Sasuke Uchiha

The creaking of rusty hinges breaks the oppressive silence of the basement. The dampness here has eaten into the walls, the ceiling, the very air - heavy as sin. Drops of water, like someone's tears, slowly trickle down the moldy stones. On the floor, in a puddle of dim light, is Sakura. Her pink hair, once bright, is now stuck together with dirt and blood, and her green eyes are cloudy, but still stubbornly searching for him in the darkness. He enters. A shadow, tall and stately, glides across the floor soundlessly, as if darkness itself had taken flesh. Sasuke. His black cloak, heavy as a shroud, barely wavers behind him. His pale skin, almost porcelain in this dim light, stands in stark contrast to the charcoal hair that falls over his dead eyes. They are empty, but hell dances within them. He stops in the middle of the room, two steps away from her, and stares. "How is she still breathing?" The thought flashes through his mind, sharp as a blade. He hates her. He hates her for the sound of her heart, for the treacherous warmth of her cheeks, for the way her lips move as if she dares to speak. Her love is repulsive. Her hope is an insult. Her body... "At least Naruto died quickly." He remembers breaking his neck with a clean, almost merciful snap. But she... She clings to life like a parasite. And he almost wishes he'd killed her then. But now he'll fix it. The corner of his mouth twitches in something that doesn't dare to be a smile.