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Natsumi NaraGenin
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Village : Konohagakure
Ryo : 33
![Wrought in Stone [P] Empty](https://2img.net/i/empty.gif)
Wrought in Stone [P]
Wed Jun 29, 2022 6:11 pm
The speed of life had a perverse habit of fluctuating counter to Ichika’s wishes. When she wanted nothing more than to savor each second, it sped by, while it advanced at barely a crawl in the most painful of moments. Today time seemed to stand still as if frozen by some cruel, indifferent god in a monochrome mockery of reality.
Pulling her hair back, the kunoichi looked up from the sink. Bloodshot eyes set in the porcelain mask of her face stared back at her in the mirror—a single, telling crack in a carefully constructed facade. Three days had slipped by since her mother's passing; yet, it felt like something closer to three weeks. Three weeks led up to this moment: her standing in an empty home, clad in a black kimono, biting back tears, and waiting for her nightmare’s fast-approaching nadir.
She let her hair fall back down to her shoulders.
No matter how she wore it something always felt off. A stray flyaway here, an uneven part there, and a missing pin or two; none of it was perfect on a day that had to be perfect or, at the very least, deserved to be perfect. Anything less was a disservice and a dishonor to the memory of her mother.
And yet, it all fell into some kind of farcical charade. After all, what did disservice and dishonor matter in the end? It was not as if the proper protocol or the perfectly formed bun could pierce the ethereal veil between the land of the living and dead. There was no turning back the clock on one’s mortality and no way to hear the voices of lost loved ones one more time. Was one more conversation or embrace too much to ask for?
“Ichika, dear, are you there?” The muted voice of a neighbor followed by the sharp, familiar sound of knuckles on the front door jolted the genin from her introspective spiral. “Ichika?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a moment,” she called back before pulling back her hair and not sparing the mirror another glance. “Just need to grab my shoes.”
The overcast sky above Konoha felt appropriate given the circumstances. However, life in the village went on as normal, as if nothing had changed at all. Escorted by her kindly neighbor, Ichika could not help the resentment that ate at her core seeing smiling merchants and carefree couples lining the streets. Perhaps, she reasoned silently, this was the world’s cruel attempt at mockery: a carefully choreographed juxtaposition of despair and joy in a strange attempt at cosmic balance.
Soon the urban sprawl of Konohagakure fell away. In its place, a jigsaw of monuments and memorials rose up. In the eternal resting place of the Leaf’s fallen heroes, the number of the dead far outweighed the living, especially this morning with the small gathering for the latest resident of the world beyond, Rui Zukumiki.
The service was modest, to say the least. Ten people, few speeches, and long silences; it was probably for the best, Ichika wasn’t sure she could maintain the composure required of a grieving daughter. In a strange way, however, it felt right, Rui had always maintained an understated authority in life and, now, did the same in death—cold comfort to the genin who felt one wayward word away from coming apart at the seams.
An hour later Ichika was alone once more.
Alone with her thoughts and Konohagakure’s fallen, the Uchiha’s facade fell away slowly at first, and then all at once. With hot tears, running make-up, and the cold earth beneath her, Ichika felt time nearly stop around her as reality spun out of existence until only two things remained in the world: her and the freshly hewn monument to her mother.
The headstone itself was modest. A single, stylized obelisk wrought from unblemished marble that looked like it might be more at home in one of the village’s many museums than its graveyard. Etched on in plain font, the list of the people Ichika counted as grandparents, great grandparents, and so on adorned the front of the monument beneath the well-worn Uchiha emblem.
Near the bottom of the ancestral tree, Rui’s name stood out for its unweathered, sharp edges. Running a trembling hand over the name and seeing it there, wrought in stone, provided some finality to the affair. There was, Ichika realized somewhere amidst the mess of emotions swimming about in her, no going back anymore. Somewhere, deep down, she knew that, much like how names etched in stone faded, time would blunt the feeling of loss, but the very thought seemed to make the current pain all the worse.
She didn’t want to forget.
The genin couldn’t be sure when exactly it happened, but the tears stopped coming and her sobs quieted to little more than stifled breaths. The long walk home amounted to little more than a blur. Yet, Ichika couldn’t quite shake the feeling that every passerby’s eyes were on her, watching, judging, and finding her wanting—real kunoichi didn’t cry. And, from this day forward, she resolved to be a real kunoichi no matter the cost.
Tomorrow would be better.
Exit.
TWC: 864
+8 Vigor
+ 864 words toward Shackling Stakes Technique
Pulling her hair back, the kunoichi looked up from the sink. Bloodshot eyes set in the porcelain mask of her face stared back at her in the mirror—a single, telling crack in a carefully constructed facade. Three days had slipped by since her mother's passing; yet, it felt like something closer to three weeks. Three weeks led up to this moment: her standing in an empty home, clad in a black kimono, biting back tears, and waiting for her nightmare’s fast-approaching nadir.
She let her hair fall back down to her shoulders.
No matter how she wore it something always felt off. A stray flyaway here, an uneven part there, and a missing pin or two; none of it was perfect on a day that had to be perfect or, at the very least, deserved to be perfect. Anything less was a disservice and a dishonor to the memory of her mother.
And yet, it all fell into some kind of farcical charade. After all, what did disservice and dishonor matter in the end? It was not as if the proper protocol or the perfectly formed bun could pierce the ethereal veil between the land of the living and dead. There was no turning back the clock on one’s mortality and no way to hear the voices of lost loved ones one more time. Was one more conversation or embrace too much to ask for?
“Ichika, dear, are you there?” The muted voice of a neighbor followed by the sharp, familiar sound of knuckles on the front door jolted the genin from her introspective spiral. “Ichika?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a moment,” she called back before pulling back her hair and not sparing the mirror another glance. “Just need to grab my shoes.”
The overcast sky above Konoha felt appropriate given the circumstances. However, life in the village went on as normal, as if nothing had changed at all. Escorted by her kindly neighbor, Ichika could not help the resentment that ate at her core seeing smiling merchants and carefree couples lining the streets. Perhaps, she reasoned silently, this was the world’s cruel attempt at mockery: a carefully choreographed juxtaposition of despair and joy in a strange attempt at cosmic balance.
Soon the urban sprawl of Konohagakure fell away. In its place, a jigsaw of monuments and memorials rose up. In the eternal resting place of the Leaf’s fallen heroes, the number of the dead far outweighed the living, especially this morning with the small gathering for the latest resident of the world beyond, Rui Zukumiki.
The service was modest, to say the least. Ten people, few speeches, and long silences; it was probably for the best, Ichika wasn’t sure she could maintain the composure required of a grieving daughter. In a strange way, however, it felt right, Rui had always maintained an understated authority in life and, now, did the same in death—cold comfort to the genin who felt one wayward word away from coming apart at the seams.
An hour later Ichika was alone once more.
Alone with her thoughts and Konohagakure’s fallen, the Uchiha’s facade fell away slowly at first, and then all at once. With hot tears, running make-up, and the cold earth beneath her, Ichika felt time nearly stop around her as reality spun out of existence until only two things remained in the world: her and the freshly hewn monument to her mother.
The headstone itself was modest. A single, stylized obelisk wrought from unblemished marble that looked like it might be more at home in one of the village’s many museums than its graveyard. Etched on in plain font, the list of the people Ichika counted as grandparents, great grandparents, and so on adorned the front of the monument beneath the well-worn Uchiha emblem.
Near the bottom of the ancestral tree, Rui’s name stood out for its unweathered, sharp edges. Running a trembling hand over the name and seeing it there, wrought in stone, provided some finality to the affair. There was, Ichika realized somewhere amidst the mess of emotions swimming about in her, no going back anymore. Somewhere, deep down, she knew that, much like how names etched in stone faded, time would blunt the feeling of loss, but the very thought seemed to make the current pain all the worse.
She didn’t want to forget.
The genin couldn’t be sure when exactly it happened, but the tears stopped coming and her sobs quieted to little more than stifled breaths. The long walk home amounted to little more than a blur. Yet, Ichika couldn’t quite shake the feeling that every passerby’s eyes were on her, watching, judging, and finding her wanting—real kunoichi didn’t cry. And, from this day forward, she resolved to be a real kunoichi no matter the cost.
Tomorrow would be better.
Exit.
TWC: 864
+8 Vigor
+ 864 words toward Shackling Stakes Technique
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