Complete summary:

I was used to the feeling of being someone I wasn't before. I had had many names. I had pondered extensively over the glitch in my brain that made me remember all of my lifetimes and had given up worrying about it as much as I had been reborn. My tenth life started with sand, a marriage contract and legally-accepted assassins. I was used to adapting quickly, overcoming the odds and simply ignoring the worse outcomes. Still. It almost made me miss my other bitter endings. Almost.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto or any of its characters. I do own Chiyuki, though.

Warning: some dark themes, somber thoughts, (somewhat) big age difference in the main pairing, prodigy SI-OC, occasional fluff, cliché ideas (I think), not exactly cannon so... AU, I guess. If any of that bothers you, I suggest going away.

Rating may go up, you've been warned!

Author's note:

Hello, people!

For those who read my other SI-OC story, All Things Are Difficult Before They Are Easy, here is the other one I promised in chapter X (or XI, don't remember anymore). Anyway, this story will probably be less updated and with shorter chapters.

(Don't take my words at face value, though. Most of the time, I just end up doing what I want and just warn you guys about any changes.)

For those who are new around here, hiya! I hope you enjoy my way of writing and don't mind my grammatical errors or typos too much. That said, I'm not getting a beta, because that's just too much work. Seriously.

Anyway. Enjoy the chapter!

(There will be a brief explanation about each lifetime at the end of the chapter - don't get so desperate, guys!)

(Beware of the Mother of Linebreaks.)

Until Forever Quietly Slipped Away

By Amaryllis D. Namikaze

Chapter 1:

Prologue

"Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, but rather transformed from one form to another."

- Law of Conservation of Energy

My first life was also my longest one.

Despite its memories being much further than any other is, it came very easily to my mind even now. I swear I still remember with glaring clarity the smell of burnt flesh and the cries of joy while furious flames engulfed my body.

History books state that Portugal was one of the strictest countries during the Inquisition. They do not tell you, however, what it feels like to be hunted by your own neighbors and to be accused of witchcraft – which, by the way, was an absurd in itself.

I was a Portuguese girl in my first life. Apparently, I was also a witch.

Really, twenty-three years will never be a long enough lifetime.

My second life started much, much later. It began in Africa and ended in Brazil.

Even though I lived fifteen years of it, I cannot tell you for sure what I remember. It took me so long to be reborn and I was so overwhelmed by my previous life's memories that, sometimes, I forgot who I was.

I can remember the sun on my face and, for some reason, my brother's tears as we were taken to a ship. I can remember pain and hunger and the smell of fresh bananas. There were colorful birds.

Much too soon, I died. Beaten to death – punishment, they called it. I wonder.

My third life was surprisingly acceptable. It came faster than the second did, though it ended faster than the first one. I was also a boy, though my body adapted quite quickly.

The United States were colder than Brazil, which took me awhile to get used to. Snowflakes and animal furs were my newest views instead of fresh fruits and singing birds. I had no mother this time around, but my father and my brothers – all five of them – were very present during my sixteen years of life.

I ate more than I ever had and laughed more than I thought I could.

Still, being accidentally shot during a deer hunt was a pathetic way to die.

My fourth life did not hit double digits, which was a new level for me. I was a girl once again and my past lives' memories were becoming fuzzier and fuzzier each passing day. More often than not, I wondered if my brain was overworking. I wondered if there was something wrong with it in the first place.

I was born two years before the First World War and was French.

In a way, it came as no surprise when I discovered that I would never meet my soldier father. My mother – Mariette, a name that I could remember for one reason or another – loved me very much. When she perished in 1916, my aunt took great care of me.

Spanish influenza managed to take me down even better than the whip of my second life's master. It hurt a lot less, though.

My fifth life was full of cherry blossoms.

I had no mother or father this time, but my much older cousin – bless his soul – brought me up better than anyone could have. He was a Japanese writer and so we spent most of our days outside our little home, watching people walk past and telling silly jokes to each other.

This life gave me my clearest memories, for which I was grateful. I appreciated the smell of flowers in April and the sweet, sweet taste of dango during lazy afternoons.

I died when I was thirteen years old. It was fast. It also took me being reborn again to discover that the Americans decided to drop a bomb in Hiroshima, my former self's city.

My sixth life was one of the poorest ones.

I was constantly hungry and afraid. Unlike my previous life, I could not differentiate between all my former memories very well. I had family, my mind could remember that much, but I think they probably thought I was an invalid or simply a retard. I didn't react much.

Sometimes, during my sixth life, I could not remember my actual name. I was sure that it was Maria, but it could also be Harold. During rainy days, I swear it was Neema, but sick days brought Renée to the forefront of my mind. While American soldiers in the Vietnam War were holding me captive, I was certain it was Aiko.

I died as Tien.

My seventh life was my shortest one.

There was an economic broken Russia, many snowflakes and no food in sight. I was a boy once again, though it did not seem to matter very much. It felt as if my limbs were going to fall off any time anyway.

It took only a couple of years after my birth for me to die. Sometimes, I ponder if I would have wanted to live longer, but a frequently empty stomach did not sound appealing at all.

My eight life was longer by a year.

There was a plane and two big buildings.

After decades, I was an American citizen once again. My name was somewhere between the lines of Tina and Diana, but I never lived long enough to care or remember. I do recall my mother's cries, though.

I was playing with my Barbie dolls when the passengers started shouting and praying. I was Catholic too in this life, I am sure, but I could not – for the death of me – remember the right words.

It felt weird to die by terrorist hands. Kind of like a horror movie.

A bad one.

My ninth life was my most normal one. There were no writer cousins or hunting fathers. Not even stakes.

England was rainy. I missed the cherry blossoms and, in a much nostalgic way, the colorful sights of Brazil. Everything seemed further away in cloudy London.

For the first time, I had a television in my room. For the first time, I had a computer. Period. I had time to do what I pleased without having to worry about hunger or death, which hadn't happened ever since Aiko. I experimented a lot and discovered that ballet and singing weren't for me, though gymnastics and karate were.

My father was an engineer and my mother was a Math teacher. The former died when I was nine. The later caused my death.

When I was eleven, Mother sold me in exchange of drugs. Had I been a new soul, I would have probably felt betrayed. Being as old as I was inside, however, made me somewhat numb to feelings like pain or disappointment.

The numbness made it easier to accept the buyer's hands touching my body in such an indecent way. It also made it easier to welcome the darkness that followed.

My tenth life started with me so weak and so small that I spent the first couple of months thinking I was little French Renée once again, trying to gather all the oxygen I could in my lungs to no avail. There were blurs and hands and voices, but I did not register them at all.

A few weeks after being born, the creepiest feeling started to bleed inside myself and I thought that War had come once again and I was hungryhungryhungry and someone was going to killmekillmekillme and maybe being war-scarred Vietnamese Tien once again wasn't worth it. Voices tried to talk me out of my desperation, but I kept crying all the time - I felt as if they gave up trying to make me calm after awhile.

Days became months and when I finally began to feel as if I could breathe better and perhaps not die from this feeling flowing inside me like a river, one year had gone by.

My clear conscience came to me abruptly, but I didn't startle at the sensation - having lived many times over, this feeling wasn't uncommon. I had learnt that some bodies took more time to get used to and some were just right. This one felt weak - like sick Renée, dying Tien or even always-hungry Mikhail - but it was different, which assured me that I was going to live instead of dying. It felt as if life was being breathed into me slowly.

I discovered, through my never-ending cries, this body could turn its - my - head and move its fingers. There were tiny teeth and tiny fingers and everything about it was tiny.

My days were spent inside a beige room, not overly big, but aired enough not to feel suffocating. There was a red chair and a gray crib and I wondered where the hell this place could be, because I swear I saw a sandstorm through my locked window once. There was also a woman whose voice I associated with honey and whose arms I linked with 'Mother', being quite content to live it as such. She was pretty, with porcelain skin, pin-straight dark hair and cat-like black eyes, but nothing compared to her smooth voice that melted even the sturdiest iron.

I was unsure of my age when a man finally entered my room with Mother. He looked nothing like her, with his tan skin, rough chin, dark green eyes and auburn hair cut short. His arms and shoulders were as intimidating as his expression whereas Mother had always been only soft and petite.

He approached me cautiously. I pondered why such a broad man was afraid of a mere baby. His dark green eyes assessed me and I blinked up at him, unfailingly curious.

"She's so..." he paused, unsure. "Aware of her surroundings, I guess."

Mother nodded, a hint of a proud smile on her face, "She's been like this for a few weeks now. The doctor says that it's because her hypersensitive chakra ability is receding."

Chakra? I puzzled over the word. It felt familiar, but my past lives' memories were still sorting themselves. Sweet Japanese Aiko was at the forefront of my mind, faithfully translating the clipped words spoken.

The man stopped looking at me for a moment to glance at Mother.

"She'll be capable of tapping it without hurting herself, then?"

Mother touched my head briefly. Warmth seeped through the very tips of her fingers and I relished in it, even though this land was hotter than even Brazil.

"Ichiko-sensei was worried that Chiyuki-chan wouldn't manage to live to her threes because of this sensitivity. I'm only glad she will."

The man waved his hand in agreement, "Me too."

There was a moment of silence before he opened his mouth once again, this time sounding slightly ashamed and defeated.

"You worried me," and it seemed hard to admit - for him. "When you went into labor three months earlier than you were supposed to, you worried me. I thought you were going to... like Karura..."

Mother put a small hand on his biceps and twisted her lips upwards.

"Karura was a strong woman, but not even she could have survived the sealing of such a strong beast."

The man lowered his head, "It's my faul-"

"Shh," Mother made. "Sometimes, Rasa, it's best to ignore some things and move on. There are times when you can't do a thing at all and there's no sense in agonizing over it."

He sighed, "You're right."

Mother laughed and it sounded like chiming bells. I noticed that despite her light laugh, she didn't say you're not guilty or it's not your fault. I wonder if the man noticed it too. He probably did.

"I always am," she said. "I'm glad to be here with you. And I'm glad Chiyuki will be able to live a long life along with her brothers and sister."

The man - Rasa - nodded.

"Temari has been asking me about her little sister for weeks now - says she's anxious to have a girl friend. Kankurō just follows his big sister everywhere and Gaara... well..."

There was a pregnant silence before Mother said, "Gaara is two and dealing with such a big problem. We'll help him overcome it. Perhaps having a younger kid around him will help."

Rasa looked away for a moment, "Chiyuki is like him, though - a premature child. But while he has the One-Tailed Beast within his being, she has nothing but a fragile body with chakra hypersensitivity. I worry about it."

Mother turned her eyes down. I blinked up at them whilst their silence fulfilled the room. I had thought, when both entered through the door, that they were as different as night and day - Mother with light coloring and darkest hair and Rasa with his honeyed skin and burnt hair color. However, observing both of them looking at each other like I wasn't there at all, I realized they simply fit.

I wondered if this man was my Father. He sounded like a good man, worrying about his children and everything. I knew better than to hope for it though. Hope was something I couldn't seem to have after so many deaths and rebirths.

"When I first came here I was panicking. I was single, a childless woman and you not only had a an ex-wife but also three children. I thought many things were going to go wrong and I was going to be sent back to my home and everyone would blame me for my failure," she admitted.

I wondered for a brief moment about what she was talking about. Wasn't here Mother's home? A childish feeling of fear of abandonment crushed my heart. Was she leaving? I had lived many lifetimes without mothers, but it's not the kind of thing you get used to. It's something you always earn for.

"And then I came here, met you and everything just... fell into place, you know? I felt silly for spending weeks pondering over the future and preoccupying my mind with nothing but speculations."

Rasa turned his lips upwards, lifting his tanned hand toward her porcelain cheek and the contrast was burning.

"One of my favorite things about you is your way with words," he murmured against her temple, as if telling a secret.

Mother laughed, chiming bells filling the room once again, and I felt as if I intruded on a very particular moment.

They talked some more beside my crib, seemingly at peace in each other's presence and sometimes putting their hands over my small head fluffy with hair. I was strangely calm just lying down there and observing both of them. It had been awhile since I felt this serene. It reminded me of my best moments - when Harold still was Harold and had five brothers, when Renée was still healthy and could play with dolls, when Aiko stopped running around the yard enough time to listen to poetry, when life was good and I was alive.

Sometimes, it felt hard to feel really alive. My many lifetimes ended in ways that had not let me live to my fullest, had never let me achieve my dreams, and I'd gotten used to not laughing at times or to feeling abstract while everyone around me was concrete.

But I was breathing once again. Despite all odds, I could feel the constant thumping of my heart and the smell of freesias and the sensation of sand clinging to my skin and it was just right.

I had forgotten how it felt to be reborn once again.

First life – Maria:

Burnt at the stake after being accused of witchcraft

Lived until twenty-three years old

Was a girl

Portugal, Europe

1550-1573

Second life – Neema:

Was a slave brought from Africa to Brazil

Died a few years later due to a heavy beating

Lived until fifteen years old

Was a girl

Brazil, South America

1784-1799

Third life – Harold:

Accidentally shot during deer hunt with his American father

Lived until sixteen years old

Was a boy

To this day, can't think of harming a deer

United States, North America

1854-1870

Fourth life – Renée:

Died from Spanish Influenza

Lived until seven years old

Was a girl

France, Europe

1912-1919

Fifth life – Aiko:

Was a Japanese in Hiroshima during the bomb in II World War

Lived until thirteen years old

Was a girl

Hiroshima, Japan, Asia

1932-1945

Sixth life – Tien:

Was in Vietnam during war against USA

Lived until nine years old

Was a girl

Vietnam, Asia

1960-1969

Seventh life – Mikhail:

Died from starvation and hypothermia in an economic broken Russia

Lived until two years old

Was a boy

Russia, Asia

1991-1993

Eight life – Dinah

Was on the plane that hit World Trade Center during terrorist attack

Lived until three years old

Was a girl

United States, North America

1998-2001

Ninth life – Fay:

Was sold in exchange of drugs by her own mother

Lived until eleven years old

Was a girl

England, Europe

2003-2014

Tenth life – Chiyuki:

("Chi" - blood/"Yuki" - snow)