"The atoms of our bodies are traceable to stars that manufactured them in their cores and exploded these enriched ingredients across our galaxy, billions of years ago. For this reason, we are biologically connected to every other living thing in the world. We are chemically connected to all molecules on Earth. And we are atomically connected to all atoms in the universe. We are not figuratively, but literally stardust."
― Neil deGrasse Tyson
Hokori.
Dust.
The name of the first-born child who was brought into the night gasping for breath underneath the twinkling stars. Staring into the light of the waning moon and tasting the glittering galaxies that layered into the sky like thick brushes of paint.
Dust. So much like the accursed sand that danced in this suffocating village, burning bare feet and puffing into shaded eyes with a whispered crackle. It sucked all life out of the vibrant earth and leaves only sparkling dunes of gold and straggling plants that crinkled brown at the edges.
She really does hate dust.
But she probably hates sand more.
She remembers in a time(long, long ago) when she was still little, curling her toes into the burning warmth of the beach for the first time, giggling as the foaming waves rose up to meet the edge of her feet. Chasing after a receding tide, the sand wetter and colder in the wake of the ocean, before getting submerged by the next pull.
And she remembers the taste of salt and fish and spitting out dirty water with immense disgust, and walking away with sand invading every crevice of her body(a month later, she was still scrubbing grains out from behind her ear).
She admits, she dislikes a lot of things(-but she loves a lot too, maybe too much so,) but she grimaces and she makes promises that she never keeps, and she tucks in securely it that part of her brain you could argue was your conscience for ominous feelings to haunt her later.
And, then, she gets over it.
Most of the time.
So when thrust into this confusing situation in which something warm and alive just tried to suffocate her, in a surrounding that's brighter than Sirius A, she does the first thing that comes to mind.
The little infant wails as hard as her raw little lungs can, as if trying to tear apart the tissue-thin pressure that wraps around her breaths, and her screams resound in the room of noises that stops for a brief moment. Half in instinct and half because she had actually forgotten what it felt like to move, to speak. Pushing her vocals loud as she possibly can because oh my god what the absolute fuck is happening stop touching me.
The last thing she remembers is nothing, but it was better than this.
She stops when all the motion stops, letting a haze settle on her hysterical mind like layers of film, like someone reached into the chest of one of those old-timey projectors in the middle of a black and white movie and ripped out all its dark coiling innards. Light-headed and blurry-eyed. Her head lolls heavily against her will and she slumps tiredly into the fate that faces her.
Then she's being cradled against something large and warm, with sturdy shaking limbs that envelop her in a familiar feeling, something that she barely remembers from the same long, long time ago. Against her will or not, her face turns obediently to the warmth, and she takes solace in the quiet darkness. It feels of warmth and milk, and something else that attracts a deep part of her like a magnet.
In seconds, she's lulled to sleep with her head resting on a fluttery beating heart.
The next few days are spent in a blur of confusion as she starts to recover from whatever that had just happened to her. She only knew the darkness and the stillness, before the world had shoved and squeezed and spun motion in a world of light.
It would throw off anyone.
(She wishes she could return to that peaceful void, where she didn't have to look and think and wonder and grieve. )
"Hokori-chan!" The Main Blob would say, always looking down at her, a sturdy warmth at her back as if she was being held. She isn't sure what it means, really, the jumbles of words(or at least she thinks they're words) being spewed out at her. And she doesn't like it when she's taken away from that pressing warm, a glowing green(such a nice shade) above her that always makes her insides feel like they're being doused in lukewarm water(the first time it happened, she cried and cried, but it was normal for infants to react at the sudden probing of new chakra within them).
Time doesn't wait for disorientation to fix itself, but luckily she was soon taken away from that place of too-bright, to somewhere with darker furniture and a quieter room. She goes through her first days in a blur of sleep and wide eyes full of curiosity, confusion, and disbelief.
Between her body forcing her to sleep and eat, she rests and adjusts and her mind starts to find itself. The movements and objects around her become more obvious, her ability to infer returning with her experiences of another world, one not too far from this. At first, there's a burning embarrassment, directed at all manner of different things that her mind slowly begins to comprehend. And then the cold wave of uncertainty, as she wades through the muddled mess of her memories.
It takes her a while to piece them together the memories that floated around in her brain in a muddled mess. Like stitching together strips of discolored cloth, trying to find a pattern in which everything fit.
Sometimes, in dreams, the past and the present merged together. Sometimes, she relives days of a different time.
When she finally does figures it out, the world shifts into a different perspective and everything clicks together in one fatal swoop.
She was Sarah, a seventeen year old girl who was just starting to figure out her life.
Or rather, she used to be.
The point was, she was dead. Gone. No longer in that plane of existence. It was the finishing line, truly, she had believed. In that eternal darkness where thoughts weren't thoughts and months trickled by like seconds(after the fear and the panic and the screaming screaming screaming).
But then somehow, she found herself crammed into the body of a newborn baby-given second chance at the open oyster of the world. A miraculous event, one would typically assume. But, even at the prospect of once again being able to experience the many wonder of life, she wasn't happy.
Her time had been over. The end. When you close the last chapter of the book, you don't just staple a stack of papers to it and keep writing. She had already had her chance at life(and although it was brief, it wasn't immensely regretful-just disappointing) and lost it, why take over someone else's? Tendrils of disgust twisted in her stomach at the thought of erasing someone's mind before they even knew what it was. Of ejecting the previous inhabitant of this body from it's post. The life she replaced would never get to experience the joys of taking the first breath of air during a crisp autumn day, of the warmth in a cup of hot chocolate in the winter, or of sitting outside your porch at 5 am, watching the sun slowly break over the dark horizon, chasing away the fading indigo of night. The wondrous parts of living, that come with the pains and aches in a wonderful clashing symphony that mixed to bring worth into a life.
Well, that is, she supposes, if that child would have ever existed without her soul? Maybe it was simply a husk of an idea, waiting for the occupation of a host before coming into existence. Maybe it was brought into place directly by her. Or maybe it was indeed a forceful ejection, in which the other was sent to take her place in the after-realm. She would never know.
However, it didn't take very long for her to draw her conclusions about her new surroundings. Despite peering through a blurry gaze(which was like trying to see through patterned glass, or the smudge of sleep in the morning), she could see that hers was a classic situation right out of the hundreds of fanfictions she used to read in another life-she just never expected for it to actually occur.
Stuck in an infant body? Check. Strange new world? Check.
Ruthless killers running around like it was completely and totally normal? Check, check, and double check.
She would like to thank her younger self for being obsessed with anime, however half-heartedly and secretly. The past knowledge had luckily already introduced her to her circumstances-and she really didn't want to think of what would've happened if she didn't already know this world.
Cliche rebirth into the world of Naruto where main female character changes the plot and somehow magically saves everyone? Check.
Well, except maybe not that last part.
Not that she didn't care, because she did. It was hard not to become emotionally invested in characters, especially if you were soft-hearted and weak like she was, and is. She really doesn't believe she can survive in a cruel world like this-she simply wasn't made for it. The chances of her keeping herself alive, much less save entire generations, is a teeny tiny microscopic thing. Sure, she could try her best, but this was real life, wasn't it? There's no 'good will always prevail' in real life. There are no second chances. And there are no guarantees. There is only 'I wish' and 'I hope' and 'I try'. But in the end, it's always 'I cannot control what the world will throw at me'.
She's selfish and scared, and it's much easier to just care about those that become close to you. It's much easier to know people have died as long as you've never had any connection to them, never met them, and never got to know them. At the age of seventeen years old, she wasn't yet considered an adult, but she was still clever in her own way. Perhaps she'll be able to figure something out.
But for now, she wanted to focus on living and learning and enjoying her childhood again.
Really, what did she do to deserve this?
Being reborn into the world of Naruto wasn't a dream come true, it was a complete and utter nightmare. She didn't want to live here, where death hid at every turn and children witness things that would send the strongest of adults to mental institutions. It was dangerous, unpredictable, and full of bloodshed.
She wouldn't fit in. But if she didn't, she would most likely die.
Hokori(No last name, neither of her parents had one) was a strange child. In the first few weeks, nobody noticed. She cried when she needed something(or if she just missed the comforting warmth of those arms that felt like they could block out the world) and slept the other portion of the time. No, it was the few months after that Karura realized something was...off. Her sweet bundle still cried, yes, and she still dozed, but the other half of the time, she would just be staring at ceiling whenever Karura checked on her, and then those violet eyes(her eyes) would shift their attention to her.
Instead of focusing for a moment before wandering, those(vibrant, bright) eyes would gaze at her, as if detailing her, classifying, considering.
Although she tried not to be, Karura was slightly shaken.
It was particularly bad when any of her friends came over to see her daughter, as despite her accepting and soft nature drawing other like-minded people, they were always uncomfortable after Hokori turned her all-absorbing gaze on them(Karura watched as their lips pursed, holding back words that she knew she wouldn't want to hear, and in a way, she's glad when they cut the visit short and leave her house a little more hurried than they should be).
But at the end of the night, she would always rock her precious baby to sleep with a smile, quietly humming a lullaby in the emptiness of the bedroom(a slight ache in her heart knowing that even with the birth of his first child, her husband had only lingered for a few days longer, dedication to his village triumphing over all as it always eventually did. But any anger towards him would always be extinguished by the loving light in his gaze, as it always eventually did).
"I'm sorry that not a lot of people like your eyes," She whispered to the closed eyelids of the new, illuminating piece in her life. "But mama thinks they're beautiful."
When I could finally make out my surroundings, I soaked up all the information I could get my hands on about this new world. The most common sight that faced me was my mother, always caring for me with a smile, and I quickly connected her to the soft, soothing voice that had been singing me to sleep the past months. From what I could tell, she had long light brown hair that reached her waist(it was a strange shade between sand and rock that I couldn't quite place my finger on), bangs brushing her dark blue eyes. Or were they purple? It was one of those shades that could go one way or the other, seeming to change colors in the light. She was always warm, or at least warmer than me, and her arms were cocoons of comfort.
Her mouth constantly curved in joy and her gaze only told of love and devotion, a hope and happiness at the new change in her life.
Karura(if my observations of what other people called her was correct) was lovely.
What can I say? I feel in love with my new mother at first glance.
If someone looked at you like you were their entire world, wouldn't you feel warm and mushy too?
Although I did miss my old life(especially its lower risk of dying in a painful, angsty, and horrendous way), I never really had a mom. My dad raised me by himself after my mother left, and even then we weren't very close. He just didn't care that much, I suppose. And in turn, I didn't bother to either.
To see someone that cherished me so wholly, so much, without knowing me made me...enraptured, and also a bit bewildered. How can one love a stranger that much?(-did my past maternal figures ever feel that same sort of wonder when she held me? Did she ever feel the rush of affection, the devotion to her newborn child, the want to be in its life-)
So, regardless of missing some of my friends and even my father too, I only needed a few days to grieve before accepting my new fate. There wasn't a lot left for me in the back-then. With each passing semester, I was struggling to carry dropping grades, and I hadn't been able to summon any aspirations to turn into a prospective career choice. The future seemed to get bleaker with every passing day. Not that this life would be any easier, but I had a small sliver of hope(if the time and place was right, then I might be able to avoid all contact with the plot, and all the stress that came with it).
In very rare circumstances, I would see the face of a man that I swore I knew. Equipped with stern eyes and dark red hair, the intimidating man was only home(it was her home now, wasn't it?) would just hold me with only the occasional mummer to the woman by his side, arms stiff. He would stare and stare, examining my features with intent scrutiny, to which I would always start to squirm(and I wondered if this was what others felt like when I stared at them, noting the differences and wondering what role they played, and I resolved to be more subtle about my analyzing next time). Tied sturdily across the expanse of his forehead was a black headband, upon which a metal plate lay, inscribed with the recognizable symbol of a short rectangle on top of a longer, curvier one(his hiate-ate, my mind mummered).
Sunagakure, huh? Even after all this time, it was fairly easy to remember the symbols of each village, as they were icons of the fandom and pretty easy to interpret with common sense. It definitely would've been my first option(a small town, or maybe even Konoha so I would know exactly what I was in for and who to avoid), as I quite hated deserts and the heat, but it was definitely much better than, for example, Kiri(just the thought of going near that vicious country of bloodbaths made me shudder). That also meant that my dear old dad was a shinobi too, didn't it? That would explain his constant absence, although my new mom's presence was more than enough to make up for it. The chances of escaping the fighting, though, marginalized.
Sighing, I resign myself to my fate of burning sunlight and choking on grains of sand(this was karma, wasn't it).
My father wasn't bad, I suppose. There was something faintly familiar about him, and although his actions always felt a little awkward, it was never enough to make me detest when he appeared. (There was always a sort of lingering softness at the corners of his mouth, as if he was content.)
Above that, there were the other problems that rapidly began to present themselves, such as language.
Of course what they spoke in the narutoverse wouldn't be english. It didn't take a genius to figure that out, and my suspicions were only affirmed by the strange dictions coming out of my mother and the other people that occasionally visited. It was annoying to have to learn a completely different vocabulary, but I guess it would just take some time and effort for me to pick up on it. It helped that my new mom like talking to me and would read to me, along with the powers of my baby sponge-brain. Being completely immersed in the language everyday, it wasn't too hard for me to start picking things up.
At two months old, I started to work out my vocals. Other than screaming in the middle of the night because my body commanded me to get food to fill the endless growing void, I tried to form words and imitate common things my 'Mom' said(a greeting, a goodnight, and the names of common weapons-).
I heard my name, Hokori, a lot. Usually with a little 'chan' on the end, if mom felt particularly gooey that day. Of course, then she also referred to herself in the third person as 'kaa-san' a lot, which I guess meant mother.
It was by complete accident that I had said my first word a month later-'Kaa' of course. It didn't have any honorifics, but I guess it was still considered a word judging by aforementioned person's reaction. Big sparkly eyes of surprise and a lot of squealing. All I got out of her river of words was my name, 'Kaa-san', 'you', and a jumble of joyful exclamations.
Figuring that if I could form that word, then I could definitely form more. I actively started trying to talk, making strange noises reminiscent of words until I finally got one right. The cycle continued.
'Mom' read to me every chance she got, which was really nice. It not only helped me develop words and learn meanings, but also provided the entertainment of hearing stories. I really liked the fairy tales and children's stories from this world. They were different from the ones back in my other life in...interesting ways.
Instead of Cinderella, we had Suki, the story of the civilian who fell in love with a shinobi(and ended up divorced because civilians can't understand shinobi life as the ignorant sheep they are-but conveyed in a very subtle way). Three Little Pigs was replaced with The Lazy Boy, which told a lesson of always practicing(or else face incompetence and die-or in his case, turn into a bush). Kutabaru who forgot to sharpen his kunai(you can probably guess what happened when he engaged in battle without a useable weapon), a genin that disobeyed his superiors and subsequently faced capture by 'enemy nins'(which suspiciously had what looked like leaf engravings on their hitai-ate), the legendary Sunotoko from Sunagakure that conquered all the other corrupted warring nations, etc etc. They felt like war propaganda, and I shivered to think if these were the regular books read to shinobi children, as many themes centered around loyalty to the village while also emphasising the 'cruelty' and 'savagery' of other Great Shinobi Nations. My hope of being born years after the Fourth Shinobi War was trampled, as no way those peaceful cooperating nations would publish these scripts, as well as striking out the distant past(although that was for the best, as people back then killed just to kill, and if I was anywhere near a main character the chances to change the future would probably drive me to insanity me with it's pressure).
Regardless, some stories were terrifying enough that when I tried to sleep, I only ended up with images of foolish kunoichi speared by their own teammates for not listening to commands. Already, I felt the notions and values of a shinobi being ingrained into my mind.
I found myself unable to care as I let the brainwashing for the bloody path ahead of me slowly work it's magic.
Not to say that the gory stories weren't interesting though. They were enthralling in a sick, solemn sort of way that made you cautious of your surroundings. Almost like a serious, less supernatural horror movie. Or maybe that comparison was just the product of my still sensitive mind trying to adapt to this new vicious world.
At five months old, I was finally allowed to wean off the milk and eat some actual(ok, not actual. It was baby food and it was still gross, but at least it was semi-solid) food. The taste made me wanna claw out my tongue, and the sliding of the goop down my throat after my gums fruitlessly try to nom it made a small piece of me wither away, but it was another step in growing old enough I wouldn't have to deal with this shit.
As well, I decided that it was time to see if my body would let me be mobile yet. After a few weeks of rolling around like an idiot, trying to push myself up with my arms, and doing strange wiggles in an attempt to crawl, I finally managed to accomplish something. If I put in enough effort and concentration, I could get my chubby baby arms to provide adequate support to my body, letting me very slowly and painstakingly force myself into sitting while breathing heavily and feeling like a world class weightlifter. Within a few days, however, I had mastered the art of getting up and proudly showed it off to a surprised Kaa-san.
By the time I was eight months old, I was toddling around the house like a pro, stressing out Kaa-san everytime she couldn't find me but managing not to break anything(though I did let out a few teary whimpers the times my feet would get ahead of myself and make me to fall flat on my face). Despite being confined to the decently-sized apartment, there were just so many places to explore, a whole new world from beyond my crib. It could be my childish body making me act like a kid, but I enjoyed my taste of freedom from being released from eight months of long torture to finally being able to indulge in the sweetness of movement.
When I was nine months old, I could hold a simple picture book in my hands and read it, much to my pleasure. A lot of my time was spent reading, even if my slight hyperactivity as a result of boundless-kid-energy refused to let me stay still for a very long time. In this time, Kaa-san only seemed to grow proud, if not a little anxious at how fast I was developing(not that it was uncommon for shinobi children to get a head start on motor functions. Most likely, it was that she thought my childhood was starting to slip away; even if one could argue that the stories told at my bedtime were enough to erase any semblance of innocence).
Spending time with Kaa-san was still the highlight of my days, even after I has began my curious expeditions. She was happy with any accomplishment I did, talked to me about anything and everything, cradled me when I acted too old to be coddled, and tucked me into the crib every night before kissing me on the forehead when she thought I was asleep. During the day, we would sometimes go and visit some of her friends or I would accompany her on errands, but mainly a bunch of childishly domestic activities that I felt tear a tiny hole in my heart for never having been able to experience such simple things in my past life. Random childish games, singing, drawing, things that unexpectedly sparked my young interest. Kaa-san also bought a bunch of different toys for me to play with, although she was a little disappointed at how quickly I got bored with them(in my defense, there were only so many times you could play Stack the Shuriken).
But instead of giving up, she just bought more complicated things, to my delight. We found our afternoons filled with teachings of shogi(which reminded me of chess), puzzles, and easy card games.
Before I knew it, I was one years old(it was hard to keep track of the time sometimes, since the seasons barely changed. I had gone through winter and summer without feeling any difference. Though that was why most houses had at least two calendars). Things were getting easier to do as I finished slipping into my mold. My speaking skills improved to basic words, even if it consisted of occasionally stumbling and slurring them in a sort of drunken toddler language. With a steadier hand on wide paper, I could messily write out my numbers up to five, along with the luckily simple characters of my name(those usually got botched more). We didn't have a big party, it was more just Kaa-san's friends bringing over presents(usually toys and clothes and books) and cooing over the(now less creepy) baby, having a slice of cake before leaving.
It was an overall okay day.
For my first year of birth, I rarely saw my father(tou-san, I reminded myself).Over the course of all the months, I had really only seen him at home for about a week at most, and it would almost always occur from his sudden appearance at breakfast, or the one time he got back late enough for lunch. Some nights when he came back, I would hear unfamiliar noises from the bathroom, which were probably the sounds of removing and cleaning clothes and weapons, along with the running water of the shower. With my limited grasp of Japanese, I was able to gather from Kaa-san that he was just busy due to his profession as a ninja, though I had already known that from his hiate-ate. The fact that he's typically gone for months at a time, though, gives me the sneaking suspicion that my new dad was most likely a more top tier shinobi, furthering my curiosity. Regardless, it was hard to spend time with him even on the days he was home, as he would normally come back from missions with injuries or chakra deprivation, making it hard for him to do anything with me other than maybe read some more books or put together a puzzle. Though he does fondly rub my head, noticing my growth every few months.
Once, he complimented me on my shogi skills. Right after beating me so single-handedly that I could only watch in horror as my entire side of the board was annihilated within minutes.
The man really had no mercy(and was definitely a force to be feared).
As abruptly as he came, tou-san would leave the moment he was deemed fit enough for action again. Kaa-san would jokingly whisper to me about him being more married to his country than her, and I would feel my mood lighten a little though some part of me was sure it was true(his work had to be important, I knew that, but this time once again, I was stuck with one absent- well, mostly at least- parent).
In the middle of the next year, Kaa-san decided that it was time enough for me to get some outside interaction, so I began accompanying her on shopping trips.
It was hot.
That's all I felt when I stepped outside on only slightly-wobbly legs, dressed in brown shorts and a blue t-shirt with the dark flowing fabric of the poncho-scarf protecting me from the sun and sand and clutching my mother's hand with tiny fingers. The few times the wind blew, it almost knocked my small figure over, so I had to stick closely to Kaa-san for support. It hadn't been my first time out of the house, but it was definitely the first time on my own feet. Everywhere looked pretty much exactly the freaking same, a palate of light brown, light brown, and light brown with some yellow and orange tones. My excitement at seeing more of the village quickly died.
All the houses...had the exact same design, though I got that there wasn't much you could do in the middle of a desert, it was still disconcerting to see. The streets were not any better, plain and desolate as not many people would want to go outside in the middle of the hot day and roast themselves into tiny burnt pieces when they could enjoy the pleasant indoors where skin cancer wasn't an immediate threat(Suna was definitely built for practicality). I watched in disbelief as tumbleweed floated by.
But most of all, the part that really rubbed me the wrong way was that Sand. Was. Frigging. Everywhere.
It was Suna, I know, I know, but the damn sand wasn't happy staying on the floor where it belonged. There wasn't usually wind, but when there was, it was like trying to avoid dust mites after someone shakes out a fifty-year-old curtain right in front of you. Aka, impossible.
I grimaced, pulling up my scarf further and hoping that I wouldn't have to scrub too many grains from my eyes tonight. I already felt them clinging onto my lashes,
Yes, instead of getting assaulted by the sand, I would much preferto stay home most of the time. Inside the nice, filtered, air conditioned rooms.
Thank you, Kishimoto, for deciding to include some form of technology in Naruto.
Too bad my mother wasn't as sane as I and we would walk around town, occasionally going to the park where a few children would be playing(none of Kaa-san's friends really had children near my age. They were usually significantly older or nonexistent). It was fun to swing on the swings and occasionally play tag with the other children, but oh god the heat. I always ended up drenched in my own sweat, cheeks red and panting, and quickly asking Mom to take me home because I was in desperate need of a shower and sure that I was going to end up having a stroke right there in the middle of the sand pit(because how creative-having a fucking sand pit in the middle of Suna). But then the next day, she would bring me back, again and again, until I slowly began to adapt to worst of the summer months. At least, until I wasn't liable to pass out at any moment and lose my new life to Sunagakure's sun.
During my days in the park, though, I did make some friends. Or at least faces that slowly became more and more familiar as they appeared day after day. Sometimes, I wondered if they were some sort of playground-gremlins that lived there. I wouldn't be surprised.
There was Ichiro, a five year old boy that always had a runny nose and tripped on his scarf a lot. He had longer black hair and liked talking about his favorite heros. Then Mikiko, a boy a year older than Ichiro with sandy brown hair who acted much like the leader among the children, unafraid to call out if he thought the games were getting boring. The only other person that I often saw was Kyoumi, a five year old girl that had short blonde hair and brown eyes that was usually quiet except for when she suddenly shoves someone in the dirt(then, she laughs something bright and childish and slightly cruel. To my displeasure, I faced being one of the victims). As I was the youngest one there to participate in their games, most of the other children didn't pay much attention to me, already brushing me off as boring in the same way their drooling siblings were. It made me a little frustrated, surprisingly. Despite knowing that there was no way they were aware of my capacities, the fact that none of them really bothered to include me(never chasing me in tag, ending hide-and-go-seek before I was found, brushing off all my attempted sentences) rubbed me the wrong way. The worst part was, they were right. I was still young, still weak, still trying to develop the most basic advantages in height and stamina and speed.
That part made me pout in a corner, deciding to just stick to the swing set until kids of my age group grew up.
The only interesting part of the mass of snotty children was when they would take breaks and gather in a small group, talking about their siblings that had already entered the Academy, although it was mostly just bragging and some gossip.
The Academy, huh? It would be a lie to say I wasn't interested, but I felt like I needed more cards before betting all my chips. I wouldn't mind being a ninja, if I knew what was coming first.
But that was about the height of my social interaction with others that year, as even Kaa-san noticed the struggles from age and mind difference and would just usually let me go home after I pretended to socialize for an hour.
After my second birthday(another small party, although I did obtain an object of interest-a soft, liquid filled kunai-shaped teething toy that became my new favorite companion), I was finally judged as mature enough to be left alone at night without dying, to my delight, and was granted my own room.
There were only two other rooms in the house other than the one Kaa-san slept in, both so far only designated as guest rooms(and for when Tou-san came back from missions), so I was allowed to chose which one I wanted. There wasn't much of a difference between them. They both had a window on the same wall and they were roughly the same size. The only clear difference I could see was that one was a little less used than the other, the latter having a drop or two of blood on the floorboard that alerted me to who liked using this room. So, I just took the other one.
The first thing Kaa-san and I did was paint the walls. I picked out a nice shade of dark green to replace the bland light brown that blended in with the rest of the city. It only took two days to paint, my excitement building with each finishing task. If it was gonna be my room, after all, it would have to meet all my(newly drawn out) standards.
While the color dried, Kaa-san and I went shopping for new furniture. We quickly found a smaller futon, but looked in a lot of different stores for the a desk(black with three drawers and a miniature matching chair), a mini bookshelf in the same color, two lamps(a regular one with a blue shade for my bedside and a table lamp for the desk), an alarm clock, and, at my request, a nice leafy houseplant in a corner of the room.
It only took a few minutes to set everything up at home. The desk was placed in the corner across from the plant, so that the window would be in the middle of the two, while the short bookshelf went on the wall adjacent to the desk. The analog clock(the most standard design, stood up on two little legs with the bells at the top) sat at the head of where my futon was laid out in the middle of the room, also a sleek black.
It was with the stinging smell of paint in my nose and a new blanket over me that I was tucked into bed that night, Kaa-san sliding the fairytale she read to me back into its place among the other children's books now neatly organized in my bookcase.
I watched as the light from under the crack of the door switched off, hearing Kaa-san's footsteps slowly fade away in the direction of her room.
For an hour, I laid there, staring up at the comforting darkness of my new walls, but I couldn't find it within me to sleep. Turning my head to the side, I looked out the window at the buildings lit by the stars, serene in the silence of the night. Drawn to the pale light of the moon spread on the tatami mats in front of me, I clumsily crawled out of my futon, watching as the light slid over my skin before going over to open the window. I leaned my head outside, relishing in the slight chill of the wind tousling strands of my dark red hair and the soft noises of the desert creatures that filled my silence.
It felt like my future problems were light years away. Like the fate of the world didn't matter as long as I was here, cradling the galaxy in my open palms.
I was only two years old, after all.
What could happen?
Then, with the sounds of Kaa-san retching into the toilet at five in the morning, my peace abruptly smashed into pieces.
And I was forced to stare reality in the face.
Ok, so I made some edits(and unfortunately had to cut out a lot) becuase I realized my timeline was entirely off. Rasa wasn't gonna be kazekage for a few more years, and so a lot of the kazekage information i just had to cut out and move into later chapters ;-;
I'll update soon, I promise!
Edit: 5/13/18