Stitches

Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto; all rights belong to Masashi Kishimoto. I only own the plot for this fan fiction.

…but memory is an abstract painting –

it does not present things as they are, but rather as they feel.

Eugenia Collier, 'Marigolds'

When she was five, her mother told her she was a princess.

That was the first lie Sakura Haruno heard.

Being born with an exotic pink hair and lively green eyes was one thing, and perhaps it was what urged her mother to give her such nickname because, as hard as she tried to think of any other reasons – for there was none – she lacked the grace and manner of one, and she has nothing of wealth or education to back her up. Instead, she pulled on the worn curtains off their house's – because it was way too empty to feel like home – small windows and wrapped it around her shoulders so she could pretend it was her cape, or sometimes she cut papers in the shape of crown to wear it on her head, the crayon drawings became the jewel; and somehow, she learned to be contented with them. She did not look like one, either – no, her coloring did not make her any special – but she never got it why the other kids would throw sticks and stones her way when she has not done anything to them. She knew that none of the kids her age wanted to be her friend because she counted the many attempts she made so they would like her, but like they did, none of them worked. She's always been pleasant as a child, she knew her manners well and she was so gentle she wouldn't even hurt a fly. Then it turns out she's practically an anomaly in the bleak and dank atmosphere of their village.

And a princess should have her own friends.

Being born to an impoverished mother and an absentee father was the biggest joke fate has ever played on her. Like her mother, she could have been one of the girls who would grow up known for their beauty and nimble wit had she suffered a different life. As luck would have it, her status held back all her potential to be; instead, she grew up in the misty streets and merciless cold of the small and isolated neighborhood in the outskirts of Kirigakure, selling whatever fabrics and clothes that could have provide them a better income. As if fate could not have been crueler, the market showed no promise for them and from memorizing the differences between silk and satin to crafting tulle and lace together, she grew up too early and young to understand the competitive world.

But beggars can't be choosers, people say, and for some who were as broke as them, it's either they die trying or live without doing so. That's why they chose to remain voiceless, because even if they speak out, no one would hear them; no one would listen. And they didn't even have an ounce of courage to try. She decided to be a fool by believing her mother - because somehow, she has better than the criminals that littered the village, ranging from a thief to a murderer, and if it's not them hiding within the shadows of the gloomy atmosphere, it would be one child or two in their place: she dreamed of wearing a nice dress someday, completed by a tiara on her head, and being led down the stairway by a prince.

Only meeting the prince wasn't as fairytale-esque as it was cut out to be. At least, not to her.

She remembered meeting him when she was six, after her mother chanced to get away from Mist, whatever little belonging they have packed inside a bag not too big to draw unwanted attention. They took their escape in the middle of the night, slipping past and along the dark alleyways between cramped and ramshackle houses, veiled by the heavy fog that enveloped the whole place. Only the moon witnessed their flight that night, and not once they did look back, fearing that a little hesitation would give them away to their nonexistent pursuers.

She remembered the nervousness in her mother's voice as she ushered her to a boat, the briny waters sparkling under the moon's glare and to her, it looked like they were floating among the clouds and stars. As she stepped into the boat, the slight disturbance caused the surface to ripple, and the image faded. The mist rose above the water and she suddenly felt teary-eyed. "Mama? Where are we going?" She watched her mother's silhouette move through the whiteness, her figure more grey than black against the seemingly endless wall.

"Somewhere no one would think to find us," her mother responded. As she thought about it, she decided her mother must have been joking because there was no one else out there that gave enough damn to look for them. After this night, no one would remember they even lived here.

Mebuki sat herself across from her, gripped the oars with her trembling hands after passing the lantern to her daughter, and rowed. The horizon would be a long way off. Sakura sat still, her eyes staring on the flickering light.

In the dark, with all the stars in the water, she found they didn't need the lamp at all.

They decided to start afresh in Konoha, she thought it was because her father lived there, but if there was another reason, she never risked the chance to ask her mother.

It took them a fortnight to reach Leaf, since they journeyed on foot afterwards, and mostly because they have little money to pay for a ride. Carriages were now only for the noble blood, and the train tickets were too costly for the few coins that clinked in their pockets. Eventually, they arrived safely on the village. If she thought their trip was difficult, then it has nothing to say to all complications they met searching for an apartment. Sakura did not understand why they couldn't just go to her father's house because, certainly, he would help them.

She would not understand now, but in the future, the reason why she was using her mother's name instead of the man's she called father. And it wouldn't be until a few years from now, that she would meet the brother she didn't know she has.

After settling some matters, her mother has applied for a job in a well-known tailoring shop in town, where the owner was kind enough to have them rent the upper floor of the building. It was a nothing special, but it was large enough for the two of them; complete with a small kitchen connected to a decent sitting area, two bedrooms, and a bathroom.

Sayuri Tachibama, their employer, was a kind and passionate woman who chose to live on her own than to be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man her parents thought suited her best. She was only barely seventeen when Fuyukiku and Ayame Tachibama set up such arrangement with the Matsudaira Clan; the heir of the latter was well-known for his big accomplishments in law despite his young age. There was nothing remarkably contemptible about the man, if only he's five years her senior. Only that they barely knew one another and that there was not even a single thing they share in common. She was way too frivolous for him, her coy comebacks and brazen behavior clashing horribly together. While he could not even take a joke and always has a way of making a room tense and a woman angry for his lack of knowledge in approaching some matters.

They just did not complement each other.

When they met her, she's already in her late thirties, with a big money in her name on a bank and fame in the fashion runway. She did not understand how she couldn't have just married someone else, some man she has her heart for; surely there was someone out there who waited on her. When her curiosity got the best of her, and after finding out the truth of her fallen lover, she never asked again.

Then there was her mother, the very epitome of beauty and grace. Her mother was one she could associate summer with – one who reminded her every bit of sunlight and the warm breeze; one who brought her what the darkness she grew up in could never. Yet, she was someone who probably wore her heart too much on her sleeve. Sakura never discovered how she can love someone and lose herself at same time.

Mebuki Haruno, while she never got the chance, much less a choice to study abroad for a degree, was a very talented dressmaker. She has always specialized in making wedding dresses, in which one is as beautiful as another yet completely different in style. Sayuri was very impressed after seeing all the redhead's designs which she was sure would fetch them a fine price. When she asked her mother why she never sold them in gold boxes before, her response has been very simple. "Because people from the place we came from would never appreciate these kind of things."

Somehow, in her young mind, she understood the hidden meaning of her mother's words. And because of that Sakura was certain she never knew her mother like she thought she did.

They have been staying in the village for over a month, and she has quite adjusted to the warmth and liveliness of the environment. Unlike their former hometown, Konoha exudes everything – including its people – Kiri did not, and Sakura found herself preferring the feeling of the sun on her skin to the mist that provided her no better from the cold. On few occasions, she would be asked to post some orders in the courier since she still doesn't fully know the place to navigate it on her own; and that even if she did, her mother was too much of a worrywart to allow her be.

It was on the lower lobby of the same building, where they entertained their customers before they take their turn for what they came here for; and where she was asked to deliver the order sheets of their every client that she first saw him.

He was as a small thing as her back then, but she thought he was really cute with his dark hair and charcoal eyes and pale skin. He carried himself with effortless grace and prim upbringing, and he walked like any noble man would as he entered the store, proudly standing beside his father. Something she knew she would never be capable of.

Those were the times she wished she knew how to replicate her mother's movements: the way she seemed to float when she's walking, the way her body dances like a ballerina with the music of the hot afternoon sun, and everything that she was. Perhaps that would be enough for him to notice her. But standing in a plain blouse and frilly skirt, if not worsen by her timeworn boots, in front of them did not really make a good first impression.

When Sayuri greeted them personally, and with a kind of familiarity a friend would address another, it made her briefly wonder what relationship did the woman exactly have with the family. It was when she has timidly retreated to the back room from the unreadable look on the Uchiha patriarch's eyes and, perhaps, as well as from the young boy's frown. She was, if not at all, barely aware how long they stayed to talk. But Sayuri was out for quite a time that she decided it must have been an important business.

It was already past noon when the brunette came back from the meeting. And while she was curious how it went, the young pinkette smartly kept her thoughts to herself. At least she thought she has succeeded in that, because had she been interested in anything other than fashion, Sayuri would have made a damn good psychologist. She waited until the six-year-old girl cracked under her intense gaze.

So when she finally earned the courage to ask the brunette about that, Sayuri laughed - finding it funny and utterly adorable that what she was thinking was what exactly Sakura would ask - and told her the story how she became best friends with the now Uchiha matriarch, and later on with her family. She told Sakura her story while they got to work on some dresses and suits and it was later on the waning sunlight, when the last golden ray dissolved on the horizon of the rising eve, did she find the answer she's looking for.

She didn't get to talk to the cute boy earlier, but at least she got his name: Sasuke Uchiha.

Later that night, when she went to sleep in her own room which was bathed by the glow of the lamp in her nightstand - where her lone picture with her parents rested and where she turned to with a small smile on her face – that she started to believe that it will be her own kind of fairytale.

One that, while was never written in any bedtime story book, would be theirs only and one, when the time comes, she would tell her own children.

Author's Note:

I know, I know. Some of you who have already read Wonderland were probably thinking why I'm posting a new story when I haven't even updated the former. Well, I just can't help it! (I'm not) Sorry, my bad. Buuuuuut, I'm already working on the next installment of Wonderland so it shouldn't be bad… Really.

Uh, anyway, let me know what you think!

xxx, Alice