A/N: PLEASE READ THE NOTE. THIS IS RELEVANT/IMPORTANT.
A few days ago this story was deleted because, quote: "Main reason for removal: "Not the property of uploading writer Please note we do not allow users to post lyrics to songs they did not write. Exception being works in the US public domain.""
However, there are no lyrics used in this chapter. The segments of italicised words have been made up by myself whilst I was writing the chapter. They are not meant to be lyrics, but are intended to 'set the scene' as it were.
If you believe that I have used song lyrics, please identify where I have done so, what song I supposedly used, and what part of that song. If you can do so please inform me and I will immediately remove it from the story. Please do not simply report the story. If you contact me on this subject please be assured that I won't get angry with you, as I make it a point to be polite even if I disagree.
To new readers, I apologise for this but I don't want the story to be deleted again. I hope you read on regardless and enjoy the story.
To previous readers, thank you for reviewing/favouriting/alerting the other story, and I hope you can do so again for this one.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, though you could say I own the OC.
Prologue
. . .
Give me your power, your pain, your glory!
Give me your riches, your beloved, your detested!
Let me take and destroy all that you are,
And I shall build you a mountain of blood.
. . .
The girl who would one day be known as Sai was born screaming.
The baby thrashed in the nurse's arms as much as her tiny body was capable of, skin flushed red with exertion from the force of her cries. Worried, the nurse looked her body over for anything that could be causing pain – it was common for babies to cry when they were born, but not like this –yet there wasn't a scratch on her. Hoping to stop the screams she handed the newborn over to the mother, believing her presence might comfort the baby.
The woman took the child with a grimace upon her delicate face. She pulled the screaming child closer to her body and awkwardly attempted to sooth her, shushing gently. When the baby cried on heedlessly, impatience flashed through her grey eyes and she raised her soft-palmed hand.
Slap!
The cries halted as the baby blinked in shock. Letting out a satisfied smile the woman hummed contentedly to the child, oblivious to the appalled look the nurse sent her way. Slowly, the baby opened her eyes and peered up with an unnerving silence at the young mother.
Before she went to bed that night the nurse would swear that there was something unnatural about that look, something that spoke of knowledge no child should have. She would never have any idea how correct she was.
. . .
Cruelty is as cruelty does,
And familiarity does not always breed contempt.
. . .
The girl who would one day be known as Sai was a very quiet child. The sister of the mother had quickly caught on to that fact, and often found herself curious.
Children were supposed to be loud and active and messy, weren't they? That was what all the baby books had said. When she'd learnt of the woman's pregnancy she'd read a lot of books in preparation. She hadn't met many young children but she knew how they were supposed to act. They were meant to make cute babbling sounds and crawl around in search of adventure. They were meant to put everything in their mouths and cry for attention. But the girl…the girl just watched.
She'd sit wherever she'd been placed by the woman or the sister and simply stare out at the world around her. When the sister tried to play with her she'd stiffen, before lolling bonelessly in her hold. It was like the girl was a marionette without its strings, its master having abandoned it, simply lying still unless prompted.
But the sister got used to it. She was lonely, and it was nice having company other than the woman. The staring may have made her nervous, but she could pretend the baby was just curious. Truthfully, the sister wouldn't have minded so much if those eyes weren't so flat. There was nothing in them, no hint of happiness or sadness or excitement or anything.
Once, the sister had a fiancé. She loved the man like the moon loved the sun, basking in his bright smile and comforting hugs. They had planned to marry that summer when he was struck down by illness. She'd done everything she could but he just kept getting sicker, and she couldn't afford to hire a medic-nin when the village doctor pronounced him incurable. And so she'd watched him die little by little, day by day, until all that was left was a corpse of the man she loved. Those green eyes she'd once felt she could stare into for hours were drained of life, a void of nothingness that threatened to suck her in.
No baby should have eyes like the dead.
. . .
The boy saw the girl when she was three years old. She was a tiny thing, doll-like in her pale skin and pretty features, black hair curling around her chin. She wore a pink dress and white sandals, and there was a green ribbon in her hair. It matched the one her mother wore as the woman stood beside the girl, talking to the boy's mother.
The boy peered out around his mother and stared at the girl in curiosity. Her eyes turned to his and he flushed at being caught. He tried a hesitant smile but she just stared back blankly, causing the smile to falter. Then she blinked and slowly the corners of her mouth twitched up in what could loosely be called a smile. To the boy it was a good enough.
He trotted over to her and said happily, "Hey, you wanna go play?"
The girl blinked at him, eyes cutting to the woman who waved a dismissive hand at the silent inquiry. Apparently taking this as permission the girl turned to him and nodded.
He grinned and grabbed her hand – decided to ignore the way she flinched back minutely – and ran over to a set of swings in the nearby park. It wasn't much of a park; the swing set was rusted, red paint peeling and faded, and the see-saw creaked loudly when it was used, and that was it. But he liked the swings and was soon flying through the air, peals of laughter leaving him.
Then the boy looked at the girl. She was staring at the swing with an odd expression, one corner of her mouth pulled down and her head tilted.
"C'mon, let's play! The swings are the best! I bet you can't go higher than me. Go on, try-!"
"-Try better, you ungrateful brat! I do all this for you, I buy you clothes and food and give you everything you could ever want, and this is how you repay-"
"-pay the debt, miss. You shouldn't have taken out a loan if you couldn't pay us, should you? You don't want my men and me to get angry, now do you? W-what are you doing?! S-stop! Get away-"
"-away from me, you monster! I've always know, I've always see it. No one else saw, no one but me. And now they're all dead, aren't they? 'Little angel' – what a fucking lie! They all said I was jealous, that precious, perfect little angel could never hurt anyone. Fucking idiots to think-"
"-think I love you. I've never seen such…such art, such beauty amidst carnage. Let me stay by your side and watch you make your art, please! My heart-"
"-heart was nicked by some shrapnel. Not that it matters – the blast all but shredded her. Poor girl, she ain't got long left. Wait a sec…hey, can you hear me? Are you alive? Shit! I thought she was dead! Get some damn-"
Black – Nothing - Dead.
Her face contorted suddenly and she screamed, a harrowing sound that had the boy flinching away in fright. The girl clutched her head and fell to her knees, still crying in agony out as if she were dying, fingers digging into her skin.
Panicked the boy stumbled off the swing and approached her, placing his hands on her shoulders. He noticed she was shaking. "H-hey, what's going on? Are you- are you alright?"
The girl shuddered once more before the screams cut off abruptly. Achingly slowly she looked up from the ground, letting her arms drop to her sides. He stepped away from her without even realising it.
Her nails had pierced the skin of her forehead and cheeks, causing rivets of blood to run down her paper-white skin. The deep gashes and bright red liquid made a gruesome sight, but it wasn't what made his legs shake. No it was the unhinged grin pulling her mouth too wide, splitting her face like someone had taken a knife and sliced it there. Her black black eyes were wild with some unnamed emotion, impossibly alive and he couldn't bring himself to look away, drawn in by those eyes even as his body warned him to run. They were beautiful in their horror, so much more and real in their blunt life.
"Alive. I'm alive," she whispered gleefully, though the boy couldn't understand the foreign words.
Then her eyes shut and her too-wide grin dropped, and she crumpled.
. . .
The bandits came in the dead of night, steps silent to the ears of the unwary. They entered the houses and slaughtered the men, and gathered the women and children in the middle of the village. A daring few tried to resist but their improvised weapons were no match for swords and hammers and superior skill, and they fell all too swiftly.
The sister clutched the girl close to her in a futile attempt to shield her from the approaching harm, flinching away from the leering stares of the bandits. She didn't try to convince herself that someone would save them, that the blood-soaked men would leave them alone once they had gathered all the money and food they wanted. Their village was small and remote; no one would be coming to their aid in the nick of time.
She was right. The bandits herded them together and roughly tied their hands with old rope, culling any woman over forty from the group. Children screamed and called for their parents, and if they weren't silenced by their mothers or another kind-hearted woman one of the men would beat them until they fell silent. The sister could only assume that the bandits planned to sell them – she'd heard horror stories of it happening to young women who sought a better life in a large village, but had never imagined it could ever happen to her.
Somehow she had managed to remain by both the girl and the woman, and she looked to them only to freeze. There was a deranged smile on the woman's lips, and her bound hands were curled around the hilt of a kitchen knife. The sister gasped as she realised what the woman was planning to do. "No, don't-"
It was too late. The woman screamed and charged towards the nearest bandit, alerting him with the sound. He spun to face her, brown eyes wide, but quick reflexes allowed him to catch the woman's wrist and halt the knife's descent towards his face. Anger quickly replaced his shock and his grip tightened until the woman's face contorted with pain, fingers loosening on the knife. It fell with a thud to the dirt.
The sister couldn't look. She turned to the girl with the notion of providing comfort, knowing all too well the fate the woman would soon suffer, and found herself stiffening once more in fear. The girl had moved away from the cowering group, separating herself from the herd and approaching the wolves fearlessly. They didn't notice to her, too focussed on the hysterical woman.
Delicately, the girl bent down and picked up the fallen knife.
"You bitch!" the bandit who the woman had attacked snarled, "I'm gonna-"
"You were holding the knife wrong," the girl said calmly, and the sister realised this was the first time she'd heard the child speak. Her voice was as flat as her eyes, though the sister thought they seemed just the slightest more attentive, more alive.
The bandit and the woman gaped at her whilst serious black eyes bore into their own. The girl switched her grip on the knife so that the blade ran parallel to her wrist, and held it up as if in demonstration. "This way you get more leverage, and more force behind your attack. For example," she plunged the knife into the bandit's upper thigh, and he collapsed with an agonised scream. The girl gave a small, satisfied smile. "That was much more effective, wasn't it?"
The sister flinched away when those eyes flickered to meet hers. What…what was happening? How could a child do such a thing? Children were…children were innocent, weren't they?
"Monster," one of the other women whispered fearfully. The sister couldn't bring herself to disagree.
The girl somehow heard her, for she turned to the other women. And odd, unnatural smile spread across her face, eyes glinting with a terrible knowledge. "You say that as if it's a bad thing."
. . .
Do I disgust you, oh innocent of heart?
Does your morality tremble in my presence?
Does your soul quiver in disgust?
. . .
The bandit with a scar blinding his eye walked towards the girl who had so severely injured one of his men, and he couldn't help but grin. He'd gotten rather bored of the routine his life had fallen into, and this little interruption was one he approached with avid interest.
He came to a halt in front of the girl, towering over her tiny frame. She couldn't be older than three or four, yet she'd managed to down a full-grown man. He could tell that she wasn't especially strong – the wound wasn't exceptionally deep, half of the blade protruding from the thigh – but she'd managed to strike in an especially vulnerable spot, likely an artery going by the blood loss. The bandit wouldn't be surprised if the downed man would bleed out in the next few minutes.
She stared up at him fearlessly, mouth curving into a small smile that spoke of nothing more than childish innocence. He wondered how a smile could look so fake yet so real at the same time; a mask made flesh. "Hello," she greeted politely.
Amusement thrumming through him he rumbled good-naturedly, "Hello." He crouched before her, considering the strange girl. His eyes darted from her to his groaning subordinate, before focussing his attention on her once more. "Aren't you going to finish him off?"
The girl examined him. He felt like she was attempting to strip away his skin and view the thoughts that lay beneath. It was a fascinating feeling. "Does his life hold no value?" she countered his question.
The bandit shook his head. "No. I expect a certain level of competence from my men, and he's proven himself…lacking."
"You speak well for a thug," she commented bluntly.
He couldn't help but laugh at her audacity. Not even the bravest of his men dared to speak to him like that, and he found this small girl a breath of fresh air. He clapped a hand on her shoulder and observed the instinctual flinch her body made despite not a flicker of emotion disrupting her expression. "I can't decide if you're absurdly brave or obnoxiously stupid," he said lightly, "Not many have the balls to talk to me like that – figuratively speaking. And I speak well because I wasn't always a thug, but that's a story for another time."
"I've always liked stories," the girl said idly before turning to look at the bleeding man. "I haven't killed anyone with these hands. Will it be like the whispers say?" she wondered quietly, tilting her head.
In an abrupt movement she sliced the knife across the bleeding man's throat, opening up a red ravine in its wake. The man choked on his own blood, desperately trying to get air in his lungs that would not come, his face draining of colour and leaving a sickly white pallor behind. He thrashed for a few, agonising seconds before his terrified eyes glazed over in the nothingness of death.
The girl hummed to herself and gave the bandit a smile. "The whispers were right again."
. . .
The dead would breathe and the living would rot,
But should the sky tear the stars from its beloved hold
And the snakes start to sing of a land of sin,
Then you have truly fallen to your madness.
. . .
I wanted to write something creepy, dark and gritty; this is the product. Hope you like!
This is an OC-insert that's supposed to be a little different. Rather than having a fully conscious past life mind instead there's a (somewhat) normal child who grows up with hints of a past life twisting her mind – the Whispers, which are expanded on a little better later. The Whispers aren't a separate entity or split personality, more of a leak of past memories I guess. The scene with the flashbacks (which are all people talking to the OC at some point in her life – she was not a good person) is the one moment when she's fully past life!OC; after that she's a mixture of the reincarnation.
Why is it fem!Sai? Well, originally I was curious about doing an SI!Sai, since I've never seen it done and Sai tends to be a main character in only romance-centred fanfics, at least from what the first ten or so pages of fanfiction . net show. But then as I was imaging and writing this the OC felt like a girl, I that makes sense. I'm not saying she's a girly girl of anything, it just seemed to fit better as a girl.
I could probably just make her a full-out OC, but I'll stick to this for now. Part of the reason why she's Sai is that the Whispers think she is; one thing you have to remember about them is that they can be wrong, though this doesn't come up until Chapter 3.
Please review :)