The night sweats kept him up. Deadly and motionless he lay as fire whipped in his heart. He exhaled sensually as her flawless skin glittered in his mind. It was the same accumulation of ivory colored diamonds that he had left red and blue just yesterday.

His mind cut back to her screaming whispers her bright, lively blood on his pale, death-like hands. Still he dreamed of her flowering eyes and her poetic smile. The air grew heavy and frayed, and he knew that he was sordid, but the line between love and hate is much thinner than one would imagine.

*

Her ebony locks, void of all color, almost vanished in the burdened night, tresses so clear, so utterly onyx that he could see the stars glittering in them. Her glowing mane rolled in the wind, the ends of her hair flickered lightly about her rounded shoulders.

The river of Konoha was thickly gorgeous in the night. The waters flow a cool back, undulating in small waves of quiet enigma.

In the dark folds of night's liquid reflection, she took notice of a moonflower. She watched pointedly as it began to ride the current to somewhere that she wanted to be.

She glared into the river, searching for some vestige of her long-gone mother' s existence. Before sadness could overcome her, she averted her white eyes back to the flower.

She noticed her hair hanging over her face. She noticed the flower, dancing in whimsical circles, shattering her imperial reflection. It hadn't gone far at all.

Only then did she realize that it had fallen from her own hair. And only then did she realize that she was not the one who had put it there.

He waited for her to turn around, to meet his similar eyes with the horror-stricken face that was etched into his mind along with so many other horror-stricken memories.

But, she did not. Slowly she rose a slender hand and smoothed her silken hair. She remained solid, facing the river.

He stepped closer to her. She stiffened, silently bewildered by the fact that she had not seen any trace of his solid frame in the river's reflection at all. He was satisfied, and she smoothed her hair systematically.

Perfectly aware of mostly inconspicuous panic, he caught her hand in his, and savored the moment like the twisted being that he was. He lowered her hand leisurely and smoothed her luscious mane once himself. His hard, calloused yet startlingly graceful fingers grazed gingerly over the strands, covering the distance nearly from roots to tips.

She looked into the river, searching desperately for something that seemed to be elusive. She gave up and looked for the moonflower. It had departed, like most things in her life, like all but one.

As his blanched fingers approached her hair tips, he enclosed the black length in his strong palm pulling it away from her shoulders to expose a pale, slender neck. With careful apprehension, he slowly pulled her hair to the side. Her head tilted, better revealing the white of her neck. It shined brightly in contrast to the deeply dark night.

He craned himself over her shoulder and inclined his face to the angle of her neck, deeply taking in the feather scent embedded in her skin. He smiled lightly, curving his lips against her shoulder. She smelled of the sweetest herbs and flowers of all the flora.