Gothorita, light of my life, Fire-type of my loins. My sin, my soul. Goth-or-i-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of four steps down to Pallet Town to tap, at four, on the teeth. Goth. Or. I. Ta.

She was Go, plain Go, on Route 9, standing two feet four in tall grass. She was Rita in my Great Ball. She was Goth battling wild Pokémon. She was Gochimiru on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Gothorita.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Gothorita at all had I not caught, one summer, a certain initial Pokémon. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Gothorita was hatched as my Pokémon journey started that summer. You can always count on a Pokémon Master for a fancy prose style.

Ladies and gentlemen of the Elite Four, exhibit number one is what the Togekiss, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged Togekiss, envied. Look at this tangle of Grass-type Pokémon.