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His father had just refreshed a lesson that he ought to honour. One should not let one’s guard down easily, and trust was something Itachi had yet to give to any other living creature. His own mind could be a minefield as well, but at least he knew himself a little better than the rest of them. The black woman’s words were correct; the dead corpse had once been his, but now it belonged to the cool earth, to worms and insects. The woman saw him now, and sunset eyes narrowed just slightly as she wanted to draw him into her web. Her smile would match his general emptiness, but the young male could not see this. But it bode him to retreat, for this creature before him was wicked and wrong, just like the corpse on the ground and just like him.
Wet red clung to the blade with its sticky shine still as the blade’s point turned and pointed at the woman dressed in black and dark maroon. Itachi’s concentration lingered with the hurried beat of his heart as he attempted to soothe the adrenaline rush with oxygen retrieved by relaxed, controlled breaths. Monsters lurked in the darkness, but they were not to be feared unless their eyes were on you. This woman saw him now, but she was but a mere wolf with the absence of visual reason on her face. Some souls fell deeper than others, and perhaps he could relate to her. But he knew nothing, and kept the stained sword between the two.
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