Soul.

T: A bit of character exploring in preparation for the next fic I'm planning, thus I hope you'll forgive the almost drabble like proportions! Slight OOC and there is the hint of pre-canon to the whole affair! I own nothing you see here other than the meagre plot!

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There are times when he believes he can smell her scent in the air, hear her breathing at his shoulder or feel the press of the brush as it passes through his hair.

She always insisted on being the one to brush his hair, to pick his clothing for the day and to bathe him. Always insisted that his appearance was something governed only by her hand, rather than delegated to one of the domestics or passed into his control.

He knew that there was no love in the demand, knew that she wished him as flawless as the dolls that lined every inch of the house and yet…

She never brushed his hair with anything other than a gentle hand, always picked clothing that was suited well to whatever activity he had planed for the day and had always a song or a poem to recite to him as she scrubbed away the dirt.

There are times when he believes that his mother might just have loved him that, had they had time, she might have come to see him as something more than an addition to his collection.

These are the times that he hates Saki the most…when his continued quest to revenge himself on the other becomes about something other than his wounded pride.

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T: Review?