Out of all the clans in Konoha, the Hyuuga are the most uncommunicative.
Their eyes are cloudy to the most perceptive, opaque milk to the unobservant. The sharp angles of their features speak of nothing but noble breeding and fleeting childhoods. Their postures boast of thick blood and thin limbs and hours upon hours of grueling training, both mental and physical. Their accent, with its deliberate lilt and archaic tones, reinforces an ancient sense of superiority.
Yet that is all they reveal. Their garb and fighting style are white and pure in the eyes of the outside world.
Behind the pale veil nothing is pure except, perhaps, their blood, and even that bleeds true and red. Those with unmarked foreheads live lives of guilt and fear and self-denial. Those with marked foreheads know nothing except bitter resignation and angry fate.
Only Hyuuga eyes can see the sordidness of it all.
Notes: Clan politics will play a role in the fic that I'm planning, so this was a first attempt at tackling the Hyuuga.