dreamers don't dream when the world is ending
Tenten
.
day one
Tenten likes to say she's a dreamer, painting out the surreal never-ever-ever-land in glinting steel and dying eyes. She likes to believe that someone so covered in rusty blood can call themselves free — she likes to pretend, sometimes, when the title of jounin-chuunin-genin-ninja gets to her, that she hasn't killed the way she has.
And it's days like these — sky colored the bluest of blue and Konoha carefully detailed down to the last blade of grass — that she likes to run, barefoot and flying (without her scrolls); away from all of those last named prodigies blooming flowers. It's days like these that Tenten prides herself on being her, molten chocolate and deadly knives.
day one hundred
She lies surrounded by dreams she crushed under her feet, families she destroyed in the blink of an eye, and she wonders what it feels like to die the way all those (innocent?) people did.
It strikes her — she's nothing more then a monster; none of them are anything more than that, with their burgundy soaked hands and killing missions.
And she no longer feels proud to be Tenten, ninja; because how can she be proud of being something so ugly and covered up with wide, wide smiles.
She's immersed in deep, utter loathing for herself — because her whole world is a counterfeit, a fake, and she never even realized it until it was too late to go back and fix all those deaths.
day one thousand
It's funny (not really), that she only breaks when she's the only thing left standing — when the buildings built up of well-placed lies are smoking and crumbling, and her teammates (her family) are on the ground, dead or dying, and she's covered in scars and open, bleeding wounds, on the brink of collapse — she falls with the sight of devastation in her eyes, the dead world of hers stretching out for miles and miles, and she wishes she didn't have to die as Tenten.