Once upon a time, there was the perfect woman. She possessed a kind of Grecian beauty with Asian influence. She had flawless skin of alabaster white, cheeks the color of a dusty sunset, and eyes one could gladly drown in. Her every movement was fluid grace. Her voice was a sweet but sensual alto. By all appearances, she was perfect save for the premature lines across her forehead. The consequence of furrowing her brow in the pursuit of knowledge. It was a flaw that somehow made her that much more pristine.
One day, that perfect woman met the perfect man. Perhaps he was not the best looking gentleman one could find with unruly hair and rumpled clothing, but that was not what made him perfect. He was a true artist, able to capture the most arbitrary, mundane object on a canvas and make it that much more beautiful. He had puppy dog brown eyes masked only by his glasses and a lopsided grin that would have made the coldest heart take him in.
The perfect woman, who had not had many friends in her lifetime thanks to her flawlessness, had a cold heart. But the man met the woman in an Anglo-Saxon Literature class, and he was floored the instant he saw her. Without even knowing her name, he went up to her and told her that she was the first living work of art he had ever seen.
Not even a heart of stone could resist that heartfelt, honest compliment. Thus, the two of them became friends, grew ever closer, and slowly but surely fell in love. They found little to nothing in common, he being the artist getting the English Major for a love of the art of painting pictures with words and she being the mistress of mathematics and science pursuing a career in medicine. But they did not care about that. They were madly in love, and that was all that mattered.
At the end of their collegiate career, the perfect boyfriend and girlfriend became the perfect husband and wife. They set up their home of happy bliss with him painting commercially to pay the bills and but his wife through medical school. Things went on joyfully for several years. However, towards the end of her residency, she made a discovery...
She was pregnant!
The perfect couple had much trouble reconciling this problem... They of course would keep this child and love it beyond all reason. But who would stay home with the baby? How were they going to afford it? How could they fit a child into their schedule? What were they going to do?
These discussions went on for the next nine months. Then, on the tenth of September, the perfect man and perfect woman gave birth to the perfect child. To the man's delight, she was the spitting image of her mother. Much to the woman's chagrin, she did not have anything of her father in her.
The woman's dubiousness continued to grow as she agreed to stay home and take care of the baby. After all, traditional Japanese custom certainly dictated that. Her husband would continue to paint commercially on the side, but for the most part, he would become the traditional Japanese salary man. Neither one was particularly happy about it, but they were too perfect to bring up their reservations about the issue. He thought she wanted to stay home. She simply didn't speak of things like that.
So for the next four years, the perfect wife and mother stayed at home while the perfect businessman went to make the living. But then something very strange happened... He stopped painting. She never left the house. And the perfect spouses seemed to be drifting. Conversations began with, "How was your day?" They ended with, "Fine." Up until then, there fights had been little things about his leaving his shoes in front of the door or her not getting enough sleep - reading too late into the night. Now their fights revolved around one thing and one thing only. Money. And the arguments weren't resolved in a few minutes. Sometimes it took hours. Days. Then they just stopped settling them at all.
It all came to a head at their little girl's perfect fourth birthday party. They had invited all of the neighborhood children, his family, her family, his colleagues, her doctor friends... Anyone who was intelligent enough to state that their child was by far the world's cutest four year old who had ever been born was invited. They had carrot cake with white frosting. The party favors were surprisingly subdued, colored in aquatic greens and sky blues. And a number of the gifts were books, which everyone knew the child would read all by herself. It was a party for the little prodigy turning four, and her parents were the picture of happiness.
Things began well enough. Games of Musical Chairs and Pin the Tail on the Donkey were only good for one round, but Red Rover could go on for hours when properly supervised. The children laughed and shrieked with youthful ecstasy while the adults kept a watchful, content eye in between mundane conversations. The party went on for hours, much longer than anticipated. However, the children did not want to leave and the adults found themselves enjoying each other's company. And so, things continued well enough.
That is until someone made the mistake of asking the perfect man how he liked his perfect job.
It cannot be equivocally stated what exactly caused him to say what he said. It is possible that it was the miniscule amount of sake that had been consumed, or perhaps it was just the marking of four miserable years gone by that made him do it. The truth is unknown to all of those outside of his mind. Whatever the case may by, the perfect man actually told the perfect truth.
"Actually, I can't stand it. More cake?"
Naturally, when the perfect woman heard this, she was stunned. No one spoke for a few moments, but when something was at last said, it came from her mouth. In spite of the proximity of the small ones, she leapt to her feet and demanded for an explanation. And he gave her one, each sentence ending with an exclamation point. He began to systematically scream about his lack of artistic inspiration, how stifling his job had proved to be spiritually, mentally, and creatively, and how he had always looked terrible in a suit. And she screamed right back about all that she had give up for him. How she had turned down so many offers from so many hospitals, the late nights she had stayed up with the baby, and the money spent on tissues from when she locked herself in the bathroom and sobbed every night at precisely 3:38 in the morning.
The argument continued, but the party ended quickly. Without so much as a wave goodbye, all of the parents collected their children (who had stopped playing at the first sign of adult conflict) and left hastily. Within five minutes, the only people in the house were the perfect man, the perfect woman, and the perfect child. After ten minutes, the perfect man left the perfect home, and he never came back.
Once upon a time, there was the perfect family...
But not anymore.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
I think it's fairly obvious why this scene was cut. It was meant to go at the very beginning of Chapter Three, as a sort of introduction to what was to come. But for one thing, I was surprised to learn that Mercury's appearance wasn't completely predictable. Some people were still wondering if Sailor Moon would arrive first, and I felt that chunk would pretty much kill any mystery anyone had. For another, it's too stylistically different and didn't add much to the plot. Hence, cut.
