For those whom have an interest in reading a Kikyou/Itachi ten-shot drabble series, check out the story (Bellflower) uploaded under my secondary pen name: s e r p e r i o r.
Disclaimer: I suppose since these are required, I must say, "I do not own anything of this fic but the idea!"
xviii — fallacies II: monochrome
Within a field of never-wilting flowers she lay, her eyes glazed and unaware of the world passing her by.
Her senses would forever remain dull after having been subject to Orochimaru's impeccable operation.
She perceived gray and white paper-blossoms as red, blue, yellow and purple—every hue imaginable to eyes fashioned through natural selection.
A perpetual, ignorant smile claimed her lips as a permanent home.
Perhaps the most important thing she had lost was her name; she responded to Goddess, and only Goddess.
But no, amended the one regarding her with dutiful amber eyes. Her name is not the only precious thing she has had stolen from her.
It was the fire that had burned bright in her heart.
—the fire that had denoted her as Higurashi Ka…
Konan shook her head, trying to rid herself of her disturbing contemplations. She peered down at her open palm, at the small, vile pill present atop it.
Then she approached her goddess in silence; she, a lowly angel.
"It is time for your medicine," enunciated the paper seraph, her grasp firm around the slim glass cup of water.
The apotheosized raven-haired woman's nose was lowered to a mass of gray and white, inhaling deeply.
"They smell so wonderful," she murmured in appreciation, dimissing her angel.
Konan's grip on the cup grew taut. "No," she objected in an impassive tone, "they hold no such fragrance."
"Wonderful, wonderful…" The goddess began rocking back and forth, stressing that haunting word in a tone that was gradually cracking. "…wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—"
The cup descended to shatter upon the ground's impact, its demise resonant in the illuminated chamber.
The pill was wet with water and its shell beginning to dissolve.
"You miserable wretch," whispered Konan as the nameless goddess burst into sudden tears, vacuously repeating wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful…
.
.
.
"Even death would be kinder than this," was the angel's sacred verdict, her somber eyes half-hooded.
Illusion is needed to disguise the emptiness within.
—Arthur Erickson
Author's Note: One more chapter left for this mini-mini-series. I'm thinking of writing about Minato, next.