Had she not gasped the very moment that she caught sight of the other then she may have been able to slip by completely unnoticed as nothing but a blur among the sea of faces in the crowd. And yet for once it seems that luck isn’t on the princess’ side as the child immediately looks up in search for the source of the sound and catches her gaze almost immediately. The hand that covers her mouth remains there, a delayed reaction that had been made in an effort to quiet the noise that had escaped from her mouth but clearly had failed to do so. For all the worlds that her other self had traveled, and all the people they met who had the same faces, the same voices-- appearances always strikingly similar to those that they knew from home but, also, completely different for they came from different worlds and different situations-- never had they ran into an alternate version of their own selves save for their clones. The same wide, round emerald gaze holds her own and Sakura finds herself hesitating, completely bewildered and unsure of how to respond to the face that resembles her own if only a few years younger, somehow. In fact, were it not for the fact that the girl has her hair tied up, wears clothes of a different taste than that of the princess and seems to be a few years younger, it would be the equivalent of staring back at her reflection in a mirror. Could their meeting here be another example of the hitsuzen her mother had taught her?
The last thing that she wants to do is frighten the other or cause uneasiness to settle in and so she forces her hand down, offering a nervous peal of laughter, ❝ Um, I’m sorry... I hope I didn’t startle you. It’s just that... ❞ The princess trails off, quickly glancing away and at the different assortments of jewelry that sit untouched upon the vending stall that had caught both of their attention as she herself stalls, trying to find the right thing to say, ❝ We look a little similar, is all. ❞ If the girl is unaware of Tsubasa’s own existence in Clow Country and has no idea of the events that had unfolded then perhaps it’s best to be left that way and she chooses her words carefully, determined not to speak on it unless the other brings it up first or asks why they look so much alike. Instead, she takes the briefest of moments to recollect herself and gently grasps a pendent in her palms, lifting it to allow the other to see.
❝ ...This is very pretty, isn’t it? ❞