Add some of the crappiest days of my life to listening to depressing music, shake--not stir--and you end up with this.
God save us.
Yes, I'm taking a break from Once Upon Tomorrow, simply because I refuse to write on it when I'm in this mood. I'm just--well, I'm not happy, and I won't subject my pet-story to my depression/angst.
So I wrote this instead.
Did it help? A little. Oh, just to let you know, don't let that little 'owari' fool you, it's just signalling the end of the chapter. The real 'owari' will be in bold and italics.
R & R, it makes me happy.
-----RW
Guardian
guardian-- gar-de-an;
guard·i·an (gärd-n)
n.
One that guards, watches over, or protects.
Law. One who is legally responsible for the care and management of the person or property of an incompetent or a minor.
It was lonely here.
The scope of its infinity was not lost on the boy. He had grown, while not used to it per se, familiar with all of its cruel emptiness.
He would have cried for apathy, if he had known what apathy was.
As it was, at three years old he didn't know nearly enough about the world to understood apathy, or cruelty, or hate, not unless it glared him in the face, or looked past him like he didn't even exist.
Or when it beat him senseless into the ground.
Still, if he pretended he wasn't tired, or dirty, or hungry, or bruised more than he'd like to be—life wasn't too bad.
He was cold.
There was no warmth—no sun, no moon, no stars—only blinding white cold that never ceased. For him, it was always the dead of winter, even in the spring.
He had wished, once, for a smile—loving, genuine, his—just once.
Just once. He didn't need it more than that.
Still--
It would have been nice.
It was cold tonight.
She sighed, and cocked her head to the side. Tonight, even the wind was as bitter as the destroyed dreams of what-could(should)-have-been, as biting as the teeth of--
No. She would not think of that tonight. Kyuubi was gone, sealed into a child, and she could go on with her life just as it had been three years prior.
Still--
She wish her father could have been there. Her mother didn't talk about him much, the little girl didn't even know his name, but she knew her mother had loved him very, very much.
At eight years old, she had gained a somewhat infamous reputation for being a "guardian." She had been in the Hokage's office more times in her brief life than some jounin. She knew his speech, kind but frustrated, by heart.
"You really mustn't do things like this, little guardian. You should go to an adult and tell them what is happening rather than try to handle things yourself. Someday, you may get into serious trouble with that protective streak in you, and that would make me very sad. So—will you at least promise me to try to control your... er... motherly instincts?"
And yet next week she was always, once again, in his office.
Sandaime Hokage had pretty much given up trying to break her of it; after that incident with the Grass Country diplomat's son (who he amusedly remembered as a spoiled, violent brat), he had insisted that she promise to stay away from anyone visiting Konoha.
He grinned, though; after she had gotten through with the boy, he'd been considerate, polite, and a perfect gentleman.
It had only taken her five hours.
There was a time, though, that he chuckled and shook his head over:
She was one of the very few people who had injured Morino Ibiki and lived.
Ibiki had been having a rough week of it, and had been venting on some chuunin. If he remembered correctly, one of the girls was even in tears. Anyways, Ibiki had been having his sadistic fun when all of a sudden a little girl, hands on her hips, demanded that he "stop picking on them." Ibiki, being Ibiki, had smirked and told her to take on somebody more her own size, he'd already eaten enough little girls who stuck their noses into matters that weren't their business.
She bit him.
The scar was still there, too, perfect little white teeth marks that tingled every time she came around. After the incident (which had amused the poor shinobi assigned to him for weeks) he hadn't tried to vent his frustration on anything living.
Instead, he just quietly destroyed things.
Perhaps it was his hair.
Perhaps it was the golden sun of that mop of unruly, dirty hair that caught her attention.
Perhaps it was how his gaunt, waifish figure looked so forlorn in the snow.
Perhaps it was the eyes of a lonely child, eyes of brilliant blue, that reminded her of the father that would never return.
Perhaps it was fate.
For a moment, the entire world slowed down as she walked over. She was smiling, a kind smile that was warm (notcoldorhateorapathy) and handed him a lollipop.
"Hello, little one. How are you?" she bent down, ruffling his hair, ignoring how it came away oily and damp. Wide blue eyes blinked up at her in disbelief.
In a sudden, unbearable need for affection, he launched himself into a hug. She slipped and fell back into the snow, the little boy holding tightly onto her.
"HEY! THE MONSTER'S ATTACKING A LITTLE GIRL!" someone yelled.
Suddenly, there was a mob, and fists and cruel words were falling, and the little boy was still fiercely holding onto the only kindness he had ever received.
And, in the midst of it all, there was a demon awoken named guardian.
"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!"
For an eight-year-old girl, with no training and only an unbreakable heart that sought to protect, she fought like one possessed, grabbing the little boy by the hand and running off, pulling him into her arms as she ran.
Panting, she tripped and landed in the snow at the feet of a haggard woman in her early thirties.
"Mama! You have to help--"
A slap echoed in the streets amidst the silently falling snow.
"That child is a demon! Leave him in the street, with the other trash!"
Disbelief filled her eyes, as she slowly stood up, the little boy awkwardly in her arms.
"No, mother. He is a baby who desperately needs help."
Horror filled her mother's eyes, a hand flying up to her mouth, tears filling them. A mother's love and instinct to protect her (their) only child and all the hatred she held for this boy.
The mob came around the corner, carrying bamboo brooms and other makeshift weapons, although their frenzy and hate was deadlier for that three-year-old than any tangible weapons.
Her mother, torn between her child and the crowd, looked down upon her daughter with cold eyes.
"You must choose, now, between this monster and your family."
The girl was absolutely still, as still as death, as all the horror entered her eyes, all her fear of abandonment surfacing, and for a moment she was a terrified child watching her father die again. An infinity of unsaid conversations, of hidden hate passed between the two, and she slowly understood what she had felt since her father died. Her mother hated her, resented her because before her it had been just the two of them.
"I... I choose the one who needs me most."
Her high, young voice was low and quiet but unmistakably clear.
"He needs me, mother, like you never have. To you—to you, I am like a painful past that you must live with every day."
The torment in each other's eyes—mother and daughter, one last time—reflected, and the mother knew that the girl had seen the hatred she held for herself, her daughter, and for the man that had died.
"Then you are no longer a part of our family. You are not my daughter."
A brief nod, a heavy burden falling off and another, possibly even heavier one assuming its place. Grabbing the boy even more firmly into her arms, she ran like she never had before, chanting in her mind that she was speed, she was the wind--
An eye blinked at her as she sped past, arms shaking from holding the boy, legs screaming in agony (shewasn'ttrainedforthis!) and she took the stairs two at a time. Not daring to risk a glance behind her, not just afraid of what she'd see but also of losing her precarious balance, she collapsed in front of the Hokage's office. The two jounin shared mildly alarmed glances with each other—the guardian and the Kyuubi holder, clinging to each other?
Stranger things had happened.
Damn if they could remember one though.
"Ho—Hokage," she desperately panted, forcing her aching legs to hold her as the silent shinobi swung open the door, sticking their heads in.
"Hokage-sama."
Jerking their head down at the girl shaking from exhaustion, still holding the boy, Sandaime raised an eyebrow, asking "what is this?"
Shrugging, they exited, though he knew well enough that they would be listening. Ever since she'd taken down Morino, she'd become something of a hero to the chuunin and a living legend of the jounin. So, in that instance, they could be somewhat protective of the girl.
"Well, what's this, little guardian?" Sandaime asked, genuinely concerned.
Dirty-blonde hair fell into calm blue-grey eyes, eyes that were suddenly older than he had last seen them.
Sandaime was beginning to get a bad feeling about this. Wise, calm eyes waited for her to speak.
"How long?"
Those were the last two words that he ever expected to hear; the words buzzed around in his head like some great portent of doom, a deep ominous bell that ringed inside his ears.
" 'How long', since what, Kaida?"
Little dragon. She could not have been more aptly named.
"How long has this boy been abused?"
The quiet roar of her voice was deafening in the relative silence of the Hokage Tower; his eyes broke contact with hers, glancing away out towards the falsely idyllic scene of Konoha.
"He is--"
"I know who he is!"
He turned back to face her; she looked so much like her father...
"Then you can understand the—feelings—of the villagers."
"No. I cannot understand their hate."
He glanced up at her, surprised; she'd never had much of a chance in life, with her mother possessed by a grief Kaida could never understand, fathom, and cursed by having her father's easy smile, protective nature...
And his eyes.
"There is no one to take the boy?"
Her words were terse, tense. He gave a slow nod, wondering where this was leading.
"Then I will take him."
The words were filled with courage, her chin lifted stubbornly and her eyes resolved. He sighed. There would be no changing her mind when she looked like that.
"You are only a child yourself, Kaida. You are eight years old. How do you propose providing for yourself—let alone a three-year-old boy? And your family won't--"
"I am no longer a member of that family."
The soft, whispered words startled him. Surely, Miyoko wouldn't... her sanity was frail, but not even she would... she couldn't hate Kaida that much...
"I lose nothing worth keeping, Hokage-sama. Please... I... he needs me."
The desperate pleading in her voice broke his heart.
"Naruto," he sighed, "do you want to stay with her?"
The tow-headed boy, blue eyes stretched comically wide, looked up in wonder at the girl who smiled tiredly down at him.
He nodded rapidly. Sandaime sighed; it had been rather a moot point to begin with.
"Still, how will you provide?"
"I will work my hands to the bone, I will do whatever it takes to make sure that he is never without again."
There was a pause.
"I will make sure he is loved."
'Like I never was... like neither of us has been so far.'
"I could assign Naruto's part of the orphan fund to you. It would provide the necessities, but probably nothing more."
He gave her a hard look.
"No dolls, no candy--"
"Candy just rots your teeth anyways," she gave a relieved laugh.
Despite his better judgment, despite the little voice niggling in his head, telling him that maybe this wasn't as good as an idea it seemed, his morality and conscience battled back saying that here was a girl willing to take the boy in as her own.
"Then, I assign you, Kaida, to be legal guardian of Uzumaki Naruto."
Outside, the deep bells of Konoha fell like a funeral dirge.
"Are you so sure this is a good idea?" Hatake Kakashi frowned. Only because he was Sakumo's son—and the Yondaime's student-- (theonlyoneleft) would he allow such impertinence.
Especially from a fifteen-year-old.
"Kaida is a fierce protector, you and I both know that. Uzumaki Naruto could not be in better hands."
"That's not exactly what I mean."
Shaking his head, Kakashi poofed off before he could be dismissed.
"Why do I feel like this is going to end very, very badly?" Sandaime groaned, his heads in his hands.
Nothingness was the only one who answered him.
Three Weeks Later...
"Naruto! Don't--!"
Crash.
"Not again," she sighed, picking up the chair, hoping she still had some more superglue to hold it together. There was no money to buy a new one.
"Okaa-san," Naruto started, piping up after he was sure he wasn't going to be scolded.
"Onee-chan," she corrected automatically.
"Okaa-san," he insisted stubbornly, "ramen!"
She frowned.
"No."
"Okaa-saaaaaan!" he drew it out, whining.
"Naruto-chan, you have to eat your vegetables. No ramen!"
Pouting, looking something between a ruffled fox and a disgruntled bullfrog, she laughed and pulled him into a tight hug. Reluctantly pulling from his sulking, he grinned and gave her a hug back.
"Bedtime," she wiped away the tears of mirth.
"Okaa-san! Big boy!" he said, aghast.
Barely keeping her laughter under control, she gave him a serious nod.
"But you'll always be my little Naruto-chan."
"Don't call me -chan!" he yelled, frustrated.
Ignoring him, as she frequently did when he tried to act like an idiot, she tucked him into the tiny, lumpy bed, wishing that she could have afforded a better one. She pulled out a book for his bedtime story (scrolls and books she always made room in the budget for), she read the book until he fell into a sleep.
Smiling down at him fondly, she stood, putting the book up, and sat at the rickety little table, her legs swinging from the one stool. Mournfully staring at the chair she would have to fix (again), she pulled the stool over to the battered refrigerator and reached past the bag of frozen spinach for the little pouch where their even smaller funds were.
Sighing, she pulled out a log book and quickly ran over some figures, frowning. Money was so tight... she couldn't even afford to buy Naruto any toys. Her clothes were running ragged, and she was worried she was failing Naruto, even though she was teaching him as best she could; she took cold showers so he could have a hot bath, gave up eating whenever necessary to make sure he had more than enough to eat.
He was too small for his age.
She knew what life he'd lived before—malnutrition, Hokage-sama had called it.
Hate, was what she called it.
She had gotten used to seeing the seal on his chubby stomach; it no longer bothered her at all. She was constantly attacked by self-doubts, and the villagers hatred; where they could not physically attack Naruto, for fear of the Hokage's retribution, she was fair game—an open target. With her own family officially disowning her, she had no clan, no covering.
Things were getting worse.
Naruto would get so upset—to the point of hysterics—as to why they hated him so much that they would attack her; she knew that some childish form of guilt haunted and nipped at him. He was consumed with fear that one day he would lose her and be alone again. Or worse, that she would turn and hate him like the villagers.
And that was perhaps worst of all.
"Oh, God, what am I going to do?" she asked of the stained ceiling.
"You called?" a rich, deep voice asked amusedly.
Her face lighting up, she almost launched herself towards him but checked herself at the last minute.
"Good evening, Hatake-san," she bowed slightly, face glowing with happiness.
"Maa, maa, I wish some of my comrades were as happy to see me as you are, Kaida-chan," he chucked.
"When you do show up," she grinned.
He may have been only fifteen, but sometimes he felt so much older.
He had already lost so many precious people...
"How is Naruto-kun?" he abruptly changed subjects, trying to keep his morbid thoughts at bay, thoughts that howled and ripped away at his soul.
Her face fell a little, and suddenly he wasn't so sure he was so much older after all.
"I—I'm doing the best I can, but... it's hard, Hatake-san," she whispered.
His heart lurched; she looked too much like her father right now, and he had known him too well.
"I... I'm sorry to hear about your family, Kaida-chan," he said quietly.
"So am I, I suppose. I should be. Maybe I am."
She gave him a wry smile, shrugging.
"Or maybe I'm just--"
Kakashi's head shot up, his visible eye narrowing.
"It's them, isn't it?"
He gave a bitter nod.
"If you ever need any help..."
"No, Hatake-san."
The reason why she would not run to him for help was obvious and unspoken; even after who his sensei was, even after all he had done for Konoha, Konoha still didn't trust him.
Helping his sensei's insen would only make things worse.
"But—thank-you, Hatake-san."
From the way her small form slumped, and the drooping of her clear eyes, he smiled a smile that no one could see under his mask (allofthem), carrying her bridal style to the sparse pallet next to Naruto's bed.
Going to the door, (because he couldn't use windows anymore, for awhile—he was tired of looking into what he was denied) he gave one last, fond look to his sensei's last wish and his insen.
And that was the last they saw of him for several years.
"RUN!" she screamed.
Half-carrying, half-dragging Naruto, her heart pounding in her ears, she desperately slipped through the marketplace, avoiding the blows aimed at her head as best as possible, wincing at the ones she didn't. She gritted her teeth, white knuckles grimly attached around Naruto's wrist in a death-grip, and continued running.
Eyes widening when she reached a wall she swore hadn't been there last time, they narrowed as she realized what it meant.
Genjutsu.
Ninja.
Pushing past it, body tense in expectation of running full-speed into a solid wall despite her mind's assurance that it wouldn't, it didn't relax even after she had pushed through. If genjutsu was used, it meant ninja filled with enough hate to risk the "pleasantries" Sandaime would gladly deal out if he found out—ninja who could easily kill her and no one would be the wiser until days later.
If they ever found her body.
"THERE SHE IS!" a woman with dark hair and eyes, foam flicking from her mouth, screamed in high, inhuman shrieks.
With a sad start, she realized that she was staring at her mother.
Lips narrowed into a fine line, she easily danced out of the way of the grabbing hands (claws) of her fellow villagers, fluid like water upon rock, leaping just out of reach.
Glaring at the chuunin (because the jounin knew better, and the genin were too scared, only chuunin were stupid enough) she knew with a sinking feeling that she was doomed; there was only hatred and death in their eyes, and she could not even muster the courage to return it.
But still, there was rage.
"How dare you attack him!" she yelled, falling into a stance she had seen Maito-san in once.
Of course, she had no idea what to do after that, everything Maito-san had done in the sparring was a blur, but hey, why bother with the details?
One of the villagers charged at her, and she merely moved a foot behind her, using the foot out front to kick him in the stomach.
"SEE THAT! THE LITTLE DEMON LOVER IS ATTACKING US, TOO! FILTHY TRAITOR!" someone shrieked.
'No... you are the traitors for ignoring the dying wish of our beloved Yondaime...'
"Naruto."
Something about her voice (her back was to him, he was tired of watching people's backs, ohGoddon'tleavememommy) made his eyes grow wide with terror and sorrow.
"OKAA-SAN!" he screeched, sobbing into his tiny fists.
"Run."
Her eyes were clear (ifhe'dbeenabletoseethem) , and her quiet, clear voice was firm.
"Okaa-san--" he whimpered, sniffling.
"Run."
There was no mistaking the command in her voice; he was torn—he wanted to be a good boy for his mommy, but he didn't want to leave her alone with all the mean people...
"Okaa-san..." he cried.
Reluctantly, he turned around, starting to run as fast as his little legs would allow, willing himself to head back home, (maybeifhehopedenoughhismommywouldcomehometoo) throwing one last look over to his mommy.
She stood there, still and unmoving like he had left her only a half-minute ago, like a guardian angel carved out of stone, something strangely beautiful that made his heart ache.
He knew then he'd already lost her.
She closed her eyes as the beatings continued; after a long moment where the world stopped, the look in her eyes unsettling even the most manic of the crowd, they soon swarmed over her. Lost in the middle of the fury, she didn't open her eyes until she caught a glint of metal, flashing like demonic light, taunting her.
As it embedded itself into her chest, ring-deep, she felt searing pain, like her lungs were filled with liquid fire. Blood spurted out from her mouth like an unholy sacrifice, and the villagers stilled. Like the awakening from some cannibalistic dream, they left her there on the ground, bleeding and lost in a world of black, one by one.
He didn't expect the door to knock.
His mommy never knocked; she gently opened the door (he slammed it open, to mock the mean people who tried to break it down, breakdownhissoul).
He didn't open it, because his mommy had told him to never open the door to strangers, but—his mommy wasn't here (shewasgonelikeafallenguardianangel) and he was afraid.
"Uzumaki Naruto?" the question was slightly muffled from behind the door, even as he hesitantly swung it open.
"...yes?" he said in a tiny voice, torn between hope and terror.
"Come with us," said a warily sympathetic-looking boy with a hair-stick in his mouth and a slightly younger looking girl with dark hair and crimson eyes, eyes openly empathetic and sad.
"Why should I?" he held onto the fragments of his stubborness like shards of broken glass.
"It's about your mother."
He stared at the boy with horror; he nodded, ignoring the looks shared between the two shinobi, or the soft shake of the kunoichi's head.
All he knew was that his mommy was in trouble.
And somehow it was all his fault.
Sandaime sadly watched the pale figure on the bed, her even breathing too deep to be normal, and too laboured to be good. He sighed, shaking his head slowly, feeling older than when he'd woken up that morning.
Funny, it already seemed so long ago...
"Hokage-sama."
He turned his head towards the respectful medic-nin, the man's dark hair was greying,and his normally gentle, untroubled brown eyes were distant.
"The kunai pierced her lung. It collapsed, rapidly filling with blood. We've done all we can, but... really, it all depends on her will to survive."
Sandaime was silent for a moment, thoughtful.
"She has a strong will. She will not fail us."
The medic-nin rose an eyebrow at the statement, but didn't press it. He knew better than to question the brilliant man before him—there was a reason he was called "The Professor."
"The boy insists on staying by her side," the medic took a different subject, scowling. Sarutobi gave a exasperated grin—the medic didn't hate the boy, but he was notoriously protective of his patients and one of the best medics in Konoha.
'Probably only second to Tsunade, really...'
Old grief attacked his heart, and he turned away, walking slightly hunchedlike the old man he was.
'...where am I?'
Blackness swirled around her like a tangible thing, and unexplainable tears pricked her eyes; she felt... grieving.
Strange.
'You are between life and death.'
The voice was at once imperious and kind, deep and high, sea and sky. It was like living and dying.
It was Rebirth.
'You have guess correctly. I am both death and destruction necessary for Rebirth, and Rebirth itself. For all of life is born from dying, and only from dying can Life be born.'
The voice melded and changed; female to male, young to old, a dizzying sensation.
'You are within the confines of my Domain. There are two options laid before you, both with pros and cons—you must choose one.'
She saw herself, face peaceful, robed in a white yukata. She was in a coffin.
She was looking at her own funeral.
There was the Hokage, in his fire-licked robes. Most of the jounin—she could have sworn she even saw a tear in Ibiki's eye before he blinked it stoically away.
Hatake-san, probably the closest thing to a friend she had; irascible Shiranui-san, whose off- color jokes nevertheless hid an intelligent, serious demeanor.
Naruto.
The boy looked lost and bewildered, lost and grieved like his world had shattered. He was clutching a stuffed frog tightly.
The scene warped, and she saw him arguing with an older man that she swore looked familiar. He seemed happy, confident, and everything that she ever knew he could be.
Opening the door to an apartment that she barely recognized as theirs, the emptiness of the house struck her as the paradox; he became quiet as he fixed himself a bowl of ramen (eat your vegetables!she couldn't help thinking.)
Unfurling a scroll that he studied while consuming the noodles, she noticed that the apartment was in disrepair; laundry stagnated in piles that she wasn't even sure could be cleaned anymore, and this Naruto—so grown up—seemed so melancholy as he stared out the dirty windows.
But still, he had friends who cared about him—people he could have as his family.
"Of course he doesn't remember Kaida-chan! After all, Naruto was so young when she died--"
His head slowly rose as he heard his name, staring at the strange jounin with the senbon in his mouth.
"Oi! What about me?" he demanded.
"Oh, we were just wondering if you still remembered Kaida-chan," the jounin shrugged.
"Who?" he wrinkled his nose. He wondered if she had been one of his classmates.
"See? Owe me twenty," senbon-mouth smirked at a guy covered in scars.
"OI! WHO'S KAIDA!" Naruto demanded. He hated being ignored.
"Just... she was just someone who looked after you when you were little, Naruto."
He cocked his head, twisting his mouth, trying to remembered. For a moment, the ghost of a memory lingered beyond his reach.
He shrugged.
"Sorry, don't remember her at all."
Tears stung her joy; whether of sorrow or joy, she could not tell.
'If I die now... he won't remember me?'
'Yes. He will not carry the pain of losing you—it will be washed from his mind like snow.'
'...I see...'
She realized that she naked, vast and insignificant—here and everywhere, like thought.
'And the second option?'
She saw Naruto staring wistfully at the groups of genin, hefting his bags to regain a more comfortable position. Sighing, he headed away from the Academy, back towards home.
"MOOOOM! I'M HOOOOME!" he shouted, slamming the door open.
"NA-RU-TO!" her voice stressed all the syllables of his name warningly.
He gulped.
"Sorry, 'kaa-san, I forgot," he put a hand behind his head, laughing sheepishly.
"It's fine," she sighed, starting to put the groceries away.
"Oi, do you think I could go play with the other kids, 'kaa-san?" he asked eagerly.
"I don't know..." she sighed, pretending to think very seriously.
"MO-OM!" he whined.
She grinned at him.
"Finish your chores and promise me you'll eat something besides ramen, and it's fine."
"Yes!" he cheered.
Laughing she started dinner, even though she knew he'd be eating right after it, she turned around to see him attacking the laundry with vigor. Turning back to her stew, she ignored the loud thumps and crashes that signaled he'd gotten caught up in the sheets again.
She enjoyed the peace here; it was a quiet place, and the pace was unhurried, but unstoppable, like the tides of the sea.
The sea...
She hadn't realized that she'd missed it so much all these years; living near it again was wonderful.
"MOM! I'M DONE!" he yelled, walking up to her.
She missed home, though.
"Man, I just hope that little crybaby Inari doesn't try to tag along again," Naruto complained.
Blinking, she returned to the present, gently putting away all the dreams of the past.
"You know, Inari-kun sometimes reminds me of you when you were that age," she smiled.
"I was never a crybaby like he is!" Naruto argued vehemently as he wolfed down the soup she ladled into his plain bowl.
"Still, he never gives up, does he?" she chuckled.
Yes, Wave Country was a nice place to live after all.
'...! We no longer live in Konoha?' she couldn't help asking.
'No. But the path that leads to this outcome, I will not show you. And nothing is ever written into stone—every decision affects everything around it, like a rippling of water or the beat of a butterfly's wings. Everything is always changing. You may not have this future.'
She could die—she could be free of worry, knowing that Naruto would grow up into a man she could be proud of, surrounded by friends that cared.
Or she could take him away from all that, to a life far away.
Her choice.
He was young enough that, if she died, he would not be burdened by grief—it would be as if she never existed but as a tragic figure soon forgotten even by those few that bothered to remember.
He would have friends.
He would walk into an empty home every night.
Her choice.
He would have a person to cherish him, take him away from all the hate.
He would walk into a home filled with love and warmth, even if she wasn't there.
He would know that he was loved.
Her choice.
He would fend for himself and protect others on entirely his own strength.
He would grow into a man who would set the world on fire.
He would endure great pain and great joy.
Her choice.
He would live a normal life sheltered under her protection.
He would grow into himself, in his own time.
He would be surrounded by her love.
Her choice.
She smiled.
'I choose--'
INTERESTING. ABLE TO KEEP HER 'SELF' IN THIS PLACE, TO THINK IN THE NOW AND THE FUTURE. SHE PIERCES THE WHIRLWIND.
SHE REQUIRES FURTHER STUDY.
SHE WILL DO.
------Owari------
