(A/N: I had a bit longer to write this one, and I hope it's worth all my efforts. Enjoy.)
Disclaimer: I do not own Card Captor Sakura. I own whatever their personalities are in this story and any character that I make up. I own my storyline.
Chapter 3
"Damn dress."
"Rika!"
"Sorry..."
Sakura winced as another tiny ripping sound announced another tiny hole in the amazingly thin fabric of the dress. After struggling by herself for fifteen minutes, Tomoyo finally took pity on her and helped her pull it on. They realized that the dress must have been much older than it looked.
"Last...one..." Tomoyo grunted as she strung the lace of a corset through the holes in the bodice and pulled. "Are you alright?"
"I'll be fine as soon as this is over," Sakura muttered. The corset didn't bother her at all. Her waist was already so small it didn't really matter. It was just uncomfortably restraining. Sakura thought of all the girls trying so hard out there to lose weight, and smiled crookedly. Try starving in the streets for ten years. It'll knock some sense into your empty heads. Looks aren't everything.
"Finished!" Tomoyo stepped around her and surveyed her work admiringly. "You look really nice."
"Will looking nice feed me?"
Tomoyo frowned. "It might get you money...if you...you know..."
"Forget it."
"Well," sighed the other girl. "You'll have to look nice in front of the Master. He won't tolerate anything less."
"And if he gets all touchy-feely on me what am I supposed to do?"
Tomoyo sighed again. "Nothing, if you value your life."
"Well I'd rather die than let him get all touchy-feely on me."
"Don't talk like that! But it's okay. This time. He usually gets to know his victims a little better before he gets--" she grimaced "--touchy-feely on them."
"That's nice to know. What difference will it make if I die today or tomorrow?"
Tomoyo looked at her seriously. "You'll get to live another day if you die tomorrow."
"Living isn't all that it's cut out to be, I've found," Sakura said blandly.
"Ohh," groaned Tomoyo. "You're hopeless. Living is a gift, don't you see? If you just give up on it...well..."
"Well what?"
"Well...it's a waste of all your parents did for you."
What my parents did for me?
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A small girl in pink pyjamas cowered as her father raised a curtain rod over his head. He yelled at her and was about to bring it crashing down, when a woman suddenly appeared at his shoulder, wrenching his arm down and keeping him from hurting the girl. Tears were pouring freely down the woman's face as she pleaded with him. He shook her off, shouting in her face, spittle flying from his open mouth. Then he turned back to the girl and struck her mercilessly with the metal curtain rod. Before Sakura knew what had happened, her mother had flung herself in front of her and was shielding her from the blows, her screams of pain drilling through the girl's brain, however hard she tried to shut them out.
Suddenly, the horrible noise stopped. Her father quieted, and muttered drunkenly about needing another beer. He dropped the rod, turned, and tottered out of the house.
Little Sakura's mind was blank from shock of what had happened. She crawled forward, and caught her mother just as she fell. Trembling, she looked into her mother's face and flinched. The woman's nose was broken, her lips were purple and bleeding. The cheekbones, so recently become sunken, were dislocated. Sakura couldn't tell through the shirt, but the amount of blood and the way her mother rested on her right side spoke clearly of broken ribs. Her breathing was laboured and shallow. Her normally sparkling eyes were closed, but tears were running steadily down her face as she fought back the pain. Sakura eased her mother off of her lap as carefully as she could, and ran for the phone. She called the police. Help was there in less than five minutes.
Her mother didn't come home from the hospital until two months later. When she did, she found out that her husband had been taken to court for "physical abuse". They were glad that his presence was gone from the house. Their relief was short-lived, however. The servants decided that since Master Kinomoto was gone, their paychecks were also hanging in the balance. Mother and daughter weren't safe in their own home.
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Sakura picked up the long black overcoat that had been her "home" for almost ten years. She folded it carefully and tucked it into the bag that Tomoyo had brought with her.
"Don't throw it out," she said, looking directly into Tomoyo's eyes.
"I won't," the other girl promised. "Good luck, Rika."
Sakura left without saying thanks.
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Syaoran turned his head, his sharp ears picking up light footsteps and the rustling of a skirt.
"Master," he said softly. "She's here."
His master nodded, eyes fixed on the doorway.
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Sakura breathed deeply as she stepped into the room, trying to calm herself. To her disgust and horror, the dress was tightly wrapped around her slim frame, emphasizing every curve. The guard that had brought her here, named Enaka, had said nothing about her attire, only looked her up and down in an approving manner. She was disgusted.
As she walked in, she was painfully aware that the guards at the door were staring at her hungrily. These must be the boys that Tomoyo had been talking about earlier. Perverted bastards.
She lowered her lashes and stood by the door, as Tomoyo had told her to do whenever in the presence of the Master. Nobody could approach him without his permission. She glanced up through her eyelashes and surveyed the abnormally large room. Strangely enough, it seemed to be underground. The distant walls were of a reddish rock, lit by flickering torches. A small waterfall (How strange, thought Sakura) fell into a pool of water in the back of the room. The constant sound of trickling water should have been relaxing, and the torches weren't a bad touch. But the atmosphere in the room was one that never relaxed, never warmed for anyone, never laughed. Sakura hated it, though she herself never relaxed, never warmed, and never laughed.
Looking around, she saw only two other people in the room. One was a small boy, who looked about eight, bent down on his hands and knees in a corner, scrubbing away at the stone floor. From her position, she could see that his skin was rubbed red and raw from kneeling on the rough floor, though he bent over his work with a will and didn't show signs of pain.
The second person was a girl, about her own age, just standing in a corner as she was. Her wavy aburn hair fell down in front of her face, hiding her eyes. Sakura looked away.
One corner of the room was drenched in shadow. It didn't take her long to figure out that the torches had all been expertly arranged not to illuminate it. Clearly, this was where the Master resided.
A voice suddenly drifted out from the corner.
"Hello, Sakura."
Sakura blanched inwardly. That voice. At first, it sounded light, melodious, pleasing to listen to. When one heard it, one couldn't help thinking that the owner of such a voice was a pleasant person, as mellow as the timbre of the voice. The more cautious listener would have noticed that underneath that kindly tone was a strange vibe, almost as if the speaker were holding something back. Something very unpleasant. That voice...it was like death.
Sakura heard the vibe. And as soon as she heard it, she knew this man was no good. Despite all the things Tomoyo had said earlier, she'd found it hard to believe that someone could be so evil. But now, just from his voice, she could tell. She was in deep trouble.
But she didn't reply to the voice, only lowered her head slightly in acknowledgement in the direction of the corner. What does he want from me? I'm not the daughter of some millionaire. I'm not some ditzy actress who makes billions. I'm not going to inherit a fortune or command a country when I grow older. My family's not famous. They're dead.
"Come here."
She cringed inwardly. He certainly wasn't wasting any time.
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"What's wrong, Tomoyo?" Eriol bent forward, his dark blue eyes concerned.
Tomoyo sighed, putting down her stitching. The two of them were in the headquarter kitchens, watching the chef make dinner. Eriol had been just sitting there, talking to her. Ususally, talking to Eriol would loosen her up; make her less tense and took some stress of her shoulders. Today however, something was up, and he knew it. She had to tell him. Nothing was safe from him. She wouldn't feel comfortable keeping anything safe from him.
"You know that girl I was sent to dress today?" she asked. Eriol nodded. "I had to because the Master wanted to see her. I think...I'm worried, Eriol."
Eriol tilted his head slightly, curious as to what eccentric Tomoyo could be worried about. She noticed this and smiled a bit.
"You know I don't usually get attached to people easily, and if you look at this girl at first you wouldn't think there was anything to get too attached to. She's...different. I've never met anyone like her, and I don't think I would have even if I weren't held captive here. But it's strange, you know? I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but...it's almost like she's been through so much that she can't talk about it, or talk about anything at all, even. To anyone. It's like she has to stay closed, and never get close to anyone for fear of getting hurt again. Like if she did get hurt, one more little push would send her over the edge." Tomoyo paused.
"Is this what you're worried about?" asked Eriol.
"No, not exactly. I am worried about this, for sure. But the thing is, I am getting attached to her. I can't help it. I feel like she's in need of something, but I don't know what. All I know is that I'll try to be a good friend to her, and try to get her to open up to me. I think of all people, she's the one that would need a shoulder to lean on. She's been carrying her own burden for too long. I can't help but sympathize with her, though I know that I've probably never experienced close to what she has in her lifetime."
Eriol sighed, and reached out, patting her gently on the shoulder. "It's a cruel world," he replied. "And yet, she's not the only one that would need a shoulder to lean on if they ever let anyone help them."
Tomoyo looked up at him, her eyes questioning. "Do you mean...that boy that the Master keeps beside him all the time? You mean that he's like Sakura?"
"Yes. In more ways than just this."
"How do you know?"
"Just a hunch." He smiled crookedly. "My hunches have saved me on more than one occasion." His hand stopped patting her shoulder, and rested there, as its owner thought about the events of his life. His eyes were unfocused, yet Tomoyo felt that he knew she was still there, and if he'd really wanted to he'd have pulled his hand away. A faint blush crept up her face, and she smiled to herself, relishing the touch.
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Sakura's quiet footsteps echoed in the large chamber as she walked steadily towards the Master. As she approached the corner, the hairs on the nape of her neck prickled. The shadow-drenched corner was hiding something. Something other than the Master and his eerie, decieving voice.
She blinked as the light suddenly came from behind her, instead of all around her. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she made out a dim figure, sitting erectly on a tall, straight-backed seat. His hands were restless, his legs were still, his face was still hidden.
"So, you're Sakura."
What a stupid statement. Of course I'm Sakura. Realization dawned. Oh.
Her carefully trained face didn't reveal any emotion, but inside she was frantic. Nobody knew who she was, nobody wanted to know anyway, and nobody was even supposed to know she was alive. It couldn't be possible that this man out of all others knew. Why? How? Clearly, Tomoyo hadn't been lying about his abilities and connections.
Something shifted slightly beside the Master's chair. Sakura's keen eyes made out a box of some sort. Strangely enough, it seemed to be transparent. She could see something moving around inside of it, making small snuffling noises every now and then.
The Master snapped his fingers, and suddenly a torch behind him lit up, illuminating the whole corner with its unexpected brilliance. Sakura's eyes adjusted to the light, and she clenched her jaw to stop herself from crying out in shock and horror.
The object that she'd thought had been a transparent box was a cage. Flies buzzed around it, filling the air with their excited whizzing at the light. A person was in the cage. Someone who looked very old, hunched over as if in pain. But he wasn't old. Sakura's mind reeled; she could hardly believe what she was seeing. It was as if she's suddenly fallen asleep, and dreamed an unreal, terrible nightmare that would not stop even if she awoke. The person in the cage, being tortured and humiliated and scorned beyond imagining, was her father.
He looked up, straight into the eyes of the daughter that he'd forsaken so long ago. She, in turn, looked back at him, and for once an icy coldness radiated from her features, unbound and uncontained. A painfully tense moment later, he looked away, cringing and cowering. She knew then that he was the one who had betrayed her. He was the one who had told the Master all about her, had gotten her kidnapped, thrown in a lifeless hellhole, and put her at the mercy of a man who had none. She knew then, too, that she had no father.
"Touching reunion, I must say. Quite a bit less shouting than I expected, but of course I'll find other ways to use you two against each other."
Sakura's eyes snapped up and rested on the man who found all this pain amusing. He was indeed smiling, in his subtly cruel way. His eyes glinted like crystal shards. Hard, unyielding, trying to penetrate her to the soul.
Though Sakura was caught up in his stare, she mentally noted what he looked like. Another habit picked up in the streets, used so often it became second nature. So this was the great Master. He was surprisingly good looking, in his own cooly vicious way. His grey eyes resided in a thin, sunken face, whose features were prominent. His dark hair, cropped short, nevertheless gave off an air of command. The slender, aristocratic fingers looked cruel and deathly pale to her in the torchlight, and his yellow suit completed the look of a smooth, never-caught, never-suspected criminal.
She caught sudden movement behind his chair, and saw a boy standing in the only shadows that the torchlight had not managed to banish. She wondered why she hadn't seen him before.
The Master was displeased. The girl, through no fault of her own except for her uncommonly sharp senses, had seen what she had not been intended to see. So he said in a voice that suggested a calm, Sunday-morning stroll,
"Come out here, then Syaoran. Don't stay lurking in corners, eavesdropping on our delightful conversation. It's impolite to our...ah...guest." As he spoke, he reached down and pulled something long and thin out from under his seat. Sakura watched, apprehension dawning on her, though she had no idea why.
The boy named Syaoran stepped out from behind his master's seat. It was the same brown-haired, amber-eyed boy who had...kidnapped her. And beaten her. And struck her to the ground. And...Sakura's heart thumped and her hands became clammy. What's wrong with me? It's just a boy.
"Stand here," the Master commanded softly, indicating a spot in front of him. Syaoran walked towards it and stood there. As he did, his eyes lifted up off the floor and looked straight into Sakura's. She gazed back at him, staring into his empty amber eyes, recalling their last meeting. So absorbed was she in her thoughts and that pair of familiar eyes that she didn't notice the Master raise the long, thin object. Only when he brought it shrieking down through the air did she realize that what he was holding was a whip, and the boy was his target. The whip cracked, and the boy went rigid. It came down again, and again, and again.
Afterwards, Sakura remembered nothing of the surroundings, nothing of the cruel enjoyment on the Master's face, nothing of her father, cowering in his cage like an abused dog. She remembered only staring, second after second, lash after lash, into the boy's lifeless amber eyes. She remembered using every single ounce of her self-control not to flinch with him, and scream for his pain. She remembered clenching her hands so tightly that her nails dug into her palms and made them bleed, remembered wanting so badly to reach out to him and end his pain, and not being able to.
At last, the whip stopped. The air stilled. The soothing sound of gently falling water reached their ears, so alien after the tension in the room. Sakura slowly let out the breath that she hadn't realized she was holding, and breathed in. Her mind cleared, and she realized that on the floor was a dark puddle of blood. It still came, falling, drip, drip, running off the boy's back. His shirt had been lashed to shreds, though he showed no sign of noticing it or the blood. His eyes were still locked on hers, and no pain was evident in them.
"Very well," said the Master, his voice piercing the quiet room. It woke Sakura from her lapse, her horrified silence, and fueled her fear. "I hope you enjoy your stay, Sakura. Your first days have been...rather eventful, don't you think? You may leave. Enaka will take you back to your room. I hope to..." he stopped, and looked her up and down. His eyes betrayed his vulgar intentions. "I hope to see you again soon."
Sakura glanced at him, fully aware of what he was implying. Her eyes flitted for a second back to the boy, but he had silently retreated once more into the shadows and was nothing but a shadow himself. She turned and left.
As she walked out of the corner, she felt the torch extinguish behind her. The young boy she had seen earlier was still scrubbing away at the flagstones. She wondered why, until she realized that the blood from his knees kept the floor stained. He was doomed to scrub here forever. The girl was nowhere to be seen.
Enaka detached himself silently from the other guards, who all looked at him with envy, and led her back to her room. He locked her in.
A little later, Tomoyo came in to bring her dinner. She gave Sakura back the clothes that she had been wearing before, but insisted that she keep the dress.
"The Master will want you again soon," she said. It wasn't much comfort.
Tomoyo left soon, seeing that Sakura was even less prone to talk than usual. She smiled before she left, and wished her good night. Sakura nodded.
She curled up against the wall, not bothering to change out of the thin dress. Her overcoat was draped over her shoulders, and provided some comfort in the drafty room. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her knees. Everything that had happened flashed in front of her eyes. Her father, the image of him crouching there, helpless, burning into her mind. The Master, and his unyielding cruelty. His whip, and how it had hurt the boy. Syaoran, the Master had called him. Sakura dimly remembered her Chinese Calligraphy class when she had been younger. Syaoran. It meant Small Wolf. Syaoran. The Small Wolf, injured, trapped in a cage, never able to get out.
Sakura shifted a little, and curled up more. For some reason, the thought of him made her heart flutter. And when he'd gazed into her eyes, she had felt complete, for the first time since she was five years old. She didn't know what this feeling was, this new feeling that made her glad, happy even, but frightened at the same time. She dismissed love as soon as the thought entered her mind. How could it be love? No, she decided. I promised myself I would never fall in love. Look where it got my parents. I won't ever love. I'll never let myself be so vulnerable to hurt. I won't fall in love, even if I am in love.
With this thought in mind, she slowly fell into a restless slumber.
(A/N: I didn't put much mush in this chapter. Thanks Dee241 for answering that last time. If you want more mush, tell me in your review. So what did you think? If I don't get at least 7 reviews I won't continue. Yes, it's a threat.)
