So in memory of my anime artwork collection, which I have somehow accidentally deleted with no backup and no means of restoration (FML), I made a new cover for FN. This is heavily inspired, so credits to Djade's amazing artwork which I have used as reference to create Nobara's version. Cheers!
· ☽ ·
Light trickled through the glass window. It moved across the mattress and danced on pale cold cheeks before the child finally stirred from the unfamiliar feeling of warmth on her face. And almost reluctantly, her eyes fluttered open, sleep still in her lashes that she remained staring at the empty bedside for a long while before she picked herself up from the sheets.
As she did so, her small hand cradled the dull throb silently searing inside her head. Hollow. There was this hollow feeling inside of her like some part of her was missing.
"Yori...?"
Dragging herself off the bed, the sheets moved and spilled over the edge as her feet met the cold floorboards. But as she stood, she faltered a little, groaning softly as she wobbled on her legs. She looked around the empty room, but there was only the subtle crackling of fire from the cast iron furnace and the gentle gust from the window.
Behind the large door, it was just as cold. But how the high ceiling and the pristine wooden panels of the corridor were illuminated in light felt strange to her.
She had only seen them in the dark where the corners are lined with obscurity of nightfall. Because that way, it was more familiar to her. But now, it felt like she was trespassing into a domain that wasn't hers.
She considered returning back to the empty room, to find solace beneath the warm blankets away from where prying eyes would be, but somehow she found herself following a tune. And as she walked the expanse to trail it, the darkness behind her followed.
The maidservants who saw her seemed surprised to see the child without the young Heika, but despite their ill-bearings at least bowed their heads in her presence—still fearful of the refined bloodline coursing within her veins that prevented them to ignore her completely.
And while they thought of her as filthy, whose tainted blood showed when you looked at her, they did not show it. Their hostility hid behind the walls and manifested through vehement whispers they could only hear.
"That black hair... it's like a bad omen, isn't it?"
"It seems fitting considering the misfortune that child brought upon us... A bad omen indeed."
"How frightening."
"Quiet, you... Someone might hear."
"Let them and they might even agree. The Sesshō despises her existence and sees her as a stain to the clan name... In the end, isn't she still just a child of a traitor even with a blood of a Kira...?"
Outside, it was snowing softly, the light filtering through the thick pillars of wood as the maidservants eventually dispersed from their quiet mumblings. The child, on the other hand, wandered off the edge of the outer corridor on bare feet where the tune stopped. She stared up at the sky, watching the snow fall.
She closed her eyes as white flakes fell on her face. And when she opened them again, the snow gradually darkened before her—until the snowfall turned into drops of blood that fell onto her cheeks.
Chanting whispers. Screams. Voices echoing inside her like a memory one after another.
"What have you done...?"
There was a distant caw of a crow.
And then Koori burning into flames.
"Murderer!"
She staggered as her vision blurred and her temples ached with emptiness. There was a sudden ringing inside her ears before everything went dead silent. When she looked down at her hand, the snow was white again like nothing happened.
"Nobara?"
She looked up, and there, Yori was standing behind her. He looked worried again, but the voice inside her head told her otherwise. So she just stared as he dusted off the clouds of snow on her hair before draping his haori around her shoulders. To keep warm, he said.
She could never feel warm.
"Let's go inside." His eyes were soft as he took her hand in his. His hands were just as soft, but somehow... there was only this overwhelming feeling dwelling in her chest.
"Yori?" she spoke, but her voice was nothing above a whisper.
"Yes?"
"What... What was mother like?"
He paused, but it was inevitable not to smile. He smiled in a way that seemed like he was remembering a distant memory, a memory she knew nothing of. "She resembled you quite a bit, if I'd say so myself... She was full of love to give, and you were a product of that love, little cousin."
"Love...?"
Yori hummed at her words. "Her love... was when she had you. It's when she used to sing lullabies to you even when you were yet to be born. And she gave you that love even until her last breath."
"Did father also give mother love?"
And almost too suddenly, he stopped walking. She looked up at him and she was filled with hope. Even if she was incomplete now, knowing that she wasn't born from resentment filled her with so much of it.
"He brought her flowers every day because he knew she loved them..."
"Did he give them to give her love?"
"Perhaps..." Yori smiled almost wistfully as something in his eyes dimmed. "Perhaps in the language of flowers, he did. And he gave her you... 'Nobara, my little wildflower,' your mother used to say. That's what your name means, little cousin."
·
Baki seemed reluctant to leave that morning after what happened, but his duties forced him to. He left quite unwillingly after he told her not to stay in the sun for long, but the child seems to ignore his existence altogether.
She only preoccupies herself in the sand outside his house. She waits for Temari because she had promised they would make onigiri today. And even though the grocery bag had been soiled with sand from yesterday's incident, Nobara had done as she was told.
Temari has become the source of her distraction, but today she is late.
It's the first time the child has ever been left alone for long, where it wouldn't have been difficult to disappear unlike the times when the older girl would pop up out of nowhere with random ideas to pass the time. And yet still, Nobara finds herself waiting like she is good at.
Her finger grazes against the sands where she draws a clumsy-looking stick figure of a tall cloaked man. She draws his eyes angry. Kakuzu is always angry, isn't he? Because she always messes things up.
If she leaves now, would he have wanted her back?
Thinking about him makes her feel a little lonely, a little sad. So she distracts herself as her finger unconsciously rounds into a familiar twirl of a certain mask, until she stops when she realizes what she is doing.
Her control has taken a toll from the high temperature of the Sand Village. But as she wills it, the tips of her fingers still materialize a whisper of ice and stains the sand in a crackling noise before she withdraws her hand.
A subtle movement nearby has drawn her attention elsewhere as the cold retreats with her, as if someone is watching her. But it's the neighbors' murmurs that fully catch her attention from not too far away.
"That monster attacked again last night..." one of them says quietly. Uncouth mouths and wicked tongues. It's almost difficult not to look at them.
"Again?"
"I heard several Anbu died trying to stop it..."
One gasps. "That's horrible... What is the Kazekage doing?"
Another shakes her head, disgusted. It's a look they all quite share in some way. They all strangely look the same. "If only that boy hadn't existed, this village would have been safer for people like us..."
"They should have killed that boy the moment he was born."
"Hush! Someone might hear you..."
"Does it matter? He may be the Kazekage's son, but in the end isn't he just a—ow!" In the midst of their quiet chatter, her hand shoots towards the sudden sharp pain on her forehead. Her eyes immediately dart up, but nobody looks to be the culprit. There are only passersby who are immersed in their own devices.
Her companions, on the other hand, are relatively unaware of what happened. "Are you okay?"
"No, ow..."
"Goodness, you're bleeding..." they say as the woman finally notices the touch of blood on her fingers. It isn't even a rock that hit her, but somehow there's no traces of anything else but sand.
"W...What was that...?"
Unnoticed, Nobara leaves them to their own mumblings as she weaves through the streets under the shadows of Suna's clay structures. And even though Baki told her to never leave the house alone, she finds herself going farther and farther away from what is familiar.
Her fists remain clenched, a hint of ice crawling up her hands beneath her poncho and rebelling against the heat. And all the villagers' faces, both ignorant and ones filled with malice, bring her a sense of grievance she can't repress anymore.
How ugly they are...
Everywhere is.
She gathers her hands to her face as her breathing trembles. Her head hurts again. It keeps reminding her that she is lacking in every way, that she is unwanted. The voice is becoming harder to keep it in, so why now?
His presence is even harder to ignore that it is enough... his presence is enough to distract her from the static haze taking part of her vision.
"Why did you do that?"
Was he following her?
But she refuses to acknowledge him. Though he already knows it, how she sounded him out long before he actually made his presence known.
"Are you not going to look at me this time?"
And then the moment her eyes raise to look at his, his chest clench painfully. He still doesn't understand it himself, how her eyes were aglow with pain and misery last night. Or how they look the same even now.
She doesn't look at him the same way as them. Her gaze almost tells him she feels his pain, but he refuses to believe that anyone would ever understand him. He refuses to believe her eyes that he searches for deceit. But the only other thing he finds, as he searches deeper, is sadness that mirrors the one he has so long buried with his hatred.
And in an instant, just her presence alone angers him enough that murderous intent washes over him.
What is it about her...?
As if to force her to acknowledge him, his sand crawls beneath her feet then, wrapping around her ankles. He has convinced himself somehow that if she disappears, so will the strange feeling in his chest. But the longer he holds her empty gaze, the pain becomes more than enough to stop his sand.
His eyes darken then, angry at her insolence to look at him like that.
"Do you pity me...?" he finds himself asking, because that's the only explanation he can think of. "Is that it? Because my father is trying to assassinate his own son? Because I'm a monster?"
She should know. They all do.
How could she be any different?
But when he spoke, she could almost hear the choke in his voice as he worded it out almost too painfully, how he tried to mask it with anger and hatred. But she sees—she sees far too much for him to hide anything.
It hurts looking at her.
"I hate that look in your eyes," he says it like it's poison but his eyes say otherwise. "It's like you see it too. Am I mistaken...?"
"No."
He pauses when he hears her voice for the first time. He was the one who talked to her first, but somehow he didn't expect her to answer in such a way.
"No... No, you're not."
Was that even what he wanted to hear from her?
Because the moment she answered him, he only feels enraged. It doesn't matter anymore. He's already convinced himself that if he kills her now, that would have been the end of it. Yes... as easy as that.
So he raises his hand to continue where he left off and the sand moves according to his will, but the way she approaches him now makes him stagger back.
And she's ice cold—the moment she touches him, when she grabs his wrist and leans against his outstretched hand that willed his sand to hurt her.
She isn't afraid, he can tell that much.
Not even since the beginning.
"Death sounds nice right now, doesn't it?" She smiles almost sadly.
One way or another, everyone is afraid of death. That's why they fear him, when he can easily take away their lives. For a long time, that became his reason for existing. He has grown out of his fear of when his father would send someone to assassinate him by killing them first. And he has only fought for himself since, loving only himself.
As long as there are people in this world for him to kill, his existence will not cease. And he believes that, because what else could he have believed in?
But she does not wish for his death like his father. She does not look at him in contempt and fear like the people of Suna.
She does not condemn him like his brother.
One way or another, everyone is afraid of death, so why does she look like she welcomes it?
He staggers away from her then, pulling away from her because something about her is suddenly too difficult to understand. And that distracts him enough to realize why his sand is retreating away from her, almost as if afraid.
She looks at him for a long while. And yet even though she is nothing but weakness before him now, he only realizes it then that she didn't put Shukaku to sleep. She did not give him silence. But rather, Shukaku withdrew in wariness from what crawls below the depths of her eyes.
Because in them, something older and ancient dwells, rattling far more frightening than sharp teeth and claws and malevolent whispers.
He only realizes it then that the reason the sight of her angers him so is because she is a mirror—a mirror that reflects something more sinister than he is. She is a mirror that he doesn't want to see the reflection of. She is a mirror that reminds him that his mother and father not once loved him, that he is hated.
He is reminded of a lot of things, all the bad things he has locked inside him. He doesn't need her words to know, but her silence already speaks enough. So for the first time in years, he takes a step back from what he thought was prey. Because their presence, to each other, feels like a truth caught in his throat.
He steps back, because in that moment, that's the only thing that eases the burden in his chest. And unlike the times when he feels provoked, he leaves her without a trail of blood after him, like he can't stand her presence anymore.
She knows what it means too.
At the end of the day, Temari never comes. Nobara finds herself returning to the silence of Baki's home then in heavy silence because she realizes she has nowhere else to go. The owner is yet to return, so she only slips into the shadows and to the small sofa in the living room.
And the heaviness only settles upon her when she finally lies in the darkness alone. Sleep comes too easily and then she dreams again, about the masked man this time.
In the dream, he is gentle with her. His eyes are not filled with hatred and pain, and his hand—his hand is warm against her cheek.
She likes this dream. She realizes she likes to fool herself with things that aren't real.
He isn't real.
He takes off his mask, but it is too dark to make out his face in the darkness. But she knows he looks sad again. He is looking at her like he wants to say a lot of things, but he never does. Perhaps, the words got locked in his throat that he only pulls back as if to leave her again, to abandon her like how he abandoned her in Koori. But she clings to his cloak.
"Didn't you come to kill me?" she asks him and she is hopeful, because somehow... somehow, death is much more kinder than this.
"No."
"Why not...?"
From the window, the moonlight filters in and faintly illuminates how his expression shifts. She looks at him as he sits beside her then, but he covers her eyes just as a tear falls beneath his hand.
As she cries quietly for him, he leans his forehead against hers, just wondering how it would have been if he had stayed in Koori, if he and her mother didn't have anything with each other at all. But what's the use of regretting it now?
"Did I do this to you?" he asks, but he only feels foolish as he feels like crying too. He asked, but he knows.
He knows he did.