SIXTEEN YEARS BEFORE THE TRAGEDY_

Throughout the life of six-year-old Temari, only one thing was constant.

Blood.

When events are repeated constantly, you get used to them and when you get used to them, you get bored.

Temari was bored of constant bloodshed, of the metallic smell coming from her father's office, from his clothes being stained daily as he came through the big, decorated doors of their home.

But It did not matter if she was disgusted. He never looked at her much, so it wasn't that big of a deal, It never was.

Blood was what she sadly associated with her father.

Temari hated blood.

So she began to hate him too, not so long after her little brain started working its magic.

She hated him as much as a small child could. At this point, it felt like she's been hating him since birth, but that's not possible, is it?

There is one little undeniable detail.

Temari hated hating, deep down she hated holding onto hatred, and that's what she held for her father since she could remember.

She hated him even as he with astonishing grace, that of a real royalty himself, walked through the same door he does every day. But now holding something different. Not only that disgustingly filthy sword of his, not only his stained clothing, not only the pride hard won he would brag about frequently.

In his hand was the other one, much smaller, much more fragile. The hand that should be held with gentleness and not forcefully pulled, the action her father presented in this right moment. It doesn't faze her, It's not like the monsters of his kind ever knew how a child's hand should be held. He never practiced after all, not on her, not on her brothers. And she was glad for that.

Temari knew what young boys looked like, she was obviously not a stranger to a body similar to her own, small and helpless. Despite being familiar with the obvious basics of human anatomy she never had a chance to talk to one creature similar to her. Her father never cared to introduce a meaning of a friend to his children and he hurt the most other people that have tried. So she got to know it from books and talks, maybe not the best of resources but you can't do better when you are locked to rot alone.

The little boy looked at her, and despite her expectations, he didn't look scared, what his eyes held was unexpected tiredness, boredom. Something she related to.

His robes were bloodied mess and his face smeared all over with the same substance. His presence gave an obvious aura of weirdness. The one he would have as came home after a totally useless day, not like his whole family was brutally murdered just hours ago, not like his seemingly expensive robes were ruined with the guts of his own people. Or that's what she assumed, that's what her father mostly participated in these days.

Temari hated blood.

But he was taken by one of the guards to who knows where, and she wanted to follow. It was the first time her father took a kid home. It was always a young woman who would end up as a maid, cursed to work restlessly, or an older man who was tasked to do work of some sort, to meddle with papers and documents.

Her daddy dearest wasn't the biggest child lover after all. She was curious.

So she did. She followed the guard's lead.

They walked through the dark hallways of her giant home. One of the advantages of living with power hungry maniac was that you get to live in the most luxurious of places just for him to brag about his big accomplishments. The walls of the whole place were painted red, with black ornaments and decorations. Even though the doors too were midnight black, eyes could catch the little speckles of gold, embedded into beautiful designs. But beauty is useless when it's used for bullshit.

When you go through the door you realize that beauty was just the exterior, most rooms didn't get the same privilege, like his abandoned children they sat forgotten, waiting for a reason to exist, for a person to make it their residence. But waiting is useless, they will never get the care they craved for.

The same was with the room that now occupied the young boy. It was different than blood-red hallways. It was plain white, looking remotely good enough for some lower noble, the furniture looking expensive but not nearly enough to be considered beautiful.

Meaning that her father planned this. He took him in with that little hope, wanting to make something of him in the process. With the intention to take him as some form of a more extravagant servant. He otherwise would never give him anything, not even this small luxury. If this youngster was supposed to be a real suffering servant, he would've gotten far worse treatment.

After an unimportant rant from the guard that was surely her father's repeated words, he was gone to mind his own business. Finally, she could come in. She opened the door slowly, to not scare him away. Well, it's not like he looked terrified earlier but you can never be too careful. Especially if you are Temari. The boy's head turned her way in rapid speed, his eyes wide, body tense. So he was scared after all, she decided. That earlier, It was just an act, the one to fool her father's analytic eyes. What a smart cookie.

"Hello, my name is Temari. so, you are my fathers' new puppet. Nice to meet you." she said, waiting for his reaction, she liked to use crude words at first meetings, it always made an opportunity for the best faces.

"Your Highness." He said monotonously, bowing in a sign of respect.

"So you know me, exciting. You are the first child father ever being here, his puppets are mostly older people. You must be very talented then. Do You want to be friends? It's not like you have much more candidates at this point." she smiled fakely, trying to look innocent as his expression hardened.

"You talk too much, I don't like you."

"What?"

"Your father killed my parents so I don't like you."

So her prediction was right, she decided. Her father was predictable as always.

"So you hate me."

She wasn't mad, it was reasonable for him to hate her.

"Hate you?"

"Yes, you said you can't like me so you hate me, right? Wasn't it obvious, was he not that bright after all, she asked herself, confused.

"I didn't say that." He replied.

"What?" Now she was beyond confused. What was this weirdo before her thinking? Yes, he is a weirdo she decided, a very interesting weirdo at that.

"I hate your father but I can't hate you, not for now anyways, you can't hate someone who never hurt you." His eyes softened and some kind of small smile escaped his lips. A very interesting weirdo indeed.

"I like the way you think," her eyes sparkled with excitement. "Be my friend, please." This should be enough, she thought. She even pleaded, Temari hated pleasing people.

"You forgot something princess," a fond smile turned into a smirk. "As much as you are interested in me I still don't like you. I said that a minute ago, you are very forgetful."

She stared, astonished by his sudden confidence.

"You heard me," he answered her unasked question. "Did you know that you get angry a little too fast, princess?"

Was she angry? She didn't know. Temari never had a chance to experience so many bizarre emotions in such a short time. This was the first. And that weirdo in front of her made it possible. She was now fascinated with this interesting creature.

"Well, I don't like you too then." She lied, maybe she was angry after all, but she really didn't know.

"That's good, now we think the same, it's for the best."

That's when she snapped and turned her heel in the direction of her own room.

"Goodbye, weirdo." What did he know about what is for the best? He was a child. A seemingly very intelligent one but a child non the less.

What she didn't see was the expression on the other's face. A gentle smile he displayed just moments ago was sitting on his lips.

"She's interesting." He whispered to the darkness.