A/N: Warning...this is MY interpretation of Inara, and I know there are alot floating around. So if you don't agree, duly noted. I still find little nuances in each episode and the movie that prove parts of the fic untrue..so I understand if there are those who don't agree.

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Inara hasn't always been the woman she is today. Once upon a time, she was a little girl with hopes and dreams and hair that didn't curl quite so perfectly. Once upon a time, someone had to teach her how to paint her lashes and lips, had to show her how reds and yellows reflected off the light to make her brown eyes glow most becomingly. Once upon a time she thought that she would be precious and new to whomever she decided to give herself to, gleaming skin and tight breach and frothy halo of a pure-white veil following in her wake.

Once upon a time, she was innocent.

She knows better now, a lifetime spent at the Training House on Sihnon, a lifetime spent being graceful and sublime. There is beauty to her, but there is no innocence. No room for innocence in her line of work. Only the sense of duty, a cross that she carries with her arms spread wide and her back upright, greeting each new day and client with open, professional arms.

She's nothing if not a professional.

And she hasn't worn white for a very long time.

- - -

Manufactured. Mal had called her that once. One day when he'd been spoiling for a fight, because what else is a Companion for, if not to cater to the needs of those around her? He may not be her client, will never be her client, but she'll do what she can for the captain who's still waging a million phantom wars behind his bitter eyes. If only because she can give this bit of her, at least. She cannot give her body, but her mind--Inara is willing to share that.

Out here in the black, there's not much use for intimate knowledge of carnal desires, anyway. Better she be useful this way.

He'd leaned against the doorframe to her shuttle, broad shoulders blocking her way out, smirk firml