I'd never thought that it would come to this when I first saw him—when he had first approached me for my specialties. He had just been another person, another shinobi, that had wanted to try and see into the future.

He was a traveler, but had payed me in full, which caught my attention since most would give me little and promise to return with more. None had ever made good on their contrivances, but that, in truth, was partly my doing for I knew that they had no purpose to conserve on their end of the bargain. I couldn't kill them, no, but I could force them to regret having come to me without the intention of proper exchange.

It was such fun, but looked down upon by those who knew of my... avocation.

Of course, I don't think of what others see when they heed my presence—never have I cared to—but it does tend to ruin business when the people of the village not too far off purposely direct anyone passing through out of my way.

It is not a demanding task to live off of the land with such fertile soil and pregnant forest. I didn't starve in the moons of Snow, Oak, Wolf, or Storm; I made my own candles, gathered my own remedies for illness, and could keep the cold at bay with the tanned hides I took care of.

However, there were still some details that I had to travel to town in order to acquire, such as candle holders, materials for clothes, which I had never had a talent for making, as well as herbs I needed for special rituals that simply couldn't grown in such land and instead forced me to place an order to the bourgeois merchants that cared more for my business than my nature.

For those items, I needed money. To get money, I needed people who were desperate or curious, but either way they needed to hear of what I did. So when they didn't it made me a little upset.

When he had asked me why I didn't curse or jinx the village I couldn't help but laugh.

"If I did that," I started, my voice sly and smooth, "They would try to get rid of me, maybe go so far as to hire a Witch Hunter or a ninja such as yourself. If I leave them alone and keep away any and all disease, I shall live in relative peace."

He hadn't said anything more on the subject.

If I had been pleasantly surprised by his payment, I was baffled that he requested that I use Tarot cards. He took my shock as a sign that I didn't know how to use them; this was, to some extent, insulting on my part and I was quick to answer, telling him that I was a witch—not a gypsy. And while I did the occasional reading, it was only for myself.

Tarot was not something I fancied because you often only saw what the cards spoke of as time went on, making it difficult to change if you didn't like the outcome.

He hadn't shown whether this discouraged or angered him, careful to keep all emotion from his face.

I had felt a bit of relief when he asked what other methods I used, and was quick to speak, telling him that I my specialty was Bone Divination.

He was quick to say yes.

I mixed my own ingredients, relying on what my "whore of a mother" had taught me as a child before I turned thirteen and left home.

Much later after that day, he had asked me why I hated my mother, "Oh, I don't hate her."

His eyebrow rose in disbelief, "Then why did you call her a whore?"

"Simple: she was a whore." I don't know why I continued with, "She was a white witch—they aren't very strong. Don't give me that look. I take after my father, and he must have been very powerful."

"Why do you think he was so strong?"

"My mother was a potion specialist. She used a special contraceptive brew to keep herself from becoming pregnant. And, well... only a powerful wizard could get around it—if by accident." That left me slightly embarrassed.

How it happened would be the best question to pose at that point.

He was dangerous. Maybe that's why, but had I really wanted to challenge life? My mother had always said that I got that from her...

I was purposely rude to him, and teased him whenever he came back, saying that I wasn't interested in such a young and inexperienced man, though at the age of nineteen I was only two years his senior. I pushed, poked, and prodded at anything he did.

"Do you want me to go away?" he asked several months later as he sat on the cot I had made a week before.

I couldn't stop the mischievous smile that darkened my eyes and smoothed my face.

"No," I said softly—temptingly. I loved his reactions to my teasing far too much to want him gone.

That is how it happened.

It was a blur between the kitchen and my separate quarters, but I do clearly recall the growl in the back of his throat and his rough hands traveling over my body, dominating every inch that he touched.

I did not fight him off. As a witch, it was in my nature to be possessive of anything that I desired. I wouldn't let it go if it had willingly come to me, and I would steel it if I felt I had the proper cause.

It happened on more than one occasion when he came back after that, and his visits were much more frequent. Sometimes we didn't even talk—just be content with the silence that we found in each others presence.

Of course, one day, he left and didn't return for a very long time.

I refuse to ever say that I was worried because I knew that he was powerful and could handle himself if the time came, and denied myself the fun of looking into the bones and seeing where he was or how he was doing... but I couldn't help performing a little tarot reading.

I was consumed with odious joy when I saw the last card: Death.

A common misconception with this card is that it means a literal death, which isn't always the case, though I had seen it happen before and probably shouldn't have been so happy when it did.

It simply meant that there would be a great change.

One day, a year after I had last seen him, and only a week after the tarot reading, as I sat in my garden collecting the necessary herbs, I couldn't help but remember him. He had smelled the same as the earth, but far more crisp; like the trees and grass on Autumn's first morning. The dew on the hard ground would freeze any bare feet that walked on it and make damp that which was dry. Every breeze feathered by your face, leaving it blushed, and the sun would just barely reach enough to give warmth to skin, if only on occasion. Yes, he was so much like the Autumn season.

I had closed my eyes and thought only of his own: as endless and mysterious as the moonless night sky, driving mad any who were lost to it. How many times had I let myself be lost by them?—to let my soul be taken from me and only returned in a state of rapture that requisitioned him for more? Only when he left would I find my sanity once again.

When I heard a small group of feet tromping up behind me, I didn't bother to look at them, too busy thinking of his demanding touch, "What ales you so that you would come to me?"

The voice wasn't quite what you would call snarky, but it sounded a little too sarcastic for my liking, "We have a gift for you. Though we were hoping you could make it move on it's own first."

I had heard that said once before, "I can't smell its rotting flesh—how long has it been dead?" I still didn't move from where I was.

"A week," That's when my eyes opened. Turning my head slightly, I looked to see if my suspicions were true.

A sly smile crept onto my lips, "Well, well, if it isn't my dear little Sasuke; went and got yourself killed did you?" There were only two of them, the larger one carrying Sasuke with gentle care.

I stood slowly and walked over to them, "Why are you so sure that I can make him move again?" I could, but it was always fun to know how people discovered such things without my informing them.

"He said to bring him here if he died." the one carrying him said softly, obviously upset.

"Hmm," I hummed, running my fingers through the dead boy's raven locks and tracing the dry steaks of blood running down his cheeks from his eyes, "Well, his corpse is in relativity good shape so it will not require more than a fort-night's effort. However... he will not have his sight."

They seemed startled, so I explained before they demanded something that I could not perform, "Usually I use a creature's eyes in order to retrieve what most would call a soul, but his are greatly damaged, and though they still hold great power that will allow him to recover much faster and with full strength—I can tell from here that it is that power that was destroying his sight in the first place."

"Why are you so sure that he was losing his sight?" the first speaker demanded, folding his arms in front of his chest.

His voice was getting on my nerves. My eyebrow rose slowly as I gave him a clam snarl, "I can return the dead to walk with the living as if they had never seen what lies beyond, yet you doubt my knowledge?" He didn't answer, waiting for me to say something that would satisfy him. I looked back to the body, "There are dark spots under his eyes. I am no doctor, but these are not post-mortum, and I have seen this once before—Once." I emphasized.

"So there's a chance that you're wrong?" The snarky white haired boy teased—I didn't like being teased.

"No," I said simply, then looked to the sky. "Bring him inside. I must begin preparations for Twilight—unless you wish to wait for another month?—I'm not sure the body would last that long." I turned and began walking back to my home.

"Why would we have to wait so long?" He didn't follow, but the big one did so I continued walking.

"You are fortunate—I need the power of the first New Moon in order to complete step one of my ritual—that would happen to be tonight." That was a lie. I wasn't a white witch, who didn't bring back the dead, nor was I a black witch, who needed the suffering of others and the mysterious strength of the moon to perform her craft. I was not a witch by religion, but by blood—if only half—so I had the ability to use the power inside of me as well as around me.

I had the man carrying Sasuke set him on my table and began making the preparations, something I didn't want them to see else they feel that I was trying to destroy the body, so I kicked them out and told them to return in two weeks.

And what a fun two weeks that was.

I hadn't performed the duty of a necromancer since I was fourteen—a year that filled my kitchen with corpses, and, because I often wouldn't get to the bodies for days, but couldn't risk them being eaten if put outside, left the house smelling like death for several years after. Not that I had minded the smell, but I shouldn't have enjoyed it so.

With him bringing that taste back into the air, it was almost erotic.

The first night was always the most difficult because I was forced to sit vigil so that whatever was in the circle I had created around the body, stayed there. It was a portal to what was beyond—whether it was a Heaven or Hell, I didn't care, but I also had to make sure that the wrong "soul" didn't make its way into the body. If it did, well, there was always the fun of yanking it back out, which usually tore to pieces whatever had gone in because it didn't make the proper "connections".

Eventually the sun rose, and step one was complete.

Each night after that was mostly convincing the body that it was no longer dead, and fixing whatever had decayed.

By the end of the two weeks, my home smelled like the herbs of the dead and his body was fully functional. The last step was simply for him to wake and hope that he wouldn't panic at being back with the living.

The two men had returned that morning just before the sun rose, and while I did find it annoying that they had actually come to take him away, they payed me a beautiful sum of money that kept my lips either sealed with a smile or my mouth full of only kind words.

"When will he wake up?" the large one asked.

"Do we just shake him or what?" the snarky one said, looking down at the former corpse in question which I had moved to the cot.

"Would you dare to wake the dead?" I smiled, "Just let him get up on his own, he'll be with us before noon."

My word was kept just a few hours later when he sat up with a startled gasp—a considerably small reaction compared to the shrill screams of raw terror that could last a few minutes and leave my ears ringing with it when I slept.

"Why hello my little Sasuke, did you have a nice nap?" I asked calmly, getting up from the table and casually walking over to caress his face. His breathing was labored and his chest heaved with the suddenly heavy responsibility that came with having a body to take care of.

After a small moment of recovery, he reached up to the bandages that I had wrapped tightly around his eyes. I gently brushed them away, "Tut-tut, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Bandages are meant to cover bloody wounds, but covering the eyes is meant to hide something. For you, it works both ways."

"How long has it been?" His voice was hoarse, but not dry; something that I had been careful to attend to.

"Since you died?—I would say about three weeks."

The smirk that barely showed on his lips made an invisible shiver run up my spine, "I meant since I was last here," That was a lie; he had just been trying to get a rise out of me.

"What," I teased, "You think I bother to keep track?" I had, but he already knew that.

"Sasuke," said man stiffened at the snarky voice that sounded absolutely baffled at what he was seeing, "Are you flirting?"

He didn't say anything, so I did, "Jealous, little boy?"

The boy sputtered, not sure how to react.

"Juugo, you are here as well? Where is Karin?" He got right down to business—which should have been expected.

"You have already healed enough to sense what is around you? I suppose your eyes had held more power than I thought." I said, not mentioning that he had to actually concentrate in order to do it. Picking up my herb cradle next to the door, I made may way out to the garden.

When I got back, cradle full and garden half empty, they were gone, which I certainly didn't mind—spending time around the one Sasuke had called Suigetsu certainly tested one's fortitude.

However, later that night he visited me again. He smelled just as he had before and his possessiveness was just as strong. Out sleep was restless with passion and tentative caresses, but just as every morning after he entered my bed chambers, he was gone.

Unfortunately, this time, he left something behind.

Three months went by and winter came—with it, the snow.

The hides I had tanned and dried in the warmth of the summer sun became worth while, the meat I had salted, dried, and stored kept the bite of hunger away, and since the former corpse's early departure, I had had many more customers come by than usual, making me suspicious of just who might be sending them my way.

Because these month were a hard time for all, they couldn't pay me with money. Instead, many of them gave me cloth and furniture. One pair of young boys even helped to make repairs on my home and build a small shed, and though that may seem a little much, I did bring their mother back to the living.

Of course, there were still those who thought that they could get something from me without paying a price, and I actualized many new and creative ways to make them regret such decisions.

Then a strange day came by where I had some very unexpected visitors.

Four shadows wearing porcelain animal masks and dark cloaks had broken into my home while I was out in the forest collecting wood. When I came back, they cornered me, and asked me if I knew anyone by the name of Sasuke Uchiha.

"Why yes, I know him very well." I emphasized with a clever smirk, "Might I ask who inquires me of him?"

"You may not," the one closest to me, a man and most likely the leader of their little band of cultists, said in a deep voice. "Do you know where he is?"

"Hmm, no, and I don't know who you are or why you are so interested in my lover's location either..." I pretended to think, closing my eyes with a smile that let them know I was teasing, "Isn't it strange how these two seem strangely interlocked with one another?"

He took a threatening step forward, forcing me to look up to see into the two dark holes of his mask when I opened my eyes, "Do not be a fool—tell us where the Uchiha is."

Eyes half open, I answered in a cool tone, "I have spoken only the truth. After he woke, he left—I know not where he is, where he goes, or when he shall return to me."

"Did you heal him?" one of the three behind the man demanded, raw disgust tainted her words.

The leader gave her a sharp warning, though I did not see him move, the shoulders of the woman stiffened, and her presence shrank back.

"I simply helped the body understand that it was no longer dead. The healing he did himself."

"What are you saying?" He pressed.

"I brought back his "soul", and was well compensated for my efforts." I was already tired of playing this dancing game. It wasn't fun if I couldn't see their faces.

"You brought him back to life?!" a second man next to the first woman took a step forward, his voice dark with shock and anger. When his captain gave him a sharp look, he didn't falter. "Do you realize what you have done? You have betrayed your country!"

"We all have to survive—how could I refuse such a sum when I am shunned by the rest of the world?" I interrupted. A strange feeling crept into my chest—something I hadn't felt since I stopped caring what others said at age ten.

"That monster tried to kill us all, and now you may have just renewed his efforts!" the fourth member of the party spoke up. This time, the first man did nothing to stop them.

"I am also considered a monster because of my nature, yet I have never taken a life—only given it a new chance!" I snapped quietly.

Suddenly their was a knock at the door. Their leader gave them a silent signal with his left hand before they disappeared.

Trying to keep my nerves quiescent, I swiftly seized my shall and carried myself to the door.

"Yes?" I asked, upon opening it, trying to shield out the cold with my body. Who I found standing there startled me.

The raven haired man stood, unseeing, before my door in three feet of snow. Not since his first visit has he ever used the front door. I knew not where he entered, only that it was never through the vanward.

I was silent for a moment, then stepped aside to let him in.

For a moment I was fearful that the masked cultists would strike him back to his grave, but the air was still and my blind beau seemed careless.

Too careless; he stubbed his foot on the chair I had pulled out.

I snickered, immediately understanding what he was attempting to persuade my company.

"You're memory cannot be your eyes in this room any longer, love." I chided, physically directing him to the cot by the stove, "I have situated it differently for the winter."

He hummed in understanding, "Food," he bid.

"No—tea."

I humored him for nearly two hours before he dropped the pretense and said that they were gone, "Oh?—and I was hiving so much fun doting on you." I sighed as I poured another cup of tea for him.

I walked over to the other side of the room as he took a long drink and, before entering my chambers, I said, "Also, I am three months with child."

The horror I had faced alone only hours ago was worth the sputtering mess he made of himself with this news.

Many months later, when the waxing moon was high in the sky and the creatures of the Summer's night were most active, I sat at my table mixing salts and crushing the herbs I had dried over a period of days.

My belly had swollen as the child inside grew, and I could perform fewer chores with each passing day—the exhaustion eventually becoming enough that I was contained to my home.

The Uchiha had left after being informed of my condition and had returned only a week ago, now sitting quietly on his cot as he listened to me work.

I could feel that it was beginning. "Ready a small tub of hot water and bring it to my chambers," I whispered, abandoning my salts and limping to my quarters. He watched me with unseeing eyes until I closed the door before following my instructions.

It was a very long night.

Years past, and despite all hardships, he did not leave unannounced after the birth of his son; nor did he stir after his second or third son—nor with his daughter.

The Anbu, as he had later told me they were, never spoke to me directly again. I could tell that they were watching, however, when Sasuke became more dependent on me, sometimes for several weeks. Yet they only ever watched, even as the children grew and learned to fight under their father's guidance; even when they aged to full strength and left for their own paths through life; even as I resurrected the dead.

Had I known that that boy whose fortune I had told so many years ago would cause me this much trouble? No, but I don't believe that I really mind.