predates all godhood chapters
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"hold my hand."
hashirama did as madara said, grasping his hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. his body was sturdy behind her, like a wall, his arms engulfing her in bodily warmth.
"breathe."
she took one deep breath. another deep breath. and another, another, another, until her trembling eased
they stayed like that for a while, until she drew a choked sob. madara released her so she could turn around and bury her face in his chest.
"the children again?"
she whined, muffled by his body.
"what is it, then?"
the moon shone upon her face as she lifted it up, puffy dark eyes staring into his.
"something worse," she whispered, "something horrible."
madara tilted his head, kissing her head. "worse than children dying in war...?"
"it's the entire world... everyone died." she hugged him tighter. "you killed them all."
"hashirama, wife." he sighed. "you know i wouldn't do that."
"...still feel so real though."
as she's slowly falling asleep again, madara glanced at the window, at the crimson moon and its many tomoe peering over the clouds.
hashirama was almost, almost breaking from his ultimate genjutsu, all because madara conjured a copy of himself according to her ideal. she found out it was a fake. he had no choice but to dive into her dream, directly controlling his copy.
strange, because she still suffered in her own dream and he got to watch it to his delight.
as if she was punishing herself.