"Ouch!" Sakura shook her finger in the air and then sucked on the

 fingertip, tasting the salty tang of her own blood. How did Tomoyo do

 all that sewing without ending up like a pincushion? Smiling

 ruefully, she realized that her sewing skills were lacking because

 she always depended on Tomoyo, her father, and even her brother for

 most thread and needlework. She could mend a tear and put on a patch,

 but the tailoring that her best friend did was simply beyond her. She

 remembered early on as a Cardcaptor peeking into a company van and

 seeing the spectacular wardrobe Tomoyo had prepared for her.  At the

 time, she concluded the massive resources of the Daidouji household,

 or even Daidouji Toys, Ltd., had been marshaled and deployed to clad

 her in a parade of kawaii regalia. Only later did she learn that

 Tomoyo did every stitch herself. Through the years that followed, the

 two girls spent hours together, talking and drinking tea while Tomoyo

 fitted and altered the amazing creations. Being with the little

 seamstress made precious an experience that would otherwise have been

 tedious as Sakura stretched and posed while Tomoyo snipped and sewed.

 For the Card Mistress it was a chance to talk about her loves and

 fears and joys while the dark-haired girl listened, solemn and cheery

 in turn. Tomoyo was as careful with her heart as with the delicate

 fabrics that made up the costumes, and her carefully considered

 advice and reassurance helped Sakura through many a difficult time.

 As she sewed a strip of satin to trim the hem of the little yellow

 dress Tomoyo had left in Hong Kong, Sakura began to grasp the

 countless hours of labor that the quiet, pale girl had spent just to

 make her look special.

 

 Again she remembered that truck full of outfits Tomoyo unveiled

 before they went to capture the Shadow card. There was a spectacular

 array of over 50 costumes that ranged from the cute to the dramatic,

 with the occasional practical piece thrown in for good measure. After

 the terrifying exertions of capturing Shadow, Sakura had asked Tomoyo

 how she got so many costumes ready so quickly. Tomoyo smiled

 enigmatically and replied,

 

 "Oh, I've been working on them for over a year".

 

 Sakura gave the girl a baffled look and blurted out, "But you only

 found out about me and Clow Cards a few days ago."

 

 Tomoyo tilted her head, lavender hair blending into the dark,

 moonless night as she answered in a musical voice, "I've always known

 Sakura-chan was a magical girl.”

 

 Sakura merely sweatdropped, dismissing this as one of her adoring

 friend's many eccentricities. But now, years later, she was quietly

 astonished. Long before the creations of Clow Reed had found her,

 Tomoyo saw her as magical. Not for her power, or the cards she

 captured, but for herself. Sakura smiled as she worked the needle

 carefully through the gossamer material. From the day they met in

 that third grade classroom, Tomoyo's love had been ever-present,

 wrapped around Sakura’s heart like a comforting cocoon. She was

 always special to the sapphire-eyed girl, long before she was the

 Mistress of the Cards. Sakura paused, puzzled, the silver needle

 poised in midair as she softly whispered,

 

 "It's as if I was always her special person". She felt her face

 flush scarlet: that wonderful flustery feeling of being loved by

 Tomoyo. How she missed that in Hong Kong. The longing grew worse

 every day without her. The ache in her breast was finally assuaged by

 that enchanting visit, but her heart shattered watching the aircraft

 spirit Tomoyo away. Her special person. Sakura stared at the fabric

 in her lap, the last, unfinished design of her best friend. With a

 grin, she shook her head and thought a little sadly, oh, to be her

 special person for just one day! Sakura had been slow to realize the

 depths of Tomoyo's love. Only distance, which clove the two friends

 as nothing before, revealed how cruel separation could be. Without

 the constant presence of that fulsome love, Sakura felt hopelessly

 adrift. She tumbled into dark despair, with only her unrealized love

 to light the way. Glowing like a little candle in the blackest night,

 that love for Tomoyo finally blazed forth when she at last understood

 her heart. And though she was not Tomoyo's special someone, that did

 not affect her own love in the least. Even if Tomoyo did end up

 happily with her special person, Sakura's love would shine forth like

 a beacon through the pain of not having her. I'll love her no matter

 what, she thought to herself. But I'll die if she leaves me.  

 

 Remembering the chilling farewell in Tomoyo’s last letter, Sakura

 teetered on the brink of tears. If she leaves me. Taking a deep

 breath, Sakura buried the thought, for she could not face such a

 wretched possibility. "Buttons", she said suddenly, "I need buttons

 for this dress".  Rising, she carefully placed the dress on the desk,

 slipping off the thimble and absent-mindedly massaging her pin-

 pricked hands. Stretching, she felt the fatigue fall from her body as

 muscles tensed and relaxed. The buttons would be upstairs, in the

 attic, with the sewing supplies she had packed away before moving to

 Hong Kong. She walked from the room, down the hall past her sleeping

 brother, and climbed the ladder to the trap door. Emerging into the

 darkness, she carefully felt her way along the wall and then

 hesitated as a fear of the dark bubbled up from long ago. Slowly

 letting out a breath she grimaced, ashamed at such a childish worry.

 Inching her way forward, her nimble fingers finally brushed against

 the light switch and clicked it on. The naked bulb starkly

 illuminated the maze of tightly stacked boxes and trunks. Sakura

 realized her father or brother had rearranged things since she left,

 for the sewing things were nowhere to be seen. 

 

 With a shrug she began to move boxes, coughing in the billowing

 dust. Finally, on the verge of giving up, she uncovered a small

 shoebox with the word, "notions" written on the side. The writing

 puzzled her, for she did not recognize the almost childish script.

 With a tug, she pulled it out from the little nook it was wedged

 into. Opening the lid, she found a box full of buttons- perfect! She

 smiled and carried the little treasure over to the light, examining

 the varied circles and squares of plastic and metal. Spilling some

 out onto the lid, she nodded happily. These would do just fine. Then,

 Sakura's attention was caught by something at the bottom. She poured

 more buttons out in a little pile, and gingerly pulled out a faded

 photograph. 

 

 The colors had washed out over the years, but the figures were

 instantly recognizable. Tomoyo’s mother was dressed in a schoolgirl's

 sailor suit. Draped over the young Sonomi was Sakura's mother,

 similarly clad in a dark blue dress, a red bow around her collar.

 With one arm she embraced her cousin, while the other was held up,

 triumphantly showing two bandaged fingers in a little "V" for

 victory. Both girls were smiling merrily, surrounded by the supplies

 and equipment of what looked like a Home Economics classroom. Sakura

 turned the picture over, and written in that same childish

 handwriting that adorned the box were four lines:

 

 "Hiroji-sensei's class

 7th grade

 I passed!

 Thank you, Sonomi-chan"

 

 The back was decorated with odd little doodles of hearts and

 flowers. Sakura looked again at the picture and smiled, thanking her

 mother for the little present that had waited so patiently. Tomoyo's

 costume could have no better buttons than these. Emptying them back

 into the box, the auburn-haired woman carefully placed the photograph

 on top and replaced the lid, tucking the package under her arm.

 Turning off the light, she moved to the entranceway of the attic and

 climbed down to the hall. Returning to her room, she placed the

 shoebox on the desk, took up the fabric and began to sew again. She

 was startled when a familiar voice called out from the shadows behind

 her,

 

 "What are you doing?"

 

 She turned quickly, and saw Syaoran standing up against the wall,

 arms crossed and scowling. She rose and took one step towards him,

 but something in his manner froze her. In a meek tone she answered,

 

 "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before I left, but I had to hurry. I

 called Ieran-sama when my flight arrived. Didn't she tell you"?

 

 Syaoran looked away with barely suppressed anger, as if he were

 addressing a hopelessly slow child. Then he nodded to the pile of

 fabric on the floor and impatiently repeated himself, "What-are-you-

 doing"?

 

 "Oh", Sakura glanced at the dress she had dropped to the floor. She

 scurried to pick it up, and held it in front of her husband. Her

 smile faltered as he recoiled in horror at the unfinished costume he

 had seen in his Mother’s magic. He yelled at her,

 

 “Put that damn thing away. Where did you get it? What is it?”

 

 Neatly folding the costume, she placed it back on the desk, then

 faced Syaoran, her hands held to her breast as she replied,

 

 "I, I wanted to make something for Tomoyo-chan. Well, actually, she

 made it, the design, I mean, I could never do something like this.

 And she started it, but because of the wedding dress being the last

 thing she would make for me she didn't finish, and I thought I could,

 well, finish it for her, and I found some of mother's buttons in the

 attic and..." Her voice trailed off into silence. Caught by her

 husband's withering stare, she felt small and foolish.

 

 As he calmed down, Syaoran struggled to keep his sense of gravity.

 As if impressed by his own cleverness, he sneered, “I knew that crazy

 girl had something to do with all this. All right, get your things

 together and let’s go.”

 

 But instead of compliance, Sakura stood with her hands clasped and

 head bowed. Syaoran stepped towards her, irritated at this unusual

 hesitation. In a soft but firm voice she broke the silence, “I’m not

 going. I have to see Tomoyo-chan”.

 

 He stopped short, flabbergasted. All he could manage was a hoarse,

 “What”?

 

 Sakura looked up at him, jade eyes flashing a fiery determination he

 had rarely seen since the days of card capturing. But her voice was

 calm as she continued, “Tomoyo-chan said she is going to leave. I

 have to see her.”

 

 The future Head of the House of Li frowned, struggling to suppress

 his anger. He snapped at the woman within arm’s reach, “You can call

 her on the phone, or write one of your silly letters. We’re going

 home- now”. 

 

 Sakura looked at the floor and slowly shook her head. He felt a wild

 urge to strike her, to slap the defiance out of her. Barely in

 control of his raging emotions he spluttered, “I can’t believe I’m

 hearing this. What kind of garbage did she fill your head up with”?

 He paused, and drew a deep breath. This was not like his complacent

 wife at all. Very well. The chivalrous husband would try a new tack

 and forgive his erring wife. He pronounced in a patronizing and

 reassuring tone, “Now let me help you with your bags and we can talk

 about it on the plane.”

 

 But Sakura looked up at him, earnestly gazing at his face. Finally,

 she said simply, “No”.

 

 Fists clenched, shaking with fury, he turned his back on her,

 shaking with rage. How dare she defy him! After running off to Japan,

 wasting money they did not have, and now refusing to obey. Unable to

 contain his anger, he slammed his fist into the door, nearly rattling

 it off the hinges. “Damn it!” he yelled, “Who do you think you are?”

 

 Whirling to face her, falling into a fighting stance, his mind raced

 out of control. But the young woman simply stood before him, calm and

 unafraid.  Suddenly there came a knock on the door, and a male voice

 called out, “Sakura-chan, what’s going on?” The door opened, and a

 pajama-clad Touya peered into the room. Seeing Syaoran, he frowned,

 and then looked carefully at his younger sister. In as neutral a

 voice as he could manage he asked, 

 

 “Do you need any help”?

 

 Sakura relaxed, smiled, shook her head and answered sweetly, “No,

 everything is fine. I’m sorry we woke you up. We’ll be more quiet”. 

 

 Touya shot another warning look at his least favorite brother-in-law

 before sizing up the seemingly unconcerned young woman. “OK”, he

 spoke in his usual laconic voice, as if such domestic squabbles

 around the house at 3 A.M were the norm, “But you call me if you need

 me. Goodnight.”

 

 When the door closed, the two stood silent, facing each other for

 the longest time. Finally, with an exasperated sigh Syaoran fixed his

 wayward wife with a hard stare. His voice was commanding, even

 patronizing, as if he would no longer brook her exasperating

 insolence, 

 

 “Sakura, you have to make choices in life. You have to have

 priorities. You’re a big girl now, married to the future Head of the

 House of Li. I can’t have you running off every time some loopy girl

 from the past calls you on the phone. You just can’t do this sort of

 thing. It makes me look ridiculous. Tomoeda was nice, but it’s all

 over now. You have a new life, with me You’re going to have to choose

 between your friend and your true love. Now, go get your things and

 we’ll forget all about this”. 

 

 At first Sakura looked at him with surprise, and then stared at the

 floor. The Chinese sorcerer smiled as he detected the glint of tears

 welling in her eyes. She looked deep in thought, and after a moment

 looked up at him with wet and sparkling eyes. Her voice was brimming

 with emotion as she spoke,

 

 “I’m sorry, Syaoran-chan. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I

 guess I knew the choice would come someday soon, just not this soon.

 If only I’d known. I’m so sorry.”

 

 The tears coursed down her cheeks as she stood miserably before him.

 Well, he thought, at least she’s speaking sense now. He almost felt

 pity for her, though his anger was still too fresh and raw for that.

 He did care for her, though at times like this love was an ordeal.

 Still, he would find it in his heart to forgive her. But he would

 make sure she never saw or talked or wrote to that crazy Daidouji

 woman ever again. Syaoran’s quiet voice brimmed with magniminity for

 a defeated foe, “Come on Sakura-chan. Let’s go home.”

 

 But the woman did not move, looking at him sadly as she spoke, “I’m

 not going.”

 

 Too baffled to be angry, he gawked at her, mouth open as if his

 words were frozen in mid-sentence. Sakura shook her head and spoke

 almost pleadingly,

 

 “It’s my fault. I should have known my own feelings. If I had, all

 this would never have happened. I’ve hurt so many people: you, your

 mother, Meiling-chan, Tomoyo-chan. All because I was too stupid to

 know what was in my heart.”

 

 Syaoran could only stare in disbelief as the woman hugged herself

 tightly for reassurance before continuing, 

 

 “Syaoran-chan, you were always one of my very best friends. I

 couldn’t have done what I did with the cards without you. It meant so

 much to me that we were together. And I do love you, as a friend

 forever in my heart. But now I know my true love is Tomoyo-chan. I’ve

 loved her all along, but just didn’t understand. Not until last

 night. Last night. That’s only a day ago.” The woman looked stunned

 as she said this, as if an entire life had been lived in only 24

 hours. After a brief smile, she spoke again,

 

 “Last night I finally realized who I love. My one, true love. My

 special person. She was so close for so long that I never knew until

 she was gone. I could have saved everyone so much pain if I knew.” 

 

 Pain. Syaoran felt it in a wave, as helpless as when Meiling

 connected with his solar plexus earlier that day. Staring at his wife

 in dumb incomprehension, he managed to croak out,

 

 “But Sakura, I love you.”

 

 She looked at him, and he had the uncomfortable sensation that with

 her magic she could see straight to his heart. She smiled and asked

 gently, “Do you really love me Syaoran, like that? It really hasn’t

 felt that way. Not like I thought it would. Not like what I feel from

 her.”

 

 Indignant and righteous, he made ready to protest. But the auburn-

 haired woman held up her hand and commanded his silence. A sudden

 wave of something ineffable washed over them both, a shuddering,

 prickly sensation that enveloped him like a living fog. He stared at

 his wife, for somehow she was changed. It was as if all the magic

 were drained out of her like water in broken crockery. She stood

 before him, not the Mistress of the Cards, but as little Kinomoto

 Sakura, sweet, genki, and horribly ordinary. Her voice was the same

 he had heard on a playground long ago, when the Cards were in the

 air, and a Japanese schoolgirl had just begun her long journey,

 

 “You loved Yukito once, like I did. But when my powers grew greater

 than his, then your affection for me did, too. Do you really love me,

 Syaoran-chan? If I was just plain old Sakura, would you still love me

 then?”

 

 He recoiled at the sight. Stripped her magical glamour she seemed

 small and weak. Where was the enchanting woman he had married? Where

 was the successor to the famed Clow Reed? Was this some illusion, a

 doppelganger that had abducted his precious wife and substituted some

 bland and pathetic double? He began to speak, to accuse and threaten

 this alien presence, when he heard Sakura’s voice, distant yet

 familiar. She stared at him, his mind hers to know. Sadly shaking her

 head, she quietly spoke,

 

  “ I’m not an illusion. It’s just me. It’s just me without my magic.

 It’s who I really am. But I don’t think it’s who you really love. Do

 you? Do you really love me, Syaoran-chan?”

  

 He felt sick as he looked at her. She was nothing, a nobody. In a

 bitter tone he declared, “You sound just like Mother.”

 

 Sakura let out a little sigh and the two stood silent. Finally, she

 spoke in a voice etched with the pain of a new found knowledge,

 “Ieran-sama is very wise. For all my power, she is much wiser than

 me. She was right, Syaoran-chan. We don’t belong together. Now I know

 that she didn’t really hate me. She just wanted what was best for

 everyone. Even me.”

 

 With that he looked up and saw her as he knew her, energy flooding

 back, filling her pure power. In fear and awe he beheld her, once

 again the dread Mistress of the Cards. He reeled backwards, confused

 and frightened, his mother’s mocking voice blaring inside his head.

 He held his hands to his temples as her piecing words echoed, “You

 don’t love her. You love her power.” He felt helpless, a rag doll in

 the hands of a blind and savage Fate. Struggling to regain his calm,

 he leaned against the wall and whimpered. Sakura stood with her hands

 at her side, unable to comfort her shattered husband. Finally he

 composed himself enough to turn and face her. He was no man’s fool.

 He was not to be trifled with. Trembling, he took an envelope from

 his pocket, opened it, and placed a ticket on the nearby dresser. His

 face was blank as he spoke,

 

 “I’m leaving. If you are not on this plane when it departs, then

 don’t bother coming back again. Ever.” He felt a surge of power, as

 if he, and not this stupid and dangerous woman, was in control. She

 bowed low, her sad, verdant eyes locked with his as she answered

 softly,

 

 “Hai, Syaoran. Sayonara.”

 

 He strode for the door, and then stopped. Turning quickly, he gaped

 at her, his face twisted with loathing. He spat out the bitter words,

 “I don’t love you. I hate you.” Then he walked through the door and

 shut it firmly.

 

 For a long time, Sakura stared at the closed door. Syaoran’s parting

 words stung her, even though she knew they were not true. Consumed

 with anger, his words spilled, tainted and colored by out-of-control

 emotions. But part of what he said was true: he did not love her. Or,

 rather, he loved her as a friend, and no more. Oddly, this was great

 consolation for the shattered woman, who saw her marriage of months

 implode in minutes. Had Syaoran truly loved her, she would have been

 chained to a marriage that was a terrible mistake. For thousands of

 years, women have borne loveless matches, and Sakura would have been

 one among millions of sad and broken hearts.  Perhaps she could have

 found some happiness in children, or teaching, or even magic, all

 while her heart longed for her true love. Or she might have died

 slowly, longing for a love she could never have. Even leaving him

 later was a stark possibility, and could only have made things worse

 with the passage of time. 

 

 

 With a sigh, Sakura sat at her desk and again took up sewing. The

 rhythm of needle and thread calmed her heart, for there was stillness

 in the motion of every stitch. Suddenly she flinched as the needle

 pricked her finger. Gazing at her hand, she put her work on the table

 and slipped off the golden wedding ring. Placing it by the ticket on

 the desk, she thought, I'll send it to him later. She stared at her

 now bare finger. The ring came off so easily, as if their marriage

 had never been. But that was not quite true either, for much had

 happened in married life  she did not regret, and would never forget.

 Picking up the yellow dress and sewing again, she recalled the

 exquisite anticipation of her wedding day, and the mystery of the

 night that followed. To be in Syaoran’s company, if not quite love,

 was pleasant, the companionship of two good friends. "It was my fault

 for wanting it to be more, for not knowing my own feelings", she

 whispered sadly. Curiously, Sakura felt no regret for the end of her

 marriage. But she did feel sorry for the pain she brought Sayoran,

 and knew that regret would never leave her.  

 

 Paradoxically, the greatest gift of her marriage was the misery of

 being without Tomoyo. Growing up with the girl, she came to take her

 amazing presence for granted. Being so close to that dazzling spirit

 had blinded Sakura to her own true feelings. Only in Hong Kong did

 she learn the hard lesson of what Tomoyo meant to her. When marriage

 pulled them apart, she finally saw that life without the azure-eyed

 girl was simply impossible. Accepting Syaoran's proposal, she prayed

 marriage would bring her love. It did, but in a way completely

 unforseen. Marriage was a strange path leading her far away, yet

 bringing her back to where she started. But oh, how diffreent things

 were now! When she left, Tomoyo was her friend. But tonight, as her

 marriage ended, Tomoyo was her one, true love. And tommorow she would

 see her again.

 

 Sakura felt awash in giddy anticipation. Freedom swept her soul like

 a gentle zephyr, a whipsering wind of possibilities and hope. Soon

 she would see Tomoyo, lay her love at the dark-haired girl's feet,

 and beg her to stay. She gigled, wondering about the woman's reaction

 to so stunning a revelation. Perhaps she could never take the place

 of that special someone in her friend's gentle heart. But just to be

 with her, to feel Tomoyo's love again was enough. Even more, Sakura

 wanted to make her happy, to heal the pain in those azure eyes. "I'll

 give her everything I have", she thought, stitching the last button

 into place, "though she already has my heart." 

 

 With that, she held up the costume, admiring the work. Well,

 admiring Tomoyo's work, anyway, perfect as always. Her own

 contribution was flawed: an uneven line here, a too-big button hole

 there. But it was her work, and now the costume was theirs. Lovingly

 she folded the silken fabric, and suddenly felt very, very  tired.

 Resting her head on the desk she whispered dreamily, "Tommorow.

 Tommorow  I'll see her. I'll see my angel."

 

  And so, sleep came at last.