[BOOK 1 OF THE SHARING SERIES]
Two different worlds meet. Two existences collide. On the one hand, an orphan learns what love, friendship, and devotion mean. On the other, a young girl realizes the implication of being a civilian kunoichi in a worl...
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𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓵𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓽 against the wooden floor resonates on the high walls of his house. His heart is pounding in his tiny chest, and he leaves a torrent of tears after him as he runs along the never-ending corridor. He slips on the wet floor as he reaches the living room entrance and lands on all fours with a loud thud. His bloodshot, obsidian eyes settle on a long stream of dark fluid, and he brings one trembling hand closer to his face. Under the full moon, the suspicious liquid turns crimson.
"Okaasan???"
He gazes into the living room and follows the trail of blood to a dark mass. A cloud is veiling the moon, and he can see nothing—something he would never admit to his father.
He unfolds and steps tentatively inside the room. The floor creaks under his weight, a noise he would have found reassuring before, but not tonight. He stops when body parts become noticeable from the dark mass.
"Okaasan???"
The moonlight returns, starting at the far end of the room. It illuminates a hand bathed in blood, then long black hair that leads to two bodies, one on top of the other.
He collapses on the wet, sticky ground with a strident scream and engulfs his head in his hands when his voice cracks, his eyes tightly shut, images of his lifeless mother engrained in his brain. He will never forget the pleading in her almond-shaped eyes or his father's body lying protectively on top of her.
He peeks through his shaky fingers, half-expecting the bodies to be gone, the nightmare to be over, but a whimper escapes his lips upon seeing his dead parents again.
"Niisan???"
He rises back up and runs a hand full of blood through his hair. He fears what he will find in his brother's room. His feet are glued to the sticky ground anyway, and he doubts he can ever detach his gaze from his mother's face.
But a movement at the front window proves him otherwise. The adrenaline pumps again in his veins at the sight of the moving shadows, and without realizing it, he shifts his focus outside, tripping a little as he approaches the windowsill. He has to squint his eyes when he reaches it because of the intensity of the moonlight. He catches sight of a dark shadow in a tree, and his heartbeat quickens. Only one thing is noticeable through the darkness: two almond-shaped, crimson eyes.
