"Robyn, Duke of Amber" 

     I originally posted this on the 14th on the
      fan-fiction list but decided to tweak it a little and re-post
       it here...
      As you can guess I spent that particulair holliday watching
      Marmalade Boy with a few friends as opposed to a
       (blea!) "special someone."
                                         Neil

                    The One Remembered.
                   a Sailor Moon Valentine
                          by
                   Robyn, Duke of Amber


  Outside snow was falling, fine flakes covering the ground like
  another fine sprinkling of icing sugar on an already rich desert
 or fancy treat.
  The snow which had fallen in the last few days had not been
  much and most of it had already melted but she had sprinkled
   seeds and bread-crumbs out for the birds.
    They didn't seem to mind the extra treats and she found
    their anics amusing as they chirped and squabbled outside
    her bedroom window.

 She sighed....
  It was almost time to think about heading to school.
   If only she could slow down time: Somehow, make the morning last
 a little longer without actually doing ANYTHING.
  Just the morning. Not the day. Not this day.
  It was so stupid, all of it...chocolate, cards, gifts, all
of it. It wasn't like it was something to really jump up and
down over. A stupid day based on two things
 1) a tradition  that was far removed from normal custom based in
  some cloudy way on the religion of another land
   and
 2) An excuse for confectioners to wring even more money out
of sweet-loving people.
 It certainly wasn't as much fun as flying carp
streamers, or even moon-viewing.
 Moon-viewing.... she looked at the clock on her dressing table.
   If she was Usagi she would be almost awake about now.
    Usagi.
    Usagi was part of the problem.
    No. She frowned and her reflection frowned back at her.
    Usagi wasn't a problem at all. It was what Usagi
represented when she wasn't being a fluff-head - Actually even
then.
 She smiled recalling the other girl's antics.
  That one.  Now there was somebody you would never hear the
phrase
 "There's a girl with her head screwed on straight." about.
  Usagi was anything but that.
   But she loved.
  She had a simple trust in human nature and always seemed to
believe the best in someone - or at least tried to. This had
led Usagi (and the rest of her friends) into some dangerous
predicaments - and some fun ones as well.
  No, it wasn't Usagi, but it did involve her.
   She picked up the tortoiseshell brush - The one she faintly
remembered her mother once using (that memory like the others
slipping, slipping away)
 and began to use it.

  Time passed and 100 strokes later.

   She ran the brush once more final time through her hair. She liked
 that feeling...the glide of the bristles they separated and
straightened  her hair - the almost-prickle when they faintly grazed
 her scalp. In last months "Home Magazine" she had read something
  about the feeling actually being good for you - a sort of home
acupuncture treatment.
  Looking in the mirror she gave herself an appraisal born
   of white morning light.
  Her rich chestnut hair hung about her head like a dark
 honeyed halo. Wisps and ringlets curled to frame her face.
 On the right side of her face, just peeking out from a swirl of
  hair the pink of an earlobe and the carved rose of an ear ring. She
   hardly ever took them out now-only at night, and putting them on
  was usually the first thing she did upon waking.
   Her hair had grown in the last year and she had taken
to tying it back with a ribbon. She had also somewhere picked up
the habit of absently nibbling on one of the strands which
always seemed to free itself.
 Letting it cascade about her as she did now it seemed to both
  soften her features and give her a certain
venerability. This look along with the evident and ample
curves of her form bespoke a sensuality which she considered
fine when she was alone but made her nervous outside in public.
 She had developed early and this had caused her to walk in a
stoop-shoulderd crouch for almost a year until she had, with
firm practice and determination developed a free-ranging
arm-swinging stride which had much of the same effect without
calling attention to itself.
 Was she pretty?
  Pretty violent she snorted softly to herself.
   That's the only things people saw when they looked at her.
    That's what boys saw when they looked at her.
    Who wanted an aggressive girl who looked like she was
going to pick a fight with you?
  What girl wanted to gossip with her and tell her if a
certain boy liked her or not?
 They were all to worried.
  She was worried,
  and she was alone.
   Except....
   Except for a certain dumpling-head who had once been to
hungry to be afraid.
  Except for a Shrine-maiden who wore her skirts jut a little
to short.
  Except for another dumpling head...at least in the brains
department who showed up at her house for tea every Sunday
rain, snow or shine.
  Except for two taking cats.
   Except for another girl who was beginning to walk with a
familiar stoop-shoulderd gait a girl who needed a talking to so
 that she could learn
about life while SHE got help with next weeks math test.
  Except...
  "Alight." She said aloud.
   "I get it, I'm not alone...I have a lot of really good
friends who I would die for."
 ("who you did die for." whispered a cold cold voice.)
  She shook her head rapidly and her hair spun with her, little
   hisses and pops of static being caused in the process.
  She looked into the mirror.
  She looked into her fear.
  "Who I have died for." She stated in a strong voice.
  "And would do it again."
   Her voice fell to a soft whisper now as she looked into her
own eyes and wondered at the pain...did others see this or was
this something reserved for her?
 "I wish." She whispered
  "Oh, I wish...."
   Without meaning to her hands moved.
    The upper drawer drawn open.
      The pictures of mama and papa,
      death certificates,
       an old envelope wrinkled and creased.

   The envelope open.
       A heart cut from red paper trimmed with lace and care.
        The words written in a fine strong masculine hand.

            My Makoto
                on St.Valentines Day.
                   My love always

                The name blurred by tears.


 ___________________________________________________________________________
     Nene   Nene    Nene    Nene    Nene    Nene    Nene    Nene    Nene
                    I met a Lady in the Meads,
                    Full beautiful, a faery's child,
                    Her hair was long, her foot was light
                    And her eyes were wild.
                                            J.Keats
  ________________________________________________________________________
           Agent Of Chaos. Robyn, Duke of Amber. Unicorn Knight
 ****************************************************************************

    Source: geocities.com/tokyo/temple/1102/fanattic

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