𝐎𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧

she wove golden

  
  Sweet little Tenten was very old when she died, and so very alone. A sickness wracked her body, sending her thin frame trembling every time a bout of coughs passed. Nurses bustled around her, their white robes frantically swaying in their haste as the machines around her screamed.

She knew she was dying in that moment, even before the people started telling her that everything would be just fine, her lungs were just collapsing on themselves.

The room was white.

Tenten didn't bother to plead for them to save her, to let her rot away in this world a little bit longer like she deserved. Besides, her throat wouldn't work anyways. She was choking. Another machine shrieked.

The lights were white.

She hated the color white. It was too pure and blinding. It hid an evil that knew no comforting embrace. she knew it from experience, harsh and cold.

The yells for assistance faded away into gentle whispers. White was finally replaced by the gentle red of a sunset, blood dribbling down her wrinkled and faded skin.

The Oriental looked down at her, it's jaws opening and spewing fire that licked at her insides. Tenten stared at the Great Dragon with half-lidded eyes, wondering why only now it would come to her, when she was already done. She was at the end of her life, having nothing and no one.

A whisper reached her ears, and when Tenten finally closed her eyes for the last time, a bitter smile was left on her face. The Great Dragon snaked it's long body around her and pressed a searing kiss against her cheek, before vanishing in a flash of orange and yellow.

She wasn't buried. Her body was burned and her ashes were placed in a freshly made box. Her legacy was to be put upon a shelf for nobody to remember and mourn, because she let her sadness overtake her for all those years.

Words whispered in the air, hanging ominously against time.

You will rise again.

When Tenten woke up, it was in a frail body too small for her mind. She didn't kick or scream, finding the energy too taxing on herself. Instead, her little pink mouth yawned and the sounds of soft cooing made her fall asleep. She was warm, and something that snaked across her spine told her that she was safe.

Tenten had no particular thoughts about death. She never really had a family to fill her with their beliefs, and take on their culture. Yes, she said culture because she knew she was different. From the way she dressed, to even the way she looked. She was just a little different from other people.

When she woke up again, it was dark and she couldn't move. Or, she could move but not in the way she wanted to. Her limbs had a mind of their own. They flew every which direction, and even accidentally punched herself in the face.

Pain mixed in with confused and fear, causing her to cry out, finally letting her powerful vocal chords rip. But her voice was too high-pitched, too wail-ish like a newborn babies would be.

Footsteps suddenly sounded around the corner and a door swung open. A light turned on. Tenten was looking at the ceiling, and something hanging above her.

Soft murmuring were all she could hear. Hands picked up her small body and rocked her back and forth. Against her will, Tenten quieted. Though her mind shouted at her panic to do something, her eyes closed once more.

  She was placed back down and the shapes above her finally made sense. Her eyes were hazy, but she could see them.

A flying Oriental.

Red blossoms.

Sheathed swords.

The mobile gently spun in circles, twisting and twirling around baby Tenten until she fell into slumber once more.

She dreamed of her friends that had all passed before her, through fighting wars, fighting for their village — an honest shinobi death — and even through childbirth. They left while still young and sprite, leaving behind their Will of Fire. Tenten somehow managed to outlive them all, retiring early and letting others fight her battles. Her own fire burnt out long ago, leaving only a suffocating ash and smoke.

    It was that third time that she woke up that Tenten finally realized what had happened.

She opened her eyes to sunlight streaming in through a stained glass window. The lights were red and gold, caressing against her skin. Her hands, chubby little hands, attempted to grasp at them, and her expression turned to one of confusion when she failed to capture the tiny specks of light.

She held her hands out again, shaking and straining. Her hands weren't supposed to be stubby. They were long and worn, covered in scars and and burns. These hands were pale, so soft, compared to her own.

But she moved them again, the soft limbs that weren't her own following in ungraceful movements. She did it again and again until she grew tired. Those were her hands, she finally realized.

She tried to cry out, why, but all that came out was a gurgle. She was a child. A baby. A newborn infant. Not Tenten, not her old body that was supposed to die. She should have disappeared forever in a peaceful sleep. But somehow, for some reason, she was here again.

  Another morning. Another life.

  A door opened and familiar footsteps followed, distracting her. A face suddenly popped up in front of her vision. A beautiful woman, with large brown eyes and hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head. She smiled, and started speaking to her, but Tenten couldn't hear words. Just sounds of comfort and safety.

  She was picked up and held against a soft chest. The woman hummed, sending vibrations through Tenten's small body. She couldn't help but smile, because the tune was so familiar.

    A man walked into the room next, tall and kind. His black hair was loose on his shoulders and a long sword hung against his side.

  Some words were exchanged by the man and woman, before the man seemed to sigh in defeat and unclipped the weapon, letting it lay against the wall. And when he was finished, Tenten was passed into his awaiting arms.

  The two looked down at her, smiling and so very in love.
   
  And belatedly, Tenten somehow realized that she was looking into the faces of the parents she had never met. Her little heart began to pound and she reached up her little hands, grasping. She gurgled, trying to speak to them and tell them how much she missed and loved them.

  She had a family. A home.
 
 

  The Oriental wrapped itself over her chest, and smiled, sharp teeth gleaming.