Tao Jun on that one birthday and her commitment. Did I ever mention how much I hated summaries?

Disclaimer: This is where I tell you that I don't own Shaman King. I'm sure you know that. So let's get on with it.

Dao-Shi

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The house smelled of death, of cold and stone.

She had once asked her mother why, but all she received was a dark look, soft and sad. She had dared to ask her father once, and the answer hadn't surprised her.

"Because you are a Tao." That was his universal answer for everything, and she went away unsatisfied.

Her little brother had asked her why once too, and it angered her that she could not answer satisfactorily to him, because he was possibly more dissatisfied with those answers than she ever would be.

Her brother scared her sometimes, the way he looked at her father and mother, and the way he saw ghosts. Her father was pleased though, and said something about shamans in general and a Shaman King, and then said something about the time being right. (She had not paid enough attention. After all, there were more important things.)

So when it was her birthday, she was not surprised when her mother informed her that her father had a special present for her.

Her mother led her down the dark corridors alighted with incense and candles and smelled of death. Her mother opened a door that she had not dared to enter (but why would she have? There were more important things) and her father was there, his shadow cast ominously over a coffin. Her father had a gift for making people feel small and insignificant, but she would never give him that satisfaction of knowing.

So she regarded the coffin as coldly as she knew how, without question.

"Your birthday present," her father spoke, waving his large hand with a flourish. "May you use it well."

She almost wanted to coil away from the coffin, but her brother was there in the shadows, and she stepped forward, talisman in hand.

"Yes," her father said softly. "You are a Dao-shi now."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her brother watch her curiously.

The coffin was etched with three words. Lee Bailong.

"Come!" she shouted with frightful strength. "I summon thee, Lee Bailong!"

He burst out of the coffin with impressive strength, but she did not falter. The talisman clung to his forehead (did he feel it? Could he feel it? Could he fight it?), and he was static, allowing her to walk up to him.

He was dead, she realized, not too long ago. Though he was cold to the touch, his flesh had not yet rot; his skin and muscles were still firm and taut.

"He was alive an hour ago," her father suddenly spoke up indifferently. So they had murdered him, but it did not come as a surprise. After all, her family, (her father, at least) was willing to do anything for the good of the family. "Use him well."

And suddenly she was alone, with only a corpse, who stared straight ahead at nothing, to keep her company.

She stepped closer and touched him again. His eyes were dilated, and she could almost read his life in those eyes. His hands were very cold, and she reached up to touch her own cold face.

He had no feelings; he was only a puppet.

It hurt to look at him, this man that was killed in the prime of his life to serve the purposes of the Tao family.

"Yes," and all of a sudden, her family was there again, and she felt their eyes bore into her. "Use him well."

Her little brother was staring at her. There were no more important things than this.

"I will."

.end

Ending notes: Blah. A little strange, I admit, but I'm a strange person. Don't ask me what it's supposed to mean, that's for you to decide. Edited 4.16.04 A few word choices and more parentheses fun.

.sepia days