Lilies in the Night
Naruto Fan Fiction
Prologue
Although my child was by no means charmed, I did find myself content, for the most part. It went by swiftly and without instance; a blur of hot days spent running errands for the headmistress of the orphanage, talking to my fellows during not-nearly-long-enough lunch hours, and nights spent in the meadows gazing up at starts, or in the forest listening to the clamor of cicadas, or by the creek trying to catch the moon as it played on the water, or walking the streets in the pleasant summer rains. In the lovely, ever-present summer that surrounded my village, each day was much the same, and I rather liked it that way.
Perhaps the fondest memories I have of those days long gone are the lilies. Special lilies, I assure you, else they wouldn't have left such an impression. My friends and I – lovingly referred to as my brothers in sisters, since we each had none of our own to speak of – would spend each night in quiet anticipation, waiting for the one week each year when the midnight lilies would bloom. Midnight lily, of course, was not the flower's true name, but a common name, used mostly by the children of the village. Their real name was something far more complicated that, over the years, I've sadly forgotten.
They would grow during the day, and the villagers would watch them patiently. They would care for them in order to assure a dazzling display for the festival that coincided with their blooming.
The day before the lilies were scheduled to bloom, the village would spring into action; building decorative statues, painting murals, organizing events. It was such a rush of excitement that even those who were not involved with the planning and orchestration of the event were taken up in the emotion, wrapped in it like a cocoon. And that night, when the lilies showed their magnificent faces at midnight on the dot, each person was released from his or her cocoon as a star-struck butterfly, hypnotized by the bioluminescent flowers that glowed green and blue and magenta under the bright light of a full moon.
Gold and violet and crimson lines whirled on their cream petals, each a different pattern. They would tilt in the breeze, the gentle winds setting their pollen – aglow to match their respective host's coloration – free to drift and mingle until rainbow clouds formed just under the lowest branches of the trees. I remember reaching towards them on my toes, each year hoping to catch a handful of fairy dust to keep for myself, but to no avail. Only on the last year was I tall enough to touch it for myself, but my fingers came away with nothing but disappointment, which was thankfully whisked away instantly by a lily-scented breeze.
Only when the sun touched the tips of the mountains did the festivities stop each night. Under the sun's harsh rays, the midnight lilies would fade and wilt, truly spent, to make room for those that would bloom the following night, and the night after that, and so on, until there were no more to be seen.
On those nights, my childhood was charmed. Looking back, it saddens me that I was only alive for seven of those magical festivals, and that I was only able to fully enjoy four of those seven. If things hadn't gone so horribly, horribly wrong, I would have stayed there forever.
But I could not. I did not. And now, with so many steps taken – both away from my home and away from my childhood innocence – I cannot go back.
I am Mayonaka Yuri. I was named for the lilies that painted the moonlit sky with vibrant colors. I have always felt alive under the moon, never happier than when I walk the night.
But now, the night has been spent. Now, like the lilies, I am dying in the light of dawn.
Akatsuki has killed me.
Would you like to know how?