Exhausted, she was simply exhausted. So tired that she can't even close the windows that let the cold air sip in her room, or bother to change her clothes from her school uniform. She was tired, simply dreadfully tired.

Her eyes gliding aimlessly on the ceiling; the sound of the harsh rain that kept poking her roof was deaf on her ears. She was tired, yet her mind kept running a thousand miles- not wanting to stop, and it was very painful.

She was feeling cold but she stayed still. Fear sparked on her veins every time she tried to move- as if something would break on her body. Thus, she didn't move; she stayed motionless just like a puppet without a puppeteer.

But she was no puppet- she was a human, a body with a soul, a being with her own strength and a creation with her individual thoughts. She was a girl who didn't need a master to tug at her strings to make her take a step, or create an unreal voice that she has to use. No, she's not puppet… she was a human…

…really? Is she really?

She's a human, that's true! No one can deny that. She has flesh and bones, blood and mind, but it doesn't mean she's no different from a puppet.

No one may not be able to see it but she knows- oh how aggravating to be actually be aware of it after so many days! – She's just like a puppet, with her own puppeteer.

When she was a child, she was tugged to do an art she endearingly agreed upon, but not because she liked it- it was just because for him, for her father. He who announced each day that there must be someone who shall take his art; he who has always decreed without even looking to others decisions his desires. She loves him…no doubt about that. But this art he spoke of- it was interesting at first, but as time passed it became a withering flower on her vase; a piece of sand lost in the sea of desert.

When her mother was still alive, she loved showing the movements that she learned from her father. Her mother would clap at her and she would grin cheekily. There would be a feeling of heaven that would rise to her chest- satisfaction, loved, awed.

She practiced everyday to impress her; to show her how her skills were.

She was nothing like Kasumi who did things so feminine or Nabiki who had her wits as her strength and defence. She was nothing like them. She had nothing she was good at, but just the art. Thus, she spent her time training at it.

Yes, this art tugged her to move; controlled her fate to be sealed.

Then she died. Disappeared without a warning…

The clouds looked grieving that day but more so the people that wore black clothes that hugged their bodies.

That day, she was lost- lost in oblivion.

Her family were torn apart; each with their own duty. The eldest in becoming a woman, the second in becoming a leader, and her father in becoming a child. Her? It might not be good to hear but she had nothing to show- to become someone with duty. She wasn't responsible. She lacked Kasumi's maturity and didn't have Nabiki's brain.

She only had her art.

An art that had dusts all over its edges- an art that won't help her neither become a woman nor would help her become smarter. She just knew how to fight…but in that moment, it seemed meaningless.

Then it occurred to her- that she can do nothing, because no one tugged at her threads.

No matter where she looked, there would be no one that could help her. She was stuck, alone, and afraid. How is she going to live without a wielder?

Yet she knew, she can't give up yet. She still needed to go on. There may be no one in sight, but there's still her. Her alone. But it's alright. It would be enough for now…

…she just has to stay strong until someone came again…to lift her up.

Without a goal- she spent her days working on the goal that was last set up on her mind- to train her art.

Those days were hard. Those days of trials of staying standing up. Those days of moving forth. Those days of waiting.

But it worth it…

…because…

He came.

He tugged at her first thread by pretending to be her girl friend. He tugged at her second thread by forcing her into a marriage she didn't really desired that moment. He tugged at her third thread by making her fall to him, slowly but surely…yet painfully. He tugged at her fourth thread by making feel the emotions she never experience before- and he tugged at her last thread by giving her a reason to live.

It was definitely excruciating to live with him as the puppeteer. He tugged at her with so much force sometimes- she needed to be far away from him. But then, the feeling of being abandoned would cross her spine and she would go back to him again. She was a puppet…a puppet becoming more real as each days passed.

She thought it was all what she need…to have one to control her strings…she thought it was fine…she thought everything was all right.

However, she was wrong.

Very wrong.

He made her realize of what being a puppet truly is. He succeeded in giving her feelings a puppet should never have. He gave life to her. Truth to be told, he was her creator.

Yet, as much of how thankful she was to him…she was given a life, a better understanding of how the world revolves. He made her realize- that being a puppet is simply worthless. A mundane kind of living.

And she agreed to it.

Not because her life with him was unexciting, no! Not at all. In fact, everyday was an adventure.

An experience, an interesting event, and a reality.

It was mundane because it just meant she had to obey to his rule. It might not be spoken but there are rules. She has to bop him, she has to scold him, she has to be teased, she has to see him with other girls, she has to feel every bit of emotion that strikes her chest without mercy. Those were the rules.

Short to say- her life revolved around him. It was exciting at first, but just like her art, it became a shallow river; a place you don't want to seek with mystery.

Yes it was an awesome feeling of loving someone…but she has to move on, especially if it was just unrequited. She knew that much, no matter how many times people call her immature she still knew the truth. She still had ideas of what to do. Because now…

Now…she was cutting her threads from his grasp.

And she will become her own…

She was tired…tired of being controlled…tired of being a puppet. She will move by her own accord, talk by her own will and live by her life.

She will stand- then, she will continue- but not to wait for a new puppeteer- she will continue walking, but to see someone in the future that would not hold her strings, but touch her bare skin and make her feel human.

Tears escaped her eyes as she choked back a moan. This day, she was giving up on him.

Tomorrow, he would be wondering and would be worried why she's not being herself.

He would tease her- and she would tease back (however, lost the mad tone that she often used)

He would be seen with his other fiancés- and she would stare at him (however, lost the jealousy that flared at her aura like a wild animal)

He would be asking her- and she would answer

"I'm fine, perfectly fine actually. If you're worried…don't worry about it. I just learned how to walk on my own"

a/n: i'm actually planning to make a sequel, and it's one about ranma's thoughts..should i?

R&R :D