Sakura had promised him stability, but she was the one who had changed the most. Gone was the high-pitched, innocent fangirl who frittered away her childhood on his behalf: in her place a hardened kunoichi capable of spilling blood. He watches from afar with nervous sharingan eyes as she traces patterns on their skin with kunai and opens her mouth as if to swallow the screams like rain.

She likes to play with her food, this one. She likes to let her hands drift to and squeeze places a young girl has no place touching. She makes promises, too; these he heard with his own ears.

"Come to hell with me, baby." Husky voice, dripping with blood. Breathy smile. And then, with a swift slice of her katana, she breaks them.

The promises, the men. . . She breaks them all.

"One day, darling, one day," she tells the mangled corpses, as if she has been intending to follow through with her invitation all along. And he laughs in the dark understanding that one of these days he's going to take her up on that offer.

(One of these days, she won't be strong enough to stop him.)