Yup, another songfic on my newest infactuation. I am pretty much sick and sulky, so I needed something to keep myself busy while staying home from school. Here it goes,
GaaHina centric, song: Wine Red by Hush Sound
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Hush Sound.
-x-
She lay on the ground, sprawled tensely under a craggy branched tree, shaded by the darkness of the sky overhead. The wind was her breathing, whispering on her skin as she mentally traced the very few stars visible in the fog. Her pale orbs were lidded under dark, sticky lashes. Lips stubbornly pressed, to not disturb the silence with sobs.
Quietly she raised a slender finger, pressing it to her cheek. There was no warmth, just plain hard stone. He had cooled her off, no longer was she the melted sculpture material. No longer was she worth anything but a simple antique to hang, chipped as the years pass by.
Who shot that arrow in your throat?
Who missed the crimson apple?
It hung heavy on the tree above your head.
It was ironic to think that at the beginning, she had been the artist and he had been the project. Under the circumstances of politics they had been introduced, as everyone eventually is. He was Kazekage and she herself a Hyuga heiress, their duties came before anything.
The girl twisted a dark silky lock as her finger travelled to her bangs. She sighed. Duty. It hung over everybody in the world, only pushed away by the failures of life. Mistakes that could not be erased, responsibility that comes with such a task is fragile. A glass casing to be easily cut through, yet who would dare do such a thing?
This chaos, this calamity, this garden once perfect
Give your immortality to me, and I'll set you up against the stars
She had dared. He had dared. They both had taken the precarious step away from the duty of their people.
They had fallen in love.
The ultimate unforbidden feeling, for duty cannot clash against petty love. Lust cannot blind the eyes of the nobles. But it had, Kami, it had.
Her clan eyes, her dutiful Hyuga characteristic, fogged as she restrained from breaking down over him. The one who had tore down the veil that kept reality in check, kept those in their place and drew the line.
It was funny, how blind her all-seeing eyes could become. He had promised her the world, for the world in her eyes was him. She relished in those moments where she stroked him and he caressed her. The little abyss of freedom, carelessness before they would have to leap over to the world.
The jump came too soon, not everyone could make it back up.
Gloria,
We lied, we can't go on
This is the time and this is the place to be alive
Was it possible for his taste to evaporate from her rose lips? To lose the scent that mingled with hers, on her clothes, in the very core of her soul.
She could see herself, a ghost in the memory, watching herself embrace his lean form. Too close to be legal. Too close for their acceptance through their people.
She watched herself run a hand through his crimson locks, the messy mop that fell around his face. She gasped as he gazed through her memory with those sharp eyes, eyes that were deep yet respective to not dig further. Shovels behind the layers of her skin, her essence.
Their arcane affair was left just at that. An affair, a fling.
Every third night of the new moon they would meet in the clearing, the borderline between their two countries. The wall between their people.
This wall would be tore down, for just one single night. To escape the heavy binds. He would never wear his respective robes, heavy and patriotic. She would never don her kimono, modest and lady-like.
Under political circumstances had they met, under the moonlight did they kiss.
I cut the arrow from your neck
Stretched you beneath the tree
Among the roots and baby's breath
I covered us with silver leaves
She closed her eyes as she delved further into memories, remembering that she was the one who had been the enemy. She was the one who had hurt him.
The nights when she met her lover, on one particular one, she was followed. Her stealth absolute, always crawling out her low window from the privacy of her bedroom, stepping lightly through the trees. A true ninja secrecy.
But, she was not the only ninja. Beloved cousin, protective as he was, followed one night in suspicion. Nothing can escape the Byukugan.
Just as nothing can escape Duty.
He confronted her, ripped the petals of her blossom. They were too different; it was not possible for them to be together. Think of her reputation, think of his reputation. Raised in a world of politics, they were surrounded by opinions.
The young girl cared not for her own fate, she was a disgrace. But he… he still had a chance. If she fell, he would not come down with her.
Falling into her cousin's arms, she made the unavoidable decision.
On that last night, was it weeks? Moments? Years? She had worn her traditional kimono. The sight of her in those clothes needed no more answers and he looked away, not even giving her one last look. He walked away, fading away from her life.
Duty had brought them together as it tore them apart.
The sea is wine red
This is the death of beauty
The doves have died
The lovers have lied
The corner of her lips twitched slightly as she pushed herself up on her elbows, fingers grazing the dew dropped grass blades that she lay on.
He was the beauty of her life and he remained like that, lingering forever despite the fact she separated herself from his own life. She did it because she had to, not from duty, but from love.
Love. In her eyes it was his deep eyes, crimson hair, and wine red kanji. Ai.
Perhaps things might have been different, had she not tore them apart in the bitterness of lies. Perhaps their affair would have continued this very night, under the very tree she visited without fail.
But, what they had was killed. Died. Duty. Looking up at the sky, she traced out his form in the stars. They both walked in the world, both stepping on the stones of politics. Never to cross again.
She was with her people and he was with his. That was how life worked out.
Laughing softly, she finally broke the silence. Cruel, it was. But duty never was a presentable noble.
She raised her hands to cup her cheeks, to feel the blush he brought one too many times in the past. The shade of red that matched his own hair. Red represented their love.
But all she felt was coldness, the love had died. Running a hand through her hair, she made her way to the compound, the hem of her kimono lifting in the air. She was an heiress with a duty to accomplish.
Gaara