Cerise (səˈriːs or səˈriːz) is a deep to vivid reddish pink.
The colour of blood.
memories of leaves,
stare at the empty cup of
fragrant matcha tea
It is midnight. The only sound she can hear is her own shallow breathing, restless and edgy as she steps out of the plain engawa. The sakura blossoms sway in the light spring breeze, rain drizzling down as she sits in the veranda.
They named her Hisa. Ever-lasting.
Ironic, she thinks, since she is destined to die at such a young age, surrounded by suffering and sorrow. A shinobi. Dying for Konoha, for their people even, should be an honour, but somehow she disagrees. How is death something honorable?
I want to live my life freely, she thinks. I'm not going to let anyone decide for me.
She sighs as the rain begins to pour, more urgently and intensely now. A sakura blossom floats in the air, propelled by the oncoming blast of wind, which she catches in her palm, entranced.
Hisa usually spends nights in meditation, but she doubts her parents would understand. She feels peace here, where her isolation and spiritual overflow sends shivers of yin chakra rippling inside her tenketsu pathways.
Fugaku-sama is always wary of her family, of what they could do if they had the chance - mainly because they are all the epitome of perfection and he will never be. Haru Uchiha is an exceptional shinobi with a powerful sharingan, and Mariko is an idealistic yamato nadeshiko who stays at home as a housewife.
To raised eyebrows and hushed whispers, Hisa is raised slightly differently than the other Uchiha. Of course, she's still expected to train at a young age, but her parents seem to want to protect her from reality, cherishing her brief childhood for as long as they can.
Hisa stands up and dusts herself off, turning around to go back inside.
I don't want to become a kunoichi, she thinks as rivulets run down her kimono. She slides the shoji screen until it's shut, although a slight breeze permeates through the tiny crack.
The sakura blossom sways in the air before drifting to the ground.
Hisa is a curious child. She doesn't seem that bright at first, a quiet, invisible girl who burrows into her books and never talks to anyone.
As every weekend, she encloses herself in the rarely-used Uchiha Clan Library, where smooth oak shelves filled with books run from wall to wall. She pours the matcha into her teacup, the intoxicating scent circulating throughout the room in a homely way.
As soon as she learned to read, she would pick up almost anything she could reach - the unusually excessive amount of novels on mythological Shintō beings, A History of the Uchiha, The Founders of Konohagakure...
Her eyes stray further down, to a small volume tucked in the back, right next to The Art of Tea Ceremonies. It doesn't feel worn out or weathered, but it's not exactly modern either. Women's Roles in The Uchiha. A layer of dust creeps over the cover, concealing the neat handwritten black lettering, and she skims it off with the edge of her nail in disgust.
Now this she wants to know.
"Okaa-san?" she asks later on, kneeling in seiza on the rough tatami mat. She notes that Haru is out on a mission. "Did you want to marry Otou-san?"
There is an element of thinly veiled surprise that Hisa is making an effort to actually speak and at the bold question itself. Her mother is silent as she sews, the sashiko thread dancing rhythmically to create neat, skilful stitches. "I knew it was for the best." she reflects with a thoughtful expression. "We all have to make sacrifices for our clan."
"But what if I don't want to?" Hisa asks, dissatisfied by the vague explanation.
"It is our duty." Mariko's gentle voice betrays a hint of regret, a nostalgic look appearing on her face.
Duty? Is there a sense of honour in effectively killing yourself for your country? Hisa has never seen Konoha do anything for their shinobi.
"I..." she hesitates uncertainly. "I don't want to be a kunoichi, okaa-san." Then silence, and an unbearable wait for her mother's unyielding judgement.
Mariko says nothing but stares at her in the eye with a pensive expression, clear disappointment written all over her face. Loyalty to one's clan before anything else has been drilled into her since day one, and now Hisa is breaking all of the rules with just seven words.
It is at this point when she first feels an unsettling sense of restriction tying her down.
Tea ceremonies are quite unnecessary, Hisa thinks.
They're going to host Fugaku-sama and his new wife Mikoto, a pretty and sweet kunoichi who could easily be mistaken for an inborn Uchiha herself. As always, it's nothing to worry about. That is, until Mariko catches a common cold and must stay in bed; Hisa is forced to perform her role.
It's plainly difficult for a two-year old to handle the delicate bamboo-fashioned utensils, although Mariko has been training her relentlessly for months, picking out her mistakes from a small splash of tea to kneeling at an unconventional angle. Months aren't enough. Usually the art takes years to learn, but the Uchiha are impatient and finical about perfection.
Fugaku's scrutinising eye is the least of her problems, though. She's not really scared of him - he's actually her cousin from Haru's side, and very inexperienced. She's only worried about her future, because this man, the recently appointed Clan Head, can decide the course of the rest of her life.
"Uchiha Hisana." he studies her face while they all kneel, addressing her by the already long-forgotten name. "Granddaughter of Uchiha Kagami." It is no secret to the clan that Haru's father was one of the best shinobi alive in his time.
"Yes, Fugaku-sama." Her knees already hurt from the seiza position, and she wonders how she is going to last the whole evening. Mikoto stays silent, perhaps trying to be the traditional modest wife.
"Will she be a kunoichi?" Fugaku asks Haru casually, but the actual question remains hanging in the air. Do you want her to become a kunoichi? It doesn't matter; he will decide for her in the end.
"No, Fugaku-san." Even her highly respected father seems nervous, his eyes darting wildly as if he would want to be anywhere else but here.
"Ah. I hear you will have a son soon." It is the first time she has heard about something like this.
Hisa stares in shock, wide-eyed at this new revelation. What? What is he talking about? Her eyes narrow as Haru dutifully nods. That must be why her mother isn't hosting today. She feels bitter at not being told this sooner, and her heart speeds up.
This changes everything.
"Well." Fugaku pauses as Hisa serves the meal. "She'll make a fine kunoichi then." It is not phrased as a question, and the room spins nauseatingly.
A... brother. She's going to be a sibling.
Haru gives her a warning glance, but she barely registers his presence. Her head feels dizzy and she needs to lie down, to forget this all, to forget this ever happened -
"Would you like some tea?" Haru asks, and she snaps herself back to reality.
She tries to remember every step her mother showed her, wiping the tools until they are spotless. Whisking the thick matcha tea in a circular motion, the aroma spreads throughout the air, her hands stirring and pouring systematically. It is not perfect. It never is. Her movements aren't pleasing or mesmerising like her mother's would be, but Mikoto seems satisfied with the ceremony.
After she whisks the thin matcha tea into a froth, taking care not to spill a drop onto her kimono, the wagashi crafted from the Uchiha bakery is served. She hardly nibbles on the mochi, its sweetness overwhelming her as she worries about what she will do now.
Does Fugaku really mean that? She's going to have a brother.
A brother.
From now on, she will start training to be a shinobi. This is what Hisa is meant to be. She is a marionette on their strings; a pawn in their chess game. Hate spirals into her heart for this innocent, unborn child, all because he will be a boy and she is a girl.
When Fugaku and Mikoto leave, she can't wave them out quickly enough.
The next few days are spent in solitude and meditation, as always.
"Hisa-chan?" Mariko calls, slight tiredness emanating from her voice. "Are you alright?" Hisa isn't usually social, but she never deliberately distances herself from her parents.
Her daughter doesn't move from where she sits cross-legged, a blank, dreamy gaze possessing her eyes.
"Is it about the tea ceremony?" Mariko tries, sliding the shoji open into Hisa's bedroom and slowly walking in.
"Okaa-san." It's the usual greeting, but she knows that something is wrong. Exhaustion takes over Mariko's face, and then there is silence, until she begins to speak in a hushed tone.
"Hisana, I couldn't. I was ordered not to tell anyone about my baby." her mother pleads, but she looks away. The name sounds foreign on Mariko's tongue.
"Hisana, listen to me!" There is a shocked pause at the end of the outburst, Mariko pale and shaking at Hisa's judging expression. Mariko is supposed to be perfect. Mariko never loses control.
"You can name him." her mother offers as a compromise with a fleeting, haunting smile.
Hisa doesn't care to answer, her dark eyes dilating with horror. This is her life now. She's no longer their beloved child. There's a new, better person in their lives.
Sometimes, though, tides will change.
She's still sulking in her room, lying on her front on an old tatami mat. Picking up a crisp piece of coloured paper, her hands begin to evenly fold it into origami squares and triangles until she's staring at a blank, faceless crane. Then she makes many more, until they are strewn all over the tatami mats, a rainbow of colours.
She shifts over to a sitting position now, her muscles tired and strained from the folding. Haru is back. She can hear the soft bell tinkling as he opens the door, and Mariko's automatic, cheerful greeting.
Oh. He's come from a Clan Meeting. She only knows that you must be chūnin to participate, and certainly not a child like her.
But there are raised voices in the kitchen, the shoji sliding screens betraying each and every sound. Hisa shakes her head, incredulous. Her parents are perfect. They would never shout at each other.
She pauses for a moment, then leans against the shoji, her ear against the thin, translucent material.
"She won't be a kunoichi!" she hears. Her mother. Hisa catches her breath, hoping that her father will give in.
"Fugaku-san's word is law." Haru's answer is short and curt; he is definitely losing his patience.
"Haru, she shouldn't go to the academy. She's so young, at least wait!" Academy? Why hasn't she been told about this?
Hisa can hear her father's sigh of exasperation. "She's not going right now. She will go next year." That's still not enough time, she thinks.
"So?" She's never heard Mariko speak like this. "Three years old, Haru, three! Wait until she awakens the sharingan at least!" The shrill voice is giving her a migraine, and she flops down on the tatami mat, breathing heavily. Her fingernails bite into her palms until they almost bleed, the red marks leaving a long-lasting scratch.
The sharingan is a subject which Haru has never deigned to talk about with her, and her curiosity flares up. She isn't satiated. She wants to know more.
They're still arguing ten minutes later, so she decides to go outside now. Placing one leg up, she tries to climb out of the window, but her small size makes it a larger obstacle than she'd thought. She manages to after a while, tumbling in a heap to the ground which is thankfully covered by grass.
Water trickles past her, a flood in her ears, the waves crashing down beneath the cliff. Naka River is a secluded and scenic spot, and it is also one of the few places which she is allowed to be alone. Her feet dangle off the edge of the cliff as she tries to control her emotions, perhaps the last time she will feel a sense of order in he life.
And then not. Life is fleeting. Why should she waste her time even more by becoming a shinobi? To protect the village? What does it actually mean to protect? Hisa doesn't know, and she will never know.
The sun sets with a sense of finality, the pink hues merging into a darker, sombre purple. She waits and watches, sighing in an ephemeral bliss as the river flows on.
She can't control anything forever.
Tears begin to drip down her eyes, the taste sharp and salty in her mouth. She can't stop them from running down her face either.
Splash.
The drops dissolve as soon as they hit the water, and Hisa tries to wipe them away, but they keep on coming. It's unusual for her to cry - she didn't cry much as a baby, but here she is, tearing up at the mention of being a shinobi.
It evokes a sharp, stinging memory inside of her, one of death, dead, dying. She's reminded of the minimal opportunities in life, just because of her gender and who she is.
Somewhere in the world, war is brewing.
And then it clicks. Shisui. A fitting name for a child, a shinobi, Hisa thinks bitterly. Because they'll always be drowning in this world where nothing is under their control.
She releases the paper cranes one by one that night, watching indifferently as they swoop in a gliding motion, never to be seen again.
It is not yet autumn when Mariko goes into her confinement, isolated by the decorative byōbu, intricate folding screens which Hisa can trace over for hours. There is really nothing to do now, so she sets down an inkwell and a brush, neatly placing the paper in the middle of the dark oak desk.
Katakana and hiragana are plain, simple strokes which are pretty in their own ways, but she finds herself most enthralled by the kanji, sloping characters borrowed from the Chinese language. The brush is steady in her small, lithe hands, but it does not move as gracefully as she expects it to; instead, it quivers as the ink splatters all over the paper.
It doesn't seem as if she's making any progress, and the ink has to be replaced every few minutes. She first feels a sort of respect for Mariko, one that she's never felt before. Her mother's characters are small but neat, and she minimalises each drop of ink that is used. Hisa can't believe that anyone would enjoy labouring for hours on one piece of artwork. Mariko's works aren't even presented to the Uchiha themselves - only locked away in a dusty room, unseen and unappreciated.
She hangs up the first sloppy character that she successfully drew, then lies down in the futon to think. Is Mariko alright? Her legs swing, rhythmically thumping on the mattress as she buries her face into a lone pillow. Since birth, Hisa has never been away from Mariko, and this is a different experience altogether.
Haru's food is...edible, but a little too salty for her taste. They get by, but their lives have become a lot more simplistic now that there's no time. Haru is worried, frantic about the new baby with every waking moment, and it is agonising not to know what is going on.
She is drifting apart from her parents. More than they realise, in any case, because there are untold secrets they just don't want her to know. Haru occupies himself with missions every morning, every night, and she hasn't even seen Mariko in weeks.
September slowly wanders into October, a bleak, harsh month with barely any light at all. She hears that Mikoto and Fugaku-sama are trying for a baby, but it doesn't register in her mind. Time is steadily creeping forward, and she will soon lose her freedom.
It would not be a stretch to say that she has forgotten how to perform a tea cerenony, the rich scent of the matcha rubbed out from her memory. There is some spare green tea powder in the cupboard, and she carries it to her room, cautious not to drop the glass jar.
The relaxing smell of the tea diffuses throughout the room as Hisa closes her eyes, inhaling in the familiar vivid aroma. She remembers the ceremony with Fugaku-sama long ago and wonders if she has become worse. And then, quite suddenly, her heart drops.
She won't need all this when she becomes a kunoichi. Kunoichi aren't housewives and their first priority doesn't include being graceful.
Hisa can distantly hear hurried shouts and a hint of interest sparks up in her mind once more. What's happening? She calls for her father, but Haru doesn't respond, and she has no way to know if he is even at home.
The shoji slides open hours later, interrupting her from her inquistive thoughts. Haru is breathless, exhausted, and she stands up instantly to follow him. There is no use in pretending to sleep.
Faint cries emerge from the confinement room, their footsteps closer and closer. She cannot help but feel anxious, one of those cries was her mother - and then there is a piercing scream and - she's being held back.
It's Mikoto. But why can't she go in? Another peculiar, much quieter cry. She claws at Mikoto's grip, but it is strong and unwavering. Hisa doesn't understand what's happening.
The door opens, a gentle, creaking sound which alerts them all. A midwife walks out, a small boy in her arms with wisps of hair curling down, the sticky blood not yet washed off.
Somehow, there is silence.
"Shisui," she murmurs in awe, the familiar emotions of love and hate which she has been experiencing for months manifesting once more in her heart, but something is wrong.
There is another cry ringing in her ears, this time more shrill, and before anyone can stop her she runs in, screaming for her mother. "Okaa-san!" It is unusual that there is no protest to the crying, wailing girl, only grim looks of pity.
And then she sees it. There is a grey, lifeless body on the bed, eyes rolled up into pearl white. This can't be. Can't be...
Her mother isn't dead. She isn't.
"Please okaa-san, wake up!" She shakes the motionless hand, but there is a feeling of dread at this eternally beautiful sleep.
She can't speak. Can't move. She's frozen in time, in this state of grief and sorrow and regret that she couldn't do anything more-
She only knows one thing at this moment. She despises him. Detests this innocent child for murdering her mother, for killing one of the most precious people in her life. Her vision clouds with sorrow while stinging tears pour down her cheeks, her legs giving way under her as she collapses down. There is exhaustion. And fear. And hate. No love.
Her eyes swirl red, and everything goes black.
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