Tip Of The Flower (Naruto Fic)

prolouge

She had a lack of empathy.

She had felt for no one, felt only for herself. Did only for herself. She didnt do the things she did for anyone's approval. She didnt do it for her friends, didnt do it for her parents, not teachers, none of them. At all. Always for her. Never them. Never once and she wasn't hoping to change that.

She had a morbid fascination of the way humans thought. About their instincts or feelings and the way they would purposely choose to do a thing only for the sake of it. The way their feelings affected them, their reactions to certain things, the uniqueness of all their feedbacks. The way others went silent when they were angry, the different ways they would snap.

T̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶i̶r̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶s̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ ̶l̶o̶s̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶l̶i̶g̶h̶t̶.̶

Sometimes, (no, it wasnt sometimes) she would separate herself from the human group as if she wasnt human herself. She wasnt though-wasnt she? No, she wasnt like them. She was never. Not once. Not ever, no no no no no-

She both liked and hated shows.

She hated how the protagonist was so gullible and so naive. She always swore it would have been so easy to bring them to the dark side. Or snap.

She loved how they showed the black of the white. The shadow of the sun.

Loved how they showed humans in their barest essentials. Loved how they counteracted in certain situation, the way they would get pushed to their limits and finally snapped.

Hated the unrealistic determination and whiteness of the protagonist.

She loved Naruto. No not that one, she loved the realistic fanfics of it. The ones that showed the show for what it really was.

She loved how it was fascist-governed.

Others thought it wasnt realistic; she thought it was. Very much so.

Actually, it would have been unrealistic for a world with that much power to not be violent. I mean, come on! t̶h̶e̶y̶ we didnt even have that wishy-washy sparkle magic and look where it got t̶h̶e̶m̶ us! The first and second world war was probably worse than it was in that shinobi-ruled world.

Not that child soldiers arent as bad as nuclear bombs but you get the gist.

She'd later on, when she could finally think, settle that both were equally as bad in many different levels.

She didnt remember her death and she was fine with that. She was even more ok with the concept of childhood amnesia. She didnt want her first emotion to be shame in this new body thanks.

The reincarnation thing wasnt half-bad. The fact that she'd have to go back from scratch and grow again should have made her groan in despair but that wasnt where she was focused on.

No, that was on the slowly dripping crimson liquid as if it was taunting her- from the flat of her finger. The rose colored print continuing to spread on the wooden table bit by bit as she blankly stared. At her finger or the table she's not sure. She's not sure.

She can see the table and her hand clearly and yet doesnt see them.

The kunai was sharper than she thought. It only started as a curiosity at seeing something familiar. She'd thought someone had left it here or it was simply her father's childhood toy but when she looked closer, when she did look at it, something didnt add up.

It looked, well, real?

It looked shiny, it reflected light (that had been the reason why it caught her attention in the first place) and sharp.