A/N. So… More revisions! This time its Naruto! More specifically Demon of the Library, which is currently being retitled (possibly). You might not recognize the plot also… because that has a tendency to happen. First off, I'm telling you right now, I'm changing fem!Naruto's name to Nagisa, because I like it more than Narumi…

WARNING! (Potentially)Extremely AU! Fanfic! Fem!Naruto ahead, don't like, don't read (though I'd prefer that you at least give it a chance beforehand.) Minor Liberal use of OCs (Maybe).

Summary: "It's a little shop on the corner, between the alleys and the bar, where the drunkards stare in fear of things no one else can see and their own nightmares. It's a little shop of horrors and the domain of a demon, and don't you know there's a witch inside who's always after your soul?"

Legends run rampant in the village of Konohagakure, and even more so after the attack of the nine-tailed demon fox, a vicious and vengeful spirit said to have plagued the lands since long before the first Shinobi World War. But it's in a little shop filled with seemingly innocent and useless knickknacks that the world spins to a different tune, and the fate of an entire universe takes a drastic turn into the unknown.

You've never seen an Uzumaki like this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

EP 0: Legends in the Rain

It was a warning on the lips of old war veterans as they crossed their fingers and prayed to something that didn't exist, eyes refusing stubbornly to meet anything for longer than the five seconds it took to make sure that they weren't quite dead and buried yet. Distinct and muttered, gaze searching shadows that could've held something in it. Wary of lies and deceit, and just as jaded by the truth as they were of the past.

But this was a shinobi village and that was par the course really.

It was chanted all the same like a prayer to the blind and lost, a nightmare where none probably existed.

Avoid the little shop on the corner between the alleys and that one bar the drunkard who sings of witches, demons, and curses practically lives.

Be wary of the woman who sings at its door, sweeping away at the porch and pale as the moonlight.

Do not take anything she says at face value, and never shake her hand.

It was all horror stories at best, and a shinobi's paranoid sensibilities at worst. After all, what could be trusted of a woman with seemingly no name and of unknown origins who supposedly had been there longer than even the kyuubi that had terrorized the village five years ago? Who in the world could live that long and still breathe?

A little girl made of raggedy blonde hair the color of the sun on a warm summers day and eyes bluer than the sea, with skin a sickening mixture of purple and yellow bruises and red, red bumps, could think of quite a few things, to be certain. Like the injuries that never seemed to heal and only ever seemed to grow in number. Like the angry whispers in her head that screamed at a demon that was supposed to be dead and cried for a retribution that would never come.

Like the lies that she could see so plainly on everyone's face, from the scars the nice man at the little ramen shop tried to hide that could only be from a kunai, to the secrets the old man in the red hat hid behind a guilt ridden smile and gentle eyes filled with so much regret.

Like the woman in the stories who might've been a witch who ate the souls of recklessly careless or a demon worse than the kyuubi who took human form and deceived everyone.

Or even the scary thing in her stomach that boiled red hot with hate and anger, and was cold with sadness and barely restrained regret. Who stank of a plot so thick and vile her little, naïve, child's brain wouldn't be able to comprehend it in a million years.

Certainly not here, beaten and bloody and bruised again because one of the villagers maybe hadn't liked the way she'd looked at them. Or maybe just the way she'd looked at all.

Either way, she'd wound up in some nameless alley, between some nameless building and a bar where someone was singing strange songs she couldn't make out pass the haze of pain and a cacophony of voices all screaming angry thoughts and her own death. There was a kunai in her side, a broken leg to keep her from moving and a potential concussion, whatever that was.

But it all fell silent at the padding of shoes against thick globs of mud as the rain fell from the sky and made her far colder than she'd ever want to comfortably be. Certainly more silent than the world had been for a very long time.

"Great, another corpse to clean out of the alley before it starts to smell…" Grumble, grumble, but no annoyance. 'Who is this? She makes no noise at all…' "Feh, stupid fools… Demon my scrawny, pale as fuck ass! I know demons, seen them before. The Kyuubi was a demon, that one-tailed tanuki beast in Suna is a demon, the little goblins hanging off the backs of every shinobi and civilian in this damn village is a demon! THIS! This is nothing but a brat! Blind, stupid fools, the whole lot!"

Anger, she could tell in the tone, disgust even maybe, but she couldn't feel these emotions from the woman. She was sure whoever was speaking was a woman, she couldn't see, no, but she was sure. No man sounded like that unless they were young like the students in the academy and hadn't hit that point where their voices got all squeaky before getting really deep.

"What a useless death..." A sigh, just like the rain falling now but more gentle. "What does killing a child do? An innocent, they let the demons egg and talk them on, and what happens? It certainly won't bring the dead back. They are dead…" A hand, just as soft against her bleeding head, the kindest touch anyone has ever given her. But still it hurts, and she whimpers in discomfort.

What else can a beaten child on death's door do?

"Ah?" Surprise is an octave higher, dawning realization at its finest as that same hand prods gently at her aching sides. Why would one do that to someone so injured? "The dead stay dead… But this one… Stubborn little beasty, aren't we?" The woman coos, praised and proud, the faceless woman scoops her up, makes her warm where the rain has made her cold, and brushed gently at the still dripping blood.

"Yes, alive indeed, and stronger still for it, I bet! No one would take you in, because of what they think they see. But they are blind… And you… yes, you can see. Maybe there is something yet! Yes, I'll take you in, beasty. You'll probably be a right brat, and I can't promise a safe upbringing, I am no mother, and mine was a right bitch! If no one will claim you, than I will. You will be my beasty, a proud little child with no need to hide!"

A door closes, and another opens, the paths turn and shift, leading into the darkness and uncertainty of chaos.

They say the single flap of a butterflies wings can change so much…

The legend changes, the warnings waver, there is no longer just a witch, but a demon also. A beast of a little thing that should've died, should've but didn't.

Maybe the drunkard doesn't lie…

She was a witch, a deal-making monster only there to taunt and taint before devouring the souls of the lost and beyond redemption. A servant of a demon, maybe even the great Kyuubi itself. Unloved, unwanted, and a fearsome sight to behold with a just as dislikable personality and a glint in her eyes that led many to believe she was brewing something foul and ill-fated.

Or, rather, that was the more commonly accepted opinion of the more superstitious denizens of the hidden village of Konohagakure.

It wasn't like she hadn't lent herself to such vicious and outlandish rumors, she'd certainly not gone out of her way to deny the wild claims that spread through the dank, unwanted underbelly that was the alleys and back streets of the otherwise prosperous shinobi village. And there was also some facet of truth to be found in every lie, tall tale, and rumor. Legends weren't spun out of thin air after all, and heroes weren't born from silly pipe dreams and wishes.

Someone had to have done something, something had to have happened for half the stories and fairy tales that spread both through word of mouth and paper to exist.

But she was no witch, had never seen a witch in her entire life, and was of a mindset at this point that while they may have existed at one point in time, they certainly were of no real threat now. And the only demon she'd ever actually dealt with for any length of time was the Kyuubi no Yoko, the nine-tailed demon fox that had been a plague on the people of Konoha since long before the village had actually been founded.

Kami knew how old that demon really was, and it was every bit of conceivable that the demon was far older than even their world as a whole. After all, who was to say it hadn't come from another dimension entirely, and they'd just been unfortunate enough to be born in the one world it had just so happened to pick as its new home.

But the civilians of Konoha were nothing, if not a suspicious, unobservant bunch and while she'd never paraded the streets screaming her own presence for all to hear, her behavior had probably more than leant itself to a wild tale or two.

Of course, a wild tale or two quickly turned into several, and before long, she'd gone from a nameless, clanless woman with a strange kekkei genkai that allowed her to see manifestations of emotions and thoughts to a witch who struck deals with demons and bartered with the souls of the soon-to-be-damned. She was fairly certain there was even a rumor that she'd lived longer than Kyuubi, had walked the earth before even the first human had let loose its unerringly sheer cries, and that even the Shinigami feared her.

She couldn't help but laugh at the very thought of that when she'd first caught wind of that specific tale. A god of death, reaper and eater of souls, afraid of a woman who hadn't so much as looked at a weapon for how many decades now? Laughable at best, and absolutely ludicrous at worst. Their imaginations were wild to be sure.

And it probably hadn't helped her case at all that she'd been alive for so long and still looked so young. But she could blame her kekkei genkai for that too, the blood-limit release that at its most pure form, had supposedly kept her own grandmother alive for centuries in the body of a fifteen year old, and gifted the estranged, now very dead woman the same longevity that those of the Uzumaki clan had been naturally born with.

So she'd had no real incentive to increase her own unearned infamy by taking in what everyone else thought was the reincarnation of a demon that had plagued them not even five years prior. Never mind the fact that their esteemed leader had specifically told them that it was a secret so dangerous, anyone would be immediately put to death for so much as whispering it, and that the child was to be treated with the respect and dignity deserving of a true hero.

Bah, the old coot was an even bigger fool than the villagers if he'd thought that little brat would ever find acceptance. She'd been in the crowd when the news had been spilled of their precious yondaime hokage's death and the subsequent sealing of the demon that had led to such a poor and ill-fated outcome. She'd seen the demons that had appeared on the shoulders of every villager when the child was revealed, how their negative emotions, their guilt, their grief, their thirst for vengeance and misplaced anger, blinded them to what was truly there. The little brat with a seal freshly scrawled into her tiny, tiny stomach had been just that, a little baby brat.

But the villagers, the civilian council, and even some of the younger, more inexperienced shinobis. All they'd seen was the red, raging beast that had just slaughtered half the village. And their new demons, the grotesque shapes such negative emotions took the form of typically in her eyes, cackled madly and egged them on, reminded them of what they'd lost and what was still around to supposedly terrorize them. Insisted that they take the child's life, save everyone the inevitable misery that wouldn't ever come if they'd just left the brat be.

But that was the thing about demons, not the true ones like Kyuubi, but the ones that mankind created. They didn't just let anything go, because humans seemed to be entirely incapable of such a feat until it was far too late and the damage was irrevocably done.

Well, now the little beastie was in her care, bandaged up and clean of blood, no longer looking like a corpse on death's door. More human, less rat, and a pesky tiny demon on her shoulder that kept warning the child to be wary, to not trust, there'd been nice people before and they'd all almost killed her in the end.

She'd silence that demon eventually, because if there was one thing she couldn't tolerate, it was those nasty little buggers cluttering her shop and making everyone miserable.

"So what's your name, Beastie?"

"N-Nagisa…"

"Nagisa, huh? Bah! Too long, but we'll come up with a shorter version later…"

"H-Huh?"

"What are you, one of the Nara's deer, quit staring at me like that, Brat! I will not be looked at like that by anyone who lives with me!"

"Huh?!"

"You heard me, Brat."

"B-But…"

"No buts! Now, welcome to your new home. Our little shop of demons!"

A/N. Okay, so those of you who read the first prologue have probably realized that the second chapter and (continuation of the first), has suddenly been stitched onto the prologue. That's because when I really thought about it, this made a lot more sense than just extending the prologue across two chapters.

Plus a prologue is (the last time I checked), only supposed to be one chapter technically... In hindsight I probably should've waited before posting the first... Anyways, I hope you all have a nice day! Please leave a review and see ya!