Because her hair had grown out.
Because she was. Just. So. Tired.
Because there were no more promises.
Favorite things-
like red, but not blood,
like shopping, there were easier ways to acquire necessities,
like flowers, but for the petals she used in her jutsu,
were discarded.
Because her hair had grown out.
Because there was no one to give promises to.
Because there was no longer a guiding presence in her mind.
There were only shreds of iron chains and stale pools of blood which would never loose their viscosity.
Broken things-
like the faces on the streets,
like the cracked glass of her living room window,
like her heart,
were ignored.
Because her hair had grown out,
And her eyes had dimmed.
And her nails were claws.
And her childhood held no meaning.
Because her hair had grown out,
Down the length of her back,
Shaggy and unkempt.
But lustrous,
And a sure sign of death.
Whole things-
were destroyed.
With Earth.
And Water.
And most of all Fire.
Because he had laid waste to everything that mattered to her.
So she had no problem,
No more qualms,
To do so to him.
For him.
Because she cared less every day,
And because there was no reason to keep her hair from growing out.
