"Ouch!" Sakura shook her finger in the air and then sucked on the fingertip, tasting the salty tang of her own blood. How did Tomoyo do all that sewing without ending up like a pincushion? Smiling ruefully, she realized that her sewing skills were lacking because she always depended on Tomoyo, her father, and even her brother for most thread and needlework. She could mend a tear and put on a patch, but the tailoring that her best friend did was simply beyond her. She remembered early on as a Cardcaptor peeking into a company van and seeing the spectacular wardrobe Tomoyo had prepared for her. At the time, she concluded the massive resources of the Daidouji household, or even Daidouji Toys, Ltd., had been marshaled and deployed to clad her in a parade of kawaii regalia. Only later did she learn that Tomoyo did every stitch herself. Through the years that followed, the two girls spent hours together, talking and drinking tea while Tomoyo fitted and altered the amazing creations. Being with the little seamstress made precious an experience that would otherwise have been tedious as Sakura stretched and posed while Tomoyo snipped and sewed. For the Card Mistress it was a chance to talk about her loves and fears and joys while the dark-haired girl listened, solemn and cheery in turn. Tomoyo was as careful with her heart as with the delicate fabrics that made up the costumes, and her carefully considered advice and reassurance helped Sakura through many a difficult time. As she sewed a strip of satin to trim the hem of the little yellow dress Tomoyo had left in Hong Kong, Sakura began to grasp the countless hours of labor that the quiet, pale girl had spent just to make her look special. Again she remembered that truck full of outfits Tomoyo unveiled before they went to capture the Shadow card. There was a spectacular array of over 50 costumes that ranged from the cute to the dramatic, with the occasional practical piece thrown in for good measure. After the terrifying exertions of capturing Shadow, Sakura had asked Tomoyo how she got so many costumes ready so quickly. Tomoyo smiled enigmatically and replied, "Oh, I've been working on them for over a year". Sakura gave the girl a baffled look and blurted out, "But you only found out about me and Clow Cards a few days ago." Tomoyo tilted her head, lavender hair blending into the dark, moonless night as she answered in a musical voice, "I've always known Sakura-chan was a magical girl.” Sakura merely sweatdropped, dismissing this as one of her adoring friend's many eccentricities. But now, years later, she was quietly astonished. Long before the creations of Clow Reed had found her, Tomoyo saw her as magical. Not for her power, or the cards she captured, but for herself. Sakura smiled as she worked the needle carefully through the gossamer material. From the day they met in that third grade classroom, Tomoyo's love had been ever-present, wrapped around Sakura’s heart like a comforting cocoon. She was always special to the sapphire-eyed girl, long before she was the Mistress of the Cards. Sakura paused, puzzled, the silver needle poised in midair as she softly whispered, "It's as if I was always her special person". She felt her face flush scarlet: that wonderful flustery feeling of being loved by Tomoyo. How she missed that in Hong Kong. The longing grew worse every day without her. The ache in her breast was finally assuaged by that enchanting visit, but her heart shattered watching the aircraft spirit Tomoyo away. Her special person. Sakura stared at the fabric in her lap, the last, unfinished design of her best friend. With a grin, she shook her head and thought a little sadly, oh, to be her special person for just one day! Sakura had been slow to realize the depths of Tomoyo's love. Only distance, which clove the two friends as nothing before, revealed how cruel separation could be. Without the constant presence of that fulsome love, Sakura felt hopelessly adrift. She tumbled into dark despair, with only her unrealized love to light the way. Glowing like a little candle in the blackest night, that love for Tomoyo finally blazed forth when she at last understood her heart. And though she was not Tomoyo's special someone, that did not affect her own love in the least. Even if Tomoyo did end up happily with her special person, Sakura's love would shine forth like a beacon through the pain of not having her. I'll love her no matter what, she thought to herself. But I'll die if she leaves me. Remembering the chilling farewell in Tomoyo’s last letter, Sakura teetered on the brink of tears. If she leaves me. Taking a deep breath, Sakura buried the thought, for she could not face such a wretched possibility. "Buttons", she said suddenly, "I need buttons for this dress". Rising, she carefully placed the dress on the desk, slipping off the thimble and absent-mindedly massaging her pin- pricked hands. Stretching, she felt the fatigue fall from her body as muscles tensed and relaxed. The buttons would be upstairs, in the attic, with the sewing supplies she had packed away before moving to Hong Kong. She walked from the room, down the hall past her sleeping brother, and climbed the ladder to the trap door. Emerging into the darkness, she carefully felt her way along the wall and then hesitated as a fear of the dark bubbled up from long ago. Slowly letting out a breath she grimaced, ashamed at such a childish worry. Inching her way forward, her nimble fingers finally brushed against the light switch and clicked it on. The naked bulb starkly illuminated the maze of tightly stacked boxes and trunks. Sakura realized her father or brother had rearranged things since she left, for the sewing things were nowhere to be seen. With a shrug she began to move boxes, coughing in the billowing dust. Finally, on the verge of giving up, she uncovered a small shoebox with the word, "notions" written on the side. The writing puzzled her, for she did not recognize the almost childish script. With a tug, she pulled it out from the little nook it was wedged into. Opening the lid, she found a box full of buttons- perfect! She smiled and carried the little treasure over to the light, examining the varied circles and squares of plastic and metal. Spilling some out onto the lid, she nodded happily. These would do just fine. Then, Sakura's attention was caught by something at the bottom. She poured more buttons out in a little pile, and gingerly pulled out a faded photograph. The colors had washed out over the years, but the figures were instantly recognizable. Tomoyo’s mother was dressed in a schoolgirl's sailor suit. Draped over the young Sonomi was Sakura's mother, similarly clad in a dark blue dress, a red bow around her collar. With one arm she embraced her cousin, while the other was held up, triumphantly showing two bandaged fingers in a little "V" for victory. Both girls were smiling merrily, surrounded by the supplies and equipment of what looked like a Home Economics classroom. Sakura turned the picture over, and written in that same childish handwriting that adorned the box were four lines: "Hiroji-sensei's class 7th grade I passed! Thank you, Sonomi-chan" The back was decorated with odd little doodles of hearts and flowers. Sakura looked again at the picture and smiled, thanking her mother for the little present that had waited so patiently. Tomoyo's costume could have no better buttons than these. Emptying them back into the box, the auburn-haired woman carefully placed the photograph on top and replaced the lid, tucking the package under her arm. Turning off the light, she moved to the entranceway of the attic and climbed down to the hall. Returning to her room, she placed the shoebox on the desk, took up the fabric and began to sew again. She was startled when a familiar voice called out from the shadows behind her, "What are you doing?" She turned quickly, and saw Syaoran standing up against the wall, arms crossed and scowling. She rose and took one step towards him, but something in his manner froze her. In a meek tone she answered, "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before I left, but I had to hurry. I called Ieran-sama when my flight arrived. Didn't she tell you"? Syaoran looked away with barely suppressed anger, as if he were addressing a hopelessly slow child. Then he nodded to the pile of fabric on the floor and impatiently repeated himself, "What-are-you- doing"? "Oh", Sakura glanced at the dress she had dropped to the floor. She scurried to pick it up, and held it in front of her husband. Her smile faltered as he recoiled in horror at the unfinished costume he had seen in his Mother’s magic. He yelled at her, “Put that damn thing away. Where did you get it? What is it?” Neatly folding the costume, she placed it back on the desk, then faced Syaoran, her hands held to her breast as she replied, "I, I wanted to make something for Tomoyo-chan. Well, actually, she made it, the design, I mean, I could never do something like this. And she started it, but because of the wedding dress being the last thing she would make for me she didn't finish, and I thought I could, well, finish it for her, and I found some of mother's buttons in the attic and..." Her voice trailed off into silence. Caught by her husband's withering stare, she felt small and foolish. As he calmed down, Syaoran struggled to keep his sense of gravity. As if impressed by his own cleverness, he sneered, “I knew that crazy girl had something to do with all this. All right, get your things together and let’s go.” But instead of compliance, Sakura stood with her hands clasped and head bowed. Syaoran stepped towards her, irritated at this unusual hesitation. In a soft but firm voice she broke the silence, “I’m not going. I have to see Tomoyo-chan”. He stopped short, flabbergasted. All he could manage was a hoarse, “What”? Sakura looked up at him, jade eyes flashing a fiery determination he had rarely seen since the days of card capturing. But her voice was calm as she continued, “Tomoyo-chan said she is going to leave. I have to see her.” The future Head of the House of Li frowned, struggling to suppress his anger. He snapped at the woman within arm’s reach, “You can call her on the phone, or write one of your silly letters. We’re going home- now”. Sakura looked at the floor and slowly shook her head. He felt a wild urge to strike her, to slap the defiance out of her. Barely in control of his raging emotions he spluttered, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. What kind of garbage did she fill your head up with”? He paused, and drew a deep breath. This was not like his complacent wife at all. Very well. The chivalrous husband would try a new tack and forgive his erring wife. He pronounced in a patronizing and reassuring tone, “Now let me help you with your bags and we can talk about it on the plane.” But Sakura looked up at him, earnestly gazing at his face. Finally, she said simply, “No”. Fists clenched, shaking with fury, he turned his back on her, shaking with rage. How dare she defy him! After running off to Japan, wasting money they did not have, and now refusing to obey. Unable to contain his anger, he slammed his fist into the door, nearly rattling it off the hinges. “Damn it!” he yelled, “Who do you think you are?” Whirling to face her, falling into a fighting stance, his mind raced out of control. But the young woman simply stood before him, calm and unafraid. Suddenly there came a knock on the door, and a male voice called out, “Sakura-chan, what’s going on?” The door opened, and a pajama-clad Touya peered into the room. Seeing Syaoran, he frowned, and then looked carefully at his younger sister. In as neutral a voice as he could manage he asked, “Do you need any help”? Sakura relaxed, smiled, shook her head and answered sweetly, “No, everything is fine. I’m sorry we woke you up. We’ll be more quiet”. Touya shot another warning look at his least favorite brother-in-law before sizing up the seemingly unconcerned young woman. “OK”, he spoke in his usual laconic voice, as if such domestic squabbles around the house at 3 A.M were the norm, “But you call me if you need me. Goodnight.” When the door closed, the two stood silent, facing each other for the longest time. Finally, with an exasperated sigh Syaoran fixed his wayward wife with a hard stare. His voice was commanding, even patronizing, as if he would no longer brook her exasperating insolence, “Sakura, you have to make choices in life. You have to have priorities. You’re a big girl now, married to the future Head of the House of Li. I can’t have you running off every time some loopy girl from the past calls you on the phone. You just can’t do this sort of thing. It makes me look ridiculous. Tomoeda was nice, but it’s all over now. You have a new life, with me You’re going to have to choose between your friend and your true love. Now, go get your things and we’ll forget all about this”. At first Sakura looked at him with surprise, and then stared at the floor. The Chinese sorcerer smiled as he detected the glint of tears welling in her eyes. She looked deep in thought, and after a moment looked up at him with wet and sparkling eyes. Her voice was brimming with emotion as she spoke, “I’m sorry, Syaoran-chan. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I guess I knew the choice would come someday soon, just not this soon. If only I’d known. I’m so sorry.” The tears coursed down her cheeks as she stood miserably before him. Well, he thought, at least she’s speaking sense now. He almost felt pity for her, though his anger was still too fresh and raw for that. He did care for her, though at times like this love was an ordeal. Still, he would find it in his heart to forgive her. But he would make sure she never saw or talked or wrote to that crazy Daidouji woman ever again. Syaoran’s quiet voice brimmed with magniminity for a defeated foe, “Come on Sakura-chan. Let’s go home.” But the woman did not move, looking at him sadly as she spoke, “I’m not going.” Too baffled to be angry, he gawked at her, mouth open as if his words were frozen in mid-sentence. Sakura shook her head and spoke almost pleadingly, “It’s my fault. I should have known my own feelings. If I had, all this would never have happened. I’ve hurt so many people: you, your mother, Meiling-chan, Tomoyo-chan. All because I was too stupid to know what was in my heart.” Syaoran could only stare in disbelief as the woman hugged herself tightly for reassurance before continuing, “Syaoran-chan, you were always one of my very best friends. I couldn’t have done what I did with the cards without you. It meant so much to me that we were together. And I do love you, as a friend forever in my heart. But now I know my true love is Tomoyo-chan. I’ve loved her all along, but just didn’t understand. Not until last night. Last night. That’s only a day ago.” The woman looked stunned as she said this, as if an entire life had been lived in only 24 hours. After a brief smile, she spoke again, “Last night I finally realized who I love. My one, true love. My special person. She was so close for so long that I never knew until she was gone. I could have saved everyone so much pain if I knew.” Pain. Syaoran felt it in a wave, as helpless as when Meiling connected with his solar plexus earlier that day. Staring at his wife in dumb incomprehension, he managed to croak out, “But Sakura, I love you.” She looked at him, and he had the uncomfortable sensation that with her magic she could see straight to his heart. She smiled and asked gently, “Do you really love me Syaoran, like that? It really hasn’t felt that way. Not like I thought it would. Not like what I feel from her.” Indignant and righteous, he made ready to protest. But the auburn- haired woman held up her hand and commanded his silence. A sudden wave of something ineffable washed over them both, a shuddering, prickly sensation that enveloped him like a living fog. He stared at his wife, for somehow she was changed. It was as if all the magic were drained out of her like water in broken crockery. She stood before him, not the Mistress of the Cards, but as little Kinomoto Sakura, sweet, genki, and horribly ordinary. Her voice was the same he had heard on a playground long ago, when the Cards were in the air, and a Japanese schoolgirl had just begun her long journey, “You loved Yukito once, like I did. But when my powers grew greater than his, then your affection for me did, too. Do you really love me, Syaoran-chan? If I was just plain old Sakura, would you still love me then?” He recoiled at the sight. Stripped her magical glamour she seemed small and weak. Where was the enchanting woman he had married? Where was the successor to the famed Clow Reed? Was this some illusion, a doppelganger that had abducted his precious wife and substituted some bland and pathetic double? He began to speak, to accuse and threaten this alien presence, when he heard Sakura’s voice, distant yet familiar. She stared at him, his mind hers to know. Sadly shaking her head, she quietly spoke, “ I’m not an illusion. It’s just me. It’s just me without my magic. It’s who I really am. But I don’t think it’s who you really love. Do you? Do you really love me, Syaoran-chan?” He felt sick as he looked at her. She was nothing, a nobody. In a bitter tone he declared, “You sound just like Mother.” Sakura let out a little sigh and the two stood silent. Finally, she spoke in a voice etched with the pain of a new found knowledge, “Ieran-sama is very wise. For all my power, she is much wiser than me. She was right, Syaoran-chan. We don’t belong together. Now I know that she didn’t really hate me. She just wanted what was best for everyone. Even me.” With that he looked up and saw her as he knew her, energy flooding back, filling her pure power. In fear and awe he beheld her, once again the dread Mistress of the Cards. He reeled backwards, confused and frightened, his mother’s mocking voice blaring inside his head. He held his hands to his temples as her piecing words echoed, “You don’t love her. You love her power.” He felt helpless, a rag doll in the hands of a blind and savage Fate. Struggling to regain his calm, he leaned against the wall and whimpered. Sakura stood with her hands at her side, unable to comfort her shattered husband. Finally he composed himself enough to turn and face her. He was no man’s fool. He was not to be trifled with. Trembling, he took an envelope from his pocket, opened it, and placed a ticket on the nearby dresser. His face was blank as he spoke, “I’m leaving. If you are not on this plane when it departs, then don’t bother coming back again. Ever.” He felt a surge of power, as if he, and not this stupid and dangerous woman, was in control. She bowed low, her sad, verdant eyes locked with his as she answered softly, “Hai, Syaoran. Sayonara.” He strode for the door, and then stopped. Turning quickly, he gaped at her, his face twisted with loathing. He spat out the bitter words, “I don’t love you. I hate you.” Then he walked through the door and shut it firmly. For a long time, Sakura stared at the closed door. Syaoran’s parting words stung her, even though she knew they were not true. Consumed with anger, his words spilled, tainted and colored by out-of-control emotions. But part of what he said was true: he did not love her. Or, rather, he loved her as a friend, and no more. Oddly, this was great consolation for the shattered woman, who saw her marriage of months implode in minutes. Had Syaoran truly loved her, she would have been chained to a marriage that was a terrible mistake. For thousands of years, women have borne loveless matches, and Sakura would have been one among millions of sad and broken hearts. Perhaps she could have found some happiness in children, or teaching, or even magic, all while her heart longed for her true love. Or she might have died slowly, longing for a love she could never have. Even leaving him later was a stark possibility, and could only have made things worse with the passage of time. With a sigh, Sakura sat at her desk and again took up sewing. The rhythm of needle and thread calmed her heart, for there was stillness in the motion of every stitch. Suddenly she flinched as the needle pricked her finger. Gazing at her hand, she put her work on the table and slipped off the golden wedding ring. Placing it by the ticket on the desk, she thought, I'll send it to him later. She stared at her now bare finger. The ring came off so easily, as if their marriage had never been. But that was not quite true either, for much had happened in married life she did not regret, and would never forget. Picking up the yellow dress and sewing again, she recalled the exquisite anticipation of her wedding day, and the mystery of the night that followed. To be in Syaoran’s company, if not quite love, was pleasant, the companionship of two good friends. "It was my fault for wanting it to be more, for not knowing my own feelings", she whispered sadly. Curiously, Sakura felt no regret for the end of her marriage. But she did feel sorry for the pain she brought Sayoran, and knew that regret would never leave her. Paradoxically, the greatest gift of her marriage was the misery of being without Tomoyo. Growing up with the girl, she came to take her amazing presence for granted. Being so close to that dazzling spirit had blinded Sakura to her own true feelings. Only in Hong Kong did she learn the hard lesson of what Tomoyo meant to her. When marriage pulled them apart, she finally saw that life without the azure-eyed girl was simply impossible. Accepting Syaoran's proposal, she prayed marriage would bring her love. It did, but in a way completely unforseen. Marriage was a strange path leading her far away, yet bringing her back to where she started. But oh, how diffreent things were now! When she left, Tomoyo was her friend. But tonight, as her marriage ended, Tomoyo was her one, true love. And tommorow she would see her again. Sakura felt awash in giddy anticipation. Freedom swept her soul like a gentle zephyr, a whipsering wind of possibilities and hope. Soon she would see Tomoyo, lay her love at the dark-haired girl's feet, and beg her to stay. She gigled, wondering about the woman's reaction to so stunning a revelation. Perhaps she could never take the place of that special someone in her friend's gentle heart. But just to be with her, to feel Tomoyo's love again was enough. Even more, Sakura wanted to make her happy, to heal the pain in those azure eyes. "I'll give her everything I have", she thought, stitching the last button into place, "though she already has my heart." With that, she held up the costume, admiring the work. Well, admiring Tomoyo's work, anyway, perfect as always. Her own contribution was flawed: an uneven line here, a too-big button hole there. But it was her work, and now the costume was theirs. Lovingly she folded the silken fabric, and suddenly felt very, very tired. Resting her head on the desk she whispered dreamily, "Tommorow. Tommorow I'll see her. I'll see my angel." And so, sleep came at last.