Alabaster
Alabaster was the color of his skin, so different from her own.
The bones he drew from his skin were pure alabaster; beautiful yet deadly.
Alabaster was the silver hair that cascaded down his shoulders that shielded her from the world when they were alone.
Alabaster were his perfect lips, cool and addicting.
Alabaster is the pure white robes that were too unsullied for the darkness that Orochimaru preferred.
Alabaster are gifts of bone flutes carved by delicate fingertips.
Alabaster are hospital walls painstakingly cared for by Kabuto, bleached and bone-white.
His emotions were alabaster carved, pure, and hard.
Orochimaru's love was alabaster, fine, cracking and cruel.
His clan was unmoving alabaster, stiff and never warmed by sunlight.
Kimimaro's kisses were searing alabaster warring with Tayuya's flaming scarlet.
And now alabaster was all he had left, dying in a valley of his own bones.
"Kimimaro, look it's a sunset!" Tayuya's voice was alive and like a child's at the sight of the fading sunbeams. He often found her on the craggy hilltop playing a haunting melody on her flute as the sun extinguished catching her scarlet hair with it's last rays.
"Come on, Kimimaro!" she cried grabbing his pale hand in her sunburned one.
He was light and she was flame. He was bone and she was flute. He was alabaster and she was scarlet.
