ar
.
.
she was floating, sinking, and everything in between. there was a steel in her heart, drenched by ink and tears.
"how does it feel?" he asked, the waters around her body rippled as he knelt. the gloved hand on her cheek was cold.
she looked up, expecting a face that matched the familiar voice. but he was nothing like the face in her memory; he was pale, purple-eyed, with hair gleaming crimson like the moon above and the blood bubbling up from the hole in her heart.
"i don't know," she whispered, unsure, fingers opening and closing and-"why... am i alive?"
he pulled up the sword. "because you look good in red," he answered, smirking, "hashirama."
her blood seeped back into her wound and her flesh sewed itself into health.
"madara-"
and as she took her first breath, he thrust the sword into her heart again.