dark apples
Darling, let go of her hand.
—
—
—
(61)
Her hair whispered against her elbows as she rushed to the window, long fingers fumbling against the golden latches on the side. Yanking at the clasped metal, her perfectly measured nails crackled and splintered with sheer force and she abruptly let go, tugging up the skirt of her dress as she backed away.
Spinning on her heel, she looked around the sparse room, suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that even though she had broken the clock against the wall long ago, the ticking was still thumping against the inside of her head.
Or perhaps that was her heartbeat.
She couldn't tell.
She scanned the room cursorily, ignoring the sharp pain in her fingers as blood seeped from her viciously torn open wounds, finally settling on the candelabra on the side table. She stepped forward, starting when she heard the thumping of feet making their way up the spiral stairs that led to this room—the top room of the highest tower.
She curled her small hand around the metal base of the candelabra, lifting it over her shoulder as she broke into a run, charging at the locked window.
—
(1)
Sakura Haruno had never met Lord Uchiha, as infamous as he was to her quaint town. It was funny—she'd never seen him before, but she could have sworn she already knew him from the amount of gossip that got passed around.
The baker's daughter down the street had raved about handsome he was, but how his temper was otherworldly. She'd apparently once seen him get into a bar fight, and he'd smashed a whiskey bottle into the back of another man's head. His fingers were evidently reaching for the man's throat when the barkeep had gotten between them and stopped the fight.
The woman she collected eggs from every Wednesday spoke in hushed tones about all of the wives he had lost. He came into town, wooed some pretty young thing that was absolutely smitten, and married her. Within a few years, she invariably died.
He'd vanish after the funeral for another few months of mourning before returning, shadows deeply carved into the smooth skin of his face. He'd distract himself at the gentlemen's clubs before slowly drowning himself in a steady stream of liquor.
Before, of course, finding another maiden to whisk away.
It was the Uchiha curse, the penalty for being of the clan of the loveless. Destined to never have happiness, they said.
That evidently didn't stop him from trying though.
These were the things she considered as she leaned against the giant oak in the back garden, feet curled up underneath her, dress splayed out around her on the lilting threads of grass. The book she'd brought out with her had been long forgotten as she stared across the valley to the cobblestone path that led from the hinterlands into the main square. More aptly, she was staring at the man on the back of a black horse, staring right back at her.
Her hands trembled, she looked away, and she could still feel his eyes on her.
—
(10)
He was charming.
She didn't know why this fact was surprising because she already presumed it to be true, but it was. He'd talked to her intelligently about the political affairs of the state, and they had sat down together in the tea shop down the street and traded secrets.
He'd told her that he had a fear of squirrels from when he was a child, and she'd laughed before admitting she'd always found horses unsettling.
He'd taken her by the hand to the stables, then, fingers rubbing in circles on the back of her palm as he guided her hand up to his stallion's face. Smooth was the first thing that she'd noticed, and upon being nudged forward, she'd looked at the beast in the eyes, somewhat apprehensive, and then offered him up the apple she'd been planning to eat later that day.
The tickling feeling against her palm as the horse—his name was Hiro, Lord Uchiha told her—lapped up the remains of apple juice on her palm was one that she would never forget.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear her mother's voice. "That man is bad news, Sakura. You'll do well to remember that."
Lord Uchiha never took his eyes off of her, and she forgot, in that moment, what it felt like to be afraid.
—
(28)
He'd asked her to marry him with a bushel of apples instead of a ring or flowers or anything else. He hadn't even gotten down on one knee.
It felt impossible that she'd only known him for a little less than a month because the days spent with him felt like small eternities. She knew everything about him.
She knew about how his parents died in a fire, how he still felt grief over their loss. He knew about the fact that her parents were loving but strict, and they worried constantly for her safety as their only daughter.
She knew about his brother and how he'd been sent to jail for committing crimes against humanity—setting fire to a village when his own demons threatened to overwhelm him. He knew that she had made plans to marry the butcher's son, a lively young man who she'd known since she was just a babe.
They were best friends, and he was the logical option.
But still, he stood in front of her with Hiro at his side, a bushel of apples cradled in his pale hands, knuckles stark against the almost unearthly smoothness of his skin. She knew the feeling of them on her the way she knew the feeling of the wind in her hair.
It was stupid. This was stupid.
"So?"
"Yes," she breathed, and she felt as though she'd just signed a contract to both her grave and her happiness. She couldn't dream of saying no.
—
(30)
"Ino," Sakura sighed into her friend's shoulder. "Tell me what to do. How do I act? What do I…?"
Ino peered at her from underneath her blonde eyelashes, considering. "I…well first," she joked, voice strained, "don't die."
But Sakura shook her head. "I'm perfectly healthy. I've never gotten sick once. I'll be fine. But what about the wedding night?"
Ino shrugged, hands on her heavily pregnant belly. "Go slowly. And just feel. And hope you birth an heir."
Sakura leaned forward against the wardrobe, fingers slipping against the newly purchased nightgowns. "I'm afraid."
Ino, perched against the dresser and, toying with the wilting poppies, sighed, blue eyes troubled. "I am, too."
Sakura's head snapped up warily. "What do you mean?"
Ino looked away.
—
(31)
"Lady Uchiha," he'd murmured as he loomed over her on the plush bed, his hands sliding along the outside of her thighs, hitching them upwards.
She'd smiled, lips swollen from the many kisses he'd given her. "Lord Uchiha," she exhaled, green eyes heavenward, tracing patterns along the crown molded walls as she lost herself to the sensations.
His lips drew patterns against the skin between her shoulders and her breasts. "Sasuke. We're husband and wife, now. Call me Sasuke."
She trembled as he unfolded her, taking apart her like a bud that was taking too much time to bloom. He'd splayed her limbs like they were delicate petals, inhaled her skin like it was the pollen that ambrosia was made out of.
He laced their fingers together as he lazily slid inside of her.
And finally, finally, she replied breathily, "Sasuke."
—
(37)
Breakfast was her favorite part of this new life. It was the only time they'd sit down at the mahogany carved table and rest in comfortable silence. Sometimes, they'd go without speaking at all—she'd spread marmalade and butter on her toast, scooping out her grapefruit while he picked apart his scone and sliced up his eggs.
The large floor to ceiling windows in the dining room would be opened to let in the fresh air, and the floral blooms that had been planted just outside would color the air sweet.
But sometimes, he'd interrupt the companionable quiet with small tidbits about the rooms. Which ones were filled with the treasures of a life ago, which ones she hadn't seen before.
Like today, he'd mentioned that she shouldn't wander since the palace was so large—she could easily get lost, and if she ever wanted to go anywhere, it was absolutely imperative that she took a guide. Secretly, she was touched and amused by his overprotectiveness.
Getting lost was half of the adventure, anyways.
They stayed primarily in the east wing of his palace, so much of her own home was untouched by her hands. The maids and servants were some of the only company she got. Sometimes, it was a lonely life, but she loved it nonetheless.
She liked the way the marble floor felt in the morning against her bare feet, liked the constant running of hot water in the bathtub. She liked the way Sasuke made love to her while the moon watched on, and sometimes she'd stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom completely nude, fingers skimming along all of the marks of passion.
On the more hopeful days, she'd place her hands over her belly and envision herself swollen with child, face flushed and body ripe like the apples that grew in the orchard.
Still, even those kinds of dreams didn't compare to the quaint clink of silverware against porcelain, didn't compare to the way his eyes met hers over the tea kettle.
—
(45)
The first time he'd frightened her was when he took her hunting. There was something awfully intense in his eyes as he slid the bow back and launched the silver tipped arrow into the belly of a pheasant. It squirmed around, and he dismounted, leaving her sidesaddle on the back of Hiro.
Her gloved fingers dug into the silk of her gown, nails tearing tiny holes in the red fabric, and Sasuke, donning black boots and his hunting outfit, swiftly passed through the trees in a manner that reminded her somewhat of a wraith out of the old stories her mother told her when she was a child.
She shook off the chill that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but wasn't able to stop herself from flinching when he scooped up the half-dead bird and snapped its neck, the sickening crunch echoing around the woods.
At her adverse reaction, his head snapped up, eyes dark and predatory in a way that she'd never seen before. She hurriedly looked away, and he dumped the dead bird into a bag.
"What?" he'd snapped.
Startled at the change in tone, her spine straightened. "Nothing. I just…I get queasy with death."
He sent her a withering look, and they didn't speak of it again.
From that day onward, he always went hunting alone.
—
(48)
He brought her a bouquet of wildflowers and served her breakfast in bed for two days for the strange discomfort in her posture to melt away. She smiled again more often, and in the afternoons while he hunched over his desk and worked, she wrote letters back home—all to Ino.
The disquiet sometimes reappeared, though. At dinner, when he was slicing up meat. When he'd crack his knuckles. And the look on his face when she fell over, scraping her palms and drawing blood.
Still, he kissed her cheek in the mornings, curled his fingers into her hair. And he opened up to her about the one thing she'd never asked before: about what had happened to all of his wives.
He'd taken her to the topmost tower of the castle, up a set of winding stairs, and into a small sitting room. After curling up on the patterned couch, a throw curled around her shoulders, he'd spoken.
There were three, and curiously, he was incredibly detached when he spoke of them. The first died in childbirth, both her and the babe passing. The second fell ill in the harshest winter the area had ever known, and the third drowned in the river that wove through the estate.
He looked down for a long while after he finished the tale, finally telling her that this was the room where his son had been birthed. This was the room where he died. And at last he'd handed her a portrait of the first wife.
Her throat felt like someone had poured hot wax down it, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.
The grandfather clock on the wall ticked loudly, and for some reason that she couldn't quite put her finger on, she felt entirely too mortal in that room. As though anything could happen and she'd be put out as easily as a candle.
Later that day she would return the room, open up the side access panel on the clock, and rip out its innards.
—
(50)
He brought her back a chocolate bar from his day trip.
That night, when she'd asked if it were okay if she visited her home, the look that flashed across his face—white hot rage—simmered away to nothing as he blandly replied that they'd both go back together in the holidays, but not now.
When she asked if she could go alone, all she received in reply was him shifting away from her, and the crisp, curt, "No."
—
(54)
"I'll be gone for a few days. There's some people I have to meet, and I trust you'll be fine on your own. If you need anything, ask one of the servants. Do not go anywhere without permission; it would not be wise."
She nodded, touching the edge of his jaw briefly as she leaned up to press her lips to his. He had shaved recently, the skin on his face smoother than it had been in a while. "I'll miss you," she promised.
And with that he mounted his horse, grabbing the reins with one hand and leaning down to cup her cheek with the other. "And I, you."
He dug his heel into Hiro's side, and then he was gone.
She turned, facing the grass edged path that led up to the immense doors on the veranda and sighed. Perhaps it was a good time to learn something new. Or even do a little exploring.
She peered down the west wing of the palace, a place she'd never visited that was filled with closed doors and dark halls. The rooms were grander than her imagination could afford—high ceilings, beautifully sewn draperies, and canopy beds encrusted in gold.
The air smelled stale and everything was a little gray, but otherwise nobody bothered her, and she was free to roam from room to room, imagining how things once were.
But she tired easily, and tucking her hair behind her ears, headed back down to the east wing to take tea and then perhaps have a nap before supper.
—
(59)
Sakura stared at her somewhat pasty complexion in the mirror, wondering if that was a sign of pregnancy. She was already late for her cycle, but she didn't want to call for the physician without Sasuke.
Her day was quiet, otherwise. She ate a heavy brunch, chatted with some of the maids, and then decided to explore the doors on the first floor that she hadn't had cause to open. The first door ended up being a linens closet, the second a guest bedroom.
The third opened to a large empty space, and then, just at the end, a set of stairs that led downwards. She squashed the apprehension rising in her lungs of unfamiliar locales and descended downwards, gloved hands raising the hem of her dress.
As she got past a turn in the stairs, a heavy stench filled her nose, one that caused her to stumble for a moment, and her stomach turned, the feelings of nausea setting in. She wondered if this was where Sasuke kept his hunting gear, for this was the smell she usually associated with death.
There was a door at the end of the set of stairs, and there was something stained on it, but she couldn't make it out in the dark. Instead, she tugged on the handle and the door gave way, light spilling on her form.
And there, in the dimly lit basement, the walls that were once a pristine white were splattered with a dark red almost brown color, long dried. There was a dagger laying in the middle of the floor, and laying against the walls, were there bodies of his wives.
Long since having entered a state of decomposition, she only vaguely recognized the first one from the portrait. But the large stab wounds in her chest and the way what was left of her face was twisted in a permanent expression of terror told her all she needed to know about who the other two bodies were.
The smaller of the remaining two corpses was in multiple pieces, beheaded in the most gruesome way that she'd ever thought possible. Her organs were splayed all over the ground, crusted over and sapped of water. The only thing distinguishing her as female left was the dress she wore.
And the last one was entirely nude, legs positioned at an angle that was entirely unnatural and spine jutting out of her back, a large pool of now dried blood surrounding her.
She could hear Sasuke's voice whispering in her mind—don't go anywhere without permission.And then her mother's throaty plea—he's dangerous, Sakura.
The blood drained out of Sakura's face, and she fell to her knees, vomiting.
—
(60)
There was no conscious thought left as she heard the doors to the palace open and she bolted, slamming the door behind her as she wiped her hands over and over on the front of her dress. There was no stain, but she felt like she'd been marked.
Her pulse leapt as she thundered up the stairs, throwing caution to the wind in favor of speed. She felt light headed, and cold terror swept through her as she saw Sasuke out of her peripherals. He'd hunted, she could tell.
The hunting knife was strapped to his side, and the bow was slung on his back.
She paused very briefly, registering the feral look on his face once he'd understood what she'd seen, and she scrambled away, darting up the small passage that led to that top tower room. Her lungs screamed, her legs burned, and she could still see the bodies behind her eyes every time she blinked.
She turned as soon as she'd entered the room and locked the door behind her, chest heaving as her eyes set on the window at the far end of the room.
—
(62)
"Sakura!" he'd roared as he'd slammed through the door, immediately rushing to the broken window where, a few feet to the left, she hung perilously on the edge of the turret. "Give me your hand," he pleaded suddenly, his tone turning soft.
Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she shook her head rapidly. "No, no, no, no, no," she repeated mechanically, feeling like blood was slipping down from the sky.
"Just come—fuck, just come here." And then he paused. "You've lost that look."
Her curiosity was unable to contain itself, even in the face of mortal peril. "What look?"
"Your innocence," he replied hoarsely, reaching out to her.
And she only shuffled further away, toes digging into the stone wall and fingers gripping onto a small ledge, eyes blurring over with tears. She could swear in that moment that his eyes flashed red, and then he pleaded, as he reached out further with his right hand, shoving himself out of the broken window as far as possible.
"Please," he begged. "Please."
And with one trembling hand, she reached out, placing her hand in his, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Sasuke."
And she let go of the ledge, tugging him out of the window after her. They fell through the air hand in hand, and his eyes were incredulous when he stared into wet jade ones. They hit the ground with the sickening cracking sound she'd despised, and she could feel the way the harsh pavement had shattered everything in her. Her jaw felt broken, pain lancing through everything as she tried to get the words out, staring at his lifeless irises.
"I did love you, Sasuke. I did."
Her eyes focused on the apple trees in the distance, and she smiled.
—
—
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notes: for cheriper! her prompt was "dark fairy tale," so I based it off of bluebeard, snow white, and rebecca (by daphne du maurier).
I honestly wasn't sure whether I liked this enough to post it on here, but after a lot of really positive feedback from all of the lovelies on tumblr, I decided to. tell me what you guys think?