A Naruto OC Fanfiction Series.
𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗼 | a large fire that is dangerously out of control.
In the Shinobi world, it's the survival of the fittest.
The weak will die and the strong will survive. Clans can't be trusted, village elders corrupted...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It's a cold autumn's evening, and the streets are filled with men and women alike drunk in the spirit of whisky and excitement. Whispers and rumors run through the crowds like a stream first beginning its descent, and the fairy lights twinkle against the night sky.
There's a girl that's sitting alone in a corner, a rope trapping her at the neck and tied to the arms of a merchant who's currently chatting and drinking with his friends. A loud cheer and she struggles to breathe when the man raises his glass together with his comrades, and though the tears gather in her eyes, her expression is still devoid of emotion.
Her hair is long and knotted, most of the bangs hovering just over her dull gray eyes, and dirt is smudged against her dark skin. Along her neck and arms there are several dark purple bruises, and there's blood trickling down her legs. The dirt-stained dress she wears is a muddy blue color, though it could've once been a bright blue sunflower dress in its life. Now it's torn at the seams and ripped at every corner, spoiling its original beauty.
In her hands is clutched a pouch, a gold string attached. Her arms ache and if you squint in the right direction you could see the straight bruises that cover her skin, a temporary reminder of the girl's position in this town.
She is a criminal. A child but a criminal all the same, and though the official branding was tattooing these marks as a reminder to all, she was spared this judgment due to her age, only given beatings and an occasional whip every now and again.
She has no shoes, so her feet are bloodied and bruised at the soles from running in the hard gravel. The rope that's tied around her neck is loose, but if she tries to flee it'll tighten on its own, and she's not so keen on dying at this scumbag's hands tonight.
She hears the pitiful whispers of the people walking past. How she's lucky she's only five, that had she been any older her hands would be bound at the wrists and her feet tied to a bed posts, and she would be the equivalent of the prostitutes that live in certain red light districts, and she'd be nothing more than a husk of herself.
Ah, but they're wrong. So, so, very wrong, and she both envies and pities their ignorance. She has seen the world, how cruel it is to those of her kind, and she knows what it's like to be bound and gagged with no escape.
