Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ One Short Story ❯ Prologue ( Prologue )

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One Short Story

 

Prologue - Sakura's Tale

 

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It was at the end of spring, when the heat of summer had yet to strike and an extra layer of clothing still had to be worn to fight off the slight chill northern winds provoked. Colours were fresh and the green grass was as soft and healthy as it could be; rainy mornings providing water and the days' sunshine coming with warmth. Everything seemed to be in bloom, and a certain young girl was no exception. Like the many flowers woven into her hair, winter had left her pale and fragile; but now her smile was bright and a healthy flush on her cheeks covered the previously sunken and sick look of a thin face. For her old, lonesome grandmother to allow her the treat of playing outside instead of cleaning the dishes and sweeping the floor made this particular girl one of the happiest around. But there were not many children to speak of in this small village far out in the countryside; she could count them on two hands, and those her age barely covered that of one. This was, however, of little concern to an eight year old child delightfully chasing butterflies down the rocky road said to lead directly towards the big, beautiful capital of the Fire country. Butterflies were pretty creatures after all, a very peculiar existence according to the child running after them, and could make your attention span longer than usual. She had learned from previous hunts like these that actually catching such graceful, winged things would result in what her grandmother had named as murder. A broken wing could not mend, and without the rush of the wind, they could not survive. She thought it was a pity, because they were wonderful to watch as they fluttered away from her outstretched hands. Therefore, she had no intention to stop their flight; she only enjoyed the chase. Which is why she thought it was such a shame that the men on horses took up the butterflies' flight and rushed past her faster than the dive of a hawk.

 

It didn't occur to her to be afraid until she noticed the army of horses never seemed to end, and the men wore clothes of death and destruction while wielding shiny pieces of steel that seemed to glare down at her.

 

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She remembered that she'd almost died that day. A horse nearly ran her over, if it wasn't for the man kicking her out of the way. She hadn't been grateful then; crying and screaming in pain the way a child would. But now, she knew better. She was lucky to be alive after meeting the army of the Sound Empire.

 

It had been an attack against the Royal Emperor, and they had succeeded in killing him. But in the end, they lost. The final victory came at a high price though; the most powerful clan assigned to protect the capital Konoha and its Emperor had been almost completely wiped out. Only the clan's elder, and the two sons of the late leader had survived. When the successor of the throne stepped forward and became Empress, she almost immediately arranged the largest funeral the country could remember since the fox demon attacked; all the near lying villages as well as everyone in the capital had to attend. It was for the loyal action the clan had taken.

 

The young girl saw yet another set of men on horses a week after the attack, but this time they didn't rush past; they led the way for her and her grandmother and the rest of the village. It was her first visit to her country's capital.

 

With her hair covered, and her finest kimono draped over a small, thin body it was of no surprise that she got lost in the crowd of people meeting them as they passed through the gates to the city. Her grandmother was no strong woman; she was just as small and fragile as her grandchild and could not hold onto her little hand. The girl was too amazed by the things she saw to be worried though, and to her grandmother's distress, she wandered further away even as she was pushed along the flood of people. But she went too far, and stumbled out into the open passage made for the funeral march. The black horses and silk clad men didn't stop as she struggled to get up on her feet and away; she barely got away before she risked getting run over again. Now standing along the line of people facing the quiet and somber train of men, horses and carriages she was glad her shawl was in place around her hair, because so many eyes were fixed on her small form. She didn't know why, but her grandmother had strictly forbidden her to show even the slightest glimpse of hair to anyone outside the village. Her grandmother had said it was because the colour was so rare, that it was too special for other eyes to see. The children merely called her a freak and half-demon; taunting her for her odd looks. There was not a single person she had seen whose hair was as pink as cherry blossoms, and whose eyes resembled that of the leaves in the trees. But the world was a large place, and she had only seen the tiniest bit of it, so she held on to the hope that her grandmother was right. She hoped that she was just rare, that there were others with her appearance; if only a few. She didn't want to be compared to half-demons and forest vixens.

 

Lost in thought, the girl almost missed the honour guests of the funeral; the survivors of the clan being honoured in this sad ceremony. But her green eyes darted up to see through a window of the largest carriage, and what she saw made her breath catch - a boy her age, with cheeks wet from tears, sat in the embrace of what she assumed to be his older brother. It was just a brief glance, but she caught both their eyes and the pain she saw made her confused. She wondered how it would feel to lose a family; to lose your own mother and father. She didn't know, because she couldn't remember when her own parents left her in her grandmother's care. She had lost them, but was spared the memories of the loss and could not yet comprehend the agony those two in the carriage must've felt.

 

It took her all day to find her grandmother, and collapse in her embrace to cry for several minutes. Not because two boys had lost their family in the span of a few days, but because she could not find her way home and her feet hurt terribly.

 

Back then, she was only a child after all. It is sad to say she grew up all too quickly.

 

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Years passed, and she was now ten years old. Her village was dying; money was being pumped from the poor all around the country to pay for the efforts it took to put the Royal Empire of Fire back on its feet. Losing an Emperor and the most powerful clan of not only the country, but the surrounding ones as well, was a harsh blow and the Empress worked hard to spend the money wisely. That was what her grandmother said, and it was what the girl wanted to believe. She'd heard the Empress was a force to be reckoned with, and felt respect for the woman despite the many meals it cost her. She wondered if maybe someday, she would succeed in life as well. She did have a talent for healing, and quickly learned everything her grandmother could teach. The temptation to seek schooling was great, but she was a poor peasant and a woman to boot. Besides, who would care for her grandmother if she wasn't around? She would stay in the village until she was no longer needed; there was still so much time.

 

Her hopes were shattered the day travelling merchants from the land of Earth sought medical treatment.

 

The villagers directed them to her and her grandmother, pricing their skills. The merchants came to the small cottage she called home, and she was sent outside almost immediately to look for the right herbs. It went surprisingly smooth to begin with, but as they treated man after man with the pressure of a time limit their work became messy and stressed. It wasn't her fault that they piece of fabric tied around her hair slipped off in the heat of a burning summer day; revealing the pink hair she kept short in order to easily hide it. It had happened before, but this time around, the girl was not quick enough to cover up the abnormality she possessed. The men had already taken interest in her eyes and prettily heat-shaped face; now there was no question about what they should do.

 

She didn't even get to say good bye.

 

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When you see them dance, watch how easily they move to the tunes of their own jewellery strapped around curvy hips and thin wrists, you are fooled to think it comes naturally. She knew of the long hours of work it took to capture a man's attention with a glance, to sway her young, awkward and girly body to music so sensual and sinful it made her blush. But soon, modesty was forgotten and replaced by the will to fight and survive or face starvation and rough handling by men she no longer remembered the faces of, only the touches. But if she just danced, just stripped down her pride and showed the exotic beauty she was said to possess she was promised to remain untouched, to regain the shine of innocence some seemed to find beyond alluring.

 

It was in the land of Wind she was sold for the second time at age eleven; dressed up in fabric more expensive, more valuable than her at the time. With only the shy shadow of breasts, hips still sharp and bony, she was but a young girl dressed in a woman's clothes. With doe-like, emerald eyes - long, pink and silky blossom hair - she was the picture of innocence as she stood among so many others, so many older, more beautiful and experienced women.

 

Her first master, her first owner, resisted a year before he burned that picture of innocence she had unknowingly treasured.

 

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The son of the famous Namikaze Minato of Fire saved her mater's son one month before she turned thirteen. When she was ordered to perform during the formal celebration of the son's survival and rescue, she was beyond happy to know people from her country would be there. She had not seen her home for almost four years, and despite the circumstances she could not bring herself to stop smiling as she stepped out on the scene. Her emerald eyes swept over the many noble men and women attending; taking in their many differences. A pair of stunning amber eyes stared straight back at her then, making her pause her graceful strides towards the middle of the circle of women waiting for the music to start. A shiver ran down her spine and she quickly resumed her walk before anyone noticed. The elegant woman with the pools of amber raised her arm to let her sleeve cover her lips; hiding whatever grimace she made. The girl took her stance and the tunes of a sad instrument pulled her into the dance she was so familiar with.

 

The amber eyes never left her pale face.

 

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She had been the pride of the Wind Emperor's harem, and the best gift he could have ever given to the Empress the saviour of his son served. It was not a sad moment for the girl when she left the dry lands of the Wind to return to her homeland in a carriage decorated with silk. To serve under the Empress, to be her maid and entertainer, was more than she could have ever asked for. She rarely thought of her old life anymore; barely remembered the feeling of hunger, draughty cottages, kind grandmothers and innocent butterflies. How could she, when luxury was given in exchange for just a single dance, a soft tune and pretty, cheeky smiles?

 

Life had never been so easy, until the Empress slapped her hard for dismissing the world outside wealth and luxury so easily.

 

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Words could not explain her beauty at the age of fifteen. The Empress had nurtured her, helped her grow and smarten up. She learned more than she thought possible; she became powerful.

 

Because, when she was found stealing scrolls containing the art of healing, she was assigned a teacher. When she was found half naked and unconscious in the guards' towers, she was taught to fight and protect herself. When her answers were incorrect as the Empress questioned her, her cheeks were stained red by the punishment for her ignorance. And when her body grew into that of a woman, her exotic clothes were replaced by beautiful kimonos and flattering costumes; whatever suited the occasion.

 

Her wardrobe was bigger than the wooden home she remembered from times long lost.

 

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“Sakura”, the Empress had named her. Not `Blossom', like so many others before, but Sakura. Like the trees in the garden. Pink, just like her hair. Cherries, like her favourite kimono's pattern. At the age of sixteen she could no longer remember her old name, a name that had not been used for eight long years.

 

“Tonight I want you to attend the dinner with Uchiha Itachi. Wear your most beautiful robes; I'll send a maid to help with your make-up and hair.”

 

“Make sure to please him, Sakura.”

 

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