A/N: Not my usual fluff. Sorry.
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dreamsuselessdreamsnever
Black.
Not yellow.
Black.
That had been the color of the eyes of the boy she thought she loved. That boy was charging at her now, a long katana clutched in his pale fingers.
No. Not his fingers.
Orochimaru's fingers.
nevertobefulfilleddreams
Those eyes.
Yellow.
Not black.
Yellow.
They were coming closer.
Closer.
Ever closer.
His feet clattering over the tile.
No. Not his feet.
Orochimaru's feet.
turnednightmaresnightmares
In. Out. In. Out.
Useless, gasping breaths. Useless blood frozen in useless veins. Useless pounding heart.
A heart that had loved him.
No. Not him.
What he had been.
A strand of pink hair falling over green eyes.
Glossy pink hair. Hair that she had kept long. Hair that she had kept beautiful. For him.
Always.
Always waiting for him.
Always waiting for the warmth of emotion from those cold black eyes – those cold black eyes which were now gazing at her. Gazing at her weakness.
No.
Not black. Yellow.
They are one and the same.
ofthesoulthesoul
The executioner's blade falls.
The waiting is over. She rises to meet her destiny.
Perhaps in death lies reunion. These yellow eyes will be her death – and her savior.
Savior from a life of waiting. Savior from a life of waiting for someone who will never come.
A flash of orange. A glimpse of blue.
Orange? Blue?
A spray of red. Rich, life-filled red.
Not her red.
Clear green eyes focus. Blue. Beautiful blue.
weepsandragestoturn
Blue filled with anger. Blue filled with pain. Blue filled with sorrow.
Paralysis gone. Her mouth manages to move.
"Wh…why?"
His voice is deep. Deep with anger. Deep with pain. Deep with sorrow.
"Because…being a shinobi isn't just about power. Being a shinobi means protecting those precious to you."
A sphere is already gathering in his hand. A sphere of the purest white.
Purest white for the purest heart. Purest white for the purest soul.
He turns. Flesh rips. More red. Nothing but dripping red.
nightmaresback
She can't see, but she knows. Blue is gazing at yellow.
The yellow that stole the black away.
Her black. His black.
"I won't let someone precious to me…be hurt by you…ever again!"
Spiraling white sphere.
Impact.
Noiseless. Soundless.
Not painless.
Echoing screams.
Echoing.
Echoing.
Echoing until the vocal chords disappear beneath the blinding white. Echoing until the body disintegrates, obliterated by pure white.
Not a trace of him left.
His physical pain will never match her emotional pain.
Emotional pain. Not over him. Over the other him. The blue.
Bright blue eyes. Eyes full of courage. Eyes full of hope. Eyes full of dreams.
Eyes that turn back to gaze at her one last time. Eyes full of betrayal. Eyes full of pain. Eyes full of peace.
Dim blue eyes. The light is fading. The dream is fading.
She can only repeat herself.
"Why?"
intodreamstoturn
Green eyes linger over familiar features. Those familiar whisker marks. Those familiar lips. Lips raising into a familiar smile.
His voice. Trembling, weak.
In life he was the strongest she knew. At death's door, true strength is exposed.
"My dream…was to become Hokage. Why?"
A cough. More red.
"So people would accept me. So people would like me. So people would view me not as the demon inside of me, but as the person I am."
The strongest she knew.
"I wanted them to recognize my existence. But as I lived life, I realized something."
The strength of his voice grew. Grew as she had seen him grow.
"I realized I didn't need their acceptance. I didn't need their recognizance. All I needed. All I needed…"
His eyes are bright and shining again. Shining, shining with the light of a dream.
"All I needed…was to be accepted, to be recognized, not by them…"
A hand, stained with red, cups her face. Green eyes stare directly into the light – the light coming from his bright blue eyes.
"But by the person most precious to me."
The light flares one last time, then extinguishes.
Death.
The death of a dream.
dreamsintoreality.
From clear green pools, the rain of tears falls.
She had been blind. Always had been blind.
His face.
A smile. She knows why.
He has found his peace.
An incomplete peace.
She knows what she must do.
Her eyes close. Alabaster fingers close around a hilt.
She pulls the hilt, spilling a few last drops of red.
Bloodstained blade. Cruel blade. Heartless blade. Foul, soulless blade.
Her salvation.
The impassive gray blade rises to her porcelain throat.
Her eyes close.
She couldn't do it in life.
She will do it in death.
Her eyes open, the fog of blindness dissipated.
In death, she will find her savior. In death, she will find her peace. In death, she will find her reunion. In death, she will find his dream.
No.
Not his dream. Not her dream.
Their dream.
Only in death will she find the light. The light behind bright blue eyes.