Helllllooooo.

It's been like a month, I'm so sorry, I have been ridiculously caught up in uni and I also went to Paris for like a week to see some family. With that, I also had crippling writers block... do you like ever get it where you know where you want to go in a story, but you just have no idea how to fucking get there?

Well, meeeeeee.

I have written about ten thousand future scenes and like smut and fluff and all that (which be tbh, you're all in for such a treat) and I'm just like 'ugh get out of the bloody mist and make babies already thankssss'. Well, tbh, this chapter is very eventful and yet also just a bit of a filler really. Pay attention to the third scene, I guess, the character gives some clues. Also, we see some relationship development between our mains (well lol you just have to see).

This chapter is also the shortest one I've written yet but tbh just wanted to get it up and posted. It's about 6.7K long which is so ridiculously short oh my god, but as I said, it's just to force me out of my writers block. Now that I've written it, I know exactly how to get to the next plot section, so updates should sorta of go back to regular.

(she says that on the seventh chapter wowowowow, how regular)

On the other hand, having a bad relapse in my mental health so. Idk, life's hard atm and writing has always been my escape, but sometimes it's just so much work and I feel so drained and exhausted, you know?

Ugh, anyway, I hope you lads enjoy.

(quick side note: as always this is unedited, but, even worse today, my italics didn't copy through so yeah, hope you get the internalised thoughts and sarcasm without them xoxo)

Without further ado, let's get this party started.


Title: Of Crimson Days

World: Medieval-inspired, Sasuke is basically a prince

Full Summary: She isn't of aristocratic blood. She's laboured and she's struggled, sometimes clothed in only a rag, but she is, at least, a survivor- A survivor of poverty, of loss, of this man-eat-man world. She may not sleep in silk tonight, but at least she'll open those wise eyes when morning comes. At least, when it all ends, she'll live to tell the tale of how she survived those Crimson Days.

Central Paring: SasuSaku

Side Pairings: ShikaIno, ShikaTema, AnkoMaru, NaruSaku and tbat

Start Date: October 2017

Update Schedule: lol as if ;)))

Rating: Mature

Warnings: A lot of death (like a lot of death, I have warned you), prostitution, poverty, non-consensual sex (mentioned), sexual descriptions, sexual scenes, swearing, alcohol, graphic violence, neglect (although much of this isn't so heavily portrayed as you think), cheating, prostitution, angst, and tbat

^^ There's also a theme of suicidal thoughts, but it's very different to what you think. There is nothing even slightly related to self-harm or genuine painful suicide, but there is a 'I have nothing left, might as well just rot away now in a grave' sort of thing.


It surprises both Naruto and Sasuke to be lead back to their inn. They assumed that the woman had, at first, coincidently wandered in its very direction, but Sakura's legs aren't halting or changing course— in fact, her arms are suddenly holding the familiar, creaking door open for the pair.

Dark eyes flicker up at their bodies when they enter, at first with indifference, but then their monolid shape widens with a parting of the innkeeper's full lips. He regards the woman with a curious fascination, as if he can't quite believe that she's standing there, as if he's staring at the ghost of a long, forgotten memory, his mouth agape and his hands clutching tightly onto his desk. There's a pallid tone to his knuckles as he grips the wood so relentlessly, using it to hold up his large, rounded figure, and there's a paleness in his skin all of a sudden. Once flushed, sun-kissed flesh whitens in utter disbelief.

He scrambles for words. "Hell— wha— ah, uh— Sak— I mean— Hello!" He tries with conviction, suddenly grinning a beat too late to be convincing, although it's certainly as if he's stepping into the body of another. In an instant, an optimistic yet comical innkeeper is simply greeting his customers.

But Sasuke doesn't miss the way the man's gaze lingers on his female companion, just a second too long to be causal. There's clearly something significant about her, and, from the few pieces of dialogue he's picked out from his surroundings, he'll easily bet that this isn't her first encounter in the Blood Mist Village of the West.

"Good afternoon," she says flatly, ignoring the way the man is still practically quaking at the vivid hue of her tresses, "I would like to speak to Zabuza,"

Now, that certainly is a name the Uchiha recognises— he just can't quite exactly place where from. As if lost in the thick air of this socially arid town, the answer wafts in and out of the fog of his mind, so close yet just a centimetre too far from his grasp; the sensation lingers, reminding him that he holds the knowledge, but it only teases the desperation of his head, only exhausting him. He can't recall the name's relevance, and that in itself infuriates him.

The innkeeper smiles regretfully. "He just went to find ye, actually, and he won't be back for a while. Can ye wait?"

"I cannot," the woman states, cuttingly, "I have not the hour nor the circumstance, I am afraid, but I do hope you could pass along a message,"

With a scrupulous stare, Sasuke observes the proprietor with scrutinising intricacy; he fixates on the subtle nod of the much, dark eyes boring into the rustle of the older man's bread, and that knowing tone to the man's voice. "Okay," He says, already slipping a quill out from under the desk, as well as a piece of parchment. "But you have to—"

"Leave?" The woman supplies with a nod of her own. "I am fully aware,"

"Why's it so urgent?" It's Naruto who speaks up next, stepping forward as he does so. He thinks there's been an awful amount of fuss over something so little. "We don't seem to be in any life-threatening danger,"

The maiden sighs. "You are not in any, it is true," She agrees, taking the quill into her hand and beginning to calligraph on the paper. Sasuke tries to make out what she writes, but the font is too grand and pretty to be distinguished from his angle— he supposes she's doing it on purpose.

"Then—"

"I am," She affirms, not lifting her gaze from the calligraphy. "I am in life-threatening danger, not you nor your companion. Fear not, it is my head that they wish to decapitate,"

The blond goes to retort, but she shakes her head, silencing him.

When she finishes her letter, they make haste out of the Village Hidden in the Mist.

~ x Of Crimson Days x ~

October 10th holds great significance to Naruto Namikaze— it happens once a year, every year, without fail (like all three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of a standard year) always bringing with it a sense of pride in being, well, him. It's the capsule of many warm memories, the start place of his existence, and also a day that breaks his heart. Because of October 10th, the boy has experienced many things in his life— special dishes, memorable events, important friendships… and, well, he could quite easily go on for a while. He's become a knight, he's fallen in love, he's made a best friend, he's learned and taught and discovered many, many things. October 10th is his birthday, but it's also his own mother's death date. Eighteen years ago, on this very day, Naruto Namikaze was born.

Today, however, he forgets his own birthday.

Well, okay, maybe not exactly forgets it...

He remembers the date— a blaring, blazing, burning ten— and all its significance, all its sentimental value, like he does his own name. His stomach, for the matter, bubbles with a joy at the thought of, in his opinion, the best day of the year; his eyes gleam with a childlike wonder, all bright and vivid, anticipating the presents and the feast and the ceremony to follow the morning of the day, the memories so joyous and sweet in his mind. He recalls the distinct scent of last year's two tier Victoria Sponge cake, topped with seventeen golden birthday candles and a chocolate piece labelled 'Happy Birthday' in white icing, and he reminisces the blend of gooey cake and strawberry jam on his tongue. It hadn't been his favourite, in honesty, for he's far more of a chocolate glutton than anyone else in Mangekyou, but Mikoto had especially picked it out for her, Itachi, Sasuke, Minato and Naruto himself to share together; that was once the tradition, to gather in the aging boy's bedroom with a cake and a few presents, to laugh easily for an hour before the extravagant party Mikoto always planned to commence afterwards.

At these parties— or galas, as the queen used to title them— the Namikaze would dance and giggle and eat and sing and bask in the attention without a single care in the world; for those evenings, he had been the prince of the night, and not his best friend or his best friend's brother or any other. The boy's birthday had been the best day of the year, indisputably, filled with personalised activities and people he both adored and even ones he didn't even know. He always looked forward to it, and he always looked back on it with the fiercest heat igniting his chest.

And yet, this year, his birthday is completely overlooked.

In fact, the Namikaze can't even state the month. The last time he glanced at a calendar, it was a few weeks before his accolade, at the very end of August. He has a feeling that he'll be ageing soon, for he knows it has been a little under two months, but he's never been good with time, either. This year, there's no soft voice singing him into alert, nor a cake held in his closest friend's hands or his father's soft, kind eyes. This year, he's walking through the snow, muscles sore and aching as his feet drag through thick layers of sludge and precipitation. This year, October 10th is just another, nameless day.

"I'm cold," the knight announces, referring to the dampness of his socks— hours ago, the wet ground had began to seep into his boots, and now, he can feel an ocean forming beneath his toes. With it, the air is harsh and bitter, biting at the tips of his fingertips as if it holds a grudge. Oh, how he loathes the winter season.

But, for Sakura, this is hardly winter. She'd be right, too, for it's October, as the blond seems to have forgotten, but even if it wasn't, it'd still be relatively mild. In fact, with a glare at the male's thin articles of clothing, she thinks it's quite warm— only, of course, it wouldn't be if she too was wearing so little. With a tug of her large, thick coat, repositioning it securely around her petite figure, the woman continues on without much consideration for the Namikaze; he'll live.

An image flashes behind her eyelids as she blinks; it quickly morphs into a complete memory, and a fond one at that. Sakura pictures the first occasion she ventured out into the world, Hanako's warm hand tightly gripping her own to warn off the common frostbite of the North. She remembers the pretty snowflakes falling into her sister's hair, casting a halo across the girl's head as she offered Sakura the most blinding smile; she recalls her elder sibling's giggles and the curse words Hanako had accidentally blurted out as she tumbled down a lattice of rime. It had been probably the best day of her entire life.

Sasuke, who is following behind the woman, tilts his head back to regard his best friend— Naruto is trailing behind them by a few paces, not ashamed in broadcasting his exhaustion. "No shit," Sasuke says vulgarly, the monarch's nose reddened with ice. The Uchiha has always despised the cold, even as a young boy, feeling particularly out of his own skin under the inches of snow.

Mangekyou has only ever recounted a snowy day once, about forty years before his own birth, otherwise warm and clear-skied, or even sometimes wet; their fabrics and attire are made with thin but slightly insulating materials, designed for the summer climate of the Crimson City, one waterproof coat left in the backs of their closets just in case, on the rare off-chance, that it rained. Blizzards and snowstorms are scarcely known to the 'Mangekyians' at all, and if they are, it's by distant story-telling of a cousin's aunt's grandmother's old friend's travels. No one used to leave Mangekyou, for it had everything a person desired and kept out all the things less desirable; Sasuke himself had never, ever really left the kingdom, back when he was simply a spoilt prince, but he'd been outside the walls that surrounded the main city itself, training in the forest that surrounded the outskirts of the city.

The male's statement is ignored, however, if even comprehensible over the howling of the wind. He doesn't really take offence, too occupied with his own internal monologue, his mind hissing out insults at the weather; neither he nor Naruto can move their fingers, now, he's realised, but their companion seems quite content. In fact, he supposes this is a natural occurrence for her, walking in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains of snow— she seems like the type, although he doesn't even know what he actually means by that. How can that be a type? He shrugs to himself, rolling his eyes at his own idiocy. This whole mutiny thing really has him acting out of character.

But Sasuke supposes that it's to be expected.

Admittedly, half of his previous identity had been solely 'prince'— or well, Itachi's back up, anyway— but now, he's prince to no kingdom, really. Now, he's just a wanderer, following some woman he doesn't know to some place he doesn't know, aimlessly and without any of his prior authority. There's a chance that he may never return home, and he knows that fully, and he may live the rest of his life out like this; drifting from place to place, hoping that the next 'place' isn't going to be some bandit village filled with murderers and mercenaries. Never in his life has he felt so lost, and yet, never in his life has he felt so free. Even under the orders of Hanako, who truly puts the previous king of Mangekyou to shame with her sternness, he feels liberated and unattached and just, plain free— he repeatedly contradicts himself, too, and honestly, he's really beginning to hate it.

"Tell me again where we're going," Naruto instructs to no one in particular, but the rosette seems to be too far gone on another pane to even comprehend his words. It may be the rough, screeching air, but she's seems too distracted in her own thoughts to listen to him, Sasuke thinks, which he imagines is a frequent event in her life— the woman clearly prefers to keep to herself, much alike to him, to such an extent that she mentally isolates herself from situations. Of course, he could be wrong, but he has a strong feeling tide with this theory. Ugh, what's going on with him? He's never been so interested in someone else before.

The Uchiha tries to focus on the sencery. He absorbs the white pigment in like a sponge soaking up liquid, dark irises flickering rapidly from the magnolia trees to the ivory ground, to the pallid sky and— and to the milky hue of the woman's jaw. He hisses. She's too captivating. Well, actually, he doesn't think that's quite it. The woman is pretty at best, not exceptional or otherworldly, with an attractive face and an attractive body, he can concede with ease, and yes, maybe her hair is a thing he certainly cannot get off his mind, but it's not that. He can't name it, can't even quite place what it is, but there's something else that draws his eyes to her figure as if he is a moth and she, a magnificent flame.

He's interested, he'll summarise. That in itself is uncharacteristic enough as it is.

"Sasuke?" The blond prompts, expecting him to have more knowledge on their destination than the knight himself.

He doesn't— but he's also Sasuke Uchiha.

"Hn," He replies simply, unwilling to disclose his lack of knowledge.

But, whilst he is Sasuke Uchiha, his best friend is Naruto Namikaze.

With a sigh, the blond jogs passed the Uchiha, forcing his way through the thick snow and angry wind, until he eventually is beside the only woman of the group. At first, he just watches her, her blinking eyes allowing pastel lashes to brush against one another, but then, he grows impatient. After a few paces, he's grabbed on to her forearm, instantly earning a hard glare from the stranger. She stares at his hand like it's a disease spreading through her skin; she's quick to shrug him off.

"What?" Sakura asks, surprisingly more bored than irritated. Emerald gems are now gazing up at the Namikaze expectantly.

He grins, enjoying her attention— basking in it, in fact. "I can't remember where you said we were heading," He says, more as a question than a statement, really, an inquiring lift in octave on his last syllable.

That's a thing the Haruno has found; this strange, blond boy never seems to stop asking questions, or, in fact, talking in general. He's like a tempest, she thinks, relentless and constant, always aggressively active. He just talks and talks and talks and talks. His words are, most of the time, meaningless, too, as if said just for the sake of saying something, holding no real substance other than to— what was the word he used? Bond, that was it. He waffles on, filling up empty silences, just to bond. To say it doesn't touch her heart would be a lie. She's grown quite fond of his bubbly optimism, even if it's sometimes an inconvenience.

Sakura readjusts her shoulders in a slight roll, as if to truly free herself from the lingering sensation of his touch, before drifting her eyesight to his face. With a courtesy smile, for she's had etiquette drilled into her since birth, she answers, "Well, that might be because I never did tell you,"

The blond takes no offence. Instead, he chuckles to himself, eyes dropping down ever so slightly before they're on her again. "You don't tell us a lot, do you?" He affirms in a low voice, somewhat softly.

The question takes the woman by surprise. She's aware that she's been hardened over the years, that she's somewhat distant and unapproachable, but she's never once considered herself to be antisocial— or, well, unable to make conversation, at least. She's never felt that she's particularly elusive or the she's a type like the other male that's now lagging behind them, even if she is certainly more withdrawn than she once was. Sakura has never once pictured herself as that sort of character.

Yet, here she is, relating to him on an astral plane; she's elusive and she's hardened and she, whilst not being cut from his cloth at birth, has certainly begun to morph into it.

Fuck, she doesn't want to be anything like that brooding, arrogant, self-important ass. She thinks he's rude and impudent, unappreciative of everything she's endured within the past few hours for his sake, the most conceited man she's ever met and completely, utterly, indisputably selfish. Whilst she doesn't hate him— she argues that he isn't quite relevant enough for such a passionate emotion— she definitely dislikes him a lot, and is looking forward to the second she'll be without him, again, with an intense longing.

"No, I don't suppose I do," She reiterates, slipping back into her informality— it's been too long since she's spoken like a normal person.

Her mother had always scolded her for speaking like Hanako, saying that she'd never get married or find love with such poor etiquette, but Sakura always ignored her as a child. Then, her father and sister died, the sole two people she knew who spoke 'informally'; after that, she thought of it as some form of curse. Not wanting to tempt fate, she'd use long-winded phrases and awkward-sounding verbs, strange conjunctions and fancier nouns, just in case it would somehow lessen the Devil's seduction. Now, however, her formal mother is also dead, meaning that Sakura's vocabulary spiritually equivalates to absolutely nothing.

What a waste of damn time on her part, she thinks viciously, her heart no longer wanting to be evoked by the death of everyone she's ever loved— She's growing colder by the second, but she thinks that, if she doesn't, her heart would break into so many pieces that she'd be kissing the Devil's lips. At least, this way, she's learning to wear enough armour to guard herself from any future anguish.

God, she hopes there won't be anymore, though. She hopes that her karma will only result in warmer, happier times. She thinks she at least deserves some retribution.

"And that's okay," Naruto smiles blindingly, his words are soft and understanding, yet are also said with so much conviction that she cannot help but believe every syllable. "But I'd like for you to open up to us a bit more— Not that you should feel pressured to, of course, but no one really wants to be alone, you know, and so you shouldn't feel like you are— or that you have to be,"

She doesn't know quite what to say to that, feeling both uncomfortable with his sentimentality and also unequivocally touched by it, and so she just offers a meek smile.

On the other hand, Sasuke seems to have a lot to say about it. The dark haired Uchiha snorts loudly, parting the pair with his arms as he steps between them, his legs carrying him further and further away from his companions. The two people, who are now staring at him in somewhat disbelief, watch his diminishing figure for a second, confused, before the monarch gruntles out an agitated justification. "As much as dying of hypothermia seems like a truly riveting experience, I would much rather get out of this cold and not watch my fingers fall off from frostbite," He says bitterly, not even slowing in pace or turning his head to address them. "Or are you also going through a suicidal identity crisis, Naruto? It seems to be in trend,"

Naruto gasps as the Uchiha flickers his gaze pointedly to the woman, his cerulean eyes widening in alarm. Within two steps, he's caught up to Sasuke, the woman only a few paces behind them. "What is your problem, you stupid bastard? She saved our lives, Sasuke, whether your choose to acknowledge it or not— don't fucking disrespect her like this,"

The Uchiha rolls his eyes. "Would you look at you being such good little knight in shining armour? How cute," His steps remain at a steady step, in no way foretelling the anger boiling inside him. "Your father would be so proud,"

"You always go back to the same narrative, you know? You're not original nor do you hold any foundation to your arguments. You're just sensitive about yourself and insensitive to others. I don't know what's been going on with you recently but—"

"You don't what?" The monarch stops abruptly, seething. "Tch, are you not supposed to be my closest, dearest friend who I am suppose to prance off into the fucking sunset with? Where are you sappy little childhood promises right now, huh? Where your loyalty?" Sakura has never seen a man so furious in her entire life. His eyes whip to her, and she swears they're a bright, flaming crimson. "As soon as some suicidal bitch appears, you get completely blindsided by your sexual desires, thinking with only your dick and not with your dumb, moronic head. It is pitiful, Naruto, honestly, I never thought you to be so fucking weak,"

"I'm not weak!" Naruto shouts back, his voice loud enough to echo in the trees. "And my word is not empty, Sasuke, you know that better than anyone!"

The woman doesn't really understand what's going on— and she doesn't really care either— but she can feel that they're seconds away from alerting the entire plain that two men from Mangekyou are here. Which wouldn't be good, at all, considering this particular plain's political standing.

"Do I?" The prince asks, a heartless glare evident across his features.

Immediately, her fingers are grabbing both of them by their collars, hoisting them down to her eye line. "Will you two stop with this charade? We're in the middle of the East, not your wonderful, capital South," She lets them go, pushing her way between them just as Sasuke had, continuing in her stride. "To answer your question, Naruto, we are going to Sejimura— a place you do not want to attract attention in, let me tell you, so I advise that both of you stop with these childish bickerings and compose yourselves at once,"

"Tch, you sure ask a lot of us," Sasuke retorts somewhat under his breath, but he's already begun following her.

"Just as you both ask a lot of me, too," She responds without missing a beat, turning her head to glare at the boy's scowling profile. "But hey, feel free to 'prance off into the fucking sunset', I won't be the one getting killed,"

After a few more beats, Naruto reverts to his usual self. He amicably glides through the snow, a resting smile on his lips as his mind brims with curiosity. "What's in Sejimura?" He asks simply, thinking aloud.

At the question, a mirage of hues and bone structures flicker behind the Haruno's eyelids; joy-filled events and candle-lit, rose-tinted memories ignite a soft glow in her petite chest, a chorus of laughter resounding with the pattering of her heart. She recalls a vibrant man in a vibrant village, with vibrant jokes and vibrant songs— her time in Sejimura had been transcendent of the earth's humane atmospheres, emitting so much life that it had once felt as if she had stepped through the gates of Heaven itself. It was once a beautiful place filled with beautiful, soulful people… but she's heard rumours of its downfall. She's heard that it's not immune to mutiny, and she's heard that it learned that in a way perhaps even more brutal than Mangekyou had, just a week or so prior to now. After all, the higher you go up, the harder you fall down. She suspects Sejimura will be a great example of that.

The woman sighs, hoping that she's wrong. "Not much," She replies vaguely, her gaze wandering in thought. "But it'll have a way for you to return to Mangekyou," She turns her head to gage their reactions.

And, well, the way the Namikaze's jaw drops is rather comical, she thinks, it being not too far off the ground. It's rather impressive, she'll even venture, but the alarm that completely consumes him is almost too frightening an expression to be laughed at. There's an unequivocal gravity to the stern narrowing of his otherwise big, blue eyes, a darkening in shade as his lips tighten into a firm, precise line and his vessels pop at his cheeks, variegating his sun-kissed skin. In contradiction to everything she sees, it's as if he pales into a ghostly hue of ivory, too, his irises so navy that they're near enough black by now. She almost flinches in her stride.

"We can't," He states.

"You can," She argues with a grounded head, yet equally as defiant to his wishes as he is to hers, "I understand that Mangekyou is going through some— well— trouble, but the—"

"It's not simply trouble!" He spits, aggressively. "It's mutiny! It's anarchy! It's political upheaval! It's—"

"Another synonym?" Sakura drawls, not bothering to slow her pace any further. She's not surprised at the Namikaze's outrage, but her interest is piqued to see the other male's complete lack of emotion and response to the exchange. "Listen, Mangekyou may have recently fallen apart, I understand, but I can tell you that the rest of the world has been crumbed piles of rubble, unable to be repaired, for centuries. You were lucky to live in such a stable city, but now, I welcome you to the normalcy of Earth— pain, anguish, torment… is there another synonym you wish to supply? You seem to be quite good at them,"

Naruto gapes, unsure, for the first time in his life, of how to respond.

"If we return to Mangekyou, we will be killed," In a switch of a roles, it's Sasuke to answer. "My blood is worth a pretty penny,"

The woman sighs. "What a cliché, hm? It is not your blood that is worth anything, it is your name. If you cut us all, our blood is red. Blue blood only exists as a title," She clears her throat, accelerating in speed, "Come now, there is no use debating this further. Wherever you go, death will follow, no matter what blood resides within, do you understand?"

And even though she asks a question, she's already disengaged from the conversation by the time either of the lake can stutter out an answer.

They don't say much for the rest of the journey.

~ x Of Crimson Days x ~

"You did exceptionally well, Shisui," A woman says.

She sits on the Mighty Mangekyian Throne as if she had been fated to at birth, her elegant posture impeccable and her lavender eyes firm. She oozes dominance, a battalion of eager soldiers at her beck and call, the feminine crossing of her legs perfectly calculated and precise. As if the word is her chessboard, she manoeuvres her stare over her men's faces, analysing every ruffle in their tunics with practised excellence. Her winnow rests on a particular, black-haired man.

Shisui pretends his stomach doesn't churn in disgust at the comment— Why, to be complimented and praised for murdering his own best friend! How could that possibly satisfy him? He wants to empty his gut once again, to feel the vomit be expelled passed his lips for a second time, and to bathe in his own shame and self-loathing. He wants to shut out the world, to escape its tormenting rules and spit on its guidelines… Shisui Uchiha is sick of a being pawn.

Oh, how he wishes to be a bishop once again, he thinks fondly. Itachi, the onyx queen, and Shisui, his foolish, onyx bishop— But, in this game, in this version, he is a mere magnolia pawn, controlled by the Hyuuga's magnolia fingers and their magnolia, speculating gazes, in this magnolia world. On this board, the onyx cannot win. On this board, the onyx pieces are plucked off and the game is rigged by the imminent stroke of death. Life fights against the coup d'etat's of the soul in a losing, struggling battle. The Uchiha are lost. He is lost.

"I am honoured, m'lady," He says kindly, but his lips do not twist upwards in a vibrant grin, nor do they crinkle the corners of his eyes in content, nor do the hold any sincerity— And the magnolia queen is all-seeing.

With a cat-like smirk, the Hyuuga chuckles darkly. Her slender fingers smooth out the silk of her hair, straight locks twisting around her thumb as she sinks metaphorical teeth into the man's flesh. Her eyes leave indents in his heart. Suddenly, he feels an awful lot like the tresses around her digits. "Are you?" She laughs, amused, an omniscient gleam to her pale irises.

A glass grin shatters into a mortified gape.

His expression instantly shifts, muscles tensing and creasing his otherwise firm skin. Shisui's bloodshot eyes widen comically, his veins pulse so erratically that they appear across his forehead, and his hair suddenly dampens as if a storm has begun brewing above his head. Although his lips are forced apart by the gravity of her words, his throat has never felt tighter; his swallows grind against rocks, dry yet unbearably hot, the beating of his chest a continuous, rapid beat against the rough pebbles of his larynx. He feels every fibre of his being scurry in panic, a pounding, flowing, cutting, numbing sensation suddenly possessing everything he's ever known— he only hears static for a moment, a crowded yet empty chaos hammering a blinding light in the back of his head. He sees nothing, he hears nothing, he feels nothing. Everything hints him at once.

He can't breathe.

"My, would you look at your expression!" The matriarch gleefully exclaims, a madness in the terrifying hue of her pearl orbs. "It certainly is rather delicious, if I do not say so myself,"

Despite the jittering of his fingers and the quaking of his limbs, he smiles through his hysteria. "Pardon, m'lady? I am afraid that I do not follow your trail of thought," The male is fully aware that his voice contains more cracks than dawn itself.

"Honestly, not many do," She drawls, a playful roll dancing behind long, extravagant lashes. He thinks she's very pretty. "That would be one of the hardships that accompany being a renowned genius— though I suppose that I would not consider trading it for common intelligence,mind you,"

Pretty, but very, very vain. Shisui compares her somewhat to his younger cousin, the single living heir of the Mangekyian throne, with her conceit and solely self-interested glowers. He ponders if placing a mirror in front of her would allow his escape of the situation— he can imagine her superficial, ogling stares at its reflections, the pandering of her hands as she hurries to fix a singular misplaced hair. On the other hand, the Uchiha will certainly surrender that her wits are transcendent of both himself and his cousin, although he doubts any could rival that of his best friend.

Previous, deceased best friend, that is. The man's heart aches at the thought, a pang of guilt punching at his gut.

"But alas, my eye is too keen to be played by your deceit, Shisui. Your irises glow red, as red as your blood and the cloth of your insignia," The woman laughs. "An Uchiha through and through indeed, I concede, it is a far more loyal race than the Hyuuga. You weep, true to your brothers, is that not so?"

"I—" Shisui chuckles, although it's awkward and leaves a burn in his throat. "Uchiha's are heartless," He supplies, blankly, not really knowing whether he, himself, believes it or not.

It leaves a halted, thick pause in the air, one that beckons the silence of his mind into a chorus of insanity.

He's heartless, a voice whispers in the darkest depths of his consciousness, leaving a biting pain in the temples of his head. He's heartless, it sings, replaying the images of his best friend's corpse. What kind of cousin, or even person, would murder Itachi Uchiha, the kindest man on the face of the Earth? He's heartless, for no man with a heart could watch the blood of his closest companion dry, let alone drown the floor in it. He's heartless, for he betrays his family, stabs his friends in the back, decorates streets in the crimson paint of the innocent, abandons his own humanity, sets aside his morals… and honestly, his list of sins cease to have meaning after a while, a list so floral and extended that it becomes empty. His place is right beside the Devil himself.

And for what? He throws his everything away for what? This petty game these two households are playing? A chess game where the world is the board and every person is dyed in magnolia or onyx paint? He's losing his meaning, he thinks, his very sense of self. Well, he suppose that there's one real cause, one real factor that drives him to continue in his blackening bloodshed… But the words cut his tongue from his mouth and gauge out his eyeballs from their sockets. In the end, it all comes down to one, single ancient sin that brands 'DEMON' into their skins.

But Hinata Hyuuga, the Wicked Woman, laughs from her throne a cackle so evil that it rebrands his being into a pitiful, terrified whimper. "The Uchiha, heartless! What God-awful propaganda have you been allowing to brainwash you? There is not a race more compassionate, Shisui, sans maybe you, the black sheep of the Crimson Children,"

"I beg your pardon?" The man stutters.

"There is no need to beg, I will give you all of my pardons, if you wish. Your knowledge, however, is rather disappointing," Light lilac eyes narrow in mischief. "Oh, do not tell me you killed your best friend on the account of being evil, now? How superficial. Because Itachi, though a cunning politician, was far from any ingenuity. He was annoyingly kind-hearted, truly a blessing to humanity— and, in complete honesty, gorgeous— but he was too much of a pacifist, you know that. His flouncy, do-gooder manners slowed everything down into a bloody freeze-frame, you know?"

The Uchiha fights the urge to throw up, his stomach churning in disbelief. "Itachi Uchiha was an obsessive, insane control-freak," The statement is merely a justification to himself.

"Obsessed with peace, yes, insane because no one is that much of an optimist, true, and he knew how to lead an army with excellent precision," She shrugs, allowing a trail of hair to drip down from her shoulder and onto the throne armrest. "Truly a force to be reckoned with— ah, well, I suppose that holds no truth anymore. He was a force to be reckoned with, and reckoned with him you did. And now? Here I am, seated on his bloodied throne," The woman laughs again, dramatically. "I do love a good plot twist, you know? Makes this world domination thing so much more interesting,"

Shisui's eyes have began to dry, his eyelids so wide for such an extended period of time that he hasn't blinked in a while. In fact, he's certain that he hasn't breathed for a while, either, and maybe his heart stopped, too, and his brain blanked completely. To be honest, the man can't discern reality from his own crazed delusions. He's probably dead, he wouldn't be surprised at this rate.

"World domination? That's rather— uh—"

"Melodramatic?" Hinata Hyuuga suggests with a vicious grin. "That is certainly the case, but it should not take you by surprise. Mangekyou and Byakuugan have aimed for absolute power since the founding of monarchy— as has every kingdom, although none have been as near success as we of the Hyuuga. Itachi wanted to switch things up a bit, you know that, so I have no doubt that my father felt threatened—"

"You think your father ordered the assassination of Itachi Uchiha?" Shisui can't hold his tongue. "For someone who is self-proclaimed to be such a genius, that is a foolish theory. The one who ordered me—" As if realising the words about to spill from his tongue, he bites it in fear of not being able to stop himself otherwise.

That secret will come with him to the grave.

"Do not lie to me, Shisui, not anymore than you have already done so. I am bored of your games— my father himself admitted it in an official Declaration of War, so I know of your slander,"

"Of course, m'lady," He concedes, despite the argument rising up his throat like bile. "I will never dishonour you enough to lie again,"

Lies.

So many lies.

"This conversation is leading us into ruin, Shisui. Leave and execute the remaining Uchihas, we are running out of time,"

His heart freezes.

When he had first been assigned this mission, he knew that he would have to murder all of his kins without any regard, but to actually carry it out… To force an Uchiha to enact mass genocide upon the people who raised him, it's too cruel. He'll be making himself an orphan and, before he even comprehends it, he has a premonition that he'll be reading over his own eulogy and signing his own death date. He just hopes that Sasuke and Obito are long out of Mangekyian fingers, settling down and changing their identities. He hopes that, although he loves them dearly, he'll never have to see them again.

"But— but we do not have all of the Uchihas within our captivity— how— we cannot—"

"Are you always this articulate?" The woman sighs. "Find the prince and the knight, and, in the meantime, I will send for Mikoto Uchiha's official execution. When you return, we shall watch their heads fall from their shoulders with delight, a glass of the finest wine in our hands as we do so,"

He turns to leave, no longer able to hiss out a response; his heart is shattered, his feelings dangling in a skewered pile of indistinguishable mush. A pressure at the back of his eyes reminds him of the screaming, trembling urge he has to do just that— scream and tremble, until he can scream no louder and tremble no more furiously. He's surprised that he's managing to walk upright, in fact, his legs already numb and withered from the exhaustion of his mind. A sardonic essence in his brain applauds him.

"Oh, and one more thing, Shisui?"

His body hasn't finished fully turning when he hears it. "The North seems rather suspicious— espionage tells us that you should head there, that is, according to Orochimaru,"

Suddenly, the numbness and the withering of his legs becomes very apparent as he hits the floor.


Author's Note (kind of?):

SO much drama ugh. Also, this was soooooo dialogue heavy too, I'm so sorry. Also, Hinata? Is that even her? Nopeeee, they legitimately just like share a body.

i mean, I say that and all, but I'm all for character complexity, so just you wait and see ;)

Here are some questions you can answer if you wish:

Thoughts on Sakura's character at the moment?

Thoughts on her interactions with Sasuke? Naruto?

What about Roshi's character?

Sasuke's obsession with staring at her? Analysising her?

WHat about our OTPs rocky start?

How long do you think it'll take them to romance? In weeks/months/years? How many chapters, do you predict? The end of the book?

Opinion on Sasuke? Do you think there's a deeper meaning to why he's upset? Why do you think he's upset anyway?

Thoughts on his interaction with Naruto? With any characters, really?

Do you feel bad for Sasuke? For Naruto? For Sakura? Why/why not?

Do you think Sakura's right in saying any place is as dangerous as Mangekyou? Do you think it's relative or circumstancial at all?

How do you feel about Hina? Dislikable? Evil? More to her than meets the eye?

Shisui's character? Are you conflicted by him? (Bc I am lolll and I know his real justications)

Why do you think he's left the Uchiha though?

Who hired him to kill Itachi and why do you think they did? Why do you think it was that person?

How might Orochimaru come into all this?

Too dialogue heavy? Too description heavy?

Favourite 'scene' so far?

Favourite character so far?

Anything you'd like to see? Any predictions on character appearances or events?

Criticisms? Applauds?

If you feel like it, give me a nice long review ;))

Peace x