The Freedom was intoxicating. It took her veins like a high and shot her lips dark red and her eyelids pink with cat's eye.
The blush nearly covered the scar that ruined her face.
Ashita pillaged and burned and wore the scent of blood along with her stolen perfume and her stolen kimonos and her stolen persona. There was a match in one hand and gasoline in the other.
So the woman moved from city to city, borrowing faces as a frame for crimes the owners would never even dream of committing. From place to place, the death toll rose just a little bit more, and just a little bit more blood came to stain her hands, full of dirty money that made up a fortune in her sad, half empty backpack.
But she filled it with jewels and silk so everything was alright.
The cigarette burned down to nothing.
And there she was, between villages, running ever since Sasuke Uchiha gave her options.
The smoke rose all the way up to heaven, like incense tied to a prayer. Or maybe just a thank you note.
Exhale.
The end of the roll, marked up with a rich kiss, was thrown to the ground. Forgotten and transient like all the sights those hard green eyes had seen.
Another exhale.
This time a sigh.