Fate Wheel | Naruto

𝟏𝟖| Breathe

Her head cocked to the side, gripping her chin with sore firmness that prevented Dawn from looking away. What terrified her the most was that she lurked beneath a mask, yet that very owl mask with a blood-curdling smile was enough to strike fear throughout her entire body, paralysing her senses, ceasing her train of thoughts or the beating of her heart or the pumping of her blood. She allowed herself to fall into her pitiful hands, she allowed her body to tremble instinctively at the familiarity of danger. It overrides her system, as she knew what was coming. And there was nothing in her power she could do to set herself free as the owl had the lock, the lock to her freedom.

"Oh, you poor little bird." Her voice lowered a few octaves in a hoaxed sadness. "You're trembling in your own skin! How beautiful. It's truly a work of art, watching your body react to the fear it has of me. I'm truly honoured to have created such an interesting piece of work. Please allow me to paint you and rid of your imperfections, will you?"

She could only stare in silence, bracing herself for what was to come regardless of her answer. She had no say in what happens, she was powerless, she had no control.

"I said," her eyes suddenly darkened, wisps of black unravelling at the fit of her rage. "will you? You won't dare to disobey your master, won't you little bird? I created you, you're thankful to me. Aren't you?"

Dawn gasped, her wrists cutting against the sharpness of the restraints that had bound her to the metal table, feeling the taste of her own blood on her lips from the nails digging deeply into her skin. Disobeying meant punishment, punishment meant she wouldn't be able to see Keiji or Jiro—

Only she wouldn't, because she killed them.

She was all alone, by herself. Her body stopped struggling, the image of pure defeat circulating in her dull eyes.

"I'm very thankful." She didn't dare to break eye-contact, a tear slipping from her eye and to the corner of her mouth.

The owl laughed gleefully. "That's right, always be thankful. Don't you understand? I care about you, little bird. I'm the only one who ever will, because no one will ever learn to love a monster like you, hm?"

"No one will ever love a monster like me." Dawn repeated numbly.

"That's right. No one." The owl coaxed soothingly, her voice gentle and soft. "Just because you're being such a good little birdie, I'm going to do you the honour of using screwer."

Her heart dropped to her stomach, she felt the bile rise, threatening to vomit everywhere. She felt sick, so terribly sick. The screwer was her favourite toy as it brought the most pleasure to her abhorrent ears.

"You'll scream for me like the dear you are, okay?" She hummed, maniacal hunger channeling in her soulless eyes.

The moment the screw touched her skin, her endless screams had begun.

Dawn woke up in cold sweat.

Her breathing was erratic, her clothes clung onto her sweat-smothered skin, her throat was dry as though it was depleted from her screams that continued to reverberate in her ears. She looked around, but all she could see was darkness, the dark walls, the dark ceiling, the darkness of the owl's eyes, the darkness that perpetually threatened to consume her. The crazed voice in the back of her head screeched and yelled for an escape. She couldn't breathe, she choked and gasped for air as she stood up, clutching her chest as the pain coruscated through her lungs and dug it's nails into her organs.

I can't breathe. I can't see. Dark. It's dark. I can't breathe. I can't breathe- I can't- I can't—

Air. She needed air. There wasn't enough air. She staggered outside, but all she could feel was a heatwave that attacked her skin like molten lava coursing through her veins and cremating her insides. All that plagued her vision was the image of the owl's eyes, the very eyes that stared at her, that taunted her, that controlled her like a puppet webbed to a string, that drove the very fear that made her afraid of everything, she was scared, she was so scared. And frightened. Jiro. She thought of Jiro and his blood. The blood on her hands. His dead body. The sword. Her hands. The blood. His eyes. Lifeless. Dead.