Sakura didn't know what she felt when a knock sounded at her door, hollow and lonely. She turned, wiped her hands off on her handkerchief, walked over and opened the door.
There, pale as snow and cruel as the knife, was Orochimaru. Hands stuffed inside his pockets, he smiled, showing her his sharp fangs.
"Sakura, my dear," he murmured. "I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd drop by...see how you were doing..."
Sakura looked around, eyes panicked.
"Come in, come in," she whispered nervously. "Hurry, please."
He kicked his sandals off and stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and watched with yellow eyes as she locked the many locks with a series of clicks. Those eyes of his roamed her small apartment, and he licked his lips when he spotted a splatter of red on her face.
"Been having fun, Sakura?" He asked softly, wiping the blood off with his thumb, and lapping it up. She paled, her skin turning almost as white as his. She wrung her hands, eyes lowering to look at her feet.
"I know you told me I mustn't, but..." She looked up quickly, her hair falling away and revealing the mark on her neck. "I couldn't help myself."
Orochimaru sighed and sat down at her rickety table, stretching his long legs. She hastened to the teapot that sat on her stove, and picked it up, seemingly numb to the heat. With two teacups dangling from her fingers, she poured the man some tea, and then sat down herself.
Orochimaru breathed in the steam, its sweetness numbing his nose. He was about to take a sip, when a drop of blood fell into his teacup. The tea splashed from the cup and onto the table, and he looked up.
Pinned to the ceiling, knives's holding it up, was a body. The corpse's hair hung down, covering unseeing eyes.
Orochimaru turned back to Sakura to see her smile, which was tinted with insanity that had been brought out by excessive torture. He returned it, remembering her hollow screams, and then took a sip of the tea. The saltiness bit at his tongue pleasantly, and he drained his cup.
Then, he turned to Sakura, who was standing next to him, having cleaned up the spilled tea.
He pulled her close, and bit her neck, tasting, savoring that lovely red liquid. It ran down his lips and dripped off his chin, and he and her were content, content to be forever soaked in blood.
He turned his face back to the ceiling, and her prey.
"Now, my dearest little murderer. Tell me about your kill," he hissed, stroking her dull pink hair.
Sakura fell into his lap, weak and broken, and, covering her mouth with one pale hand, giggled loudly.
"Well, he didn't see it coming..."