Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto
Uchiha Mikoto watches her oldest son pull his katana from her husband's body in one harsh motion, the blood splattering his clothes like a fine rain.
(oh Itachi, you were always such a neat child)
He turns toward her, weapon half raised, and the shadows on his face can almost make her believe he is a stranger, that her darling, her firstborn, her son is not standing in front of her with one foot on his father's body. Itachi takes a step forward, clenches his weapon and Mikoto should be screaming by now, she needs to scream. She stumbles backwards against the wall and scrabbles with her soft, housewife hands against the wood.
Suddenly, Itachi is close, so close, and Mikoto can count his eyelashes and trace the curve of those strange lines under his eyes. In the moment before he rams his katana into her chest she feels her husband's blood drip onto her foot.
(and that strange icy feeling in her chest when she hears the sharp steel ring against her rib bones like someone just walked over her grave)