Note: There are no original characters in this story - Akito's elderly maid was a familiar character in the manga; and I chose to give her the name of Tanaka Miyoko, which is a fairly generic Japanese name, as it was easier for me to write about her if she had a name.

As always, comments, constructive criticism, and praise, however faint, are all greatly desired and will be appreciated.

Fruits Basket belongs to Takaya Natsuki and Hakusensha; English-language versions by FUNimation (anime) and Tokyopop (manga). This piece of fiction is in no way approved or endorsed by any of the copyright holders.

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Akito touched the camellias in her hair nervously. She wanted to look in the mirror. I wonder how I look. Am I pretty? However, just looking down at the ornately embroidered furisode made her vaguely uncomfortable; and she was afraid that if she saw herself like this for the first time, she might lose courage altogether. What will they think of me?

Miyoko had refused to help her dress. I'm trying so hard to go forward, and she's clinging desperately to the "old" me. The old woman stood motionless, looking out the window, while the younger maids fussed tediously over each layer of Akito's outfit. By the time they finished putting on her obi and arranging the flowers in her hair, Akito was ready to scream. She had a sudden, intense longing for Ayame. Ayame would know how to do this, and what's more, he'd do it quickly and efficiently. He'd make sure everything was perfect. And then, as an afterthought, He'd want me to look pretty.

Just as they were finishing, one of the younger maids, a girl about the same age as Akito, entered the room and said, "They're all waiting for you, Akito-san."

Miyoko suddenly turned, came over, and gave Akito's clothing a few quick adjustments. The old woman's face remained hard, but Akito saw a fleeting glimpse of softness in her eyes as she said, "If you're intent on doing this, you have to at least look presentable. I can't allow the head of the Sohma family to appear any less than that." She walked back and resumed her place at the window. The younger maid sent a sour look in the direction of her back.

Akito touched the flowers in her hair again and said, "Tell them I'm almost ready." She paused, "I'd like a moment, please. Alone." Miyoko left the window and exited the room without even a backwards glance. The other maids hesitatingly followed her, but the young maid who had spoken earlier turned in the doorway and said, "I'll tell them, and then I'll come back and wait for you outside the doorway, Akito-san. Just call me when you're ready." Akito nodded, and the girl bowed and left the room.

Standing by herself, Akito felt a rush of panic that started in her toes and went all the way to the top of her head. What will they think? What can I possibly say? She had a foolish, quickly-rejected urge to go out the door and hide in the garden; perhaps to leave the Main House altogether and never return. No. They may never love me, but perhaps I can at least begin to earn their respect. And then, Will Shigure be there? She thought not. He had given her the furisode, but he had made it quite clear that she was on her own in this matter. In fact, he had also made it clear that although he had a strong desire to pick up the pieces of their relationship and move forward, that the final decision to do so would lie with her.

In order to go forward, to become the "new" me, I have to let go of the "old" me. Akito crossed the room and went into a small, almost hidden alcove. She shoved aside some clothes and saw a small shelf covered with things that she had, at various times in her life, held precious. It was here that she had kept the box that she had, for so long, cherished because she half-believed that it contained her father's soul.

Here sat the two dolls that Miyoko had let her keep after Ren had ordered that all Akito's dolls be thrown away because "boys didn't play with dolls" – the one that Akira had given her shortly before his death, and the one that the older boys had given her for her fourth birthday.

She reached behind the dolls and drew out an old, tattered book of fairy tales. She turned to the page where the story of the Chinese Zodiac began. Pressed within the pages of the story was a dried, faded camellia. Akito touched it gently. Memories flooded her mind.

I remember a day, so long ago, when a solemn, insecure seven-year-old girl asked her older cousin a question, and received a camellia, an answer, and a kiss on the cheek, all of which made her blush. I remember the little girl taking the camellia, stealing into the library, climbing up on a chair, and taking this very book down from the shelf; and, with shaking, unsteady fingers, pressing the flower in the pages of the story which gave credibility to her very existence, and hiding the book, far from prying eyes, on the shelf where she kept the things which she held closest to her heart.

I remember a girl on the verge of womanhood, who banished this same cousin, now a grown man, from the Main House, after he committed what she considered an unforgivable act. I remember how, after he left, she came here to destroy this camellia. She couldn't do it, but she cried bitter tears, and then went out and crushed every camellia bloom on every bush in her garden, scattering their petals on the ground.

Akito once more looked down at the furisode that Shigure had given her. The camellias on it were embroidered in rich colors and outlined in gold thread. She smiled gently and touched one of them.

I remember how, after that, although she was often tempted to destroy it, the girl kept the dried camellia safe. It helped her to keep the memory of that long-ago day, and the words he had spoken, somewhere deep in her heart, long after she thought that they had been proven false and that he had forgotten them. I remember her happiness when she discovered that he remembered them as well as she did, and that after all those years, his answer to her question remained the same.

The things on this shelf belong to Akito, and not to the God. In order to move forward, I have to leave part of my "old" self behind, but not all of it. Not the part of me that was good all along. Not the things that I hold dear.

Akito touched the flowers in her hair once again, and seemed to draw strength from them. My road will not be easy, nor should it be, but at least I have the hope that I'll have someone to share it with. She went to the doorway where the young maid was waiting patiently, stepped out of the room, and said, "I'm ready."