A/N: OK, OK, I submit to evil pressure. That, and people who are just reading my story are grossly turned off by the fact that Miaka turned three years old in two weeks in the second chapter. Er.

Chapter 1: Alone

Vietrose

"Your blonde hair-" (grunt) "-is-" (grunt) "-sooo-" (grunt) "-pretty..." Now repeat that sequence a total of eighty-six more times.

At such a young age of seven, reality and imagination were borderline, head to head, shoulder to shoulder. At that age, most kids were coming out of the strange Neverland and plunging headfirst into cold, real life. They were at a crossroad, having a choice between believing or not believing. Usually they become disillusioned after discovering for the first time that they had been lied to; afterwards, they begin to question about their lifestyle. Am I living a lie? If I'm the only one who can see my friend over there, does that make him not real? Smart kids choose the cold, harsh splash of reality; Miaka preferred believing.

And that's just what she did, pushing headlong into the task of brushing her doll's wet hair and believing that the knot would come out; she had faith in her skills for the past two hundred sixty-eight days. Everyday, she toddled over into her mother's bedroom, holding the same, plastic hairbrush that couldn't have been bigger than the entire size of her hand. Her mother didn't like anyone on her bed, but it was OK because Miaka was sitting on the right side and not on the left, where her mom always slept.

"Don't worry-" (grunt) "-Barbie #16!" (grunt) "You'll be-" (grunt) "-pretty in no time again!" The knot was a defiant, little one, but being the persistent child she was, Miaka continued struggling and tugging; somehow, the situation manifested itself into an old-fashioned game of tug-of-war, because she found herself on the floor, the Barbie tucked firmly between her thighs while both of her hands were gripped on the brush and pulling. Hard. She was putting on maximum pressure for the best results, and she had better see something--

The head gave a clean, squeaky pop, and Miaka lost control as it- the brush still stuck in the hair!- flew past over her head and kept going and going and going, only to be stopped as it collided against a perfume bottle, which in turn cause it to topple rather precariously for a moment before slowly toppling forward and onto the wooden floor, towards its painful death.

Miaka watched, her eyes bulging comically; she had been too shocked by a headless Barbie #16- her latest and favorite Barbie!- to react quickly, and now, as she scrambled over to where the glass was broken and the perfume fast fanning out, her heart plummeted several feet downwards- it was her mother's favorite fragrance. The door downstairs shut loudly, and there was a soft groan followed by giggling. "Oh, no," she whispered; the woman always had impeccable timing... Miaka made a strangled noise as she heard the woman say, "Why don't we go into my room?"

She panicked. Miaka stumbled to her feet and sprinted towards the door, her only goal to save as much time as possible while she collected all evidence of her being here. Locking the door, she ran back for the headless Barbie and its head; it was behind the dresser, and try as she might, Miaka's little, chubby hands couldn't reach it.

The door rattled, and she whimpered nervously, staring at the oak's glazed finishes. "Hm... I think I must have locked it when I went out to meet you." Her mother made for fake confusion to cover her embarrassing mistake. "Relax," a deep chuckle followed, and she 'mmm'ed in agreement. "I'll pick the lock for you."

Ah, of all the men... She swiveled around, forgetting about the head, and crawled over to the broken bottle, her hands ready to collect the glass. The biggest ones were the easiest to carry, and she had gotten a good chunk of the pile onto her right hand when the door swung open. Uh-oh.

"... Oh."

Miaka looked up slowly, not daring to look at the stranger or her mother directly. But she saw her mother's white capris in front of the man's business pants, and she saw her mother's white pumps in front of the man's loafers. No sound came from her, as no sound came from them. There would definitely be some consequences after this...Then-

"I gotta go."

There it was, another one gone and lost like every other man who had seen her. Miaka swallowed heavily, still not daring to say anything; her hands were bleeding.

Her mother started. "No, wait, you don't understand." They were moving down the hallway and tromping down the stairs, both his and her going at a matching pace. Miaka stayed where she was.

"I didn't friggin' pay you to give me a kid, Yumi!"

"But she's not mine- she's my sister's mute child! I'm only keeping her here temporarily-"

The door slammed shut, and the woman took a deep, ragged breath. It was the fifth time this month that something like this had happened. She struggled to keep her temper from flaring; it wasn't Miaka's fault... it wasn't Miaka's fault. She loved her so much, but God she was too much to handle sometimes. This would blow over, she knew it; she could never stay mad at the little girl. She was a good mother... she cared for Miaka, she fed Miaka, she raised Miaka under strict discipline, and she made sure she only hit the girl when she had done something flagrant or wrong. She was a good mother, she knew it.

But the girl's father wasn't. She closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, trying to block out the face that had told her he loved her and wanted a family with her... he had gotten what he wanted at the young age of 20. And what did that bastard do? He had his family pay for a lawyer to ward her off, his eyes cast downward and shameful- he should feel bad, that dog! That was the first time she experienced the feeling of being lied and used. He wouldn't acknowledge his child, and her family had cast her out once they had discovered her premarital engagement. Filthy and disgusting, they had told her, she would never be a mother.

But here she was, in a comfortable home with her daughter nearly seven years later, all grown and fed and healthy. She had told them she would care for Miaka no matter what, that the child would grow up happy and never experience what she had to go through. She was still in such a low and demeaning job, but all that mattered was Miaka being happy. Her only goal was to defy the lowly thought her parents had formed of her... and she had succeeded, too.

Right?

Lately, Miaka's presence during her job was scaring away all her clients. They didn't think a prostitute could raise a child... and apparently, they didn't think a prostitute was capable of having one, either. Her hands began to tremble- they always did when she was nervous. The bills had been piling up lately, there was barely any food at home, and not to mention her employer thought she was slacking off. He knew she had a little girl, and he sympathized for her... but he gave her a caveat last time, that if she lost another customer...

It was either her daughter, or her life.

Miake was still kneeling, the bloodstained glass discarded beside the unpicked ones. She had fisted her hands together, ignoring the cut on her palm; the blood was seeping underneath her fingernails and through the cracks between her fingers, but she ignored the warmth of it, and the slight burning accompanied with it. It was nothing compared to what her mother would do; Miaka quivered from her stilled position. Not only did she cause one of the men to go away (again), but she managed to break one of her mother's treasured possessions. She winced, already anticipating the punishment.

Her mother appeared by the doorframe, her face looking strangely neutral. This was a new thing, as she usually appeared mad and psychotic whenever a man ran away. Miaka quickly bowed, apologizing as sincerely as she could; anything to lessen what would happen next. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to break your perfume bottle, I really didn't. The head just popped off and flew everywhere-" She was unaware of how completely mad and crazy she sounded, and she cowered when Yumi walked forward and kneeled down. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"It's OK," she said softly, gently, and so unlike before. "Oh, I didn't realize you had a cut at all. Let's go put a band-aid over it before it gets infected." She smiled, her eyes glimmering.

Miaka was in shock, her mouth dropping open and staying open. When did this happen? What happened? Did something work out with the man? Her mind was in a jumble, asking thousands of questions, and she briefly wondered if her mother was using a new method of discipline. She kept wondering this as Yumi led her into the bathroom, propped her on top of the sink, and disinfected the injury.

Several minutes later, she finished, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "There we go, all done," she exclaimed. And then she must have thought about something, because a little later Yumi's eyes were watering, and then she was crying -really crying- and muffling a sob in her throat and squeezing Miaka all at the same time. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..." she whispered into her little shoulders, and her own ones were shaking. "I don't want to, I really don't want to-"

Her actions were having disastrous effects on the girl; wasn't it supposed to be her pleaing for redemption, not the other way around? Perhaps Yumi was sorry that she would... have to chastise her later? "No, no!" Miaka exclaimed hurriedly. "If you don't want to punish me, you don't have to! I really learned my lesson!" It was best to control the situation before the adult did, or else.

Yumi pulled back, failing to notice the absurd apprehension in her daughter's eyes; instead, she reached out and cupped her face. "Honey..." she struggled to get her voice back. "T-Today's Christmas Eve, right?"

Miaka nodded as best as she could.

"Well... w-why don't I give your present early?" Her smile was broken by the tears, the mascara was streaking horribly, and her lipstick had rubbed onto her daughter's white shirt. But neither one of them cared; for Miaka's part, she was no longer worried about her mother, but had become more interested in the present. "Do you want it now?"

"Do I? Yes, yes, yes!"

Yumi looked down at the little girl, her eyes so trusting and her hands clamped together happily. Ignoring a disgusting lurch in her stomach, she watched as Miaka jumped onto the floor and hopped from foot to foot impatiently. "Where is it, where is it, where is it?"

"It's a secret," she whispered quietly."Just grab a coat and something for you to play with in the car." She was low and repulsive, just like her parents had said. Yumi turned around, unable to meet Miaka in the eye. "I'll be in the car waiting."

At the young age of seven, most kids are caught between naivete and reality. Usually they become jaded when they discover for the first time that they had been lied to. Smart kids learn from experience; Miaka believed she was going to receive an early present.

-

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

"Are we there-"

"What did I just say?"

Usually this would happen whenever she knew where they were going. It was a nasty, little cycle that kept going and going, and it just stuck naturally; she would annoy persistently, her mother would get annoyed, she would keep quiet for a total of six seconds before starting the entire round happily with no recollection of what happened very recently. But today she sat quietly, strapped comfortably to her seat and hugging her teddy bear; it was her most precious thing in the world, as it was the first thing her mother had bought for her out of her pocket. Miaka scored big creativity points by naming him Bear Bear, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

"We're here," her mother said, pulling the beat down car into a parking space. She had stopped crying, although her face looked red and blotchy, and her eyes looked suspiciously watery again as she glanced at the rearview mirror. Miaka was too busy freeing herself from the seatbelt to notice.

"I want to see, I want to see, I want to see!" She was ready to tear the door open to see what it was. The anticipation, the curiosity, the waiting... any longer, and she would just positively spontaneously explode! Luckily, Yumi opened the door before anything could happen, and she jumped out gaily, huffing and puffing excitedly. Bear Bear was tucked safely between her arms, and she spun around several times. "Where is it, where is it, where is it-?" And then she saw.

It was only the biggest tree in the entire park with strung-up colorful Christmas lights. Candy canes were outstretched on all the wily branches, and all the ones on the bottom were stolen and gone thanks to the few that could stretch far enough to grab one. Angels and plastic red sleds and green ornament balls decorated the evergreen, all the way to the top, where a delicate, crystal star glowered from all the lights.

She took a deep, shallow breath, blinked once to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep, and then pinched herself. It hurt... and then Miaka was jumping up and down again, too much in one day. "Oh, how did you know this was what I wanted most of all?" It wasn't hard; the refrigator was completely filled with drawings of green trees and multi-colored bulbs spiraling to the top where the stars were. "You're the best!"

Yumi couldn't respond; instead, she walked silently ahead. "Don't you want a closer look?" she called, not bothering to turn her head. Miaka was a good girl, and she listened to what she was told. Her mind told her she was an idiot, and her heart broke as she spotted small, purple boots at the corner of her eye.

"I am so excited! This is the best thing you have done so far!" Miaka cheered enthusiastically. Bear Bear must be feeling the joy, too, because his black eyes were sparkling, and his mouth was curled up into a grin. She hugged him, letting the waves of exhilaration wash over her. It was incredible, how much a little bit of time with her mother could do to her mood.

They had arrived in good time- five minutes until the last countdown of the month. Her mother lifted her onto a cold, stone bench not too far. "OK, you stay here, you got that?" she said, her eyes searching into the little girl's; it was gentle, but penetrating. "I-I don't want to lose you or anything." Miaka nodded slowly. "OK? But where are you going?"

Yumi's hands trembled, but she forced a numb palm to her daughter's face. "Nowhere. I'm-I'm just going to be..." She never finished the sentence. Her hands were rattling now, and she made a brave smile that broke down when Miaka smiled back. It was now or never, and she pulled her daughter into a desperate hug, much like in the bathroom. "Bye, little darlin'..." She whispered the pet name softly, for the only person in her life who had ever loved her so unconditionally. And before she could reply, Yumi had pulled back, her mascara running again, and she strode quickly, painfully, past Miaka and her teddy bear, her bobbing head disappearing into the small crowd.

Something rang disturbingly in the back of her mind, that maybe her mother was acting a little strangely today. First ignoring the perfume bottle, next letting her slide by without so much as a scrape, then giving her an early gift, and now calling her by her pet name- her mother never used it in public. Miaka looked back to where her mother had left; it was unnerving how she was completely gone from view in a few seconds. Maybe she should follow... Bear Bear shook his head. "Don't go," he said for her ears only. "She'll get angry."

Miaka nodded; she recurred her words earlier, quick images of eager promises to listen to her mother from then on. And what better way than to do it now? She ignored the unsettling feeling in her stomach, pushing it aside in favor of her mother; it wasn't a good time to be unruly and disobedient.

For the next five minutes she sat there, watching families of all sizes pour into the park; some of them were by themselves and others had as many as eight people. With such a huge attraction, it was almost stifling, just sitting on the bench by herself... but her mother was going to be so happy to know that her daughter had obeyed her the entire time.

Miaka really believed she would return.

"Little girl, are you by yourself?" she looked up, her breath coming out in one puff of cloud. A middle-aged woman stood over her, peering through squinted eyes. "It's awfully cold for you to be out here alone, you know."

She shook her head. "No, no. My mommy's coming back. I'm just waiting."

"Ah, that's good to hear." The lady smiled warmly. "Do you know where she went?"

Miaka didn't.

A man in a red suit interrupted before she could answer. "Gather 'round, people! It's Christmas Eve, and it's the last night for the tree to be lit!" Santa Claus roared merrily, motioning everyone with his gloved hands.

"Mom! Mom! It's starting! Hurry and get a good spot!" a girl zipped out of the crowd and ran back to pull the woman- the one who had been talking to Miaka -away. "Stop standing around, or we're not going to get a good picture this year!" the girl complained, and her mother laughed gaily.

Miaka looked around her; everyone was gravitating towards the evergreen, but none of them was her mother. The timorous feeling she had been trying to force down tickled the base of her spine, but she was stronger; Yumi wasn't very good with punctuality. Maybe she's running late, Miaka reasoned.

If only I knew where she was, I could get her.

"10!"

The people walking past her was thinning out, and she still looked around very carefully, trying to pick out long, flowy hair.

"9!"

"8!"

Only one or two people were running to catch an up-close view of the rest of the countdown.

"7!"

She shifted in her seat, looking around to see if Yumi was behind; she never liked small spaces or events with a lot of people. Yeah... that was it. She was probably standing behind her, watching the tree and her daughter at the same time.

But that wasn't very plausible, because there was no one behind Miaka.

"6!"

"5!"

She swallowed heavily, and a sudden whip of cold air blasted against her, permeating through the too-diaphanous fleece jacket. Her fingers dug into the bear's soft, round belly, and Bear Bear cried softly in pain.

"4!"

All those drawings of trees, and all those drawings of her wanting to go to the park... she didn't want of those anymore. If she had known that her mother wouldn't be there to share the fesitivities and such, she wouldn't have asked to go at all. "I want my mommy," she barely whispered, the puffs of air coming out faster and faster.

"3!"

"2!"

"1!"

I don't want to be here anymore.

"Lights!" The crowd cheered loudly as the park was engulfed in blinding, white lights; the tree was sparkling for the last time, and people were laughing, pointing at the star. It glittered, just like the real thing, and they 'ooh'ed and marveled at it.

"Merry Christmas!" Santa laughed gleefully.

A little girl in purple boots hopped off the bench, her fear fully overtaking her. She knew her mother would be angry, but why did she have to go and miss such an important event? She destroyed such a wonderful thing for her daughter. Miaka had no trouble dodging people; they were all buzzing around the tree like flies to a white light. She was a big girl; she never cried. But there was a first time for everything, and she felt a small stinging in her eyes and a strange lump in her throat; and then the tears came, and she found herself wailing pitifully.

Miaka stood where her mother's car had been.

-

It was late, and the sky was black. Black like her eyes, black like her mother's hair, black like the crayon, black like a fire's ashes, black like the roses, black like her feelings...

What time was it? She didn't know; it was supposed to be the next unit in class. But she wouldn't get to learn, now would she? Miaka sat on the same, grey-slabbed stone, her eyes cast downwards; no one was there, and even the kind lady who had spoken to her earlier had left. She had forgotten about the girl, much like-

Mommy didn't forget me- there's no way! She just--just...

What was it? What was the answer? If Yumi hadn't forgotten about her daughter, then where was she? What was she doing now? Miaka could not find any plausible excuse, and the very hint that such an important figure in her life had meant to do something like this... it scared her.

It wasn't fair. Why did her mom have to forget her on such an important night? She couldn't deal with this, there was no way- of course stories were on the news all the time about stuff like this- a shelter? Wasn't she good enough- she was in a park, and maybe Yumi would come back, or just the kind lady from a few hours ago, or maybe a policeman who knew his way around town, or just anyone. But then what? What would she say to him? They moved around so much, so she didn't even bother trying to remember--

Panicked thoughts jumbled incoherently, and Miaka began to cry again, her numb fingers digging into Bear Bear. He had gone to sleep a long time ago, and she was left with an silent, humming void in her ears. Where? Where did she go! "Talk to me, please," she snuffled, looking into her animal's face; he smiled sadly and blankly, not knowing how to respond.

She cried harder and pressed her face against Bear Bear's cotton stomach. There was no one left, not even her best friend in the entire world; he fell asleep, and God knows when he would wake up again. She hiccuped violently, her shoulders shaking like a frail leaf when-

"What the hell?" Miaka looked up to see who had spoken, and she found herself staring into green eyes sparkling underneath the park's tree. "Why are you out here, kid?"

She remembered her mother telling her to never talk to strangers, and she turned her head sideways, still crying and sobbing and sniffling. "..." She hugged the bear closer against her chest.

"What?"

"You're going to have to talk louder than that, you know." He wasn't one for patience, apparently.

"I can't talk to you," Miaka whispered, still avoiding his unique eyes- ahead, the lights around the gigantic Christmas Tree began to flicker.

"And why not?"

"Because Mommy said so."

"Well, she's not here, now is she?" It was simple logic to him, but a painful reminder to the little girl. She broke down feverishly when he said that, coughing and choking. "No, no she isn't. But she's gonna!" It would have been convincing if she had believed it herself.

The man was quick to grasp onto what happened, and he stared at her while she sniveled away, young and rotting on a stone bench in the middle of a goddamn park. Finally, he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and started again, this time more gently. "Listen. I don't think you know what's going on." The girl lifted her head slightly; it there was a time where he felt truly sorry for anyone, it was now. "Your mom... she left you here."

"I-I know that-"

"She's not coming back."

It was only a few seconds, as he looked grimly at the little girl in her thin, pink fleece jacket and her strange, purple boots with her hair sticking hungrily to her face. She was an absolute mess, and her crying never completely stopped throughout the harsh reality of their conversation. Poor girl. "But we can find your mom again, I'm sure-"

"She would never leave me," Miaka interrupted him, her eyes strangely round. But a moment later her mouth crumpled, and something glinted in her eyes before shattering and drawing a raw trail down her cheek. It was true, wasn't it? (No, no it wasn't.) Her mother had really left her here. (She promised she would return.) Maybe it was a mistake (How could someone make a mistake like this?)... maybe- (That was all it was, wasn't it? Maybe this and maybe that. Well, maybe Yumi didn't forget; maybe she had the intention of leaving her all along.) She shook her head, and as she cried, this time it was for a completely different reason.

"Where do I go? W-What am I supposed to do?" She was scared. The man offered no consoling or a warm hug; he gazed blankly at her bowed, little head, thinking a lot of things and considering where to go from here. This was a turn of events, to say the least...

"Tell you what," he finally began, and she barely reduced her tears. "Why don't you come live with me for a while?"

Slowly, the lights on the Tree turned off, one by one like dominoes falling in line.

"Why?" She was puzzled; he had only met her ten minutes ago, after all.

"Well, you don't want to die, do you?"

The star blinked rapidly, losing its moment of twinkling glory.

Miaka shook her head, her eyes daring to peek into the man's handsome face. "Where... do you live?"

"Close by." It was the truth, and he extended his ungloved hand out, a gesture daring her to believe again, daring her to cross the line that most children pass once, daring her to trust someone with almost no familiarity, daring her to jump to Neverland, daring her to turn the cold splash of loneliness into a warm trickle of love and kindness and--

She looked at his hand uncertainly, afraid it would bite her, or worse, lie to her. The star flickered off, leaving the park in black as quickly as it had engulfed it with brightness and assurance.

"I promise to take good care of you while you're living with me," he whispered, gazing softly at the girl. Those were the words she wanted to hear the most from someone she wanted to see the most... but the woman wasn't here, and she would never be here again, and Miaka felt her throat closing and clenching as the fuzzy edges of reality sharpened. Here she was, finally, as the biting cold whipped around her fingers, as Bear Bear was sleeping soundly in her arms, his fur covered in frost, her lips bruised blue and purple, and where was she? On top of a bench that promised nothing but pitiful death. It was a sad unwelcome from existence itself, and there was nothing she could do about it, no matter how much she cried and wailed and wished. There was only death, and the man's outstretched fingers. What could she do?

Miaka was crying so so hard as she took his hand painfully. "Can Bear Bear come, too?"

He laughed at her imagination and nodded. "Absolutely." She slid off the bench for the last time that night, and he led her towards the park's exit, away from the coldness and away from the moonless sky.

And somewhere, in the distance, another heart broke.

-