Tomohina's former caretaker was guiding her backstage by the hand and the young lady looked every once the picture of serenity. She was wearing a dark robe, but just beneath it there seemed to be a sort of hint of something that gleamed, ever so softly. Her long dark hair was styled to one side, swept over her shoulder in generous perfect waves of soft velvet black. A barrette pinned to the other side of her head, it was designed delicately like the branches of a weeping willow dipped in diamonds. And many who saw it would probably bet their entire savings on the fact that it was probably real diamonds. They certainly wouldn't put it past the daughter of a bigtime CEO rumored to be a majored crime boss with his hands in every single pocket of the government.

Yet how could such media rumors be true, when his daughter looked more pure than snow? 'Princess Tomo' and her odd way of piercing people with a gaze, that although unseeing, was filled with confidence and intelligence. Mature, well bred, elegant, gracious... Practically perfect. But she had no close friends. What did people actually know of her? The passing conversation hardly let others see very deeply. Conversations that always seemed to end quiet quickly, with her subtle pulling strings. She knew about her peers in an almost intimate way. Even though she was blind, she knew their aliments and handicaps almost with in the brief conversation of meeting them. But did they know why she was blind? What made her happy? What made her angry? What she loved most in the world and what she hated? No. She was just the tranquil doll that passed through their lives without ever stay to see the products of her passive meddling.

She smiled to herself as she closed her eyes, those heavy and thick false lashed making her look more unreal than ever before. Even they were adorned with flakes of something that reflected the muted light. The old woman led her over to a chair and patted her shoulder, bending down to speak quietly before leaving. Hands folded in her lap, the delicate curves of her nails match the seeming theme of shimmer, though the rest was a white pearl color. Her red lipstick was like a blushing rose in the midst of a ice storm, her hair like wounds of darkness to the paleness of the rest of her form. Never had she looked more like a doll, than sitting, hidden in that dark robe with her eyes close and mouth upturned in that knowing smile. When the old woman returned, she was whispering to the girl who sat as still as a beautiful mechanical doll. Only every now and then would the smile on her face widen or soft just a bit. But the old woman spoke so quietly, only the girl could hear.