Let My Wings Embrace You
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto
Her pen scratched along the surface of the paper...her brows furrowed in concentration. The door banged open with the wind. She jumped in fright, her pen skidding across the paper...leaving a trail of black, oh so black, ink trailing after it. She shrieked in horror. It was ruined, all ruined. The countless hours of the countless days spent working on that simple but beautiful line art...all wasted...all because of the wind. That blasted, mocking wind. The wind that told of her demise, her parting without leaving anything to be known by. That was why she had to finish it. She had to, she couldn't just leave having done nothing. She was here for a reason, even if she was not sure what that reason was.
"You're still at it? Well, I'll admit you're determined, but still, you're an idiot." The man leant on the doorframe, eyes following her as she rushed about the small room, gathering the paper and pencils and erasers and countless other drawing utensils...
"You're not real, go away" The man was not fazed by the words she spoke as she continued gathering her supplies.
"I am real." His black eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're not real. Other people can't see you, therefore, you're not real." As she searched in drawers, she caught sight of a syringe and a tube. Her eyes widened and she shut the drawer firmly, letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
"Just because they can't see me, that doesn't mean I'm not real." He walked to the chest of drawers that she had previously been rootling through.
"I'm not mental. I do not see people who aren't there, have a voice in my head and I don't think that the wind is mocking me, about to kill me, is a pervert and hates art; my art in particular." It was like a mantra by now. It was what she repeated every night before she let her eyes close and the gentle waves of sleep engulf her.
The man snorted from across the room, after seeing the 'injecting' kit in the drawer. He had already known it was there, but he also knew she hated it when her dirty little secrets were known by anyone. She couldn't hide it from him. After all, he knew everything about her. "You keep telling yourself that. We both know that all of those so called facts are complete, bare-faced lies."
"Be quiet. I'm working" Her pencil moved across the course paper as she sat on the chair at the miniscule cedar table.
"You call that work? It's the drawings of a fledgling! Not work! You know nothing of work!" He clenched his fists, telling himself not to lose it.
"Fledgling! I am not a fledgling! I am a woman! I am not a small child anymore! I do not cry when the ink spills, when the lead leaves inerasable marks! When the painting turns out so horribly different to what I wanted, what I dreamed! I do not throw away my life, my future, for some...some boy!" She came at the man, her fist raised, knowing her crazed strength could very well kill him, which was so very different to the ideal wife, the ideal woman of these times. She should be in a kitchen right now, married, perhaps not happily but that was the weight the women were forced to carry, she should be politely giving the maids instructions of just how her husband likes his beef, she should be wearing a corset so tight breathing was made difficult, should be wearing such pretty, little, white lace gloves. But no, she wasn't. All because of him. That stupid, insolent, arrogant, little, boy. It was all his fault. His fault she was paranoid, his fault she scratched her pen across the paper as if possessed.
The man saw her fist coming and caught it.
"You know nothing of me, so you have no right to judge me!"
"On the contrary, I know everything about you, as I have always..."
"W-What?" His eyes were deep onyx, locking with hers, and those eyes weren't lying.
"You who is a foreign flower. Who was brought to her father, and was raised with only maids as female company. Who was expected to be proper. To be beautiful, pale, slim, perfect You who cannot blend in with the life in this London, but would never be accepted back in your homeland. The rejected. The fool. The weak, crying girl. You who fell beneath the fallen by chasing after the dream that was created by the hope of simplicity, the one thing strived for, never gained. Isn't that right, little flower." It was not a question, an observation, it was a statement. Meant to lay everything clear for her to see. Which it did.
She sunk down onto the ground, her dress crumpling beneath her. Her life had just been told by a man who appeared to be just a figment of her imagination. Her body shook. The water started to pool, then fell. It was too much now. She couldn't bear it any longer. It was all his fault.
"H-how di-did you k-know?"
"That boy...I know him..."
"I...I see..."
"If you come with me, you can leave it all behind." He knelt down in front of her. Eyes piercing black.
"Y-yes..." He smirked, then wrapped his arms around her. His eyes started to change. Blood red. The world around them began to spin but the girl never noticed, she was busy finding condolence in the arms of her 'imagination'.
Her eyes snapped open as she felt the corset part of her dress being pulled apart. She shrieked and tried to get away, to escape, thinking her was trying to take what should be given away on a wedding night, not stolen. Before she got the chance to move, he plunged his hands into her shoulder blades. She screamed. The pain, that dire, thrilling pain.
A maniacal grin came onto his face as he latched onto something inside of her and began to pull, all the time she was screaming, her eyes streaming. With a final yank, it came out. Magenta red feathers. It was then she noticed the black wings spreading behind that man.
He pulled back from her. She stared at him in horror.
"Devil!" She ran through the streets of London screaming the word, her upper body bare. Red feathers sprouting from her back. People ran away at the sight of her. She had no idea the feathers that they were screaming they saw were hers, thinking only that they saw that devil.
The boy she knew from her childhood looked down at her from the roof of the Houses of Parliament. He sighed as he looked at the work she had created, they were of his brother, she had been subconsciously drawing him all along.
He stood in front of the hunched up girl looking down at her with something akin to pity. "I'm sorry, I cannot help you now Sakura" He knelt down, placing his hand on her forehead. "May God have mercy on your soul."
(A/N: This was a random idea that came to me. I had to type it. Finished at 3:27 AM . It was probably rubbish, but I needed to get it out. It probably made no sense whatsoever...I know, I know, cliché angels and demons, well it was supposed to be...God I hate using clichés ...mainly ItaxSaku but SasuxSaku as well...I make myself sick . ugh I feel bad...got to go make up a title for this now -.-')