(Homepage at http://www.geocities.com/tokyo/9897/ct.htm) A Circles of Time Story: A Change of Time by Annie London, 1230 "Many years ago, things were much different. There were more people, living in places we have never heard of. They had magic, and they used it every day. How do I know all of this?" The old woman smiled, "I remember it. I was only a small child then, yet it is as clear as though it were yesterday!" The children who sat at her feet held her gaze, drinking in her every word, amazed at the stories she was telling. "What happened to this wonderful world?" one of the children asked breathlessly. The old woman?s smile faded a bit. "I remember that, too. One night, I was looking out at the sky, and I saw a flash of light, on the moon. Then, there was nothing. I asked many people about it... but they did not know what I was talking about. This lovely world, the beautiful queen, her daughter, the princess, they were all gone. No one seemed to remember them. No one mourned their presence, as I did. It was as though they had never existed. And no one noticed anything, for every person could not remember it." She leaned forward, almost whispering. "But I remember." "Oh, Granny, do tell us," begged a child. The old woman leaned back in the wooden chair. "Once upon a time," she began," there lived a magnificent queen. She was beautiful, smart, and her kingdom loved her. She had a daughter..." As the old woman went on, a figure slipped into the room, unnoticed by the children and the woman. The stranger knelt by the fire, warming up, and listening to the story. A smile curved her lips, remembering old times, times long gone. Then she disappeared. The evening of June 25, 1178 had brought down a glorious empire, an empire now wiped out from memories. A time, and place now only brought back by old stories, legends only children believed. But one person remembered. She remembered the wonderful times, times that had to be brought back. And she was the one to do it. She was the one, the only one able to help others bring about the Kingdom, the Kingdom that had fallen. A Kingdom which would one day rise again. That was her job, the only thing left in her life that mattered. Sailor Pluto landed on the Moon, her lone figure standing out against the harsh, desolate emptiness. Everything was gone. Because she, Uranus, and Neptune had awoken Saturn to destroy what was left, the Moon was now empty. It was as though it had never existed. And, for the most part, it never had. Every single trace of the Kingdom of the Moon was gone. Pluto had made sure of that. Only legends remained. She had taken everyone?s memory, and took out the Moon Kingdom, magic, and people. She had laid a spell over the planets, to ensure their safety, that no one would ever see the glory that they had once been. Her job, once admired and honoured by all, was no more. In it?s place, was the long-lasting job of watching over the Earth, and making sure that the future would happen as she promised herself. And she whatever she had promised herself, and Serenity, must happen. The Moon Kingdom, would, one day, rise again. Florence, 1503 The dark ages were truly dark. Candles were hard to come upon, and days were short. Winter had fallen, once again, over Italy. Yet Leonardo da Vinci kept hard at work. He was a nobody, yet he intended to make his name known all over Europe. He drew his dreams, and expanded on them. His dreams were wondrous things. Full of happiness and laughter, and strange machines, that everyone took for granted. He was a stranger in his own dreams. When he dreamt, he looked around himself, like a young child, at the world. He followed people, and sometimes understood what they were saying. Once, in his most favourite dream of all, he had gotten onto a great white bird, with coloured feathers on it?s tail, and sat down. On cushioned seats, so comfortable he hardly dared to get up. He had heard a voice, coming from the ceiling, and looked up in amazement. The voice spoke a strange tongue, one he did not understand at all. Then the voice spoke another tongue, one he understood some of. But the most important word he had heard was Italia, Italy. And the year! The magnificent year! Leonardo smiled, pausing in his work. The future, the looming future, he had been there! And Italy still existed. He returned to his drawing, of the great white bird he had sat in. He wrote of the strange words from the ceiling, and of the future. Yet the future was not the only thing looming upon him now. A silhouette was. Leonardo looked up, surprised, and slightly annoyed. He never let anyone into his private chambers, let alone a stranger. "May I be of any help to you, my lady?" he questioned. The lady looked not at him, but at his work. "Why are you drawing this?" She demanded. She spoke with a slight accent, one he could not recognize. "It has been presented to myself in a dream." "What did you dream of?" "A large white bird, but it none of your ladyship?s matter. It would make yourself pale with anguish, and thou would not understand my babblings." She glared at him. "What time did you dream of?" "The far future, my lady. Five hundred years." "Speak of this to no one, for they would call you heretic, and kill you. Limit yourself to your art, and all shall be amazed in your presence." He looked up at her, unknowing. "Yet how could your ladyship know all this?" She smiled slightly. "The future and I are one. The past and I are one. The present and I are one." With that, she whisked his drawings into her hand, turned, and disappeared. Leonardo rose, looking at the empty space she had left, and went off to sleep. In the morning, he could remember nothing of what he had been doing the past night. It did not matter, as work came to him later that day. She was Francesco del Giocondo?s wife, wanting to be painted for a portrait. Da Vinci later called the painting "La Gioconda", but she is most known as "Mona Lisa". Paris, 1554 While Leonardo da Vinci was discouraged to bring his ideas out into the world, another man, with dreams far worse, more complicated, and far more horrific wrote his dreams down, privately. His name was Michel de Nostradamus, a French Jew, who claimed he was not one. He had visions daily, and each night he wrote feverishly in his journal, trying to capture the horrendous images that were stamped in stone in his mind. He told the King of France, what was to become of his lineage. He told him of a horrible revolution that would take many lives, including the future king, queen, and prince. He told the king all of this, and every time the king laughed in his face. "Nothing will become of the French crown!" The King exclaimed. "The people of France will always love us, even if they have no bread themselves!" "But you do not understand," Nostradamus begged with him, "Revolution is already brewing in the air, even now! Within two hundred years, everything will explode! A man called Guillotin will invent an awful machine, that, Mon Dieu, will take off people?s heads!" The King spat out his wine. "Preposterous, Nostradamus! That will never happen! But," he quickly added, seeing the anguish on Nostradamus? face, "I will place an order, that no man is permitted to create anything that will hurt another man." Nostradamus nodded, slightly relieved. "Now get out of here!" The king ordered. He backed away, and left the King?s Court, on his way home. "I believe you," he heard a voice say. Nostradamus looked around him, and saw a woman leaning against a wall. He cast his eyes down, noting that she wore little. "I know how you must be feeling," she went on, "I see the future as well. But it is not all bad, you must know." "Is it?" He said angrily. "I see strange explosions and people dying. I see foreign lands in turmoil, while others laugh at them, enjoying their own wealth." She smiled at him, sadly. "I know all that. Yet you must see as well the good side of the future. The plague is gone, as well as other diseases which run rampant through the streets of Europe. There are medical and scientific advances being made daily, to improve the world. Technology is a wonderful thing, and no more are people being called heretics, and burned at the stake." "So you may be right," he admitted. "The future can be good, as well as bad. But as you must have seen," he gestured towards the Court, "the King of France does not believe me." "There are other people whose opinions count," she told him, "let them know, and let them make their own decisions for themselves. Write down what you," she suggested, "and publish it. Other people will help shape the future, the King of France will not." He stared at her eyes. "Who are you, that you should know all this?" He detected more knowledge that she was telling him, in her eyes. She had obviously seen more hurt, more pain, than he had ever seen in his visions. He did not know how, but somehow he knew that she was important to the future. She was connected to time itself. While Nostradamus had been pondering all this, the lady had vanished, without a trace. By the time he reached his home, he had completely forgotten her, thinking only about publishing his visions. Vienna, 1800 She had to walk up all the way to the tiny room where he gave piano lessons. She had figured, why not? It might be useful someday. But now, walking up all those flights of stairs, she was not so sure. Why have they not invented elevators yet? She moaned silently. I?m going to have to wait 150 years... damn technology. Can?t I just give them the blueprints? Then she caught herself. You?re not a little girl anymore, Setsuna, she thought. Quit complaining and go up the stairs, the steep, never-ending staircase, where waits a half-deaf, incredibly rude, but ingenious man. She finally reached the top. She knocked on the door, and he grunted to let in her in. "I?m your new piano student," she said. "Ja, ja, whatever. Sit down, and you will learn." She sat, and endured the piano tutorial. However, at its? end, she became quite hesitant. "You will come back tomorrow for the next lesson, ja?" She was deep in her thoughts on how to address the matter at hand, and did not hear him. "Fraulein? I am the one who is deaf, not you!" "Oh, yes, Herr van Beethoven..." "Ja? I haven?t got all day, you know." "I really enjoy your music very much," she said finally, "and I have an idea of what you could write..." He groaned aloud, slapping his hands on the piano. "You and every other young person in Austria! But your ideas are no good! You must have music inclination, have much knowledge-" "Mein herr," she interrupted, "I am not suggesting music... I am suggesting what you could do to think of music." He faced her, looking directly in her eyes. "And what is that?" She pointed out the narrow window. "Do you see that woman there? Her name is Therese. She passes here every morning, and looks into your window. Why don?t you talk to her?" "Therese?" he snorted. "But she is a nobleman?s daughter, I am just a poor composer." "You are more famous than anyone will ever know," she said seriously. He rolled his eyes. "Fine, and what will happen when this young lady and I get to be friends? Her father will break us up." "From that," she said evenly, "you will an inspiration, for a wonderful piece of music. Let me see your handwriting," she said suddenly. "What for?" he asked suspiciously. "Oh, just let me see it!" What a stubborn man, she thought. He quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper. He sighed, "If what you are saying is true, then I will call the music this." She took the paper, and smiled slightly. His handwriting was a complete mess, and she could hardly read what he had written. "It says: ?Fur Therese?!" he growled. "I see," she said calmly. She got up, "Auf wiedersehen, Herr van Beethoven." She floated down the stairs, humming a beautiful tune, one that was not called ?Fur Therese?, but because of his atrocious handwriting, ?Fur Elise?. Paris, 1897 She was a young scientist, working on her doctoral thesis. Not that it was coming along too well. What she had decided to study was what many other students like herself had decided to use as well. "I need something... original." She mumbled fiercely under her breath. She had never been one to fall under pressure, and certainly she should not over a simple thesis! She sighed. Was it all going to be over because of this thesis? Her scientific career, down the drains? No, she told herself, I am going to do this. If not for me, then for Pierre, my beloved husband. She took a look at the outside world, busy in the early morning market. She shook her head, she had never thought that her life would turn out this way. Born in Warsaw, Poland, Marya Sklodowska had dreamed of becoming a teacher, perhaps, but instead she had decided to make the decision that few girls took, studying mathematics and physics at the Sorbonne. There, she had met Pierre, married him, and changed her name. Gone was simple Marya, the Polish girl, there was now only Marie Curie, the scientist. She smiled brilliantly, thinking of her past, instead of the thesis, blank, in her hands. Marie tried valiantly to think of what she could study, something interesting, something no one had hardly ever studied before. "You are close," someone behind her laughed. Marie jumped, turning at who had been speaking to her. "I beg your pardon, madame?" "Study something no one knows about very well," the woman said. Marie gave her a scathing look, she never enjoyed being interrupted by anyone, least of all this scantily clad woman, no doubt a beggar or a prostitute. "Madame, I hardly have any doubt that you would be of no help to me, nor would you know of what I am doing." The other woman shook her head. "Marie, I am doing you more help than you ever will have known. Do something mysterious for your thesis!" "Something- mysterious?" "Yes, at least, that is what Henri Becquerel thought of it." Marie turned back to where she had been sitting. Henri Becquerel... where had she heard that name before? Then she had it. Only one year earlier, this same Henri Becquerel had given a lecture on something formidable, something he had discovered, and called "the mysterious radiation". Marie turned to look back at the woman, but she was gone. "Thank you, madame!" Marie shouted to the air. "You have helped me in more ways than you know!" Marie grinned, radiation! Why had she not thought of it earlier? Tokyo, January 27, 1979 Setsuna sat in an uncomfortable hospital chair. Every few minutes, looking around. When she felt something, almost a tear in time, she got up. She took the elevator (heaven bless them!) to the maternity ward, and looked in through the glass wall. She smiled at a fidgety blonde newborn, whose tag read ?Ten?ou, Haruka?. "Haruka-san," Setsuna began, "you are the first of the senshi to be reborn. Welcome to this world! It sucks at times, but what can you do? When you are older, I will come and visit you again, and you will know who I am. Have faith, Haruka, and everything will turn out all right." She visited the hospital once more that year, and again the next year, seeing the reborn senshi as mere babies. However, on January 6, 1983, she cried. She saw the tag that read ?Tomoe, Hotaru? and knew that it was wrong. She saw her daughter, although not really her daughter, there, and wept. "I?m sorry, dreadfully sorry, Hotaru, for the things that will come in the future. But you must know, you will overcome the evil. You will be Sailor Saturn once more. Unfortunately, you will never know you were my daughter. Keiko and Souichi are your parents, now. Love them like parents, forget about me." The tears fell from her eyes, and looked at her baby, and for one split second, locked eyes with her. Hotaru understood, though only a few hours old. Her eyes relayed love to her true mother. Setsuna smiled sadly, "Good-bye, daughter." As Setsuna exited the hospital, she remembered the times in her long-lasting life that had been empty, void of friendship and love, filled only by her job, and listening to the legends. She had listened to the legends shared by other people, legends only children believed. One day, Setsuna knew, she would be the one sharing the legends, legends which came true. _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com