Gaara was a child when he first felt it. The touch of an angel of love and of hate. He shivered at the prospect, the sight that it showed him. It was dry and empty, in the desert of solitude where he lived. So isolated... One couldn't help but feel confined.
Shivering, in his lonely carriage, Gaara shock side to side, so uncertain of the meaning of his fate. After all, dare he attempt to suffer, when his young heart was freezing in the beauty of the ice. A brittle, crooked smile. Eyes closed in a mockery of rest. What was he, if not suffering and pain? What was-
A man. Familiar in the sweet expressions and honey dewed lies. Carefully touching him, patting him, searching him. Eyes wide with innocence, Gaara stared back. He didn't understand; why was Uncle there? Where was Father?
Murmured comforts came back. Acknowledgement of his role, his share. A smile. Tilted head.
Clutching his heart, Gaara couldn't understand why it felt so wrong