Dance, Dance, Paint it Crimson

by moonlight gal

Laughing sardonically, he said, "You didn't strike me as the type to need salvation, Hyuuga." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she was smiling when she answered, "I don't, but you do." It was over before she could have blinked.

Warnings: Vampirism, slight gore, Dark!fic, religious undertones. You may also find yourself fairly confused at some points, so please try to pick up on the little subtleties littered everywhere. It'll make the fic more interesting.

-:-:-:-:-

dance, dance, paint it crimson

-:-:-:-:-

She dreamt tonight she saw my statue,

Which like a fountain with an hundred spouts,

Did run pure blood, and many lusty Romans,

Came smiling and did bathe their hands in it.

-Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

-:-:-:-:-

19th August, 1865

The traditional grandeur of the Hyuuga ballrooms never did cease to amaze, Hinata Hyuuga mused, lilac eyes cast upon the splendor. Absent-mindedly, she wondered whether it was unusual to be awed by one's own ballroom— especially when 'one' was the heiress to a fairly influential dukedom, having attended more celebratory feasts and awe-inspiring ceremonies than she bothered to remember.

The dull buzz of idle chatter filled the garagantuan room, the scent of freshly-cooked meat and sweet desserts wafting through it— and Hinata welcomed it, having tolerated the overbearing scent of perfume for far too long. The Hyuuga ballroom was packed with noblemen and women alike; all gathered for the 26th birthday of the sheltered Hyuuga heiress, hoping to exchange pretty words with others of their stature, and perhaps strike a diplomatic deal or two.

Hinata seated herself in the corner of the room, hoping to remain unnoticed by the beady eyes of the nobles— at least, until the dreaded time of the speech-giving arrived (she had done nothing short of slaved over the aforementioned speech for the past three weeks, at the command of her father.)

In truth, the event felt like a torturous repeat of her coming-of-age ceremony: noblewomen clad in expensive gowns, giggling behind their manicured hands, the sons of noblemen being coerced by their fathers to court the young Hyuuga heiress, watching her precious cousin and sister having to greet fake smiles with equally artificial ones, watching her father telling noblemen of how he was oh-so-proud of the woman his eldest daughter had grown to become. She, for her part, did her best to avoid interaction altogether— because she, like her late mother, did indeed despise lying.

In a nutshell, the celebratory dinner was rather intolerable.

"Lady Hyuuga," an unfamiliar, soft voice addressed, causing Hinata to gasp in surprise. She raised her head, meeting a pair of gleaming, emerald-like orbs, eyeing the heiress with the respect and courtesy bestowed upon a noble only. Pink tresses pulled into a delicate bun and lips stretching upwards in a subdued smile, Lady Sakura Haruno, heiress to the Haruno earldom, was quite a charming young woman. And even though her smile was not wholly genuine, Hinata was pleased to at least a hint of sincerity in it.

"Lady Haruno," Hinata greeted, standing up in respect. She pulled her lips into a smile mirroring Lady Haruno's, and bowed in a way fit for the heiress of a dukedom. "It's truly a pleasure to meet you."

"Please, the honour is mine," Sakura replied with a pretty smile, and Hinata immediately recognized why so many men had courted the lady with such fervour, as had been reported by the local newpapers. Adorning her slim, olive-green dress, Sakura Haruno was truly a beauty, fitting right into the current atmosphere of grandeur and glory.

It was no wonder Hinata hadn't taken notice of her— she faded into the background too much to be noticeable.

The two noblewomen exchanged pleasantries politely, never straying from topics suited to their positions in society. Half-heartedly indulging themselves in idle chit-chat, both acknowledged the unspoken need to maintain appearances in an environment where their actions and mannerisms were observed hawkishly. Quietly, they conversed, before Hinata's father called upon her, and she advanced forward with hesitant footsteps, recalling the words she had spent several days memorizing.

The speech-giving passed by rather uneventfully, Hinata's words being met with respectful silence, and her ears accustomed to the polite applause towards the end. As the dinner drew to a close, she'd danced (had been forced to dance, more accurately) with a number of young men, also including the dashing Itachi Uchiha, heir to the Uchiha dukedom— perhaps the only dukedom with enough prestige to compete with the Hyuuga. Hinata didn't really despise that particular waltz, but she didn't admit to being charmed by the man either, as the other noblewomen had surely been (if their red cheeks, sparkling eyes, and stuttering mouths were any indication.)

"Congratulations on your 26th birthday, Lady Hyuuga," he had said in his smooth baritone, twirling her around on the dancefloor. "I apologize for not having been able to congratulate you earlier."

"Please think nothing of it," she replied automatically, offering him a brief, benevolent smile— one which they both knew to be slightly short of genuine (and this was precisely why Hinata detested such gatherings, really.)

Thirty minutes later, the young heiress stood at the exit of the ballroom with her sister, bowing briefly to some guests, offering a few thankful words to others. She returned Sakura Haruno's fleeting smile and nodded to Itachi Uchiha as they departed. As the lights of the ballroom dimmed behind her, Hinata Hyuuga sighed in both exasperation and relief. Silently, her eyes darted to the far ends of the hall, before she removed her stiletto heels and, relieved by the absence of the click-clack sound, walked towards the estate, steeling her nerves for her father's oncoming criticisms.

-:-:-:-:-

6th September, 1865

1st September, 1965, Konohagakure Times:

Headlines: Earl Haruno executed for proven treason—

"We'll have none of that here," Neji Hyuuga said, gently prying away the newspaper from Hinata's slender hands. "He's dead. That's all we need to know, Hinata-sama."

"It's fair for us to know the causes of his death if we're going to attend his funeral, don't you think?" Hinata questioned, looking up at her elder cousin with eyes wordlessly pleading for the newspaper clutched in his hand, although her own hands rested in her lap without protest.

"We are to offer our condolences only— as is expected of us," he spoke strictly, turning away from her, but Neji's quiet voice betrayed his dissatisfaction at being treated as little more than a tool, important for the tricks of the trade, for the games nobility was notorious for playing.

It's sad, isn't it? she wanted to ask, not entirely sure whether she was referring to Earl Haruno's death, or to the cold apathy often seen in those of noble blood.

Neji sighed under his breath, already having guessed where his cousin's train of thought led to. Hesitantly, he placed a reluctant hand on her head, meaning to distract her from the morbid thoughts pertaining to nobility's inner workings. She smiled up at him— the same tender smile, laced with gentleness, which often forced Neji and Hanabi to abandon their sour moods— and Neji immediately felt a part of himself lightening, relieved that some things, perhaps, would always stay the same.

"Let's not delay this any more than we have to, Hinata-sama," he said, gesturing for her to follow him as he turned his back to her, exiting the library. He could hear the shuffle of her black, silk dress, and her light, feminine footsteps behind him. The carraige-ride to Earl Haruno's funeral was mostly silent, both of them slipping into their respective roles of heiress and protector.

The weather was neither dreary enough to compliment the atmosphere of solemnity, nor sunny enough to be an ironically stark comparison to it. It was no different than the day before, and in Hinata's personal opinion, it was merely a testament to how the world, as a whole, wasn't in need of anyone in particular, and carried on with the alteration of day and night regardless of who lived and who departed from it— unexpectedly, it proved to be a somewhat comforting thought, reassuring Hinata of something unspoken about the world.

The funeral procession was bleak and grim (as it was supposed to be) with Lady Haruno giving a typically heartbreaking eulogy. It caused Hinata to sympathise with the widow, who'd been left alone to look after her dear children— left alone to give love and attention which she was unsure about receiving in return.

(She did not, however, sympathise with the countess, who's husband had left her countless lands and riches in wake of his death.)

"I wonder what Countess Haruno plans to do," Hinata heard a whisper behind her, "her children are no longer children, you know. Will they support her, I wonder?"

In response, yet another murmuring voice said, "As if the old woman needs support, after all Lord Haruno has probably—"

A softer hiss interrupted, "Now is not the time, nor the place to discuss this."

Hinata heard the click of a tongue, "Oh, hush. The rumours about her daughter's engagement with the Uchiha are so far-spread, they can barely even be called rumours anymore."

"Yes, well, it's hardly common knowledge—"

"Hinata-sama," Neji gently grasped her shoulder, starting the heiress out of her stupified state. His eyes briefly darted towards the two noblewomen behind her, before he continued with a raised eyebrow, "Is something the matter?"

"Not— not really," she answered, lowering her voice to a bare whisper. "Neji, is— where is Countess Haruno's daughter?"

"I wouldn't know," he answered, scrutinizing her with puzzled, suspicious lilac-tinted eyes, much like her own. "She must be amongst the people in the front row somewhere, I'd assume. Why?"

"I wanted to offer her my condolences personally," she responded, feeling a pinprick of guilt for telling Neji her half-lie. "Would you mind?"

"I suppose not," he said. Another raised eyebrow— Neji suspected something. How could he not? The man knew her like the back of his hand. Hinata felt thankful that, at the very least, he didn't voice his skepticism aloud, even though he'd made it clear enough with his mannerisms.

"Pardon me, then," she said quickly, siezing the opportunity for as long as it lasted.

The young heiress weaved her way through the murmuring crowd, offering a few acknowledging nods here and there, before she caught sight of a flash of pink hair in her peripheral vision. Sighing in relief, she advanced forward. Lady Sakura sat ramrod straight, hard eyes facing forward, one hand atop the other, both resting in her lap— the perfect stance of a noblewoman. Hinata immediately pitied the woman for having to face the vultures in disguise. Undoubtedly, they must be heaping condolences upon condolences on her, either with the intention of breaking through her shell in a moment of weakness, or subtly adding insult to injury.

"Lady Haruno," Hinata greeted softly. Sakura's shoulders tensed, before she turned around with a picture-perfect smile painted on her glossed lips.

"Lady Hyuuga," she responded, bowing. "I see you—"

"May I sit with you?" Hnata interrupted.

Sakura blinked. "I— I beg your pardon?"

"May I sit with you?"

Sakura stared at her for a few moments, perhaps calculating what might have been brewing behind Hinata's concerned face and softened eyes. She scooted over to the side silently, eyes suddenly more subdued and guarded than they had seemed mere seconds ago.

"Pardon my rudeness, but is there something you needed?" Sakura inquired quietly.

"Not particularly, no," Hinata answered, equally quiet. From the corner of her eye, she watched Sakura's emerald eyes shifting back and forth between her hands, folded daintily in her lap, and the ground.

"I..." Hinata began reluctantly— she was treading on dangerous grounds, and she was well-aware of it, "well, first and foremost, I'd like to deliver my condolences to you— and to Countess Haruno, of course."

"Thank you, Lady Hyuuga. I'm sure mother will be pleased."

"It's not Countess Haruno I'm currently concerned about pleasing, though," Hinata sighed. "Forgive me if I seem too presumptuous, but I would like to know if you're truly okay with this, Lady Haruno."

"Well, I— I mean, I'm not pleased, of course, but father's death was... it was inevitable, really, and I—"

Sakura trailed off, seeing the Hyuuga heiress shaking her head slowly, as if wordlessly reprimanding Sakura for misunderstanding the situation. Hinata opened her mouth once, before closing it again, unsure of how to breach the subject. Quietly, she bowed her head in apology beforehand, and said, "I apologize if I... if this seems too personal, however, your father's death isn't what I was referring to," she admitted hesitantly. "Lady Haruno, you're engaged to be married— to the son of Lord Uchiha, no less. Is that right?"

Sakura smiled, and Hinata had to resist flinching at the edge of bitterness that had crept into the smile unknowingly. Voice barely above a whisper, Sakura replied, "Ah, you've heard the rumours, Lady Hyuuga?"

"Are they only rumours, though?"

"No. No, they are not," Sakura admitted— rather confidently, Hinata noticed with surprise. If her voice was any louder, she might have even assumed that Sakura was proud. "Father had planned to give me in marraige to Lord Sasuke Uchiha; after his death, however, mother seems hesitant. I would like to oblige by my father's wishes, though, especially as he is no longer present to oversee their fulfillment."

"Would you?" Hinata inquired. "I don't suppose you need to be told this, Lady Haruno, but as nobility, matrimonial ties like these are little more than diplomatic give-and-takes. Are you really satisfied with this?"

"Lady Hyuuga," Sakura turned to face her, and Hinata was compelled— compelled by the strange, subdued ferocity in the emerald-like irises— to believe that, until today, she had only seen the dignified daughter of Count and Countess Haruno, but had failed to catch even a mere glimpse of Sakura Haruno herself. The aforementioned woman's eyes bore into her own with an intensity that stirred an urge within Hinata to flinch away from the gaze. Sakura's lips trembled ever-so-slightly, as she spoke, "Lady Hyuuga, I— I have no wish to break away from this marraige. None at all, do you understand?"

The unshakable conviction in her words caused Hinata to pause and reconsider her intended words. Sakura, seeing her features twisting in inner conflict, sucked in a breath, and tentatively— yet unwaveringly— proclaimed, "I love Sasuke Uchiha, Lady Hyuuga."

The heiress felt her lavender-tinted eyes widening, and before Sakura's words could even register to her mind wholly, she found herself needing confirmation, "I-I beg your pardon?"

"I love Sasuke Uchiha, whole-heartedly and unconditionally. I love him with everything I have and everything I am, Lady Hyuuga," Sakura whispered, bowing her head lower, much lower, than Hinata thought was appropriate for the daughter of a respected earl. "Please, please, I beg you to understand. The marraige— I convinced my parents to arrange the marraige. I'm promised to him, to Sasuke— whether the promise be bound by marraige or not is meaningless. You mustn't take any measures to delay it. I assure you, I... I'm perfectly happy where I am. I'm perfectly happy, and I would— I would resent you if you were to change that," Sakura furrowed her eyebrows, saying quietly, "and I don't want to resent you, Lady Hyuuga."

Hinata's hands lay limp in her lap. She watched Sakura close her eyelids shut, as if shutting her out in the process as well, and sighed. She recognizing the stone-hard expression on the other woman's face— Sakura wouldn't back down, and if she wanted to throw herself into the snake's pit, there was really nothing Hinata could do, except wish that Sasuke Uchiha would be sincere in his affections (if he had any) for a woman who seemed ready to lay down her life for him.

"I understand," Hinata complied, standing up. She bowed briefly, saying, "Then, I convey my father's apologies for not being able to attend. In the future, please expect a visit from us, as compensation for his absence."

"Thank you. Good day, Lady Hyuuga."

"Good day."

"And," Hinata tilted her head, hearing Sakura's voice calling out to her as she began to depart. Sakura smiled, relaxed her posture visibly, and requested, "Would you mind keeping this between us, Lady Hyuuga?"

"Not at all," Hinata answered immediately— because the last thing she would will herself to do, would be to deny a woman in love her rightful secrecy. "Take care, Lady Haruno."

She saw a fleeting expression of surprise cross Sakura's face before she turned away— because, really, didn't mere acquaintances make sure to keep their distance from heart-warming expressions like 'take care' and others of the sort? Inwardly wishing Sakura Haruno the best of wishes, she began searching for Neji's chiseled face amongst the crowd of well-wishers, the thought of Sakura and Lord Uchiha's youngest son lingering at the back of her mind.

-:-:-:-:-

20th September, 1865

The visit to the Haruno Earldom arrived sooner than expected, Hinata thought nervously, as she found herself standing alongside her father and sister, mere feet away from the large, mahogony double-doors. The inexplicable habit of poking her fingers together had long since been beaten out of her mentally, but it was times like these when anxiety caused the urge to well up within her again, from the confines of her stuffed-away childhood memories. Her conversation with the pink-haired beauty a fortnight prior had been with a woman, not with a noble— and frankly, Hinata was uncertain about who she would be meeting today.

After bowing to the newly-widowed Countess Haruno and offering her a few words of respect (and making sure not to approach the subject of her late husband— she would leave that to her esteemed father,) Hinata let the conversation between the two elders fade into the background, until it was no more than a dull murmur. She glanced at Hanabi, sitting perfectly, wearing neither a smile, nor a frown. How typical of her, Hinata thought fondly.

The doors of the drawing room creaked open, and Lady Haruno ambled in, adorning one of her usual black, ankle-length dresses.

"Good afternoon," she greeted, bowing formally, "Lord Hyuuga, Lady and Infanta Hyuuga."

"Good afternoon," she and Hanabi retured the greeting, whereas Hiashi merely nodded in acknowledgement.

"Sakura," the countess addressed. "Some tea would nice, if you would."

"I'll prepare it immediately," she consented, bowing once again. "Please excuse me."

After a brief, contemplative pause, Hinata rose from the plush chesterfield, offering, "Would you like some help, Lady Haruno?"

"Lady Hyuuga, please don't force yourself!" Countess Haruno objected, gesturing for the heiress to sit back down. "I wouldn't dare have my guest prepare her own tea—"

"Actually," Sakura intervened, turning to Hinata with a twinkle in her eye and a smile laced with unfamiliar warmth. "I wouldn't mind some help, mother. Earl grey is rather difficult to prepare."

"Countess," Hinata interrupted, before any berating objections could escape the noblewoman's parted lips, "Forgive my rudeness, but I... would very much like to have a chance to converse with Lady Haruno. I seldom come across noblewomen of my age, you see, and I honestly don't mind lending her a hand in something as trivial as tea."

They gazed expectantly at the countess, who, stifling a sigh with much effort, consented, "I see. Then, please feel free to make sure that my daughter's work is to your liking, Lady Hyuuga."

-:-:-:-:-

"Is it right of me to assume," Sakura began, pouring water into the kettle with smooth, defined movements, "that you haven't told anyone?"

"It is," Hinata answered, eyes never abandoning their search for the packet of earl grey in the kitchen cupboard. Sakura wouldn't look at her, and she wouldn't look at Sakura— or was it Lady Haruno?— and, in any case, wasn't that more appropriate? Hadn't they been raised being taught the importance of negotiating with detachment? It was the way of nobility, and, really, who were they to stray from it?

"I— Lady Hyuuga, I hope you know what this means to me," Sakura abruptly turned away from the boiling water, facing Hinata with furrowed brows and tightening lips (somehow, Hinata wasn't entirely surprised to see them, and that led her to question— why in the world was she expecting this?)

"I can't thank you enough, honestly, you've— I'm extremely grateful for this, Lady Hyuuga. I don't... truthfully, I don't know what possessed me to tell you in the first place, and I can't imagine what your reasons might be for not disclosing it, but I... I only hope you know that you've earned my gratitude and respect."

"You don't— I don't deserve such gratitude, Lady Haruno. I only did what I believed a woman was naturally entitled to," Hinata answered, discarding her previous decision in a moment of emotion (because she was, after all, an emotional person— regardless of what society believed the Hyuuga heiress was and was not supposed to be.) "I only hope for one thing, though. I would very much like to believe that your affection towards Lord Uchiha isn't false. Is it?"

"No! Not— not towards him," Sakura vehemently denied, shaking her head. "Not him— never him. I would— I refuse to be anything akin to insincere towards him!"

For a short, fleeting moment, Hinata believed she had seen a glimmer of true, genuine fear clouding Sakura's usually-fearless eyes, and she found herself puzzled. After all, what did she possibly have to be afraid of? It took a fairly long time of seeing Sakura fiercely denying any accusations of insincerity, before the heiress came to comprehend that Sakura was perhaps afraid of herself, more than any external force. Inwardly, the woman feared what the future might force her to become— would she become as cold and indifferent as the people surrounding her? Someone distorted by deception and false pretenses— even when it concerned the person she'd bound herself to with what was supposedly an everlasting, holy tie?

(And silently, Hinata Hyuuga wondered what in the world Sasuke Uchiha might have done to deserve such faithfulness.)

"I understand," Hinata said quietly, and wondered if it was wrong of her to feel envious of Lady Haruno for having found someone she could speak of with such warmth and sentimentality. "Lord Uchiha is... very important to you, isn't he?"

"I would die for him," Sakura said simply, turning back to the steaming kettle, and the casualness with which it was said convinced Hinata of the truth in her words.

"It must be nice," she replied softly, more to herself than to her— acquaintance? Companion? Friend?

"Not really, it isn't."

Sakura's unexpected response shook Hinata out of her reverie. The former continued, not noticing (or outright disregarding) the bewildered expression the latter wore, "It can be exhausting, you know; wanting to give a person everything you have, and everything you don't, even."

"I-I suppose, but—"

"Did you know? I once tried to scratch my own eyes out, all because Lord Uchiha said they were too bright," she said, subsequently chuckling, as if the confession was no more than the retelling of an ordinary childhood tale. "I would call it the idiocy of childhood if I wasn't so sure I would do it again today, if needed be."

And, for once, despite all the diplomatic dealings she had been forced to witness, where clever words were the only weapon wielded— Hinata was speechless.

"Lady Hyuuga? You seem troubled...?"

"I-I don't—" Hinata stammered, and inwardly cursed her old habit for its untimely return. "Th-that is... I'm not... entirely sure why you're confiding in me about this, Lady Haruno..."

"Ah, it must seem strange to you, I suppose?" Sakura said, words accompanied by a sheepish smile and a faint blush. "I apologize if I'm inconveniencing you—"

"Inconvenience? No, no, just... just surprise, is all."

"Well, I... I don't suppose you'd be willing to hear a little more, if you've got the time?"

"I'm all ears," Hinata answered, smiling shakily in return. Duchess Hyuuga having died during childbirth, the Hyuuga heiress hadn't had many encounters concerning pure, unadulterated love. At most, she'd had the opportunity to see cold, blase hints left over from a convenient political marraige, and to witness the behavior of a devoted woman, bound not by pieces of paper and signatures and seals, but only by her desire to love and be loved, seemed nothing less than heaven-sent.

"Shall I tell you something amusing, Lady Hyuuga?" Sakura asked, the sardonic smile playing at her lips telling Hinata that the pink-haired woman, despite her words, wasn't quite as amused as she made herself out to be. "In spite of our frequent meetings, in spite of being promised to one another, Sasuke has always, always refused to dance with me. It's strange, don't you think? To refuse to dance with your soon-to-be wife."

"I... well, it is strange, but did he truly refuse outright? It seems... somewhat unusual—"

"Believe me when I say this, Lady Hyuuga," Sakura pressed, and Hinata wanted nothing more than to dismiss the slight hitch in her voice as her own delusion— but that would be far too cruel, wouldn't it? "I can't understand what he means to do by it— it makes no sense and I've found myself lost. What does he mean? Does he... does he wish to tell me something? Or—"

"I'm sure he has his reasons, and I'm sure his reasons have nothing to do with detachment, Lady Haruno," Hinata reassured, wanting to believe in her own words, but not quite managing to do so— and Sakura didn't quite believe them either, if her sharp frown, furrowed eyebrows, and glazed green eyes, lost in thought, were any indication.

In truth, Hinata could feel her social instincts, honed to perfection during the years spent in the presence of deceiving diplomats, assuming controlling over her words. They flowed out automatically; word after word, phrase after phrase, seamlessly, flawlessly— and it sickened her.

(And, in that bare moment, Hinata realised why Sakura had seemed so afraid of her future self.)

-:-:-:-:-

23rd March, 1866

Hinata Hyuuga comfortably sat amongst the countless carnations, lilies, and lavenders of the awe-worthy Hyuuga gardens, surrounded by their natural perfume. She idly swirled her finger within garden's small pond, with the two inhabiting catfish swimming around the slender digit curiously (Hinata feared to think what her governess might have thought, seeing her in such an ungraceful position.) Smiling in amusement, her gaze shifted to the stiff, golden-white piece of paper pressed under the palm of her hand.

We humbly and cordially request the honour of your presence,

at the engagement ceremony of,

Lady Sakura Haruno (daughter of Count and Countess Haruno)

and

Lord Sasuke Uchiha (son of Duke and Duchess Uchiha.)

We sincerely look forward to the pleasure of your company.

The fine words of the invitation card caused a pleased smile to creep onto Hinata's lips.

Lady Haruno must be happy, she thought, finding herself delighted by the notion, especially after the numerous frowns and scowls and glowers she had witnessed on the lady's face, when she had been expressing her previously-unspoken concerns to the heiress.

A servant of the Haruno household had delivered the invitation to the Hyuuga estate three months ago, and when the maid had respectfully handed the envelope to Hinata, the heiress had been surprised and terribly flattered when the maid spoke of how 'Lady Haruno had specifically instructed her convey to Lady Hyuuga her deepest wishes of seeing Hinata Hyuuga attend the ceremony.'

The ceremony was later today, Hinata recalled, and lightly grimaced at the thought of the intricate buns her locks would undoubtedly be pulled into, and the floor-length dresses that she would surely be forced to tug on, and the atrocious perfumes that would soon be heaped onto her. In spite of herself, she shook off her discontent and pulled her lips into a smile, unable to restrain the excitement of seeing, for the first time, a man who was the object of such fierce devotion.

Five hours passed by in a blur, and Hinata soon found herself amidst nobility yet again, resembling them more than she would have preferred in her floor-length, lavender evening gown, her feet adorning pearl-white kitten heels, and several bejewelled hairpins clipped around locks of her hair. She recalled meeting and congratulating Sakura formally, remembering the healthy, delighted flush of her cheeks (which surely wasn't the result of make-up, as far as Hinata would have liked to believe.)

It was a shame, she thought, that they hadn't had the opportunity to thank each other for things other than Sakura's invitation and Hinata's subsequent attendance— and then wondered if she was perhaps being too forward— but the opportunity, as it turned out, was nearer than she would have anticipated.

During the celebratory feast, when the humble guests were occupied with admiring the fine brands of wine and the meats grilled to perfection, Sakura took the liberty to subtly wave Hinata over to her table, where the two soon-to-be newly-weds sat beside each other. At the table, the Hyuuga heiress found an ideal opportunity to observe the famed Sasuke Uchiha without her usual reservations. The man was rather beautiful (and she inwardly berated herself for this, even if it was simply the first word that had registered to her) and Hinata would have been captivated, had she not seen and waltzed with his brother mere months ago.

In spite of his beauty, however, she noticed the way he ate with the most graceful of movements; so much so that Hinata— with all her years of learning, and observing, and working, and unconditionally trying— didn't dare believe she would ever be able to match. She noticed the way his eyes never gleamed at the teasing jests thrown around the table, even when they were dark enough for a mere glint to be clearly noticeable. She noticed the way the obsidian irises never once, never once, glanced at his supposed fiance, sitting by his side, shooting him self-conscious glances, their shoulders brushing every now and then. It was then that she compared him to a carefully-crafted marionette; something beautiful enough to have been crafted with all the love in the world, but unfortunate enough to never be able to return it.

(And then, when her own words registered to her, she screwed her eyes shut for a moment— perhaps in disbelief, perhaps in horror— and believed that calling him beautiful would have been less degrading.)

He had barely even exchanged a few nods and shallow bows with prominent noblemen, as far as she had seen. It seemed odd that such a man could be loved so fervently— if he could be loved at all. Regardless, Hinata found it necessary to inwardly reprimand herself for her judgemental behavior; who was she to know the man, after all? She was no more than a guest at his engagement party, meant only to stroll around in a pretty dress, offer a few half-hearted words of congratulations, and perhaps compliment him on his choice of wine, at most.

Despite the reprimanding, Hinata didn't feel shivers running down her spine when she looked at Sasuke Uchiha, she didn't feel any sense of foreboding, and she didn't feel her stomach churning in unease. She only felt slightly cold, and that was all.

(Nevertheless, when she glanced up him from above the rim of her wine-glass, for some reason, she genuinely wished never to see him again.)

A hand was gently placed on her shoulder, and Hinata looked away from her plate to see Sakura's clear, emerald-green eyes, speechlessly expressing their concern. They glanced at her plate, and when Hinata followed her gaze, she realised that, quite obviously, it wasn't the plate that had caught Sakura's attention. She immediately loosened her painfully tight grip on the spoon, inwardly wondering when her hold had even tightened. She aimed a reassuring smile at Sakura, who, in turn, leaned back against her seat, but not without tightening her lips just enough for Hinata to notice.

It wasn't long before the ritualistic toast to the couple was carried out, and for once, Hinata found herself participating with a sincere smile. When a slow, romantic melody began to play subsequently, the first dance was reserved for the newly-engaged couple. Seeing the sparkle in Sakura's eyes when Sasuke grasped her hand and twirled her around and dipped her low, Hinata simply couldn't find it in herself to critisize the Uchiha's apparent lack of emotion (and in all honesty, he really did lack it— it was painfully obvious even when they danced, and Hinata wondered why the nobles around her hadn't already started gossiping and murmuring in suspicion.)

For once, Hinata felt the urge to simply do what she was meant to do— stand amidst the crowd, smile politely, and applaude when the dance came to a smooth finish, without having her gaze linger for too long on the unusual eyes of the soon-to-be groom.

And so she allowed her mind to go blank, ignored the incoherent mutterings of her subconscious, and shoved said subconscious into the little box at the very back of her mind.

(Because this was, after all, the first dance, wasn't it?)

-:-:-:-:-

15th April, 1866

Sighing, Hinata Hyuuga clipped her locks back into a modest, low bun. The gong echoing through the halls of the estate had alerted her to the arrival of a guest. It wasn't unexpected; not in the least, not with all those servants and maids bringing countless parchments and contracts and invitations and scrolls to her doorstep everyday. If anything, she was simply tired.

Trudging over to the entrance gates, Hinata straightened her spine, brought her feet together, twisted her expression to her liking (because, truthfully, even if the smile seemed 'pretty' to others, it wasn't anything except plain twisted to her) and swung open the doors.

Met with the sight of an unexpectedly familiar face, Hinata dropped her welcoming smile in surprise.

"L-Lady Haruno?"

Said lady curtseyed, greeting, "Lady Hyuuga. How do you do?"

Hinata returned the gesture briefly, before opening the gate a little wider and replying, "I'm well, thank you. Won't you come in?"

Amicably smiling, Sakura accepted the offer with modest words, "If it wouldn't trouble you, then I would love to."

-:-:-:-:-

"Pardon my intrusion," Sakura softly murmured to herself out of habit, stepping inside the drawing room with the dignified steps of a noblewoman and placing her hands in her lap, one atop the other, in the standard, regal position as she sat down. Raising the cup of oolong tea to her lips, she leaned forward and placed a crisp, intricately-decorated envelope on the table in front.

Seeing realisation dawning in Hinata's eyes, she explained, "It might have been unnecessary, but I wanted to deliver the wedding invitation to you personally. I hope it's no trouble."

"Trouble? Not in the least," Hinata protested, a smile blooming across her lips, cheeks flushing rosy pink. "If anything, I'm extremely flattered, Lady Haruno. Thank you, truly."

Fisting the silk cloth of her dress, Sakura shook her head and, voice barely above a whisper, admitted, "You've been... very kind to me, Lady Hyuuga. I've mentioned this before, but I'm extremely grateful. You reassured a stranger you knew nothing about, and whose problems you had nothing to do with. If it weren't for your intervention, I could have— truthfully, I don't even want to admit it, but I... I might have broken off the engagement, because I was... I was tired, Lady Hyuuga. I loved him, but I was so, so tired. And I would have ended up regretting the decision my whole life, even when I would have been old and grey, so I'm glad for this— and for you. You have my gratitide."

"P-please, you flatter me, you really do! What I did was nothing more than what any other person in my position would have done."

(Except, that was simply a modest lie, wasn't it?

—As they both knew it to be.)

"In any case," Sakura continued (in better spirits than before, Hinata noticed), while seeming as if she were stifling a giggle. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Lady Hyuuga. I very much hope to see you at the wedding ceremony as well; it would be an honour."

"I'll be sure to attend," Hinata answered, slipping the invitation card out of the envelope with nimble fingers, "on the 27th of April, then."

"The Haruno household will be expecting you," Sakura announced, holding the sides of her dress in a polite curtsey as she rose from her seat. "If you'll excuse me."

"Lady Haruno, there's... something else I would like to ask you, if you wouldn't mind," Hinata called out. When Sakura's hand on the door handle hesitated, and when she looked over her shoulder, gaze questioning and eyebrows furrowed, Lord Uchiha's abyss-like eyes flashed in Hinata's mind— although they'd been lingering in a silent corner already, hadn't they?— and she almost brought her beckoning hand back at her side, nails digging into her palm. Almost.

"Yes?" Sakura pressed patiently.

"Are—" Hinata began, and paused when a sudden lump in her throat halted her words. She wondered why, suddenly, she could faintly see Lord Uchiha behind Lady Haruno's shoulder. "You're happy, aren't you, Lady Haruno?"

She watched Sakura's eyes brighten with surprise, before brightening even more with affection and delight.

"Sasuke— Lord Uchiha has been... increasingly affectionate lately," Sakura admitted, blushing bright red, as if she were a young, freshly-courted lady, and modestly tucked a stray strand behind her ear. "Of course, not nearly as affectionate as I would like him to be, but," she giggled behind her hand, "maybe someday, I'd hope."

(And maybe that, Hinata thought, was when the sense of foreboding started trickling into her consciousness, her stomach started churning in unease, and the slight, nibbling cold suddenly turned freezing.)

-:-:-:-:-

20th April, 1866

27th April, Hinata thought, casting her eyes on the flawless, cursive print of the invitation card. No more than a week. Should we be visiting at a time like this, I wonder?

"Sister?" Hanabi called out, leaning against the doorway of her sister's bedroom. "Could you hurry up? I'd like to stay in these gloves for as little time as possible, if you wouldn't mind. They itch."

"I won't take long," Hinata answered shortly, tugging her own elbow-length gloves up her arm. With one last glance at the mirror, she walked out the door and joined her sister and father as they waited beside the carraige.

"Father, is it wise to visit a week before the wedding?" Hanabi questioned, stepping inside the coach. "It's surely a crucial time for Countess Haruno, don't you think?"

"They extended an invitation to us, and we accepted," Hiashi Hyuuga replied plainly. "At a time like this, it's important to avoid any misunderstandings that might sour relations."

Hanabi nodded in understanding, expression betraying nothing, and Hinata suddenly felt sickened (with the feeling being more familiar to her than she would have liked it to be.) That's what it all boils down to, I suppose.

The ride passed without unnecessary conversation, the click-clack of the horse's hoofs and the sound of wheels turning on gravel being the only things to break the silence. An inexplicable emotion ran through her— far too close to trepidation and apprehension without a reason, she feared, and it made her feel as if she were helplessly being carried away by predestination. An involuntary shiver racked her body, her fists clenching in her lap, and she hopelessly questioned why that prickling sense of foreboding now felt as if it would rip her stomach apart at any given moment.

(—Because, ah, it was in her blood to fear the unknown, wasn't it?)

When the wheels finally stopped turning, and when her feet were finally back on the ground, she couldn't answer the questioning looks Hanabi shot her when her hand stopped inches away from the doorbell. When she forced her hand to reach forward and press it, she truthfully couldn't understand how she'd managed to do so— because her body hardly felt like her own in that moment.

As Countess Haruno welcomed them with a perfect smile, tired eyes, and a respectful bow, Hinata, for once, felt grateful for the years of gruelling training that had drilled the superficial smile and the ladylike curtsey deep into her instincts.

This time, Hinata couldn't find it in herself to deftly tune out the idle conversation until it was reduced to mere murmurs in the background. She was too tense, too on-edge, and for a reason she couldn't comprehend. It was a wonder no one noticed the faint wrinkle of her brow, or the constant clenching and unclenching of her gloved hands.

"I don't see Lady Haruno anywhere," her father's inquisitive voice shook Hinata out of her stupor. "Could she be preparing for the wedding?"

"Oh, I'm sure I told her not to take too long," the countess responded, turning her face towards the closed door of Sakura's room, above the grand staircase, with a wrinkled brow. "She was preparing to greet you just a minute ago, Lord Hyuuga. I wonder what that girl is doing up there for so long..."

"You needn't worry. Young ladies need their time to—"

"Countess, would it be any trouble if I could perhaps see Lady Haruno ahead of time?" Hinata questioned abruptly (and perhaps a bit too quickly and presumpuously, if her sister's widened eyes and her father's veiled, berating glances were anything to judge by.)

Countess Haruno herself gazed upon her with inquisitive eyes, wise with old age, glancing subtly back and forth between the heiress and the esteemed Hiashi Hyuuga, before they softened in understanding (understanding? Hinata herself didn't understand the abuptness of her own actions. All she understood was that this strange apprehension was eating away at her everything—)

"After your last visit, I know better than to object, Lady Hyuuga," Countess Haruno complied. "I would do it myself, really, but if you must insist, please do me the favour of telling Sakura not to keep her guests waiting any longer."

Disregarding the sharp glances Hiashi aimed at her from the corner of his eye, Hinata bowed hastily, pulled up the sides of her lavender dress, and scampered up the staircase, struggling not to break out into a rather un-ladylike run.

(Because, God help her, the cold— it was biting away at her insides, as if she'd erred, as if she'd sinned— and as if redemption lay behind that door.)

Her hand froze when it was little more than an inch away from the door-knob. Her feet halted abruptly, the dress falling around her ankles again, and she forced herself to wait, to calm down, to ease herself. She strained her ears to catch a sound— any sound; heels clicking, drawers shutting, jewellery clinking— that would overpower the deafening noise of blood rushing in her ears and an unbearably loud heartbeat that she could hardly believe was her own.

Breathing in, breathing out, she timidly knocked on the door once and called, "Lady Haruno? It's Lady Hyuuga. Your mother sent me to fetch you, I hope you don't mind."

She was thankful that her tone of voice didn't coincide with her present state of mind, but the silence she received from behind the door sent her inwardly panicking. She swallowed lightly, gripped the golden door-knob, and called out once more, "Lady Haruno? Can you hear me?"

Answered with silence, Hinata screwed her eyes shut, bit her lower lip, and pushed the door open with more force than necessary.

When her eyes met what awaited her on the other side, Hinata could believe that, yes, perhaps refuge from the unrelenting apprehension did, in fact, lie beyond the door. Her trademark Hyuuga eyes— unblinking, unfeeling, and perhaps the only time her eyes truly resembled her father's— were trained on the flowing crimson, a stark contrast to the plush, white carpet.

In the physical sense, she knew she was far-gone; her body didn't even feel like hers to control anymore. She could feel neither her feet moving forward of their own accord, nor her knees pressing against the fur of the carpet as she kneeled down, nor the tips of her fingers brushing against something— something that beat, pulsing familiarly. The slow, declining beat was the only source of motion in the suffocating room; Hinata herself wouldn't dare move, wouldn't dare breath. It pulsed unsteadily against her fingers, and for some reason, Hinata found herself smiling vaguely— and she was disgusted at herself.

(—But, then again, her body wasn't her own, was it?)

The clock kept ticking at the back of her mind, but she was content to stay where she was; kneeling beside a corpse, gazing upon a face marred beyond recognition, her lavender dress, fit for royalty, stained a bloody scarlet, and the very tips of her fingers stained the same hue.

(Ah, the face was indeed marred, but she could still see the smile behind it. Wasn't that amazing?)

A few scarce minutes later (or was it an hour? Two hours? A day?) Hinata heard horrified screams somewhere in the background, and she felt harsh fingers gripping her upper arms, pulling her away roughly. She didn't resist— what good would that do? Her objective had already been achieved, hadn't it? The fierce apprehension had long-since ebbed away, not a wisp of it left behind. The trepidation and the unknown fear had faded, and the relentless biting had stopped gnawing at her insides, replaced by a bittersweet numbness.

But she still felt cold.

(Colder than ever before.)

-:-:-:-:-

21st April, 1866, Konohagakure Times:

Headlines: Heiress to the Haruno Earldom Found Dead

A week before her scheduled marraige with Lord Sasuke Uchiha, Lady Sakura Haruno's mutilated corpse was found enclosed between the four walls of her own bedroom. The body was found by Lady Hinata Hyuuga, heiress to the Hyuuga dukedom, in a state where the face was marred beyond recognition, and the neck and chest areas were torn open, with the heart visibly exposed. Forensics have presently been unable to identify—

-:-:-:-:-

"What in the world happened to your hand?"

Startled by the thunderous voice, Hinata dropped the pen she had been holding loosely, the parchment on the mahogany desk left blank, when Neji snatched up her wrist and examined it with a disapproving frown marring his features.

"Fingers are burnt," he murmured to himself, before looking down at her and repeating, "Your fingers are burnt, Lady Hinata. Why?"

"Ah, please don't worry, it's really nothing."

"Don't laugh it off like that. You haven't even bothered to bandage it. What if it's infected? Forgive my insolence, but you need to value your health a little more, Lady Hinata. Please tell me how and when this happened."

"It... was an accident in the kitchen, is all. I spilt a few drops of boiling water on my fingers while preparing tea for father," she answered, half-heartedly tugging her hand away from his steel grip. "It's hardly a cause for concern, Neji, but thank you for your consideration. I appreciate it, thank you."

She saw his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly, the corner of his lips dropping further downwards, his jaw clenching for a bare moment just before he released her wrist, and she couldn't help but avert her eyes out of guilt.

(She was becoming better at fibbing her way out of inconvenient situations than she would have liked. She scoffed at herself— her father would be proud.)

Albeit the boiling water spilt on her fingertips wasn't a lie, the 'accident' wasn't an accident at all. But was she truly to blame? The bright crimson painting her fingertips— as stark a contrast to her pale, pale skin as it had been to Sakura's stained carpet— had been digging into her fingers, prickling her skin, and the itch simply wasn't going away, regardless of the washing, scrubbing, and scratching. In the end, was she truly at fault if she was forced to resort to desperate means?

"Neji," she murmured, long after her protective guardian had walked out the door. "I'm cold."

Cradling her right hand close to her breasts, she gazed upon the black, burnt skin of her fingertips, and supposed it wasn't a testament to redemption after all.

-:-:-:-:-

And he'd loved her, like he'd loved all of them.

-:-:-:-:-

1st May, 1866

"I don't think I'll be going," Hinata quietly decided, sitting cross-legged on the canopy-bed of her sister's bedroom. Hanabi, sitting across from her, frowned in response to her older sister's unexpected announcement.

Befuddled, the adolescent girl lowered her eyebrows in suspicion, delivering a warning in few words, "Father won't be pleased."

"I... I know, Hanabi. I know."

"Why won't you go? Countess Haruno is grief-stricken, you know. Father insists that the whole family should visit to offer condolences."

"I can't," Hinata immediately answered, averting her eyes from Hanabi's furrowing brows. "I don't— I believe it's best if I avoid visiting the Haruno household for a while."

Hanabi scoffed, "Household? All that's left is the debris, sister; Countess Haruno and her innumerable servants."

"You shouldn't speak of her in that manner, Hanabi," Hinata reprimanded softly, clicking her tongue. "It's awful— think of what she has to cope with."

"Yes, yes," Hanabi off-handedly replied, jumping off the bed with her usual grace, and dismissing Hinata's rebuke with a casual wave of her hand. "In any case, you understand that if you don't visit the countess, Father will send you off to the Uchiha?"

The Hyuuga heiress simply nodded. Hanabi stared at Hinata over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow that spoke volumes, and after the latter was subjected to her sister's scrutiny for a while longer, Hanabi shrugged and consented, "As you wish. Dive into the snake's pit."

"Must you use such crude language? If Father hears, he'll be rather displeased."

Hanabi only hummed.

Subsequently, the younger sister's words proved true, and Hinata, accompanied by an ever-faithful Neji, soon found herself stiffly seated in a foreign drawing room magnificent enough to rival her own. When a steaming cup of oolong tea was set in front of her, Hinata raised her gaze and met the deep, black depths the Uchiha bloodline was identified with.

Mikoto Uchiha, aged forty-eight and mother to two grown men, was perhaps the only Uchiha resident with whom Hinata could feel at ease. Jet-black locks neatly tucked behind her ear and a smile even more welcoming than Countess Haruno's, Duchess Mikoto sat across from Hinata with the unmistakable grace of a woman belonging to a noble house, and humbly thanked, "Fugaku and I deeply appreciate your visit, Lady Hyuuga, and please do convey our thanks to Lord Hyuuga as well. It's an honour for us, and we're extremely grateful, as I'm sure you already know."

"Please, it's the least I could do," Hinata answered. "Father regrets that he was unable to offer his condolences himself, but you and Duke Uchiha must surely be aware of the entanglements and obligations in our society."

"Indeed; especially for one as esteemed as Lord Hyuuga himself."

They amicably exchanged polite conversation over the next few minutes, cautiously tip-toeing around any such subjects that might have dislodged them from the societal intricacies that nobles were so often obliged to abide by. In accordance, it wasn't long before Mikoto's sons showed themselves for the required greetings.

"Lady Hyuuga," Lord Itachi Uchiha (the eldest, as Hinata recalled) greeted, bowing in return to her curtsey. "A pleasure to see you again."

The younger son only bowed shallowly, opting to skip any unnecessary words (and unnecessary they were, Hinata knew, what with his subtly condescending expression doing all the talking.)

Soon, Itachi Uchiha departed with a quick thank-you and a kiss to the back of her hand, presumably to join his father in yet another business dealing, and Mikoto Uchiha scurrried off to the kitchen again to fetch another plate of biscuits or scones or whatever it may have been. Eventually, Hinata was left in the company of her reserved protector and an equally reserved Sasuke Uchiha.

Hinata already knew that his mother's wishes were the sole reason for his tolerance of her company. This man was— and seemed— utterly disinterested in the prospect of entertaining her personally, making idle chit-chat, or plastering on a smile that was little more than an obligation. She felt as if she would have been offended, had her nature been any less humble and any more conceited.

He wasn't like her— caring far too much for things he had little to do with— and he wasn't like the general populace of upper-class Konoha— a superior attitude coupled with a nose high in the air. Rather, it was as if he lived in a world different from her own, and this worried her. The cold sheen of his eyes was the same as it had been a month and nine days prior, at the engagement ceremony. His movements were as fluid, his glances as sharp, his face as beautiful, and it wasn't long before Hinata began questioning whether or not the news about his late fiance had even reached him.

She, on the other hand, oh, she still had occasional tremors running through her body, mind, and heart, and there were times when the cold and the pinpricks at her fingertips threatened to undo her completely.

Constantly, she found her gaze pulled to the marble floor in an effort to avoid the host sitting across from her. His irises, darker than asphalt, glinted at her from below his sweeping eyelashes, and the first thing Hinata remembered was her inexplicable, month-old want to never to see them again— the second being how Sakura Haruno had cast infinitely adoring eyes at the same pair of irises, and Hinata found herself torn between what to feel.

"Tea?"

The impassive drawl shattered her train of thought (which was venturing forth into increasingly dangerous territory, she feared) and startled her out of her misplaced musings. When Lord Uchiha gestured towards her empty teacup, Hinata, although shaken, managed to make some sense of his offering.

"A-ah," was her delayed reply. "No, no, thank you."

He nodded, reaching forward to retrieve the cup from her hand, and at that moment, for a reason she was afraid of fully comprehending, Sakura's face, all warm smiles and eyes gleaming with gratefulness, flashed in her mind. It came, and it went— but that was enough for Hinata to jerk away instinctually, and turn her face away from Sasuke's raised eyebrows.

Even though the reaction was shamefully obvious, he didn't back away. For one, fleeting moment, Hinata resented him with more intensity than she had thought herself capable of; immediately after, she resented herself even more for her unjustifiable sentiments.

It may have been due to the cold in and of itself, but when Sasuke's fingers collided with her own, despite their pale-white skin, they were warm— rather, they burned. They burned her,they burned the image of a smiling Sakura, safeguarded within the confines of her memory, and they replaced it with the image of her exposed heart.

(It had belonged to him, after all—)

She flinched away and clenched her fingers, nails digging painfully into her palm. The fragile teacup slipped from her loose hand and shattered as it met the ground, the ear-splitting sound of its scattered remnants shaking her out of the chain of unpleasant memories she had been lost in.

Sasuke asked her no questions, and he spared her no questioning glances. He merely knelt down, and started collecting the sharp pieces of ceramic in his cupped hand. Hinata breathed in deeply in a futile attempt to ease herself and her racing heart, and her sight eventually stumbled upon the cut on her index finger, oozing bright-red blood. The click of her tongue caught Sasuke's attention, who, sighing inaudibly, stood up and ordered, "Wait here."

Disappearing into a nearby room, he re-emerged with a roll of bandages and cotton balls in hand.

"Stay still," was briefly said, before he held the injured finger by its tip and lightly dabbed it with the cotton ball, tightly wrapping a piece of bandage around it. His hold wasn't particularly gentle or tender, she noticed, and neither was it too firm. It was simply like the uncaring, but cautious hold of a stranger— and yet, she wanted nothing more than to shy away from it. It was unoffending, and yet, it made her squirm internally. His porcelain-like skin seemed unblemished and silken, and yet, she was afraid to touch it— whether she feared breaking it, or being broken herself, she knew not. His fingers, long, nimble, even effeminate, were the kind she had often seen on the hands of numerous women and some particularly beautiful men, and yet, they were set apart and distinctive— they were, after all, the fingers Sakura had held onto with such tenderness, both physically and emotionally.

(His eyes, lowered beneath his lashes, frightened her beyond measure. They froze the very core of her soul— and yet, she was spellbound.)

When he was about to secure the last knot, Hinata vaguely noticed his hands hesitating. Ignoring the tight tendrils of something curling around her heart, she stilled her hand and looked down at him, her sight catching a glimpse of Sasuke's thumb brushing against her raw wound. The touch was barely even there, let alone noticeable. However, as he released her hand, Hinata didn't— couldn't—miss the way his fingers lingered. Although she didn't quite understand— and Hinata was naturally adamant about denying whatever she couldn't understand— she could feel that moment-long touch leave behind something heavy. The brush against the bloody cut was subtle, light, but it carried a feeling strangely akin to reverance, as if those pale fingers were carressing something sacred. Undoubtedly, it left her shaken.

When she walked out the doors of the Uchiha estate with Neji beside her and Mikoto waving her goodbye, the memory of encompassing, unadulterated black resided just alongside the image of Sakura's bloody heart. She remembered the way his eyes had sparked— with what, she didn't know, but they had sparked.

(She loved them for it. Only them.)

-:-:-:-:-

21st May, 1866

"Ino Inoichi Yamanaka," Hanabi introduced, slapping the newspaper down on Hinata's cherry-wood desk. "The Yamanaka heiress. This wouldn't happen to be what you were wondering about, would it?"

"Yes, it would," Hinata smiled appreciatively at the younger girl, sweeping her desk clean of the several scattered pens and ink-pots. "Thank you, Hanabi."

"Oh, don't mention it," Hanabi answered off-handedly with a dismissing wave of her hand. "Why is it, though, that you wanted this little heiress in particular, sister? Even her death is old news by now."

"She died—"

"Seven years ago, yes, at the age of eighteen."

"Eighteen?" Hinata repeated, opal-like eyes widening in surprise and newfound sympathy. "That's rather unfortunate. It's the perfect age for being courted, isn't it?"

"Funny you should mention that, actually," Hanabi mumbled, picking up the newspaper and critically eyeing it with squinted eyes. "Darned seven-year-old newspapers. Why does their print have to be so tiny? In any case, yes, Yamanaka was being courted at the time of her death. The date of the engagement ceremony hadn't been announced, but it was common knowledge that her hand had already been asked for."

"By who? Lord Nara?"

"Lord Uchiha—Sasuke Uchiha. He must have been nineteen at the time, I'd suppose. Quite young, no?"

Hinata quietly placed her pen back on the desk with shaky hands, folded the newspaper she had been studying, and turned in her chair to give Hanabi her undivided attention. Somberly, she reaffirmed, "Lord Uchiha had been courting Ino Yamanaka, you say? Just before her death?"

Hanabi nodded, and replied, "Poor thing; to have lost not one, but two fiances. How unfortunate, wouldn't you say?"

"To be honest, I'm..." Hinata sighed, troubled, and massaged her temples. Holding her head in her hands, she whispered, "I'm not entirely sure what to say."

She gingerly picked up the newspaper from the side of the desk, holding it out to Hanabi with an outstretched hand, and weakly admitted, "I don't think I want to read this, Hanabi. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you, but could you please take it back with you?"

"Hinata?" Hanabi rushed to her side, gripping her shoulders in concern. "What's wrong? Is something the matter? What—"

"You needn't worry," Hinata eased, halting Hanabi's worried ramblings with a risen hand and a tired smile. "These are my issues to settle. Anyway, I'm sure it's nothing more than the common case of paranoia, sister."

Hanabi regarded her with tightened lips and suspicious, narrowed eyes. Several times, she parted her lips, as if willing to say something, but ended up closing them again in silence. It took no more than a reassuring pat on the shoulder from Hinata to send a sulking Hanabi out the room, with the latter shooting indignant, but worried backward glances at her elder sister.

It was only after she heard the bedroom door click into place, that Hinata rested her head on her folded arms with knitted eyebrows and conflicting emotions raging behind her eyes in turmoil. Resisting the urge to slam her fist onto the desk out of sheer frustration, she pushed back her chair decisively, and, throwing open the doors to her closet, yanked out whichever dress hung in the front.

(And wondered if it was, perhaps, foolish of her to hope that Konohagakure's fresh air might somehow cleanse her mind of the brewing storm.)

-:-:-:-:-

The bustling, ever-busy streets of daytime Konoha did, in fact, calm Hinata's nerves. Walking amongst civilisation as a part of society eased the tension unsteadily building up in an obscure corner of her mind, and, even though she supposed it was selfish of her, the pitiable conditions of lower-class citizens diverted her attention from her own worries to their present states. As the piercing glint of the sun dimmed, the ever-present chatter amongst the citizens dulled, and Hinata soon found that the soft thud of her footsteps was the only sound to be heard.

Her footsteps stopped abruptly when she realised that she was now in a secluded region of the town. The sky was a blend of warm colours denoting sunset, she noted, but the darkness of night was beginning to seep in. Slightly unnerved, she looked around the area and noticed a tall, dome-like structure not far ahead.

Vaguely, Hinata recalled Neji telling her about an abandoned religious centre situated somewhere in the outer parts of town. That must be it, she thought, walking towards the temple. It was beautiful in its simplicity, she believed, and her feet hesitated to step inside its boundaries, if only because of its obvious sacrality.

Stumbling inside, she squinted her eyes for better vision in the darkness of the temple. No structures or statues of any dieties, as far as she could see; they must have been demolished a long time ago. She traced the intricate carvings etched on the walls; they really were immaculate—

"Hyuuga?"

Hinata gasped, shoulders tensing and head jerking to the side. A cold, involuntary shudder ran through her, and she demanded, "Wh-who's there?"

It was only after her eyes caught a flash of alabaster skin and obsidian eyes, that she squinted her eyes further, craned her neck, and asked with uncertainty, "L-Lord Uchiha? Is that you?"

"Why are you here, Hyuuga?"

Granted, there was no affirmation. For Hinata, though, the Uchiha's voice— unbelievably cold, detachedly aloof, and with a strange, unparalleled authority ringing within its confines— was affirmation enough.

"I? I was... I stumbled upon it, is all," she reluctantly answered, having trouble fishing out the appropriate words from her jumbled thoughts. "I-I didn't really intend to come here, you see."

"I see," was the dry reply. She heard the shuffle of his footsteps as he shifted closer to her, and as he did so, she found that his features could be discerned with much more clarity, despite the lack of light. Suddenly, she found it odd how her eyes alone could, so precisely, trace the circles beneath his eyes, the light wrinkle on his brow, and the lines alongside his aristocratic nose.

"What about you, Lord Uchiha?" she inquired, and Hinata was shocked and displeased with herself to find that it was more of an effort to initiate conversation, rather than to sate her curiosity. "It seems strange that you would come here; this temple is abandoned, after all."

"I'm aware," he answered, and Hinata's ears caught a barely-audible sigh. "It's less of a hassle to come here. That's all."

"Ah, I see, being nobility and all," she whispered, more to herself than to her unwilling companion.

Silence spread over the two, with Hinata wringing her hands together anxiously, and Sasuke leaning against the wall and occasionally shuffling his feet. It wasn't long before Hinata convinced herself to summon forth her courage and breach the subject that had long since been lingering at and teasing the edge of her consciousness.

"Lord Uchiha..." she began nervously. "You— were you... I mean, you—" she exhaled shakily. His eyes on her made her want to curl into herself. "Y-You were... engaged, I've heard. To someone... before Sakura?"

"You heard, or you know?"

She winced, as if he had dealt her no less than a physical blow.

"I—" she turned to face him, and then wished she hadn't; his piercing gaze left no room for white lies. "I... knew, I suppose. I wasn't sure, however, so I—"

"I was engaged to Ino Yamanaka seven years ago," he admitted, "but I think you already know that, don't you, Hyuuga?"

"I see," she said quietly, not entirely sure what to make of his reaction— or lack, thereof. "I'm... I'm sorry. It must have been difficult, surely, to have lost your beloved when you were—"

"I was," he interrupted without remorse, "young and, consequently, stupid. Infatuation isn't much different from love at that age, Hyuuga. My actions were hardly justified."

(At the back of her mind, a dull buzzing told Hinata that the 'actions' he referred to were things other than simply his proposal to the Yamanaka heiress.)

"S-surely, though," she pursued, inwardly berating herself for hanging onto a single thread so desperately, "you must have felt some remorse at her death, surely. It... it's natural, isn't it?"

(Isn't it?)

"It's natural, you say," he mused, pausing for a moment. "It is natural, I suppose."

Are you evading the question, Lord Uchiha, or do you just not care?

"It's funny, don't you think?" she whispered, half-hoping her voice would reach him, and half-hoping he would ignore it. "I don't mean to sound insensitive, but... it is rather strange, I think, how Lady Haruno and Lady Yamanaka seemed to meet their demise when you were engaged to be married to the both of them," seeing his eyes sharpening, she quickly amended, "It's very unfortunate, I think."

"Unfortunate," he repeated. "For me, or for them?"

"I-I don't— that's not—"

"Let's not beat around the bush now, Lady Hyuuga," he said, a mocking undertone lacing his words, as his pale, sculpted lips stretched upwards in a sardonic smirk. "I'm sure you don't appreciate receiving such evasive answers, so let's stop with the evasive questions."

Her lips moved on their own: "Did you love them?"

"I did," was the immediate answer.

She pursed her lips, sliding down against the nearby wall. Her dress, wrinkled and dusty, pooled around her ankles, as she circled her arms around her knees. Sasuke Uchiha was an enigma— someone who loved, but didn't grieve. In essence, she felt him more as a presence, rather than as a person— she was falling, and she knew it. She was falling in deeper than deep, and soon, she wouldn't be able to see herself in the abyss. Someone had caught a hold of her finger, as if she was a mere child to be led, and like a child, she was clinging to it— she had been clinging to it from the moment she had stepped into Lord Haruno's funeral, from the moment she had lied to Neji, her trusted guardian, from the moment she had so foolishly decided that she could have helped someone with problems she had nothing to do with, and from the moment she had discovered, with such delight, that she had found a person within a noble—

(—Just like now.)

"Lord Uchiha," she addressed, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. "No, Sasuke-san."

She saw his eyes widen in surprise, but for once, she wouldn't concern herself with it; he was a person to her, and she refused to address him as anything but such.

"Please, please tell me," she whispered with ferocity and fragility all at once, feeling the cold overwhelm her senses, numbing her mind, giving her refuge from her creeping thoughts, as she clutched her knees. "Did you have anything, anything at all, to do with Lady Haruno's death?"

He said nothing, only walked over to her kneeling form (there was something different in his footsteps— she could feel it,) gently pried away her right hand, and traced the little red cut on her finger. When he smiled at her before walking away— sinful, mirthless, warning— she wondered if it was her fault that she saw red flash in his eyes.

(And if it was her fault that she loved them still, even when the red was the same hue as the blood spilt on Sakura's bedroom floor.)

-:-:-:-:-

24th May, 1866

Three days, and that red continued to haunt her vision, lucid or not. It swirled within the depths of the abyss with her, tainting everything she saw a rosy cerise.

Hinata sat cross-legged in the library, her leisurely posture contradictory to the distorted thoughts of her exhausted mind as they swirled in confusion. A copy of a historical play was gripped loosely in her hands, her eyes glazed over in contemplation, her mind as far as it could be from the diolagues of the characters, as entrancing as they might have been. A soft sigh escaped her, before she closed the book in resignation. A favourite of hers it might have been, but her attention adamantly refused to stray from unwanted thoughts about the Uchiha dukedom and a particular son under its name.

Pressing the play under her arm and ignoring the curious glances of maids and servants, she walked out the gates of the estate with a determination to simply forget. Even on a temporary basis would do; she was desperate, at this point.

Ten minutes into the stroll, Hinata dismally noticed that the hustle-bustle of the streets did nothing to push the nerve-racking thoughts to the back of her mind. The street vendors, the carefree children, and the couples strolling about did nothing to dull the murmurs that constantly tried to tell her things she didn't want to know.

When she found herself at the doorstep of a building that seemed eerily familiar, Hinata began to seriously question her sanity. She raised her head to the darkening sky, glanced at the barren landscape behind her over her shoulder, and faced the doors of the temple with her features contorted in an expression of clear skepticism.

She stepped inside regardless.

This time, however, Hinata didn't need to step in any further to discern who the person standing with his back to her was, his fingers tracing the patterns engraved on the farthest wall with the utmost respect. With an imperceptible frown, she wondered why she wasn't the least bit surprised.

"Sasuke-san," she softly acknowledged.

A nod and a quiet, "Hyuuga," in response; he'd known. In truth, she still wasn't surprised.

She'd learnt enough from him to disregard all forms of social etiquette in his presence; haphazardly tying her tresses up in a casual bun, she assumed a cross-legged position while leaning against a nearby wall, opened up her play to the bookmarked page, and simply read. He asked her no questions; all he did was glance at the cover of the play, wordlessly raised an eyebrow, and sat down beside her with his knees raised up to his chin.

She wouldn't delude herself into thinking that there was any semblance of companionship between them. She wouldn't question why this particular temple had pulled her towards it, and she wouldn't question why those constant flashes of crimson in Sasuke's eyes seemed so blood-curdling, so real, eliciting unbridled fear and enchantment all at once, and evoking cold, numbing shivers inside of her. She wasn't nearly foolish enough to do so.

(Was questioning even within her power anymore, she wondered? What with those eyes driving her to the edge of insanity, where she lingered until the incessant burning stopped.)

"Hyuuga," he'd said, just as she had been leaving. Hand buried in his raven locks, he'd shot a glance at the play safely tucked under her arm. "Julius Caesar?"

"Is there something wrong with Julius Caesar?" she'd replied, somewhat (but not really) offended.

He looked at her, and although the faint smile playing at his lips didn't really waver, the amusement dancing in the depths of his eyes was no longer light-hearted; it was darker, richer, and sharper. She wouldn't mistake it. She couldn't.

(Flames dancing within the black.)

"Nothing wrong," she heard in reply— and what she heard didn't concur with what she saw. "You didn't seem like a reader, that's all."

"I beg your pardon, but you hardly know anything about me, Sasuke-san," she said quietly, somewhat flustered.

He let out a quiet hum in response, resting his arm over his closed eyes.

(They were licking at her—)

"Hyuuga," he mused, a thoughful undertone to his words. "I'm not very well-versed in literature, but I'm curious; what do you think that dream really meant?"

Having read the play several times, she didn't need him to elaborate to know which dream he was talking about. His tone of voice would give her the impression that the question was no more than an indulgent, idle one, had she not heard the subtle edge to his voice (and, really, she called it subtle, but it couldn't have been louder to her.) She felt as if he was speaking to her for the first time, and she somehow knew that if she answered, it wouldn't be the answer he wanted.

Hinata was immensely grateful that he'd concealed his eyes.

(—and they would engulf her.)

-:-:-:-:-

27th May, 1866

Another three days later, when she stumbled upon Sasuke in the abandoned temple again (and she wouldn't entertain ideas about why she was there in the first place,) she was shocked to see him kneeling submissively, head bowed and hands pressed together. She didn't dare breath, because the silence felt absolute and sacred, and she felt as if she should have closed her eyes or turned away from the scene, because she was intruding on something private.

Then, she wondered why she didn't.

For a moment, she was truly at a loss of what to do; a part of her insisted that she back away and leave him be, while another part, albeit a much deeper part she wanted to bury underneath surface thoughts, urged her to step over to him, kneel beside him, and for once, try feeling what he felt. In the end, she found herself standing by the doors, awkwardly shifting her weight from one foot to another.

When he rose, his features morphing back into stone and his eyes icy again, he didn't seem the least bit bothered by her presence. He gestured to the place he had been occupying, and said softly to her, "You can, if you want to."

Looking back on it, Hinata guessed that, maybe, the remnants of his prayers that shone in his eyes were what compelled her to ask, "Sasuke-san, y-you— I mean, do you... believe?"

He nodded, lowering his eyebrows slightly at her incredulous expression.

Well, he most certainly doesn't look like the type to believe.

"Why so surprised, Hyuuga?" he asked, absent-mindedly twirling a cardinal pocket-watch around his finger.

"I'm not, I'm not," she insisted, eyes tracing the repititve movements of the little watch. "Not really. It's just... pardon me, but I didn't expect you to have faith in something you couldn't see. O-of course, that could just be me."

"Don't misunderstand," he clarified (rather half-heartedly, she noticed with chagrin.) "I don't really think of faith as completely voluntary; it's more of a necessity than anything."

"I— what? I don't think I understand—"

"Look around you, Hyuuga," he said, raking his fingers through the locks falling in front if his closed eyes. With an inward pang, she took note of the weariness in his voice. "The world's not a nice place. It changes, and you need something to hold you where you are, or you're gone."

Hinata stuttered out a few unfinished words, before settling for shaking her head in puzzlement.

(What are you thinking? Won't you let me know what you're thinking?)

Sasuke sighed, "We need to stay sane, Hyuuga, in a place which is anything but. We need something unwavering, something unchanging, so that we can at least delude ourselves into peace, if nothing else," he sighed again, "and it just so happens, that the closest thing we have to an unchanging existence is God. Nothing we can do about that, is there?"

Why, she demanded of herself, did his words feel torturous? Her eyebrows weren't supposed to furrow, her lips weren't supposed to tremble, she wasn't supposed to curl into herself, she wasn't supposed to feel the colour draining out of her lips, she wasn't supposed to feel the subtle, blood-curdling shivers, she wasn't supposed to feel something clawing its way up her throat, like she would—

"That... that's not right, Sasuke-san," she whispered. "That's not right. That's—"

"We need it. We need this," he continued relentlessly, indifferently, as if he didn't even know what he was doing to her— "We need some semblance of sanity, Hyuuga. Adults, children, emperors, peasants; we all need it. We need it."

"No, no— that's— that's sad, Sasuke-san, that's just," she swallowed down something clogging her throat, "unbelievably sad, and it's— it's sad, and it's not right—"

"What do you want me to say?" he chuckled to himself, as if mocking her naivete and scorning himself at the same time. "We live in a world where people are selfless? Where people are truthful, kind-hearted, and unassuming? Where people seek the good of the world instead of vengeance? Where people don't warp the little good things into self-destruction? Where people don't lie, people don't kill, people don't hurt, just because they can? What do you want me to say, Hyuuga?"

"Stop it—"

"If you want me to say it, I will," he offered flippantly, but the haunting smile playing at his lips was anything but flippant, as if it knew of her loathing for lies. "Do you want me to say it?"

Hinata closed her eyes shut, and bound back the urge to scream.

(What are you thinking?)

-:-:-:-:-

30th May, 1866

The first day passed, as did the second, and as the third rolled by, Hinata found herself huddled in a corner of the vacant temple, one hand resting on her knee, the other pressed against her forehead. Patches and stains of dirt and dust and God-knew-what on her dress, the young heiress was lost— or rather, she was gone, as Sasuke had so eloquently put it. The more she allowed herself to feel the ethereal aura a temple was bound to emanate, she more the leash on her thoughts loosened, and the more she found them wandering away from the logic she had been taught to follow throughout her life. It simply wasn't fair, in her opinion.

There was no book in her hand, no fastening clip in the long curtain of her hair, and no false pretenses laid atop the grimaces, shivers, and winces.

On the second day, when the young heiress had been lying on the same plush bed she'd slept in since her infant years, dreaming dreams she'd never seen before— vague, clouded dreams of herself in clandestine worlds, soaked by springs and waterfalls of something definitely not water— she'd awoken to the same, familiar burning at the tips of her fingers. Her subconscious had conjured up images of Sasuke; of his lips moving and forming the same words that reverberated in every corner of her mind, and the burning had intensified.

Then, she'd shaken her head so hard, it had hurt, and she'd stumbled and groped around in the darkness blindly for the pendant her dear mother had entrusted to her, telling her to pray to God and hold onto Him, just as she would hold onto that pendant. She'd snatched it up from the side-table, gripping it with enough ferocity to break the skin of her palms, and the burning had subsided. It had subsided.

(But, of course, she wouldn't admit that she'd wanted it back.)

Admittedly, she was disturbed; so much so, that she'd just stared at the little drops of blood on her palms with an empty head for quite a long while. When dawn broke, she'd decided that she would venture forth into the temple one last time, just to bow to Sasuke, offer a few words of thanks for his company, and part with him for good while still clutching onto her dignity and high-held convictions.

Consequently, she just couldn't understand why, in the name of all that was holy, her words would just refuse to come out, opting to clog up her throat instead. When faced with the man, her mouth would open again, close again, and her lips would flap mindlessly, while he gazed upon with the ever-superior, raised eyebrow.

I have sincerely enjoyed your company, and I (do not) hope to see you again sometime in the future. I bid you farewell.

They wouldn't leave the confines of her mind, as if they were taboo.

In the end, nothing except meaningless greetings left her lips (none of which he really bothered to return) while she kept toeing the delicate line between stiff formality and discomfort. Everytime she entered that temple after an interval of three days, the burning would flare up inside, and then she would wonder, weren't spiritual places supposed to calm your nerves and cool down the raging emotions that eroded you away chip by chip?

And yet, in spite of herself, she returned each time without fail.

("We need something unwavering, something unchanging—")

When Hinata caught a glimpse of Sasuke's faint and humourless smile, all she could think was, he knows, and that was all. He seemed to be in a strangely good mood, she noticed, as he flicked his musical pocket-watch open and close again before the sweet, lullaby-like melody had a chance to begin playing.

"That's a beautiful pocket-watch, Sasuke-san," Hinata complimented, resisting the urge to reach out and brush her fingertips against its smooth, crimson surface.

Sasuke looked at her with eyes warmer than before (she would have liked to believe, at least) and twirled the attached chain around his finger, quietly replying, "Thank you."

She nodded to herself, a soft smile spreading across her full lips at the thought of him being attached to something in his possession. It may have been slightly materialistic, but the fond glimmer of his eyes wasn't dissimilar to that of a child's when he fawned over his favourite toy. It may have been unbecoming to others, but for her, that faint, veiled glint of humanity calmed her like nothing else.

She wondered, though, why that unnamed part of her still murmured, shaking its head sadly, mockingly— accusingly.

(Such an idiotic notion, girl. Stupid, stupid girl.)

"The colour is wonderful," she continued abstractedly. "I haven't seen it around town at all, it's very unusual, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," he mused, unblinking gaze fixated on the watch, fingers spinning it round and round, cyptic smile widening. "It was a rather dull colour originally, so I decided to paint it red instead. A nice change, wouldn't you say?"

When the meaning behind his words sunk in, digging its claws into her already-cracked heart, the illusory smile on her face was frozen in place. The freezing chill seeped inside; her heart almost stopped beating, her thoughts almost stopped racing, her soul almost stopped living. It was only when bile started rising up her throat and its bitter taste invaded her mouth, that she bolted, collapsed outside closed doors, and vomited.

It was only when she glimpsed Sasuke's frighteningly violent smile, that the sounds of sobbing mingled with the sounds of gagging and choking, even when her eyes remained dry.

(It was only then that the unnamed part laughed, and said to her, 'Didn't you even stop to think why the urge to touch the crimson was so much like the urge to touch poor Sakura's dead heart?')

-:-:-:-:-

2nd June, 1866

(She couldn't see herself. Not anymore.)

The repeated, tentative knocks from the maids and the muffled voices of Hanabi and Neji from behind the bedroom room were vageuly registering to the back of her mind, where they were heard, and locked away somewhere without being comprehended. Soundless, scratched, stained images were rushing through her mind, never even staying long enough for her to catch more than just a bare glimpse of them.

(Never more than a glimpse— but she was losing herself to them.)

The longer she stayed behind the locked door of her room, she more unfeeling she could feel herself becoming. She had to hold herself back, though— because she could, with terrifying clarity, feel the pull from the southern outskirts of Konoha, unwaveringly tugging. She was honestly trying, Hinata insisted, but she was falling, like she had always known she would.

So she soon found herself, in her day-old prairie dress, her hair a tangled mess of knots, walking along a path she'd unintentionally memorized. The masses of Konohagakure did nothing to ease her (perhaps because there was nothing to ease anymore) and ironically, she noticed that the sun was at its peak; it was the first time.

(You'll be able to see him with open eyes, the unnamed part whispered conspiratorially.)

What are you waiting for? her mind was demanding of her. No one will come save you this time. Turn back. Do it yourself.

But she couldn't. Her mentality was being moulded, she grudgingly admitted, and she could see the truth in the words uttered to her six days prior; she needed something unchanging to keep her rooted to the ground, because regardless of how dirty and disgusting the ground may have been, she would never fly— and she was no longer naive enough to flap her feather-less wings and try.

Where are you now, Hinata?

Before she knew it, the crowds thinned and the mindless chatter dulled, making way for barren land, where the sole sound of her footsteps echoed in her ears— as if it was something of a tribute to the memory of her first visit to a place forsaken.

Where are you now?

The sight of the temple' dome peeked in her peripheral vision, and Hinata walked onwards with considerably more fervour in her steps, resisting the urge to break into a run. The numbing cold was fading— not entirely, never entirely— but, at the very least, she could feel. She could feel the grains of sand pricking the bottom of her feet, she could feel locks of her hair, soaked with perspiration, clinging to her neck, she could feel the rustle of her dress, she could feel desperation in its purest form, running through her veins, as potent as her blood.

(— A faint, melodic tune, chanting something to her, reaching out to her, carressing her fears and insecurities with a lulling sound. A flash of red hair, red eyes, red liquid— rich, thick, beautiful—)

She heard screaming; heart-wrenching, toe-curling, brutal screaming, close enough for someone to have been shouting in her ear. Only when all strength and feeling left her limbs, when her hand gripped one of the open gates, nails scratching the wooden surface as they clenched, when her knees buckled, trembling, and she collapsed, did Hinata realise that the screaming came from her own raw throat. She would have wondered why she wasn't crying, had she not been robbed of all speech and thought. And when her unending screams hitched, it wasn't due to her coarse, prickling throat, but the grip around her heart, squeezing mercilessly.

Sasuke Uchiha stood a few feet from her crumbled form— God forbid she failed to recognize him somewhere— but the readheaded woman in his grasp was unfamiliar to her. Her dark, wild hair falling to the middle of her back, her skin tanned, her cracked glasses lying somewhere near her bare feet, and Sasuke's head buried in the hollow between her neck and shoulder— Hinata would have believed them to be embracing, had she not seen the blood pooling around the woman's feet, staining her neck and her lavender top scarlet, and a flash of white digging into her delicate throat.

And while Sasuke himself seemed to be gulping down copious amounts of something, his unflinching gaze burned into Hinata's, over the woman's bloodied shoulder.

(And were she not screaming, she could have moaned— because his eyes were alive.)

They pierced into her, without wavering, without faltering, and, most baffling, without surprise. They stared into her, rather than at her, daring her to look away, and commanding her not to at the same time, as if their wielder had wanted her to see the grosteque scene.

Sasuke's head rose from the woman's neck, his left hand shielding his blood-soaked mouth from view. He released her, and her body crumpled pitifully to the floor, neck twisting at an obscene angle, reduced to a mangled mesh of skin, bone, and vessels. Hinata could hardly even discern her facial features; the woman's face was caked in blood, both fresh and dried.

-:-:-:-:-

And he'd loved her, like he'd loved all of them.

(Because wasn't that the only explanation?)

-:-:-:-:-

And she, oh, she simply couldn't stop screaming.

(But her uncontrollable screams were of something other than simple, mere fright— and wasn't that what truly frightened her?)

Her eyes incidentally fell upon the open pocket-watch thrown in an illuminated corner of the temple, playing a sweet, soothing melody. It played and played, over and over, and when her horrified screams couldn't drown it out, Hinata felt as if she were trapped in a gilded cage, what with the innocent, child-like feel of the melody in a place unfeeling and insane.

Sasuke stepped over the body with sickening casualness, extended a hand to her, and with a quiet, eerily thoughtful voice, asked her what was quite possibly the most inappropriate thing to ask: "Do you want to dance, Hyuuga?"

"What... what did you do to them?" she whispered, not as fiercely as she would have liked; not with a voice as weak and trembling as hers. "Y-you killed them— you killed her—"

He paid no heed to her snivelling accusations, and when he held her wrist in a grip so gentle, she'd thought him incapable of it, she didn't have the strength to pull away, despite the tenderness. When he clasped her hand in his, placed another on her waist, and pulled her to him with the courtesy of a gentlemen, she let her head fall on his shoulder, simply because she was so, so tired.

"Why?" she whispered, no longer making an effort to restrain the exhaustion from seeping into her voice. "Why did you do it? I want to know why you— why did you— L-Lady Haruno and... and Yamanaka— why did you do it, Sasuke-san? I know you—"

"You know, Hyuuga," he off-handedly conversed, tilting his head to examine her limp hands fondly, as he brushed his thumb over her palm. "Karin had beautiful hands. Did you know? They fit perfectly in mine when we danced. Ironic, isn't it?"

Her breath stopped for a moment, before the internal dam shattered, and Hinata realised, with a vague, twisted sense of irony, that she was spilling forth tears for the first time since their first coincidental meeting— she hadn't even shed any in the warped ones that followed after, had she?

She shook with silent sobs, dampening his shoulder, but he continued. More or less dragging her feet to the lullaby-like tune, he twisted and turned and dipped beautifully throughout the faux waltz, and when her tears finally dried, she found the melody resembling a dirge more than a lullaby. Resting against his shoulder, being led like she had never been led before, she was engulfed by flames, and her all-seeing eyes were blinded.

(She was home.)

"Sasuke-san," she said to him softly, her words muffled by his shoulder, eyes closed in face of something she didn't want to acknowledge. "If I asked you, would you let me pray once before I die?"

He chuckled, slowly and gently turning her around. His arms embraced her still, slender shoulders, and as he rested his chin on her shoulder, she could feel his breath fanning her neck and his lips stretching to form that all-too-familiar smile. He sardonically replied, "Planning to wish for sweet Heaven now, Hyuuga? A little late, I'm afraid."

"I wish for salvation, Sasuke," she said, feeling his tongue peek out to taste the flesh of her neck, "not Heaven."

He laughed quietly, and she felt a shiver violently shake the core of her soul— if it's even there anymore, her beating heart murmured. He grasped her tighter, and mumbled into her neck, "You didn't strike me as the type to need salvation."

When she answered him, her resigned voice was barely above a whisper— but she was smiling, much like she had seen him doing, and she remembered having loved it thoroughly, and fearing it all the same.

"I don't, but you do."

It was over before she could have blinked. He'd frozen for a split-second, his smile had vanished instantly, and no sooner did she find a hand through her chest, piercing both her body as well as her spirit, and clutching her heart in its ownership. His voice had been like splinters of ice again, when he'd murmured, "I'm sorry, Hyuuga, but I'll be keeping this one."

(And the cold disappears.)

-:-:-:-:-

He'd loved her, like he'd loved all of them.

("Love often destroys our kind, little brother. It gives us false hope that we've finally found salvation, and when we realise that we haven't, our only refuge is to destroy everything. Including ourselves.")

-:-:-:-:-

.

.

.

19th August, 1966, Konohagakure Times,

Headlines— The Uchiha Massacre:

The glorious town of Konoha has been overcome with shock and despair, and it seems as if the executor of this merciless massacre has snatched away the prestige and prosperity of the town along with the lives of its several Uchiha residents. The dead bodies of Fugaku, Mikoto, and Itachi Uchiha were first found in the main Uchiha compound, before the carcasses of other clan members were discovered. The former three are believed to have been burnt, with the rest having been stabbed repeatedly. Sasuke Uchiha is currently missing, and investigations are ongoing to determine his whereabouts. We pray that the culprit of this heinous crime is uncovered, and Konohagakure is soon restored to its former glory.

-:-:-:-:-