2.The lonely struggle of the matriarch
"The magic of someone never lasts long enough. We only want those we can't have. It's those we lost or who never knew we existed who leave their mark. The others barely echo."-André Aciman, Find Me
It was dark everywhere, a scorching darkness that lulled the restless souls of the night into the dense fog that rose heavily above the boundless mirror of black water. The shy hiss of the steam that flowed righteously, breaking the sweet silence of the evening, guiding my steps to the meadow that trembled tirelessly. The weeping willow waved its majestic branches in the warm beat of the zenith that scattered the tempting miasma of azalea flowers in the air. The fireflies of the night swarmed chaotically around the burning lanterns and seemed to dimly illuminate the broken path that unfolded before me.
Gentle fragments of the moon faded through the green thicket of bamboo, bathing with their silver light the pagoda that rises proudly from the bloody leaves of the secular maples. She sat there, beautiful as a piece of art in a museum of memories, in the middle of an ocean swirling with fear and pain consumed by the abyss that gently poured out the devilish trap of her wounded soul. Delicate as the fragile petals of cherry blossoms shattering in the light breeze, she knelt on her pillow embroidered with a thin thread of gilded silk, looking with foreign eyes at the starry horizons stood Mikoto, the proud matriarch of the Uchiha clan. Her hair was a mass of ebony caressed by the cold moonlight, like a tender lover. Dressed in her precious black kimono, adorned with dark celestial symbols, with her shining obi, gripped tightly around her waist, highlighting her slim waist and tempting roundness, she looked like a true deity.
She seemed so strong, so independent to me, and yet I had the impression that behind her irises torn between overwhelming shades of navy blue and charming black was a vulnerability that no one could have realized was there. Her thoughts seemed to be carried away, on the wings of loneliness, ruthlessly thrown into the bottomless abyss of her helplessness — the poison of pain flowed slowly through her veins, scattering the thrill of hatred in her body. A hatred that gives birth to the feeling of destruction.
Her radiant eyes, like the stars painted in the clear sky, gradually lost their gleam under the heavy burden that shattered her limp bones, lost in the darkness in which her sincerity screamed in despair. She looked up in pain at the sky, as if cursing the ruthless fate of mankind, unsaturated inhaling the scorching heat of summer in her lungs, smelling the aroma of smoke and ash in her throat - the rotten scent of war.
Her old counselor, loyal as her own shadow, stood silent on her right side, watching with hawk-sharp eyes at her protégée, staring at the hot liquid dripping in hot waves from the brass bowl she held in both of her raised, slowly trembling hands. Her face, aged by the leaden weight of time flying carelessly in his mad pursuit of infinity and worldly worries, was focused on the sacred ritual she performed night after night when, the proud moon, in her star dress, rises and shines on the endless black of the sky. Hushed voices, the scratch of a bamboo whisk, then a bow, a nod and a bowl of steaming matcha is handed around.
The tea was ready.
"Come, sweet child of mine , take a seat next to me!" I heard her voice of honey, like a caress, pointing with a regal gesture to the empty place beside her. Around her hovered the freshness of the burning, blessing sage, a sublime essence that vaguely reminded me of the overwhelming presence of my dear Itachi, gone across the border, defending with dignity the lands that raised him and the honor of his clan.
"I am grateful for your invitation, my Lady!" I whispered respectfully as I bowed wide in front of her.
Her dear old nurse had handed me, without an expression on her wrinkled face, the expensive porcelain cup, painted with delightful floral patterns, in vivid colors, in touches cleverly made by the greatest Uchiha craftsmen, from which heavy inviting steam rose. The clear grass-colored liquid had a special taste, an exotic aroma with a spicy, vibrant tinge that pricked the tip of my tongue.
"Such a beautiful weather, isn't it?! The moon has a special charm tonight ..." I could see in the boundless haul of her eyes a dose of something strange - maybe madness, one that was bubbling madly behind her eyelids, making my palms sweat in the lap of my pink kimono. She had turned into a translucent being, a huge void into a full that she couldn't seem to sustain.
"Mikoto-sama ..." the emptiness in my stomach knotted and twisted violently inside me, feeling tingles of ice from head to toe, watching her crumble before my eyes.
"Tamao-sama, thank you for the delicious tea! You are free to retire to your boudoir!"
Making one last solemn bow to her young mistress, the old woman walked away silently from us, slowly on the wooden platform that moaned under the woman's weight. For a few seconds, we both watched her walk away, in awkward silence, until the silhouette of her chubby body was swallowed up by the darkness.
"You know, Sakura-chan, Gods showed me goodwill and blessed me with two sons who brought light to my life." she looked up at me, staring mesmerizingly at my baby face "I have not been able to conceive a girl, a being who would soothe the longing that tears at my chest, but they also bowed down and sent me to you."
The honesty in her eyes gave me such a deep sense of accomplishment that I could feel my heart in my chest trembling with strange emotions. I was pretty sure I would be content to stare at her indefinitely because, after all the things I lost in my life, I felt really lucky to be next to her. I felt that I belonged to her, that I was not left alone outside in a sea of careless world.
She held out her clear hand, which smelled of jasmine, adorned with glittering jewels, to my broad forehead, gently stroking the scattered strands of pink that framed my oval face in disarray, smiling fondly at "Such a beautiful child."
Sometimes, when she spoke to me in her warm, lingering voice, I had the impression that she was a divine being who discerned the mysteries of the world — she spoke to the trees, whispered in the wind, and had the power to build around me, around us, thick walls, protecting us from mold from the outside. She did all these magical things with a naturalness that made you understand that she was more than extraordinary.
She was the mother who was never given to me to be mine - always there for me, no matter how childish my tears were, but never close enough that I could truly feel her. That's why, hearing these flattering words from her mouth, my chest filled with white pearls and burst into uncontrollable happiness.
"My lady, I am deeply grateful for your kind words and for all your care!" I answered in a trembling, emotional voice.
"Child, you are approaching the moment when you will give yourself to a man and become his wife." she said, playing a charming smile on his lips that lit up her whole white face like milk foam. She looked at me calmly between her thick black lashes, arching her right eyebrow questioningly, waiting for a sign, a grimace that betrayed the secret of my soul.
For a moment, I felt time expand around me, throwing myself into the hell of thoughts that engulfed me and pink peonies appeared in my cheeky cheeks.
"Tell me, Sakura, is there a man you like?" she continued, throwing meaningful arrows at me.
I did not have the courage to admit to her that my heart was longing for her eldest son, that my soul was breaking and my legs were shaking uncontrollably when he touched me. My heart pounded like crazy when he stared at me with his penetrating gaze, and when he spoke, I felt like I was about to explode with happiness. He brought the desire into me, feeling a warmth around him that was flying inside my thighs, melting me overwhelmed by him.
But in the end, she always saw everything in me.
"Mikoto-sama, but this ... oh, how shameful ..." I snapped embarrassedly, trying to hide in my palms the redness that had risen dizzyingly in my cheeks.
"I will tell you a short story, my dear, if you have the patience to listen to me, about a young woman who stubbornly believed that she could turn a coal into a polished diamond. Please don't let your tea get cold!"
She then pressed her full lips, lipstick with a natural shade of powder pink, to the warm porcelain of small cups, gently sipping from the aromatic liqueur. Her gestures betrayed a devastating suffering, born of the fire of vain hopes, which digs into the depths of her lonely soul a pain that had its origins in her youth.
"I was the youngest daughter of a rich rice merchant who came from the province to the Uchiha district to lead a peaceful life. My father was tired of the hustle and bustle of the country, and we followed him. I felt torn from my protective environment, blindfolded and forced to live in a place where I felt I did not belong. Adapting was difficult and would probably have been much more difficult to deal with if it weren't for Fugaku." it had an intensity of its own in the way it spoke, moved, so ceremoniously and nobly that I could not look away or stop listening, even if I wanted to. "It may be hard for you to believe, but ... he wasn't the one you know today, from the beginning. I want to believe that there was a time in his life when ... when he really loved me." she quickly opened her fan, which she clenched into fists, with a precise gesture and a resounding sound, hiding her face behind him - a nervous gesture that had been so familiar to me since childhood. She was overwhelmed by the intensity of her feelings, and I could see hot pearls gathering in the corner of her lost eyes.
"You see, Sakura, I married him when I was young, because I loved him." she always used her fan, trying to mask her vulnerability, as if an object had the power to take all the humiliation she felt. "But somewhere in our path, however, the connection between us was broken. At first I was angry with myself, I took all the blame on my shoulders - maybe I wasn't a woman enough or maybe I didn't give him the attention a man needed. Then I hated him. I was so frustrated when I found out about the presence of another woman in his life ... I felt betrayed and the clan turned its back on me. They pointed the finger at me and found me the only culprit for everything that had happened."
I handed her my black linen handkerchief, wishing I could do something to alleviate her suffering. Because she was suffering. It was an overwhelming pain that burned inside her like a living flame that shattered her. It was a pain that made me realize that there were still feelings, that she still loved him, and the thought that he had found solace in another woman's arms made her miserable.
I wish I could hug her, show her she wasn't alone, but it wasn't appropriate to get so close to my mistress.
"I was always felt so alone. The sages of the clan criticized my every move, every gesture or look and every word I said. I had to be the perfect doll that blessed the clan with healthy male heirs, to shut up and listen. To watch my two sons, go through a terrible process of dehumanization through the archaic laws we follow our existence and swallow my pain dry." anger bubbled in her eyes, like a ceramic teapot under pressure, forgotten on the fire. "And he remained like a stone sheepfold. He watched without actually seeing that his boys were being turned into clan tools. A fighting genius, unable to offer comfort or kind words." she said all these things with bitter tears running down her perfectly powdered cheeks as she rolled up the long sleeve of her kimono, nervously revealing the clear skin of her arm, letting me see the traces of her purple shame. "I tried to change them, Sakura!"
It was awful, and no one in this world deserved such pain. She gave herself completely to him and for years and years she waited loyally for him to return to her. And what is even more tragic was the fact that I knew her so well that I understood that after all she had endured, she was still waiting for him, good and submissive, like a real Uchiha wife.
It was toxic. He, Fugaku, was a toxic man, thirsty for power and control.
Fragments of a distant moment of my troubled childhood shone in a corner of my mind. I could see myself hiding behind the solid cherry wood screen, spying on the beautiful woman as she dressed, helped by her maids. As if in a dream, I could see the same bruises running through her frail body.
"My lady, does anyone know about this ... Itachi and Sasuke, they sure ..." but I didn't have a voice to finish what I wanted to say, because I felt flashed by her glacial gaze, frowning angrily.
"It is the fate that has been given to me, Sakura-chan. No one on the outside can change anything. I'm stuck in this nightmare." she bowed her head in defeat, looking at the long-cooled tea. "I want you to have another path in life. I want you to have the courage not to bow your head in front of anyone, not to let yourself be defeated. I want you to be a fighter, in your own unique way. Therefore, if Itachi is the one you want, I have to oppose it! " she continued vehemently.
"But ..." a sharp sadness flashed through me, because no matter how much I loved him and how much I wanted him, he was not destined to be loved by me. The star of our destiny was gone now.
I was still such a naive little girl, and a part of me has always believed that this is how I will be destined to be: me always by his side, me as his equal, building together an invincible dynasty. It had never been a concrete love affair between the two of us, but it was something, but it was a maybe ... an almost... Before he left for the front, he even allowed me to kiss him. It was a rare moment of his weakness, but it was sublime. It was not as I had imagined it would be our first kiss, the earth did not shake and the sky did not fall on my shoulders. His lips were rough and cold and the hands that had stuck in my long, loose hair on my back were stiff and clumsy.
And he tasted my deepest lust, fulfilled.
"Itachi had a difficult childhood and has felt the pressure to be the heir ever since. That marked him, Sakura-chan, that destroyed him." she let out a silence, searching painstakingly for the words to end the sentence. "I love my son, but I can't let my maternal instincts obscure my righteous judgment. I, as a human who took responsibility for your upbringing... I, as a woman... can't let you destroy your happiness. I can't let you make the same mistakes as me. It took me years to realize that with the right man, you will flourish and have the chance to be fulfilled, while the one chosen without judgment can bring you down."
"Do you think Itachi will destroy me?"
"I think the rigors that come with taking on a relationship with Itachi will destroy you. And believe me, nothing is more important than your own happiness!"
"Isn't that selfish? Should I think about myself when I know that maybe I can help him change?"
"I can't control your feelings, Sakura-chan. You are mature enough to make your own choices, but I want you to remember one thing: everything comes at a cost. Are you really ready, my dear, to sacrifice your freedom for my beloved son?"
That being said, she rose to her feet, light as a dancing flake accompanied by the night breeze, wishing me good night, before being lost like a ghost in the mysterious mist, leaving me alone, with my thoughts twisted.
"Freedom ..?!"
…...
Hello everyone! I have here the second chapter of the story, which provokes mixed feelings in me, because in my mother language it sounds a certain way, and translated into English it doesn't give me the impression that it has the same intensity, but eh, I'm still quite proud of it .
Honestly, I was sorry for a moment that I portrayed Itachi as a tool incapable of love, especially since I'm a big ItaSaku fan, but the story is about Sakura and Shisui. So, I'm going to curb my desire to take the story too far in the direction of a relationship between Sakura and Itachi.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story and I hope you enjoyed it and that I piqued your interest.
Stay safe!