Title: Lady
Type: Fanfiction
Fandom: pre-X (by CLAMP)
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Setsuka, Other
Genre: Drama, Introspective
Word Count: 425
Notes: For togakushishrine's (Old) "When I Grow Up.." Challenge (#013) put forth by link621.
Summary: Little Setsuka (and Daddy).




His hands seemed impossibly huge to a child like her. They were wrapping the obi around and around – tugging and adjusting minutely as he went. He had to move her long hair out of the way whenever he looped around the back, and one time he accidentally wrapped her hair in with the fabric and had to undo it. But he was very patient about it all. Although he was refined, he was elegant in a way much different than the ladies who had tended to her up until this point. Whereas they were strict and stiff about tradition, he was cool and collected, and he never really seemed to get annoyed – although his patience ran thin sometimes, though that was excusable because it was usually after long nights at work. He finished tying her ornate white-colored obi and rested his hands on her hips.

She looked at them in the mirror – his handsome, somewhat rugged features peeking from over her shoulder. His hair was perpetually windblown, and his smile was slightly off-center as he smirked at her reflection. His hands combed through her tresses and she saw, as well as felt, the red comb he was placing in her hair.

"I like you better than them," she murmured, remembering to keep her back straight now that she was wearing what the ladies had insisted was a sacred kimono.

"Who?" It was a question to which he already knew the answer, but he asked regardless.

"The ladies." Masked disgust on her face.

A chuckle.

"Becoming a lady is important," he insisted, voice deep like chocolate.

She made a slight face.

"Talents such as knowing how to play the lady will aid you in assignments when you grow up," he continued.

She brightened, brown eyes growing huge in the mirror as he moved his face forward to rest his cheek against hers.

"Will it?" she asked.


"When will I become that?" she asked, turning her face to the side to look him in the eyes, which were depthless and very black.

"Not now," he replied quietly, getting to his feet – towering over her petite form. "You'll know when it comes." He smiled cryptically. "Goodnight." With that, he left the room, sliding the door shut. She heard him lock it decisively, and she turned back to the mirror. There were dashes of red all over her obi and two bloody handprints on her hips.

"When it comes," she repeated to herself, childishly exploring the red comb he had placed in her hair. "I'll be a lady then..."