My second story, this time an alternate universe set in old Japan. I give a lot of credit to my friends, who have helped me with their support and helping me flesh out this idea so much. Here is the first chapter, though it is more of a prologue; later chapters will probably be longer.

ItaSaku, of course, and it is rated for later chapters. Please, review to let me know what you think; it fuels my motivation and inspiration.

The Forbidden Fruit

Prologue

Perfection: an unattainable yet utterly imperative concept in the Uchiha household.

Every servant had a purpose and a task at all times, and upon them, no hair was to be out of place, no uniform was to bear a single crease. Their workforce adhered to a strict timeframe and schedule—any diversion from the customary day, set down in stone by countless generations, resulted in punishment. For a typical servant, only one correction proved necessary.

Either the Uchiha chose swift learners, or they were merely relentless disciplinarians.

Or perhaps it was a combination of both; there was one thing for certain—the family did not tolerate anything short of perfection. Rightfully so.

The family stemmed from ancient roots, dating back many generations that entwined somewhere with the emperor himself; furthermore, their compound sat conveniently in the center of the Fire Country, a land sought after greatly by many neighboring Clans. Its location almost picturesque, oceans and small, weak divisions of the land flanked it on all sides. But, perhaps its best attribute laid within its climate, fair enough to support a constant temperature and wet enough to provide rain—the ideal conditions for rice.

After all, the Uchiha's fields were capable of producing nearly fifty-thousand bushels of rice annually with five-hundred-thousand koku to support it on, which, in combination with their blood lineage to the royal family, ranked the Clan as nearly the most powerful in Japan. The ruler, Uchiha Fugaku, maintained it all under his strict jurisdiction; he a war-hawk and work-centric man whose only goal in life was to preserve his power—and pass it to his eldest son when he came of age.

At twenty, the time drew nearer for him to take the role as head, and closer still for him to find a wife. It was all the more reason to build up the regime even further—there was, after all, that delicate balance of transition that could potentially leave them weak.

The Uchiha land was a well-oiled machine; Fugaku would not allow anything to interfere with that or the well-being of his son. Thus, he had sought help in managing the imminent disruption in the fragile equilibrium, and he had found it in a small farm village within the Uchiha han.

It was thus that young Haruno Sakura had found the family strived for utter perfection down the very least of their workers and down to even the very youngest of citizens. Sixteen was more daunting a number than she ever could have imagined; it was the year in her life when she had finished her rigorous training, and in this year that she would be sentenced to her fate.

The red silk upon her shoulders had never felt so heavy, and she squeezed her bright eyes shut when her long, pink hair was tugged with a force that jerked her head back.

"A perfect handmaiden you will make," a brown-eyed woman, her aunt, chastised with a soft tone only faintly acrid behind her smooth voice. "Your master will be displeased if you make such expressions."

Sakura had grown accustomed to the caustic ways of her family; her aunt, who stood behind her now with an ivory comb, was the prime example of a Haruno specimen. She was plain and clearly of Asian descent—unlike Sakura's mixed European blood—with a sharp wit that was concealed when in higher company. And now, though she had known Sakura since she was but a child, her scolding was sharp and firm, for only the slightest touches of fear glimmered behind the ochre eyes.

Her niece was to be handed over to a man who held more power in the palm of his hand that was imaginable. Punishments in the family were often brutal, and while her master had been spoken positively of, there were always the noblemen who were not quite as ethical as they let on. She could only hope, with a fierce fervency, that young Uchiha Itachi was not the unethical type who would find pleasure in harming Sakura's soft, young body…

A slow sigh passed Haruno Akane's lips. Her niece was such an intelligent girl, but her temper would surely land her in trouble that no one in their family could protect her from. "You cannot complain so when something is not to your liking."

As if to demonstrate, she gripped the tips of her hair in her palm, and yanked the comb through them to rid the lustrous rivulet of all tangles or catches. Sakura bit the inside of her lip but reacted not otherwise. "I know."

The teenager had already been forewarned of what was to come and generally what was to be expected of her. She had steeled herself for every possibility, mental and physical, and had begun to formulate reactions and stress-relieving tactics in her mind—which was supposed to be a source of envy, with an intellect transcending over half of the Uchiha. It would be difficult, but it was what she had been chosen to do; she would not abandon her duty, for it was all she could be given.

The somber thought kept her body rigidly still and her face composed in an expertly feigned state of serenity. Akane continued to run the pronged comb through her long locks until they fell straight and glossy down her back. Admiring the peculiarity of her hair color, the woman intrepidly gathered them into a mass atop her head and pulled it tightly back and away from her forehead. The styles the servants wore were meant to be simple and plain, for drawing attention and instilling jealousy in the noblewomen was forbidden.

For Sakura, though, Akane thought with a pensive glint in her brown eyes, it would take more than a presentable but uncomely hairstyle to detract from her exotic beauty. Even in other nations, pink was an impossible hue; it was common belief at times that the girl was a demon. Her unusual appearance and enchanting green eyes gravitated the eye, but what more, her movements when dancing had bewitched many a man who had witnessed it.

But, the woman knew better of the sweet child; she was merely misunderstood in a world where a woman having an opinion was blasphemous to the male-dominated world.

Another pensive sigh escaped her parted lips, and she twisted the silken locks into a bun, pinning it to the top of her crown with a deftly and meticulously placed ornament. Her fingers smoothed over the bound hair, noting with quiet pleasure that not a single strand fell astray. Just as the family liked it, her hair amassed into a single bun atop her head and her skin was fair and free of any blemish or impurity. Finally, the layers of silk draped over her small, svelte body and tumbled down to her ankles—she was enveloped in soft material, concealing her entirely from any wandering eyes. And though the woman had done her job of preparing her for her master, she felt as if no amount of work could uneven the ground between the beauty of her and the Uchiha woman.

Sakura could feel her knees beginning to ache beneath the weight of her body, while the skin was lightly pressed upon from the grained tatami mat that lined the entire room. She could feel the eyes of her elder upon her, and she could not help but to feel pinpricks of discomfort slide down her spine at how very obtrusive she felt in this home. Colors of brown, white, tan, and black traversed over walls and floors, while she, but a servant, knelt obediently as a sudden breath of life against the ground. Vivid colors arranged themselves atop her head, and she was swathed in the glossy softness of red silk atop her pale yukata.

And despite how she appeared, with her hair intricately wound to reveal the long column of her neck down to the lithe form concealed by her robes and dresses, she had never felt beautiful. She was a supposed demon, and she was of the lower class; unattractive and undesired was all she had ever known and would know in this world of rich and lovely people. She was just a small decoration to stand beside her master, rumored to be the most beautiful of them all.

A moue took precedence over her lips, unseen to the woman who still stood beside her, finishing her work by twisting a few strands of hair about her fingers before the final touch was added. A lovely clip, adorned in dangling chains and ornaments, was a treat and a gift, and it was fastened to the back of her head, beside the twist of her hair. Once it was arranged, the woman let out an appreciative sound and stood, her arms folding.

"It is finished," Akane declared, examining her handiwork with a scrutinizing eye. Finally, she allowed her a single compliment. "It looks lovely."

But with her hair pulled back so tight that it hurt her scalp and that her eyebrows were raised slightly to accommodate it, it was quite difficult to feel anything more than ridiculous and melded to conformity. Her free heart and spirit smoldered, subdued but not dead, behind controlled green eyes in a flash of emotion that was utter detestation for her situation. Yet, she could say nothing, could not even loosen the arrangement enough so that she could keep at least a few more strands on her head at the end of the day.

Instead, she kept her countenance blank. "Thank you."

Akane, her posture straight and stiff, seemed to soften her eyes for a brief moment to rest her eyes upon the girl. As she parted her lips to say something, a sudden sound caused both women to start slightly. Every muscle went tense within the girl, but the elder woman composed herself quickly enough to turn towards the source of the sound. A rapping upon the rice paper door of the room had heralded someone's arrival, and before waiting for an answer, the door opened.

The wood framing that surrounded the delicate paper slid along the threshold in a sibilant slide of wood upon wood. The ajar frame allowed another woman, the sister of Sakura's current attendant, to peer through to examine the two.

"There isn't much time left," Haruno Mitsuko stated curtly, her eyes studying Sakura while she turned her head enough to reveal the smooth line of her profile. "Your father wishes to speak to you before you go to meet him."

Uneasiness surged through Sakura in a forceful wave through her blood. The low hiss of the word was somehow sinister, if not perhaps only eerie. Uchiha Itachi… Her lord, her master. The fire within her kindled within, setting the nervousness in her ablaze with a subdued and unexpressed defiance. The notion of any man being her master was one she abhorred with every fiber of her being, but it was something that could not be changed. She had never even seen the man before; she had merely heard nothing but praise spoken of him.

The cherished son of the family, he was; it hardly seemed fair, though, that because of that fact, she was unable to even see him before she would be given to him … for as long as she proved useful. Her heart fluttered lightly while she took in a shallow breath to steady her now-soaring vitals.

A stiff nod conveyed her readiness, and she twisted her body enough to face the door, her head bowed. The woman beside her rested a hand upon her shoulder, her fingertips brushing along the skin beneath the layers of her clothing. It was a soothing gesture, and while Sakura was silently appreciative, she was too numb to truly register the contact.

"Good luck, Sakura," she murmured softly, a final tenderness between relatives. "You will do well."

The girl nodded forlornly as Akane brushed past her, her bare feet soft upon the ground until she slid out of the room and into the hallway with her sister. There was a moment of suspended silence where the air felt too thick to breathe and her heart stuttered along at an agonizingly slow pace. However, another figure appeared in the doorway, whose figure cast a shadow upon the ground, which was illuminated with a mosaic of light by the sunlight filtering in through the window.

The man stepped in through the door, his feet slow and heavy upon the ground, as if the weight on his shoulder forced his mass the press more upon the ground he tread on. His face, wizened with age and his eyes tired from all that he had seen in his life and all that he had learned, was kind and gentle as he gazed upon his daughter. As the doctor for both families, he had shirked his professional medical air and replaced it with a paternal compassion that could not last. Father and daughter regarded each other for a long few moments in a heated exchange that stemmed from the knowledge it would be an indiscernible amount of time before they saw each other once more.

His child was strikingly beautiful, he noted with a grim tightening of his jaw, but the unusual features scorned in today's prejudice, despite her lure, she was not a suitable wife. Possessiveness and protectiveness welled within him until he felt his heart would burst from the intense love for his daughter. His only child, the only reminder of her late mother and his wife. Haruno Tamaki would do anything to keep her, but now, her master was the only thing he could give her; perhaps, then, someone would desire her for a spouse…

At last, he leaned forward enough to press a kiss to her forehead. Then, his large hand shifted to cradle her face in a last show of affection. "You journey and trials begin here," he began slowly, quietly, his eyes tired but never breaking form hers. "You are to rise early and sleep only when he has no need for you."

"I know, father," Sakura replied soberly, her eyes swelling with her pain now that she was vulnerable before the man who had raised her…

"You are to do whatever he asks, however he asks. You have one and only one master, and his needs come before yours," he continued, the words bitter upon his tongue. "Remember what you have been taught; do not displease him."

Green met green in another intense stare, and she swallowed hard so that her larynx slid back into her throat painfully. "I will do whatever I have to."

The two relapsed into a silence that was not quite uncomfortable but still heavier than anything she had carried in her life. The air was palpable upon her skin, and she took in a tremulous breath. For a life together of sixteen years, how could everything they wanted to say and could have said be condensed into a time that was only no more than a few minutes? The pain was immense and the weight of goodbye too much for the young girl to bear.

She would have to leave him—the one thing he held dear and precious to his heart. When he looked into his eyes, she knew very well that he saw her mother reflected within those clear, vivid depths. Her mother thrived within her, from her mannerisms to her appearance, down to the fire within her… The role of her mother had been filled, but never satisfied; she pined to know the love of a mother, but could only settle with the fact the woman lived within her heart.

Finally, Tamaki drew in a breath so deep, his shoulders rose in tandem with his chest. Thinking he had finished, Sakura slowly began to rise, but a look from the man caused her to kneel once more. "One more thing," he whispered quietly, seriously, with a darkening look in her eyes that knotted her stomach tightly and caused her heart to sink low into her chest.

"You have a fire within you—passionate and very dangerous," Tamaki stated lowly. "I advise you hide your opinions, but be aware of your surroundings despite the focus on one man. However, as a father, I beg you…"

The two locked eyes, and Sakura felt the breath go stale in her lungs, and it caught in her throat painfully.

"Never let them extinguish that flame. You have such potential, my love," he finished, defeated but fiercely desperate to convey that final message to her while he stroked her cheek. "I am sorry this is all that I can give you."

Sakura shook her head lightly, mindful not to disturb her hairstyle. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she suppressed the burning at the backs of them. "No, father," she murmured gently. "I have been given more than most women. I will not forget who I am, and I will do the best with what you have given me."

She could stand the silence no more, and they both seemed to have a similar idea. She rose off her knees, outstretching her arms, and her fathered folded her close to him and held her. It was a rare show of affection, but it was their last few moments together. The embrace was poignant and for once, Sakura felt as if she never wanted to end, she never wished to leave the comfort of her father's side. But time would not stand still—not for any man.

They parted and looked at each other for one final time. Neither said anything, but their similar, sad eyes spoke volumes that their lips would not form.

Sakura rose to her feet, subserviently lowered her head, and slid out of the room, out of her father's home, and into the strange, new life as the servant to the great Uchiha Itachi.