Unlike my first few weeks in Konoha, my current room was bright. The bed was comfortable, there was a window, and I could leave my room whenever I wanted. I wasn't chained to a wall, there were no bars, and I ate everyday, three times a day. In fact, they made sure that I never skipped a meal, and ate every last bite. I considered being a prisoner and a lab rat to be two very similar things.

For one, while I could freely walk about the facility, I was not allowed by any means to walk outside of the building. For two, while I was treated like a regular person, there were times when I was forced to lay down and allow blood and other types of things to be taken from my body. I had no say in the matter. There were days when they took no samples, and then there were days when they took so much blood, I wouldn't be able to walk in a straight like for a week. This was normal.

Apparently, bleeding at will and healing deep gashes overnight is not a skill a human possesses. This, to them, was most certainly not normal. I had never thought anything of it. It had always been something I could do. In a tough battle, where acting like I was on the verge of death was the only way I could live, I bled a little more than needed. In times where I needed to recover quickly, I didn't bleed hardly at all and my wounds vanished within a matter of minutes. My body did all the work for me. It had never been something I could control. If I thought I needed to be healed, I was healed. If I felt the need to bleed a little, I bled a lot. I supposed it was based on the small thoughts that I pushed into my subconscious, and then it happened. Almost instantaneously.

The problems with trying to test for any special gifts or medicines in my body were that I healed so fast, I bled too much and they were afraid of cutting me open, or I didn't bleed at all. The days where they took no samples were the days I didn't bleed at all. When they stuck needles in me to get blood, nothing came out. The first time this had happened it threw the scientists into a panic, but when they tested me, I was perfectly healthy. There was nothing wrong with me. They were alarmed by this.

I didn't know how long I had been inside the hospital—the laboratory part of the hospital, that is. It could have been weeks or months, but it was impossible to tell how many days had gone by when the sun and the moon were your only indicators that a day had even passed. They made sure to keep me from knowing the little details. I asked very little of them, but they gave me what I thought was everything they could. No courtesy was spared.

"Do you feel anything?" I glanced down at the nurse, staring at the needle in my skin with disinterest. I sighed and shook my head, knocking my heels against the side of my bed. This was a normal morning routine. After I woke up and ate, they took blood; or at least they tried to. "Pain, fatigue, nausea?"

I shook my head ahead. "Nothing at all."

"Do you have any idea about how this gift you have occurs?" She asked casually, removing the needle and bandaging my arm. "It might be something you inherited from your family."

I frowned. "I do not know," I said. "I don't have a family."

The nurse smiled kindly. "We all have families, even if they aren't related to you at all. It could be friends that you have. But do you remember your mother or father at all?"

"I've never had a mother." I looked away from the nurse and her kind smile. "Or a father."

"I can't imagine a child without her mother or father," the nurse sighed. "Every little girl needs someone to look after them."

"I'm sorry." I said. "I don't know anything about that."

She patted my knee, effectively catching my attention. She stood and sat beside me. "I think what you can do is a special gift from your mother."

"My... mother?"

"Yes," she smiled, putting her arm around my shoulder. "A long time ago, centuries before you or I was born, there was a priestess who traveled everywhere, healing people of diseases and fatal wounds. She was revered as a type of goddess who'd been sent from heaven." The nurse nodded. "She would take some of her blood and give it to people. And then they were miraculously healed; it was as if they had never been sick before."

"I only heal myself." I remarked. "I've never heard of this woman."

"Well listen," the nurse said with a frown. "I don't know if it's true or not, but the legend says that she fell in love and had a child, but before she could raise her child, the man she fell in love with was mortally wounded."

"What happened?"

"She healed him of course," the nurse smiled again, but it was a very sad smile. "At the cost of her own life. He lived, but she died in his place. He took care of the child for as long as he could, but he eventually lost his mind. He went missing, and so did the child."

"You think I'm that child!" I leaned away from her, but she only laughed.

"Of course not! Do you know how old you would have to be?" She laughed again. "I just think it would be interesting if you were descended from this great priestess. Her gift was remarkable, and so is yours."

I grimaced. "That would have been a very long time ago." I glanced at her, but she was still smiling. It was kind of unnerving. "How could I have inherited something that someone had so long ago?"

"It's called a kekkei genkai."

"Kekkei... genkai?"

The nurse nodded. "Not everyone in the family will develop this gift, but there is always the potential for it. Sometimes it skips generation after generation, but then it will randomly manifest sooner or later. I've only heard about it from stories about the priestess. You and that woman are quite possibly the only people who've owned this ability."

I nodded once, thinking about it. The nurse smiled, patted my knee, and left with my blood. When she closed the door to my room, I fell back against my bed, thinking about the possibilities of having such a gift. If I could heal not only myself, but others with just a little bit of my blood, I could only imagine what kind of help I could be to the ones who went out and fought. The shinobi who had to leave their families with the fear of them never coming back; could it be possible for me to make those fears go away?

I sat up and turned to stare out my window. The sky was a bright shade of blue; it was a beautiful day today, from what I could see. But what about the things I couldn't see?

It was hard to believe I was something special. The nurse made it seem like having a kekkei genkai was very rare, which wasn't unbelievable, but still difficult to wrap my mind around. What gave me the ability to have this gift in the first place? What allowed the priestess to have the gift? Had she really been sent from heaven to perform miracles, like the nurse had said?

I rolled my eyes and pulled my knees up to my chest. That just wasn't possible.

Or was it?

There were still things I had never seen or done. How could I think that something I had never known about could be impossible? Nothing was impossible. It was ignorant of me to think some things were impossible. Me being here was proof of that. I had thought I was going to die sooner or later, but I had been treated with nothing but kindness after I became a 'citizen' of Konohagakure. Even if it was false kindness.

But that thought brought me to Shisui. I sighed and held my legs tighter. He hadn't visited me once since I had been put into the hospital. Of course I hadn't expected him to, but it was just one of those thoughts that allowed me to get through the day. It was the thought of what if he did. It was the thought of, what if he did come and see me, and it was because he wanted to, and not because he was ordered to. But why would he want to see me? I had a suspicion that the night on the balcony had changed his thoughts about me. I figured I was no longer just some little girl.

I was a prisoner again. I was an enemy again.

I grimaced and held my hand over my heart. It was beating fast and hard against my chest, but it had done that before. The only difference was that now it hurt. Why? This was a new feeling for me. I had run for miles, and my heart would race uncontrollably, but never like this. It had never hurt before. Why, when I thought about him, did it hurt?

If he didn't want to see me, that was enough. It would end there. Only it didn't. The one thing that remained clear to me from that night was his expression. It had hurt then, too, but in a different way. Looking at him had hurt. But now it hurt to think about him too. His expression back then had been sad. Whether it was because of what I did or what he knew would happen, I was unsure. Looking into his eyes that night though, I had realized a sort of truth about myself. It seemed weird for me to say something like that, but it was true.

How had I managed to get myself into this mess? I had thought about it once, while I was still truly a prisoner. The difference between now and then was that I hadn't cared, and now I cared very much. The truth was that I wanted to live. The truth was that I wanted to be cared for.