DISCLAIMER: This is fanfiction based on works by CLAMP. No profit is made by me, nor permission gained to use these characters. One hopes it does not offend.

Title: The Girl Who Was a Cherry Tree
Author: Thimble
Fandom: Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle
Rating: G
Summary: Speculation on what happens to Sakura after Nihon Country.

Warnings: Spoilers for Nihon Country arc.

The Girl Who Was a Cherry Tree

After she dissolves into cherry blossom, Sakura wonders what to do. The love and obsession and violence that led to her being stabbed – inadvertently – by the one she loved most all seem a bit distant now that she is barely corporate even in the world of dreams. It's a relief to drift, scattered into thousands of tiny Sakura-lets that are too small to think, much less care.

She lets the wind blow her through the worlds, and observes distantly the travellers who were trying to help her go to a place where time stands still. The air hardly moves here; it's hard for her to be. And anyway, it's all about Not Her, now, about Real Sakura, and when she gathers enough of herself together, she thinks that she's glad for them. That other Sakura, the one with clean hands, she can have a happy ending.

Elsewhere, she falls softly in the garden of a house that is there and not there, laughs in tiny wind-breaths at a shouty boy with mismatched eyes and no glasses gesticulating about snowballs in summer and ice down his shirt. She used to know him, she thinks. Was he important? He's very funny. A woman who has borne no children hears her and gazes into the air, her garnet eyes unfocused and staring and says, You can't stay like this. You need a single place to be.

So she lets the wind that blows between the worlds gather her up, every scrap and drop, to a nice green park in Tokyo and makes a new body. It hurts to put herself together again, but the living world talks to her through her roots and branches, and there are other sakura trees for company (she's the cutest!).

There's a nice man who comes to visit. He gives her yummy nourishment all spread neatly around her roots and sings encouraging songs - she makes her petals come out pink, just for him. And, sometimes, the ghosts of children come to play in her branches. She is very happy.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm a bad, bad person.