Conundrum
Ambrosia
Every night, since the evening of her ninth birthday to the last day of her thirteenth year, Sakura had nightmares. She dreamt of vivid places full of equally vivid personalities; of tea parties with ramen, and tall men with wide grins, and authority figures that terrorized the public, and she woke up in her own bed, to her own world.
Her nightmares were not the kind people usually had, but the kind that kept one on edge throughout the day and made a person curious about sleep. Her nightmares were the kind that continued to terrorize her in her waking state, because reality was only a subdued version of her dreams.
But far worse than these absurd visions was the feeling in the pit of her stomach, telling her these were not dreams at all; and that she would rather live in her illusions than the waking world, because, despite convincing herself of the madness of these 'nightmares', she was irrevocably consumed.
Especially with the smoke that left her lightheaded and lost in the transition between night and day.
So she suppressed it all, and lied to herself, to the point where the joy and friendships were confused for terrifying images and nonsensical misshapen beasts.
On her fourteenth birthday, Sakura banished the vivid characters, who had become her only friends, from her mind. She implemented control over her psyche, and decided who lived in it and who didn't, and unlike the last four years of her life, she finally ruled both her conscious and subconscious worlds.
She should have realized that she could not kill what she did not even possess.
Years passed and Sakura grew into a stubborn albeit pretty woman. The memories remained suppressed, but every game of croquet she watched, and every tea party she attended, she wondered why it seemed so bland.
On the eve of her twenty-third birthday, with the appearance of three unusual men, her memories slowly began to unravel.
Sakura clipped back a loose strand, perfecting her plaited bun. Her slim neck looked delicate, almost frail, with her tied hair, her shoulders bare, and her bust extenuated with a corset.
She stood, observing her pastel pink gown.
It seemed wrong to wear something that shimmered quite unlike herself. The lace and trim and smooth material seemed too good for a bland little girl. Maybe, years ago, there had been a time when she shimmered like this.
She shook the thought before it could plague her. This was no time to reminisce.
Her eyes traced the short sleeves, and the low neckline, exposing her creamy arms and protruding collarbones. A dress such as this was a luxury for her, only to be enjoyed on rare occasions, such as this one.
The girl sighed. Glancing in the mirror once more, she marched through the door and down the staircase. Her pace was hurried and her footfalls loud.
"Sakura", she swerved her head to meet the unimpressed stare of her father, standing beside the staircase.
He was once a kind and humorous man, but that was a long time ago. The struggles of migration and the severe strain of the business world saw him into a strict persona. He would still entertain her from time to time, but the burden of their failing business meant that she saw him less and less.
Maybe today would change that.
Sakura bowed her head. "I'm sorry", the words were spoken in a perfect English dialect. Her father sighed in disappointment before telling her to hurry. He left her on the staircase, looking down at the shimmering pink dress.
When she stepped into the lounge room, she noticed the presence of her mother. The same jewelry that wrapped around the woman's neck tonight had years ago wrapped around her mother's life and suffocated her. This woman was merely her shell.
"Sakura", she scolded, her English spoken with a rounded edge. "Come sit, the Japanese merchants will be here soon", she ushered her daughter beside her. "Thank god they are willing to deal with us, this might be our last shot", she fussed over her daughters dress and hair – which she had fussed over enough herself – and rambled about topics of conversation and the necessity of a woman's silence. Sakura sighed in agitation, "I'm aware, mother". She brushed the busy hands off her person.
"Mebuki, Sakura! They're here!" Her father announced in a harsh whisper, attempting to keep his voice from the guests outside. They looked expectedly towards the long corridor past the entrance of the lounge room.
The family heard a maid open the front door. A hushed whisper was followed by advancing steps.
A brown-haired tan man, with his hair pulled into a ponytail, walked into the lounge. Sakura immediately felt apprehensive, although she couldn't begin to understand why.
"Mister Haruno", he greeted with an oddly ideal accent. He lowered his gaze to the pocket watch attached to his grey waistcoat, "I'm afraid my colleagues are a bit behind time". The man looked from Kizashi to Mebuki and lastly to Sakura. It might have been her imagination, but there seemed to be a glint in his eyes.
She felt a chill run up her spine.
"I apologize Madam and miss", he bowed politely, in an all too reminiscent manner.
Kizashi smiled, "not to worry, I'm sure they are not far behind". Sakura observed her father and found the rare optimism contagious.
The man smiled in return, "I am Iruka Umino, the facilitator to the top Japanese merchants in the orient". He held Kizashi's gaze. "We usually don't arrange deals with self-made businessmen", she heard what he left out; the 'failing' part, "but we are willing to give this a shot".
Kizashi nodded in understanding. Sakura felt her mother prod her back, as a sign to sit up straight. She followed obediently.
While her father questioned the man about travel routes and the origins of goods, a knock could be heard, although muffled in the conversation and distance. Sakura looked curiously towards the entrance to the lounge.
Her eyes widened at the appearance of two men in formal attire, both handsome in their own right. The first seemed younger, and closer to her age. He was blond, most likely a half-cast, with a wide smile that encompassed the room. The other man looked more mature, with silver – but not gray – hair, a calm smile, and a crinkle at his eye that told her he knew more than he let on.
"Sorry we're late, we got lost on the road of life", the older man bowed in apology, it shocked her to hear another flawless English accent. When their eyes met, she could have sworn he stilled a second before erupting into a polite smile. The blond noticed and directed a look her way – nothing too obvious – before turning to Kizashi. "We were just killing time", he scratched the back of his head sheepishly, "didn't realize how late it was".
Iruka scolded them both and apologized to her father again.
With a frown, he looked over them and then behind them, "Where's Sasuke?" Before either could utter a syllable, a deep and composed voice cut through the room, rousing Sakura in her seat. "Here…", She watched intently as a handsome – ethereally handsome – man walked into the room, standing beside his silver-haired colleague. He had raven-black hair, hardened onyx eyes, and aristocratic features finer than those of his partners'.
She almost mistook him for a god.
The man surveyed the occupants in the room, nodding at Iruka and Kizashi, and paused at the sight of a girl in a pink frock. Sakura's breath hitched and her stomach flipped several times. Considering the pace of her pulse, it was a miracle she did not undergo a heart attack then and there.
He seemed to disregard her, twisting back to her father, "so, you must be Kizashi". Her father nodded in reply.
Iruka interrupted them, apparently remembering the forgotten introductions.
"Mister Kizashi, may I present my colleagues", he gestured to them one by one, "Kakashi Hatake, Naruto Uzamaki and", Sakura bit her lip in anticipation, "Sasuke Uchiha".
Her eyes bulged involuntarily.
This one is more my forte; dark and sensual. Only a T though.
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