Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Her screams rip through her body and hot, salty tears stream down her face, burning at the raw skin under her eyes. The pain is excruciating and she can feel the way the iron-hot metal carves into her skin, the ink settling into her bones.
She had begged them to stop at first. She had begged and begged and begged; pleaded until her voice was hoarse and her lips were trembling, her eyes wide and tongue lolling, hoping for mercy until—
She had seen the sick, perverse pleasure in one's eyes. She had seen the gruesome duty in another's and she had sworn, sworn on everything under the sun, that she would rip her own throat out before she asked them for anything else—for anything they could hold against her.
Vomit lurches in her stomach and she struggles to roll to the side, her face wet with tears, to try and avoid choking on her throw up.
"Aw the bitch's got to hurl." One of them cussed.
"Messing up the ceremony. Keep the chakra there, burning, if you let go she'll have to get another one." The devil-woman bites out.
Her throat is raw and her nose stings from the tears and the heaving of her chest when they dig in the final arch, loop, dip, curl to the seal on her shoulder.
Stop, she bellowed in her mind as they rolled her over and dragged a wet, soothing cloth over her burning skin.
I am not—I am not yours.
She must have said it aloud because one of them scoffs, "You were ours the minute your Iwa mother left you at the gate with no care in the world."
Her sobs fill the room again but this time she cannot stop herself from letting them see.
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