages before meeting my gaze again. She seemed to have already known my name prior to listening in beforehand too.

In that moment I knew that this person was different, she gave that same vibe Yuki has, a sense of protection when I was around them.
Frowning, the redhead very gently moved away some loose strands off my face.

Our eyes met for the first time. We took in each others features.

"For what it's worth, your grandmother would be so proud of you."

Liara’s voice was calm, but there was an edge of sincerity that made my breath catch.

"YOU should be proud."

She wasn’t just saying it to be nice. She meant it.
Deep in Liara’s mind, moments before she had come onto the scene, she had been contemplating transforming into Sailor Star Catcher. But those girls weren’t youma. If things had gotten ugly, though, she wasn’t going to hold back.

Liara had an idea as she glanced back in the direction where the girls had walked off. She was going to return tomorrow night, before I finished work—she had some unfinished business with them.

For now, her priority was making sure I got home safely.

Although the walk back was quiet and steady, Liara remained alert. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder as we walked, making me lean in a little bit since I was still a bit shaken up. She never entered the dorms but walked me to the entrance, stopping just before the "For Students Only" sign. She lingered for a few extra minutes listening to anything alarming before finally turning away.

Her mind was made up. Liara was going to fix this.

The drawings those girls had ripped up weren’t just sketches—they told my story. My late grandmother’s story. And Liara had pieced everything together, both mentally and physically. With the help of Alita, her fiancée, they carefully glued the torn pieces back together, preserving them in a new scrapbook.

The next day, in the light of morning, I went to a hairdresser, I wasn't able to fix my hair on her own, but I did try.



The hairdresser evened out the jagged ends, tidying up what had been stolen from me.

Yet, even after the fresh cut, I often found myself running my fingers through my shorter hair. It was a painful reminder of that night—a scar I couldn’t erase. And still, something tugged at my heart.

As always, I dreaded leaving work. But as I grabbed my bag from the staff room, something caught my eye.

A scrapbook sat neatly on top of it. Looking around, no one was around, so how was someone able to enter into the staffroom? Magic?

I blinked in confusion before picking it up. The moment I touched it, warmth spread through my fingertips—a comforting sensation that I couldn’t explain. The book glowed for a moment, making my eyes widen. With hesitant hands, I opened the book carefully.





My breath hitched. My eyes welled up. Tears streamed down my face as I turned the pages. All of it… Every torn piece of my artwork… restored.

As I flicked through to the last page, I found a short handwritten note. It was the same thing my grandmother had always told me however it was not my grandmother's handwriting, it was Liara's.

"Draw your dreams, because they will never fade away."

I clutched the book to my chest, my sobs silent but heavy. I hadn’t even thought about the bullies.

Because what Liara had done… filled my heart with hope again.


There is always hope

It was raining. I stepped outside, closing the scrapbook and tucking it into my bag. As I reached the usual alleyway where the bullies always confronted me, I stopped. Hesitant to move any further. I was scared.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

The only sound was the steady rhythm of the rain pitter-pattering on the ground.

Then—

Something hit the top of my head, like something being thrown as gently as you could throw from a height.

"Ouch!" I winced, patting the sore spot before looking down. A small, rectangular box lay at my feet. Wrapped in dark red paper. Tied with a gold ribbon.

I looked around before picking it up, I needed to be sure I was safe.



No one.

My hands trembled as I slowly unwrapped it. Dreading the worst. Lifting the lid, my breath caught in my throat, and my heart began to pound against my chest.

It was my grandmother’s pencil.

The wrapping paper slipped from my fingers. My hands shot up to cover my mouth as a broken sob escaped.



I cried.

Hard.

Tears of shock, of gratitude, of something I couldn’t even put into words. As they finally slowed, I wiped my face—only to catch a glimpse of something above me. I felt it before I saw it—that stare, heavy and unshakable, pulling my attention. I was being watched.

Someone.

Standing tall against the night sky.

Their piercing green eyes locked onto mine. There was no smile.

None was needed.

It was dark, but the street lights seemed to reflect her face, the silhouette was unmistakable. Long, crimson-red hair swayed in the wind.

And something about the outfit—sleek, dark, and faintly reflective—wasn’t normal clothing.

A Starlight.

Sailor Star Catcher.




The figure stood firm, gaze unwavering, exuding an unshakable presence. Rain poured down their form, yet they remained completely still. The woman's emerald green eyes locked onto mine, piercing straight into my soul. A chill ran through my body—but not one of fear. No, it was something else entirely. It was the sheer power of the presence before me, the undeniable force that this person was… or had become in my eyes.

My heart pounded in my chest as I stared up at her. I had a suspicion. A strong one of who it was.

Taking a step forward, my voice trembling.

"You... Y-You're...."

My voice trailed off, still in shock, still trying to process everything. I wasn’t completely certain—it was hard to see clearly, and the figure remained a good distance away. But those eyes… those vivid green eyes gave it away.

How could I ever forget them?

Why? Why had someone gone this far for me?

I wanted to ask, but the voice spoke first. Her tone was firm, like she had changed personalities or something. "You won’t be bothered anymore. I promise." Her voice was firm, and loud enough for me to hear her.

What?
I looked confused. They held a gaze. But before I could take another step to thank the figure—

The figure was gone. Within me blinking, I witnessed a red shooting star, and from that point onwards... I clutched the pencil tightly. My breath came in short, uneven bursts, my heart hammering against my ribs. This wasn’t just admiration. That voice, it was her.

It wasn’t just gratitude. It was something else. Something that made my fingers tighten around the gift, something that left me feeling breathless and aching to understand more.

A fallen angel.

That’s what she had to be. A protector draped in mystery, a force beyond reach yet impossibly close.

I didn’t even know her.

And yet, the way my heart raced told me one undeniable truth. It pounded against my chest wanting more.

I had to find her.

No matter what.


Aftermath

Yuki had noticed my "new look" and commented on it. I, pretending it was no big deal, simply shrugged and told Yuki that my hair had been too long and was getting in the way—I needed a change. It wasn’t the real reason, but I didn’t want Yuki to worry. To me, my hair was a reminder of the night I met Liara. Either way, things had changed for the better.

The next day at school, and even after work, no one was waiting for me. The three bullies didn’t pay me any attention. It was as if I had been erased from their world, wiped from their memories. Like nothing had ever happened.

Still, I remained more aware of those around me. Deep down, I knew I had to keep my guard up.



In closing, my curiosity turned into an obsession—I had to find her. My heart pulled me toward her, so close yet still out of reach. Little did I know, the biggest clue had been right in front of me all along—I was living with her sister. But I wouldn’t realize this until much later...

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝.