Hey! This chapter was definitely challenging to write, but I wanted to work with another perspective as well as give you guys another view of an old villain. I hope you guys like it and please feel free to Fav/Follow/Review! It means a lot to me. Thanks!

-Lullaby for a Stormy Night

11 years ago…

Oroku Saki

"She hasn't spoken once since she came here. Not one word since she asked the paramedic where her brother was." The orphanage owner said as she led me down a narrow hallway. The interview room was at the far end. I looked at the worn out woman. Heavy bags ran under her slanted eyes and her black hair was gathered messily on top her head. Exhaustion from chasing children no doubt. I did not believe this woman knew a single thing about discipline, nor did she have what it took to mold these children to live up to their true potential. Only one of the residents had sparked my attention, however.

"I believe I can help the girl. I've heard her story. Just give me a chance." I replied in Japanese, our native tongue. I flashed my most charming smile, the same that could complete the most elaborate business deal or deceive any of my enemies.

When we reached the door she stopped short and looked up at me. "Mr. Saki, I hope you can because this girl has no other family. We don't know what we will do if we can't help her. I have my doubts though."

"As do I," I replied charismatically, putting a sad, hopefulness into my word. "But we must have faith." The brass handle turned beneath my grasp. In a straight backed wood chair sat the eight year old girl. Her back was all I could see at first. A dark grey turtle neck covered her thin torso with only a small sliver of bandaging easily seen on the back of her neck. Her hair had been chopped too short and clearly hadn't been brushed in several days. She isn't allowing anyone to get close.

I walked in and took a seat across from her. A wood table rested between us. She would not make eye contact with me, only stared at her folded hands in her lap. Meanwhile, I looked her over. In the right health, she would have had a pretty face. One that may have constantly held a friendly and welcoming expression, if not for the emptiness in her eyes. A thin neck led to boney shoulders and frail arms. Surprisingly, even with the accident she had been in, she seemed physical unaltered besides possible scarring, but that I did not know the extent of.

"My name is Oroku Saki, do you understand?" she had no reaction to my question in English. "Perhaps you can understand this? My name is Oroku Saki," I spoke again leaning forward across the table. Her eyes lifted at my fluent Italian. My tongue could speak many languages, Italian being one of the strongest, just like her.

"Yes, very few would assume you would respond only to Italian, much less be able to speak it. But I am not like them. I am more like you than you may realize." She still refused to speak. Dull, green eyes ran across my pin striped suit to my large hands, and finally, back up to my face. Nothing seemed to impress her, but she did seem curious. She was hard to read, careful not to give away anything about how she felt. "I know what you have lost, for I have stepped into your shoes. I never was able to know my own family, my mother, father… They were all taken from me when I was too young, much like you. Years ago the woman I loved more than life itself was robbed from me as well. Now, I can never see them; I can never touch them again."

A tear ran down her face, a face that began to warp with anger and resentment. "Get angry, go ahead. You should be. I was. The world around us is meant to challenge every move we make. Why? Because I was meant hold it in the palm of my hand. Perhaps you are too."

I smiled as she glared back up to me. "You don't believe me, you don't trust me yet, and that's good. You are a survivor, so am I, but here you cannot live. If you agree to come with me, I can promise you a lifetime of strength, honor, and power. You will never feel small or alone again. Or you can stay here, live an ordinary life as a mere orphan. Your choice of course."

"What do you want, Mr. Saki?" she barked back in her own language. My head went back as a chuckle escaped from me. She was not ready to quit yet, and I kept her courage marked in the back of my mind.

I faced down the cornered animal across from me. "When I heard your story, I knew you were meant for so much more. You are more willing than most to fight for your life. I admire you and your clear strengths. I am looking to build a legacy for myself, and I believe you can help me with that."

"What would that mean for me?" She asked a question beyond her years.

"A brighter future. One were you could grow to be a queen. It would not be easy, and you may not make it through, but you would have the chance to really live. You're entire past would be behind you, but the path in front of you would stretch on. A new family, a new purpose. No more being the perfect little girl, instead you will grow to become a great warrior." I watched the way she narrowed her eyes, considering my offer. She wanted it as much as I had when I was her age: a purpose. I could give her no more weakness or fear. All I asked for in return would be her loyalty above all else. Was that truthfully too much?

"What is your decision Ms. Della Notte?"

"What have I to lose?" Her answer caused the corner of my mouth to rise as I took in the sight of my soon to be adopted daughter.

Now...

11 years ago I gave that miserable child a future. Without me she would have rotted until her mind was lost to insanity. I raised her to be strong. I taught her the true meaning of leadership and power. Without me Senshi would never have learned the art of ninjitsu or mastered the use of a blade to where she could separate the wings from the back of a fly. It was eye who gave her the ability to conquer her memory and feel the drive behind being free.

And now she had broken her oath of allegiance. Her infidelity turned her from an empress to worth no more than the dust beneath my feet. Her life was forfeit, and my daughter paid the ultimate price for her loss of devotion. My mind was overcome with memories of raising the child. In my eyes I saw scenes from the first day we met through her life of training and service to when I learned how she betrayed me.

Betrayed for what? Some disgusting freak of nature that just a few months ago she was more than ready to brutally murder. I was her father, her master. When she had no one else, I was there. Together we climbed the mountains of India to take in the most untainted air. Together we created both a family to be feared and worshipped throughout Japan. She knew I was ready to give her everything.

I finally lost whatever sense of control I had left. Without another thought I spun and lashed out with my spiked hand. The sound of glass shattering filled the air as my forearm cleared the surface of a nearby table. I was in her old room. Picture frames and fragile trinkets splintered on the ground from their sudden change in location. I pulled back my hand with the gauntlet concealed beneath my white sleeves.

My sudden outburst of rage left me seeing red and breathing heavily. It was time I left this scene behind me. I was beginning to chase ghosts, an act that was far below someone of my stature. When I stepped forward, I felt a rather large piece of glass crack beneath my sandaled foot.

Reaching down, my hand closed around one of the picture frames. The photo inside was of a woman dressed in a sapphire gown fitted elegantly over her body. Her hair was gold and her eyes blazed emerald with pride. Beside her, a tall Japanese man who seemed to age more and more with every passing second, looked down at her. He was looking at his future and what he would be blessing his world with. She had just turned 16 and was accepted as the newest head of the Italian Foot Clan. The youngest in history, but she was ready. The girl had been brilliant and wise beyond her years. She had passed the finally test, one her sister Karai never could. And I was the one with her. This photographer was one of few taken of the two of us over our years together.

I slid the glossy paper out from under the cracked glass. The skin of my fingers rubbed against a divoted area on the back. Flipping it over, I studied the hills and valleys of her script, written in black ink.

'Father and I, "My dear father; my dear friend; the best and wisest man I ever knew, who taught me many lessons and showed me many things as we went together along the country by-ways." - Sarah Orne Jewett' was scrawled across the back of the image. Each word crept into my chest. The sensation was nearly crippling, and I hated every moment of it. It swelled in my chest and was so overwhelming I wanted to take it out on the next person I saw. She was mine, I raised her from a child and gave her everything. I was her companion. I lo—

But none of that mattered. The young woman in the photo was dead. I cleared out of her bedroom. On the way out, I paused at the gas stove she rarely had used. So much of her apartment had been cleared out, but the kitchen remained untouched as it always had before. I turned the dial, and a small blue flame danced in the front burner. The fire licked the corner of the image. The picture warped and curled as the blaze consumed it as I walked towards the stainless steel sing. The remaining fragment of burning picture dropped from my hand and down into the basin.

The fire soon burnt out, just like any residual affection for the lost empress.