Mask
The night before his induction as Rokudaime, Naruto contemplates. 200 words
Warnings: None, really. Serious, introspective fic. No pairings.
Naruto sat idly on his bed, staring at the white porcelain mask he had come to think as part of himself.
The chakra-enforced ceramic gleamed slightly in the silvery light of the moon; and Naruto couldn't help but run his fingers along the cold, smooth surface and beautifully painted features.
He had worn this mask in his brief spiel as a hunter, before Tsunade put her foot down and forced him to quit; and he had later resumed wearing it – albeit with a number of modifications – when he decided to join anbu. Even if it had undergone two seemingly different forms in its existence – first the doll-like features of the hunter-nin then the animalistic ones of the anbu – the mask had still been essentially the same.
But now was the time to leave it behind. He wouldn't need this mask any longer.
The blonde stood, and set the white porcelain carefully on the cloth in his well-hidden desk drawer.
Naruto closed his eyes, and quietly shut his "secret compartment".
He wouldn't need the porcelain mask any longer, but he wondered how long it would be before he could disregard the one he pulled on every minute he was not alone…
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