It's 2021 and I'm writing CCS what am I doing.

In her hand, she holds a card, the smooth material nestled gently between her fingers.

The edges of it are worn. It's creased and bent in several places, but Sakura knows that the card won't rip, no matter the damage. Magic can't be destroyed, it can only be cycled; here and back, up and around again. Even when a sorcerer dies, their legacy lives on in whatever they leave behind.

Clow Reed left his mark, the remnants of which now belong to her.

She feels the magic that's curled gently in her palm. Like still calls to like, just as it did that day in her father's study. Sakura wonders what she'll leave behind when she's gone. Her powers only grow and grow, and she can barely rein them in. And once she does, a new problem comes forth.

A never-ending cycle, just like that magic that lights up her very core.

Sakura thinks of the Clear Cards with a shudder; another set of magical artifacts, carefully wrapped and stored away. What it was like, being so young, with such powerful magic at her fingertips. What it's still like to sit right upon it.

She created magic from the ground up without trying. Took a long time for Eriol to explain just exactly how difficult that is, and even longer for her thick skull to understand it. Sakura's older now, though, and a little wiser. So now, she ponders these things deep into the quiet night.

There's a gentle weight that finds her shoulder. The soft squeeze of a hand. Shuffling behind her, sudden warmth near her ear, and then—

"Ah, is it one of those days?"

Sakura can't hide the smile that finds her mouth. If there's anyone who understands her complicated feelings on just about everything, it'd be her husband. When she turns to look she finds Syaoran staring right back, his handsome face relaxed and contemplative. The gentle furrow of his brow that creases his face. The soft brown of his eyes that she swears glows at times.

"I woke up and heard the world humming," murmurs Sakura, her voice soft and tired.

She didn't sleep much. Too much magic and too many dreams— the kinds of dreams that prophesize and only fog her brain with too many thoughts. When she'd woken, her mind wouldn't shut up, and so here she is, staring at her past. Trying to make sense of the static and noise that she's all but used to now.

"I heard you get up." Syaoran isn't dressed. Probably plans to go back to sleep. Sakura leans back into him, soaking up his warmth and finding solace in his touch. He leans over just a little more, nuzzling his nose against her face as he pecks a kiss there. "Anything concerning?"

"Who knows?"

Because who does? Certainly not Sakura, whose dreams are nothing but an intangible mess of random words and sounds. Lights and mist. Cloaked figures and masked creatures, and rooms of objects that never make sense.

It's always been like this. Years and years of nonsense that she wishes she could just ignore. But she can't. And they both know it.

Syaoran sighs softly, his breath warm against her cheek. "The answer will come."

"Too late, like always," says Sakura with a bit of dry humor.

"Yes, well, Clow Reed never made anything easy, did he?"

Sakura turns to him, her lips tipped into an amused expression. "And who's to say this is Clow Reed's work?"

"There are, ever, only two answers— Either it's him, or it's you. And frankly, I miss the trouble he used to stir up. Far more fun than the chaos you tend to rile."

Sakura groans, a high-pitched and whining sort sound. She nudges at him with her shoulder. "Stop teasing."

"Never," says Syaoran with a laugh, "It's my right, this late in our lives."

She hums at that, turning back to the card, thumbing over the slightly crumpled edge. The first that she'd ever caught after the fateful night she'd loosed them into the world. The Windy. She smooths her touch over the name fondly, both sweet and foul memories rising up within her.

"Today is just different," she says, a little more serious. Syaoran's demeanor shifts as well as he stops laughing and listens instead. "All the static, all the noise— just feels…"

"Some days are weird for people like us. Those are the days where the veil is thin and God only knows what slips into this realm."

"Doesn't feel like Clow Reed," says Sakura, "Or anything I recognize. But it made me think of the cards and, well, here I am."

Syaoran's quiet for a long moment as he watches the book from over her shoulder. Sakura knows he has complicated feelings too; about the book, about Clow Reed, about magic in general.

"Nostalgia isn't a bad thing," he finally says, "Especially since these cards literally shaped our entire lives."

He's right, of course. The book, the cards, Keroberos, and even Eriol himself— without them she would've had a very different life. Sakura wouldn't have the friends she does. She wouldn't be in love and happily married, even if that took long enough for even Touya to tell them to buck it up and get it over with. Much to Yukito's embarrassment.

Still—

"Sometimes I just want peace and quiet. I never asked for this." Sakura gestures to the book, meaning a lot of things. Magic and expectations, and Clow Reed's carefully thought-through plans.

At times, Sakura feels so very aged, just like the magic that thrums through her veins, and just like these worn and mangled cards within her hands. Magic is nature and it will never disappear; it will just reforge itself into something new when the time comes.

Syaoran turns to look at her, his eyes crinkled at the corners. They're older now and into their middling years, but he looks more handsome than ever before. They've truly taken a long time to get where they are at the moment, not that she's complaining. Sakura soaks up the soft moment in bliss.

He doesn't say anything at first; just leans forward and presses a gentle kiss on her forehead, his lips lingering for just long enough to make her heart warm and yearn.

"Think that you can get some sleep?" he asks against her skin. "I know that lately it hasn't been easy."

"I do miss our alone time. I think that I can try—"

A cry from the other room interrupts her. Sakura groans, her bangs puffing up in her exhalation. So much for just a handful of quiet moments. Syaoran chuckles, soft and amused. When Sakura moves to get up, he smoothes a hand across her shoulder.

"No, no, I'll go get her. Stay here."

Sakura does, even though her newly forged mother's heart aches to answer the cry.

And sometimes, this is where her thoughts shift to, deep into the night. Sakura, a powerful magician; Syaoran, just as equal in his might. They came together and made a child, and there's always been the inkling in the back of her mind that perhaps it wasn't a good idea.

Syaoran's thought it too. The nature of magic is a fickle, unreliable thing, and the merging of such powerful lines is bound to have repercussions. Sakura snorts at that. That Clow Reed no doubt saw. She lets out a heavy breath once more, rubbing her brow.

Late night and tortured thoughts that only sap her strength. The reason they'd waited until their late-thirties to have a child, not that they'd planned for one. In fact, they'd planned for the exact opposite because there were too many unknown factors, not to mention the kinds of things they get involved with. Unintentionally.

Sakura hadn't wanted to bring a child into such a mess, and Syaoran agreed. Fate had other plans, much to her ire. Much to her worry.

Yue once said: "Life is mysterious, but magic more so. It's likely that you hadn't a choice in the matter."

"Look at Mama," says Syaoran from where he now stands in the doorframe, holding their newborn daughter with care. "If she keeps frowning like that she'll get a permanent wrinkle."

Sakura's mouth crinkles in delight as she watches him bounce their daughter in his arms. She hates the idea of fate, hates the idea that this has all been ordained but—

She loves her husband, and she loves little Yuzhen more than anything else.

"You love my wrinkles," says Sakura with affection.

"I love you," says Syaoran, "Which regrettably includes those wrinkles." Sakura knows that he's only teasing her because he spends way too much time smoothing his fingers over them with fondness.

It's all so new, this feeling that wells up within her. Watching as Syaoran pokes their daughter's little nose. The soft expression that smooths his face after years of stern seriousness. The sleepless nights at the behest of Yuzhen's wailing. The contentment of just being together and creating a family. And the apprehension that comes with it.

The both of them felt it before she was even born— the magic that Yuzhen has. Sakura felt it when she was still pregnant and glowing, the constant thrum of something more. A prickling under her skin, the way that it would set her skin alight.

Syaoran would spend nights murmuring softly in Mandarin against her stomach. Wards, he'd said. Perhaps these late-night musings and wonderings are only the result of being worried parents.

She wouldn't trade it; not for an easier life, or one magic or evil free. Sakura has found her happiness, even if it's slightly flawed. Even if there's more that they don't know than do.

One day at a time, she thinks. Or, better yet— Don't think about it at all. She has a distinct feeling that's the approach Clow Reed would've taken, being a man who didn't care much until he had to.

Sakura presses The Windy back into the Book of Clow gently. She shuts the volume and smooths her fingers across the old and aged leather. She smiles fondly as she stands. When she reaches Syaroan's side, he leans forward for a proper kiss, a soft meeting of the lips. Yuzhen gurgles, content in his arms.

"Worth it," says Sakura, combing her fingers through their daughter's thin and wispy hair.

Syaoran's brow raises. "What?"

"Uncertain fate, or whatever the world has in store for is. It'll be worth it in the end."

"You say that now," says Syaoran ruefully, "Just wait until she finds the cards at twelve and lets them loose. Or worse— the moment she turns eighteen. We aren't letting Yue babysit."

Sakura laughs, pulling his face down and pressing their foreheads together. Syaoran falls quiet and they just stand there, soaking in the warmth of each other. Things are uncertain, always are in the nature of magic. The creeping tendrils of the unknown overshadow them.

They can handle it, she thinks.