disclaimer— naruto © masashi kishimoto
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She's made of paper, Nagato knows it.
He thought her skin had to be so pale for a reason, and he never would have guessed her to be a fabrication. But he believes it now.
As her fragile being rips to shreds when the wind lashes at her, Nagato can't help but to watch in awe, and the unfinished pocket watch in his palm slips away, bouncing loudly, almost mercilessly, off of the floor.
She whips around without a sound, lifeless grey eyes locking onto his for an ephemeral of a moment, and he's never seen a more entrancing sight.
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