"The Akatsuki? What's that?" she wondered to herself out loud. Aside from the amount of grief she was experiencing, she was devastatingly confused. What was the Akatsuki? She'd never heard of them in her small part of the Village Hidden in the Leaves. What were they? What did they need her for? Where they to be feared or rather worshipped?
Before she could wonder to herself anymore, there was a creak from behind; someone was at the door, and they were coming in. She sat motionless on the floor, with the note seemingly frozen to her hands. She turned her head, silhouetted by the candle light, over her frail shoulders and peered at the door with wide petrified eyes.
"Here are your things," said a man as he pushed in a cart filled with curious little items. There was something familiar about his voice, thought the woman. It sounded like the aggravated voice of the man that had spoken to her the other night; the man with pity scratching through his throat.
As he walked closer into the dim candle light, the woman studied his being, starting from his head. His short, slicked back hair was grey, but his face held no wrinkles filled with the wisdom of life, and yet knowledge and experience seemed to flood in his crimson eyes. He wore a frown of annoyance across his mouth, but there was no sign of anger or frustration. His strong jaw seemed quaintly delicate for no apparent reason, and his entire mug was framed evenly by the red fabric that lined the inside of his enormous cloak collar which he wore unzipped all the way to the middle of his well-built abs. Around his neck was a necklace with a circular silver pendant, dangling from a delicate chain, caressing an upside-down triangle within it. Turning her attention back to the coat, the woman noticed it wasn't all black like she'd remembered it in the desert. Randomly scattered about the dark surface were red swirly clouds. A curious thing, she thought, but just as before, her wonders were wiped away from her mind by the sharp tone of the man's voice.
"What are you staring at?" he snapped. The young lady's head quickly turned back, facing the nightstand and the note as it did before he'd come in.
The bed next to her squeaked as something was tossed on it.
"There are your sheets and new clothes," the woman turned to look at them. A stack of crisply folded fabric, now lying lopsided from carelessly being tossed, sat upon the naked bed. Two of the fabrics were white, her sheets she guessed. Two more were black, and the third had a pattern similar to the man's cloak, all undoubtedly her new clothes.
"Change," he ordered. She turned back around to look at his expression; it was completely serious with his arms crossed and his tightened jaw, yet there was a smirk on his mouth that he could not conceal. She'd been through a lot already, changing in front of this man seemed to be nothing, and still she could not help but whimper.
"Please…," her sobbing whisper was torturous; the amount of anguish and innocence was too much to bear accompanied by the wilted presence of her pitiful body.
The man sighed, loosening his arms a bit and softening his scornful eyes, she had been through quite a lot, and now looking at her more carefully, he noticed her flaccid figure. Her long scarlet hair was knotted and dirty from being tossed, pulled, and thrown to the ground, he entire body was covered in bruises, cuts, and dry blood, only to be shielded half-heartedly by her golden sleeveless kimono. One of her eyes was purple and the brow drooped down, swollen from being hit. Her bottom lip was enflamed and a small amount of blood was visible on the corner of her mouth.
Shaking his thoughts and considerations, he refused to succumb to her pathetic condition. He stood firmly again, and stared at her intensely, with no concern of being lost in her black eyes, for they were now hazy with defeat and sorrow.
"Change. Now," he said again with ferocity, as if fire spewed from his stomach. Giving up, the woman obediently obeyed and started to undress before him. As she took of her kimono, the grey haired man noticed the severity of her wounds, the bruises along her stomach and inner thighs were disturbing and her chest was green from contusions. His eyes softened again in slight pity. She was still a young girl, innocent and untouched, with only the fate to be tainted by the men of their organization. Pity.
Delicately, her faded hands picked up a long sleeve fitted black shirt. Gently pulling it over her aching head, she stuck her arms through the tight sleeves. Next, she put on the black pants, which clung to her skin like a fresh coat of paint on a wall. Last was the cloak.
She held it up in front of her, studying it with lifeless eyes. She was overpowered, and now she would have to prove that by wearing the dishonoring garment she wielded in her shaking hands.
She was afraid. Putting on that cloak meant being one of them, and she wanted so badly to not be. Wearing that degrading uniform symbolized her weakness and succumbing to a higher power. She would never be herself again. She would never again be Harumi.
As she slowly slid into the cloak, the man spoke to her, kindly and more thoughtful than before, "My name is Hidan by the way… My partner is Kakuzu; we will be tending to you everyday."
Her hands still shook as she zipped up the garment until it stopped at her chin and looked up at her attendant. She noted his eyes weren't looking at her; they were staring at the wall to his left, as if he were avoiding her mourning face. Out of habit, she drooped her weary head and bowed in respect as a response to his informative statement.
Catching a glimpse of her modest action out of the corner of his eye, Hidan turned his head to face her. She sluggishly started to rise when he asked, "What about you? Got a name?"
Standing straight again, the tired woman looked at the ground and answered with a voice as soft as a sakura petal, "Kohana… But I prefer my first name, Harumi, if you don't mind…" Her black eyes flashed up to meet his, but only for a moment.
She was a shy woman, polite and sweet; as blameless as a new born bird that hadn't begun to fly through the world's harsh cold wind.
"Well then, Harumi," Hidan reached over to grab a tray from the cart he'd pushed in, "here is your food. Either I or my partner shall see you for your next meal in twelve hours." He handed Harumi the steel tray, sending a shiver up her spine when her sensitive hands met its chilly surface. Before looking down to observe what he'd actually just handed her, she stared at him as he left, his back facing her with a dim light from the hallway silhouetting his shape. He didn't turn to look at her as he pulled the door closed, slamming it shut.
It was quiet again. She couldn't even here his footsteps as he drudged through the blank hallway.
Dropping her tray to the ground; the food she didn't even glance at falling from its place, Harumi fell to her knees and began to weep. There was no going back, and there was no way out. Two meals a day and she wasn't permitted to speak freely. Locked in a tiny room for the rest of her existence, and if she were permitted to leave, she could only travel where they sent her, which could never be good. And by no means was she allowed to go outside and see the world ever again. It was now that she realized how truly terrifying this place really was.