Lucretia 'Cree' Kamyuja
Mar 13, 2021 23:54:03 GMT -7
Post by Queen of Kamyuja on Mar 13, 2021 23:54:03 GMT -7
Lucretia 'Cree' Kamyuja
。 identity
。 gender
。 her apparent age
。 her bloodline
Kekkei Genkai: Kamyuja - Chaos.
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。 her height
。 her weight
。 her alignment
。 her birth country
。 her village
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When Cree was conceived, she took after the same qualities her precursors had.
Kamyuja's body type and orientation are far different than most girls seen around her age. Cree's body is sculpted muscle yet does not look unattractively so. Her body looks lean and young. However, she does appear to be a bit more fragile-looking than most kunoichi's. Petite, with a refined chest and particular clothing style of a black, free-flowing two-piece with gold attachments. Her battle attire is similar, but instead of a long flowing gown, the skirt is extremely short, which barely covers much. However, if she were to perform the splits or flips, she wouldn’t flash any unexpecting viewer.
Her skin is very smooth and silky but has a tan in colour. Frickles lightly dot her nose and her eyes are a deep colour of green. Her features: Innocent looking, yet slightly sharp depending on her mood. Her hair is a dark black that travels all the way down and past her lower back, and most of the time she has it tied back in a plat. Her hair is continuously held together with hair ornaments to keep the strands in place more attractively so.
Her lips are pink, and her teeth are naturally straight and pearl white in colour. Of course, she was taught to not smile, but then that had never been an issue. The Kamyuja is constantly barefooted and at the current moment, she posses not battle scars.
Identity
Cree’s identity is a confounded one. Condemned with multiple mental disorders and one personality disorder, she is exceptionally temperamental and to some degree strange.
As a child, Cree was a blameless girl who wanted to be adored. But questioned whether she was or not.
At this age, she was ignorant of everything happening around her and only cared about herself and her loved ones. She didn't take the initiative to know the events unfolding around her and because of this, she was struck by the hard truth, and how oblivious she had been of her kekkei genkai obligations when she was chased out from her home, after the death of her loved ones.
With the intense pain and hatred caused by her family's death, the chaos inside her was awakened. But not only did she discover the negative emotion of rage and hatred, however it was that horrendous night that she spawned her second identity 'Lucretia' to manage the torment and the misfortune...
Mental Disorders:
Dissociative personality disorder.
Social anxiety disorder
Post-traumatic stress disorder. - amnesia.
Atelophobia.
Personality trigger:
High levels of stress and annoyance.
Cree - Main persona:
Cree, for the most part, acts in a very aristocratic, conceited and fastidious manner, even though she is the most dormant and courageous person around. At a youthful age, she experienced mental accustom and training to further hide her true nature and to appear as another person. But before she experienced the change she was a cheerful youngster loaded with emotions, particularly love, trust and understanding. She would be documented down as a customary child with ordinary, healthy moods. Yet, on the other hand, death can change a character. And similar to a switch, she can become a mask. She was on the brink of destroying every last bit of her feelings when she realised that if she did so she would become empty. So deep down she still has some emotion left within her. However when the call for action is required, she can lay down every last bit of her reliability to whoever orders her, and in this way making it easier for her to achieve dangerous, abhorrent, or unethical missions. After the death of her family, she grew up into an existence of isolation, for the most part avoiding other individuals, however, if she was ever confronted by anyone, she ordinarily minds her own business, if she could. However, by the harm caused by her psychological and emotional training, she had turned out to be fairly antisocial and to some degree awkward. And hereby her second mental disorder is discovered: Social anxiety disorder. Cree is a hard young lady to comprehend and is pretty much as difficult to anticipate in various circumstances for she, as a rule, runs with the more equivocal course rather than the less demanding one. Also, attempting to go anyplace near her as far as an association is unthinkable and might prove challenging.
Taking a more philosophical perspective on life, she realized that things had already been planned out for her. What's more, not just that her schooling within the academy had taught her everything within the arts of becoming a shinobi, that included a strong mind, body and soul, where her personality states above, ‘but that one, two or maybe a whole group of people, when together, form a sort of bond that will lead to predestined results, that your fate is determined not by those who are superior, but by others, your friends, your rivals, whoever you may find yourself speaking with. You must choose your words carefully, your friends with care, your enemies with caution, for you may never know who may or may not be the death of you.’ It's essentially the way she thinks. There is no chance to get of halting her convictions, for she does what she sees fit. That is, this is the mask she endures. In reality, her identity is radically diverse around those she is agreeable or reliable with. She is a troublesome lady to understand.
She is simply very headstrong and stubborn, even to a fault, refusing to walk away during suspicious activity or until the task at hand is completed. She is also fiercely independent. This sometimes reaches a point where she ignores even life-threatening injuries, such as falling unconscious from blood loss or not eating when her body screams for substance. Her attitude also stems from her years as a survivor and she has at least once called herself "a loyal soldier of the Kamyuja clan". Despite her split personality, Cree has shown a degree of morality; she takes a degree of care to avoid collateral damage in her fights when forced to engage the enemy in public. Even before acknowledging her deeper feelings for her inner persona. She can be genuinely affectionate and warm to those of her immediate circle and would shower them with smiles, and love. But overall her smiles may hold sadness. Both Lucretia and Cree have a skewed, questionable sense of justice and a very low level of empathy towards those she considers her enemies. This can be attributed to her era’ of nothing but survival and war. When confronted by weaker opponents who could easily be simply incapacitated or avoided, Lucretia most often does not hesitate to kill them, showing any remorse for her actions afterwards. Lucretia is completely cold to her killings, never showing any signs of guilt or remorse. However, despite her stony exterior, she is not entirely apathetic, as she tends to become distressed and vengeful when those she cares about are threatened, injured or killed. Her apathy may be a result of her training as a shinobi of Konoha, although it could be a ploy for later ideals. In conclusion, both Lucretia and Cree do occasionally show their emotions and inner feelings (Cree being the most but focusing more on Lucretia here), more so after she meets people she admires. It would seem that the people she cares about the most are the ones who bring out her emotions and her more compassionate side.
Together consolidated, the two identities are exceptionally versatile. Cree seems to have 'demonstrate once she gets used to you…’ to have a sweet attitude, and has a strong sense of conviction. On her life travel, she demonstrates an outright eagerness to learn, but she can still be idealistic even if she realizes that something is harder than it sounds. Whereas Lucretia, however, has just woken up from a profound sleep, as old as she may be, she needs to recover from her experience on the battlefield, as well as her memories. She's not as understanding as she used to be. That may be her exclusive defeat.
Lucretia - Second persona:
Lucretia is most often shown to be stoic, serious, cold and detached, as she seldom smiles and is not known for possessing a sense of humour. She never seems to laugh and has even admitted that she is not ‘good with feelings’. She has been described as ‘cold as one already dead. Cruel and unpredictable. Not someone you want to count on.’ You could say that she is evil to the core. That the process of taking the life force from others fills her with ecstasy. She's experienced with her powers however not so much is an adapt to battling several foes at once. However, she knows how to hide, retreat, or seek alliances as necessary, frequently manipulating others to get what she wants. She is a woman who sets her goals and will do anything to accomplish them. Lucretia is not only a manipulative figure, but she also has a silent way to do things. Many people who have met her find her to be very organized. She watches, plots, waits, and prepares. She knows how to keep her activities quiet and will strike when she thinks the time is right. Lucretia is extremely ambitious and deceitful, and she should be approached with caution. She desires power and will do anything to get it. Lucretia shows delight in her malice and exults in her vast powers. She loves her power and her lifestyle. Everything she does, she does with dark passions and violence. She believes in taking what you wish, no matter what you have to, or who you might hurt to get it. She is an intelligent woman and is well-spoken. She is known as strong, fierce and won’t hesitate. She will do whatever it takes to get the job done and can be absolutely ruthless. Lucretia Kamyuja is a bad girl through and through. Is intelligent and has no qualms about letting everyone else around her know it. She likes the idea of having power and is the sort of person to use them at any given opportunity. She is beautiful, elegant, regal, charming, charismatic, driven, venomous, and sadistic. She is all woman, a woman in a teenager’s body.
History
PROLOGUE
It would not be truthful to say I do not remember my mother. My family. Of course, I do. It is just that their memory is dull somehow. Perhaps the best way I can describe it is to say that they seem to me as if I am looking at them through a silken screen. They are there. I can see their features, but they are slightly blurred somehow. Not quite real. Of course, many people would say that I am confused. That the life I led with my family was real, and each day since I left them has been the dream. But they do not know. They cannot be expected to understand. I think my mother was a pretty woman. She always seemed so to me, at any rate. And my father never took a concubine, so he must also have found her pleasing. Of course, we were poor, so it may be that he simply could not afford a concubine rather than a matter of choice. But I don't recollect Mother ever complaining that he spent money they didn't have on courtesans - or even common whores- so perhaps he was a contented man, after all. Not that I understood about concubines or courtesans in those days. I was a mere child, the only daughter hated out of an older sister and younger nieces. It may have been simple neglect. After all, what was the point of trying to teach a mere girl anything about life, or anything else for that matter? I had an older sister for that. But I was soon to learn differently.
In fact, I began to learn the day that my new life began.
CHAPTER ONE - A mundane morning.
'Cree, I need you to go to the forest,' her mother called as she was putting the last futon into the cupboard.
'Have a lovely walk.’ Her sister was polishing the walls, which glowed a deep amber from years of smoke and soot. 'Don't spare a thought for those of us who have to work around here.'
'Gathering sansai is work,' Cree protested. Mountain greens didn't gather themselves.
'Not if you enjoy it.' Cree's sister's name might mean 'flower', and she might present a demure face to their father, but she really should have been named 'thorn'; she was as prickly as a barberry bush. Near the kitchen, Cree stepped down from the tatami mat and tied on her straw sandals. She hated wearing sandals, never used to in Sunagakure but here, in the middle of nowhere, she was forced to put up with them.
'Why do you always send Cree to the forest and never me anymore?' The girl's voice complained in the background as Cree slipped out the back entrance.
'She'll be gone half the morning and I'll end up doing her share of the chores.'
Mother no doubt meant her response to be too low for her ears, but she clearly heard her say: 'You know it's better for all of us if we keep her out of your father's way.' It shouldn't have come as a surprise - everything seemed to irritate father these days - he loved her but maybe love was not enough anymore. But it still stung.
Snatching up a basket, she crossed the small garden, passing the clay-walled storehouse where their valuables were kept, including horses. Five black stallions and one white. Beautiful creatures. After letting herself out through the back gate, she strode up the hill on the path that led into the trees. Summer came late to the mountains, and even now, early in the fifth month, the air was crisp in the morning. The air was even cooler once she entered the forest, the sunlight filtering only weakly through the trees. As usual, she immediately felt calmer. She was alone now, in the privacy of the sheltering trees; sometimes it seemed like here, and not the inn, was her real home. And this, she knew, was the other reason Mother had sent her and not her other daughter. Cree's sister had no feeling for the forest, her sense was left behind in the sand. She was too impatient, her eyes too quick, and she invariably came home with her basket nearly empty apart for a few tough old roots. And besides' she never meant to be gone so long. The hours just slipped away.
To calm herself, she breathed in the spicy, woody scent of the trees - cypress, pines and conifers. She became aware of the softness of the pine needles beneath her feet, of the fingertips of fresh green on the trees, of the thrushes singing. She drifted into a bamboo grove and gently loosened the youngest shoots from the soil, pausing as a snake, still sluggish from its winter sleep, reluctantly roused itself to move away from her path. Following it with her eyes, she spied a crop of golden-capped mushrooms on a fallen log, and then some curling warabi shoots. When her basket was full she left the forest, surprised to see that the sun was high in the sky now.
As she hurried along the main road back to the inn, she saw two samurai, at least she thought them samurai for they did not look like shinobi; and anyway, each was wearing both a long and short sword, they’re over jackets marked with the crests of the lords they served. As if sensing they were being watched, the taller one of the two looked up and Cree quickly dropped her eyes to the ground and bowed before hurrying on.
The young woman of fourteen never knew that her life was about to change.
CHAPTER TWO - The fatality which changed the course of her existence.
The fog was cold and damp, and an icy wind blew through the shadow-cloaked forest, but Cree barely noticed the chill. Autumn trees, bare and skeletal, clawed at her as she ran frantically through the woods outside her temporary home. Her heart pounded so loudly she felt certain it would burst. Looking back behind her, she saw ambiguous, indistinguishable figures travelling through the fog behind her. A full moon shone through the barren tree branches overhead. Storm clouds drifted across the moon like a veil.
They were chasing her. Whoever they were.
Only fourteen years old, Cree knew she was soon to die.
Heartrending screams ripped through the night, sending fresh jolts of fear and anguish through the young woman’s soul. Her jet black hair streamed wildly behind her. Panic filled her wide green eyes. Undried tears streaked her cheeks. A thin linen nightgown provided scant protection from the cold. Spilled blood streaked her gown, glistening wetly in the moonlight. The sticky red liquid had drenched through the texture, causing the linen to cling to her skin. Bare feet raced over a carpet of fallen leaves.
Thunder boomed above her. A jagged bolt of lightning sliced the sky in twain. Rain poured down in sheets, drenching her. The forest floor turned to mud beneath her feet. Muck oozed between her toes and she had to fight to keep her balance on the slippery leaves. If she fell, her pursuers would be on her in an instant. Chances were, she would never rise again.
Who are they? she wondered. What are they?
More screams penetrated the darkness. The blood-chilling ululations came not from human throats. Something is in the stables, she realized. The horses sounded as though they were being torn to pieces, which might well be the case. Cree had already witnessed far worse this evening.
The blood upon her gown was not her own, but it could not have been any more precious to her before it had gushed from the severed throats of her mother, sister, and baby nieces. Their upbringing may have been questionable but to her, they were still her family. She had left the butchered collections of her closest and dearest strewn upon the wooden floor of their damaged home when she had fled frantically into the night, searching out the main family left to her.
Papa! she thought frantically. He had gone out to calm the stallions only moments before the mysterious invaders had attacked their home. Please, God, let him live still. Do not leave me alone with these … creatures!
The stables loomed before her, barely visible in the mist and gloom. As she drew nearer the large wooden structure, she saw that the barn door was open wide. Had her father drawn back the door while checking on the horses, or had the monsters already invaded the stables as well? Utter blackness shrouded the interior of the stable, offering no clue as to what might lurk within, but she could hear the frightened horses whinnying in alarm. The poor animals sounded absolutely terrified.
Dare she enter the stables alone? Glancing once more over her shoulder at the hellish shapes surging through the fog, she realized she had no other choice. The sturdy building was her only hope for sanctuary, no matter how meagre.
Trusting her life to fate, she dashed through the doorway into the stables. A timber roof provided welcome relief from the pouring rain. Flashes of lightning and sporadic moonbeams filtered through the roof to provide some slight degree of illumination. Crazed horses bucked violently in their stalls, terrified by the storm and God only knew what else. Their hooves pounded against the solid oak doors trapping them in their stalls. They had worked themselves into a lather, the sweat gleaming on their quivering bodies. Cree could not spare a second to see to the horses. Before her pursuers could catch up with her, she slammed the door shut and bolted it in place. She prayed that the heavy oaken barrier would keep out the bloodthirsty monsters behind her, but feared that no power on earth could truly save her. It was as though Death itself had come lunging out of the fog this night, to strike down her loved ones one by one.
Breathing hard, she turned away from the door. Water streamed from her hair and gown. Water spilled from her hair and gown. The moist air smelled of wet hay, manure, horse sweat, and blood. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darker gloom of the sealed barn, and she staggered forward uncertainty. Another glimmer of lightning punctured the haziness, uncovering a supine figure lying motionless upon the hay-strewn floor between the stalls. The sprawled body was as still and silent as the grave.
No! Cree thought. An icy certainty spread through her veins, and she felt her last vestige of hope succumb to despair. She stumbled toward the lifeless form, already knowing what she would find. Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"Papa!"
The face of the corpse was contorted with fear, yet Cree couldn't neglect to perceive the sympathetic, unshaven appearance that had so infrequently viewed her with warmth and affection. Her father’s throat had been torn open, as though by a rabid animal. Brilliant red blood was splattered all over him, similarly as it had been on the savaged bodies back at their house. His limbs were twisted and askew. Broken shards of bone stuck from his cracked arms and legs. Glassy eyes gazed vacantly into oblivion.
Her father was dead—just like the rest of her family.
She was alone.
Why us? she thought in agony. What did we ever do to deserve this? She dropped to her knees beside the body, heedless of the blood spreading out from beneath her father’s gory remains. My papa was a good man. A decent man. Violent sobs wracked her body. Tears fell upon the deads face.
A deafening crash jarred her from her grief. She spun around toward the barn door, which shivered beneath the force of powerful blows. A battering ram? she thought in disarray as the oak door was crushed to fragments. It crashed to the floor with a resounding thud that echoed loudly throughout the stables. Cree turned away from the door, back toward her father. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Although Death had surely come for her, she had no desire to look it in the face. Trembling, she awaited the lethal blow that would sever her soul from her body. She could only pray that her end would be swift.
Soon, she promised herself, I will be reunited with my family in paradise.
Footsteps trod heavily on the blood-soaked floor of the stables. The horses reared up within their stalls, positively maddened with fear. Cree heard the footsteps approach her at a measured pace. She braced herself for the searing pain of razor-sharp fangs or claws sinking into her flesh. She imagined her own blood spouting from her throat. Instead, a steady hand fell firmly yet gently upon her shoulder. She held her breath, expecting the hand to move to her throat, but it remained where it was, as though to comfort her. Puzzled, she opened her eyes and looked behind her. No monster stood above her. No pillaging berserker. The hand belonged to her grandfather, not some regal stranger, or some monster. Two swords hung next to him. Empathy shone in his brilliant amber eyes.
"They've gone," He said.
Can this be true? She wondered. Am I truly saved? She eyed her grandfather warily,, torn between suspicion and an urgent desire to accept the comfort she so desperately needed. Her entire world had been torn away from her. What will become of me now?
Her grandfather reached down and gently helped her to her feet. Her legs were unsteady, and she would have fallen, save that he took her in his arms the same way her father had. She rested her weight against his, unable to run or fight back any longer. His strong arms held her up and she surrendered to his sheltering embrace. For the first time since this nightmare had begun, she felt safe and protected. “All is well, Cree,” he said. “You need fear no longer. The rogue soldiers that slew our family have been driven away.”
Praise the gods! She thought. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over her.
Closing her eyes once more, Cree surrendered herself against her exhaustion and allowed her grandfather to support her weakened form.
“There, there, child,” The stranger cooed in her ear. “You’re not alone anymore. You shall never be alone again….”
Thunder roared in the night.
I have often heard people complain that life has been unfair to them. That they do not deserve the ill-fortune they have encountered. That is because they do not understand that everything happens for a reason and that one only has to wait to find out what that reason is.
In this era, it is widely believed that everything we do in our lives is governed by one very special, life-giving channel within our body. The conduit that runs from our heart to the very tip of our smallest finger and beyond. Although one cannot see it, there is a slender red thread that flows out from this finger. Everyone has such a thread, and it connects each of us to everything that happens in our life, To people. Places. Events.
Things are both great and small.
It is inevitable that sometimes the threads become tangled, as fate tosses our lives about. No matter, eventually the red thread is smoothed again, and all that is destined to connect with us is once more guided to us because the thread that joins us to everything else can never be broken until the finality of death comes to us. each of us has no option but to be guided by our read thread.
The thread that is gifted to us at birth is woven into the pattern of fate - our fate and those around us. Those we love, and hate. There is no point saying: 'I have a knife! I will cut my red thread. I will make my own destiny!' If you do that, fate will tie a knot in your red thread and you will encounter nothing but trouble until your thread is smoothed again.
I am a young woman, yet my red thread has already led me to live many lives in my short years. I have known great poverty, I have been a slave and a free woman, I have escaped and survived death.
Now, the red thread of my fate has set me on the path of another new life, in a nation far away from all I have known and loved. Yet still do put my faith in the thread of my fate. I have no option. I must follow where it leads.
CHAPTER THREE - Consignment to the grave.
Cree stood alone, a few steps away from the other mourners at her family's burial. It was raining, and the black-chad men and women held black umbrellas over their heads. They leaned on one another, the women weeping, sharing shelter and grief. Cree shared her umbrella with no one, nor her grief. The gusts of wind within the rain blew stinging cold wet rivulets under the umbrella, down her neck, but the Kamyujal was unaware of them. She felt nothing, she was numbed by loss. She would mourn later when she could stand the pain. She held it away from her, all pain, all feeling, all thinking. Except for the words that repeated again and again in her mind, the words that promised healing from the pain to come and strength to survive until she was healed.
'I will avenge you. I will avenge you.'
"...ashes to ashes, dust to dust..."
The undertaker's voice entered the shell of deadness, the words registered. No! Cree cried silently. Her head jerked to one side, denying the open grave, the delightful Mahogany boxes being brought down into it. There were small half-circles that sunk into the delicate wood, signs of the sledges that had driven the nails to close the cover over their cemented, broken structures.
Cree looked at the people encompassing the grave, and outrage surged through her. None of them cares as much as I do, none of them has lost as much as I have. It wouldn't enter their self absorbed brains that perhaps I might be needing some comforting, I was closer to Momma, Papa and big sister and little ones than any of them. No one has given me any hugs. Not even those I considered close. Look at them, bunched up like a flock of wet crows in their black kimonos. They act as if I wasn't even here. Nobody has paid any attention to me at all. Well, I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry all by myself with nobody to lean on. I mustn't cry. Not here. Not yet. If I start, I might never be able to stop. The Kamyuja lifted her chin, her teeth clenched to stop their chattering from the cold, to hold back the choking in her throat. This will be over soon.
'I will avenge you. I will avenge you...'
"Look at her," whispered a black-veiled lady to the companion sharing her umbrella. "Hard as nails. I heard that the whole time she was in anbu custody, she didn't even shed a tear. All la-de-da, that's Cree. And no heart at all."
"You know what folks say," was the answering whisper. "She was the sole survivor. Her mother should be standing there, not her. Do you think she might have planned the whole setup? I mean, they didn’t want her, they never-" The people nearby hushed them, but they were thinking the same thing. Everyone was.
The awful hollow thud of earth on wood made Cree clench her fists. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, to scream, to shout - anything to shut out the terrible sound of the grave closing over her family. Her teeth closed painfully on her lip. She wouldn't scream, she wouldn't. She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t...
Time starts to pass before you know it, you're frozen. And the Kamyuja thought that life would remain suspended in time. But it was not meant to be. And like a frozen heart, life continued around her. And as seasons changed, so did the female Kamyuja. And then in times gone by, she came to realized that life had moved on without her. And so she began to make a living. Revenge to clear her family name. However, it didn’t start like that. This is how it happened.
CHAPTER FOUR - Everything begins somewhere.
It wasn’t long until she discovered that it was her grandfather behind the killing of her family, their family. And the night she discovered this, naturally, she tried to take revenge on her family. The result was obvious and so now she was on the run.
A fist pounded on the door hard enough that she felt the vibrations through her cheek. Waking with a jolt, Cree scrambled to her feet. A male voice ordered her to surrender. Dimness filled the room and squeezed against the windowpane. She had slept all day. Unfortunately, this situation wasn’t new to her. It would have been months prior when her grandfather told her that he was the reason behind the death of her family. In his own sick and twisted way, he wanted her as a daughter. He knew how potentially powerful the Kamyuja blood was in her. The stain. And he wanted her. As far back as that fateful day, she has been alone. A young child really, no more established than fifteen or something like that, living without anyone else. It hadn't been easy or safe either.
However now, the sixteen-year-old youngster gathered up her escape pack and left through the back door. Pausing on landing, she scanned the area. Moonlight lit the wooden steps. Nobody blocked them. Hustling down, she bore her pack and went through the vacant alley that smelled of cat urine.
A figure stood at the alley’s southern exit so she turned around. Except the northern route was also blocked. The main way out was through the tight space between structures to the road where there would no doubt be more town guardians. The crash of an entryway resounded off the blocks. Somebody called, "Do you have her?"
The two in the alley closed in. Guess she would have to take her chances. Cree darted through the narrow opening and right into a waiting town watchman’s arms.
Voices shouted, "Don't touch her skin."
"Take her pack."
"Cuff her quick."
Panicking had rendered her excessively feeble, making it impossible to set up quite a bit of a battle. her hands were manacled behind her back. Her two years on the run had ended. It was hard to tell if fear or relief dominated. At this point, both had equal sway. Inside the town watch station house, the teen endured endless rounds of questions and stares. They wanted to know how much money they could get out of her capture. But to her, money meant nothing, not when it came to freedom.
...
A low cough woke the Kamyuja from a sound sleep. Instincts kicked in and she jumped to her feet before she realised where she was. In prison, anticipating whatever discipline.
"Easy," a man said. He unlocked the cell and the door swung open. At this point, Cree was no longer on the bed, however, had instead reached the back wall. Straightening, the man she would later come to know as Flea gestured. “Come on.”
The girl didn’t move.
“Do you want to be imprisoned?”
“Some things are worse than death,” she said.
“What… Oh. I won’t hurt you. You can trust me.” He held out his hand. Cree hesitated. Trust a complete stranger or remain in prison and face whatever dangers in the morning? In the event that he was genuine, she would have her life back, and that is the thing that the girl desperately wished for. She grabbed his hand and they made their escape.
By the time the sun rose, she had lost all sense of direction, she was frozen and exhausted. Trusting the stranger seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night, but in the light of day, she questioned her judgment. What would stop this man from hurting her now that she was free from bars? He was stronger, more established, and she was only a sixteen-year-old with an astonishing knowledge of a more seasoned individual. Nothing. Nothing could spare her now.
For the time being, her head remained attached to her shoulders. A positive thing. And all he does was hold her hand, tenderly. Cree decided to stay alert and stick to her own survival instincts - taking it one problem at a time. As light lit the red, yellow and orange shades of the backwoods, they quickened their pace.
“Can you take care of yourself, girl?” He asked abruptly.
"No." That inquiry made her uneasy, and the thought about digging her heels into the dirt crossed her mind.
"I'll teach you."
They entered a dim cave. The wet smell of limestone mixed with the harsh smell of bat droppings. Lovely. A campfire burned in the centre of a ring of stones. Despite it was daytime, they rested for the first time since her rescue.
...
On the third day after her rescue, Flea hauled her to her feet and cajoled her into leaving the cave. Cree squinted into the bright sunshine as fingers of cold air stroked her face and ruffled her hair. The rest of the gang, she had met previously were practising sparring with sticks instead of swords. One napped in a patch of sunshine. And the other, Flower, the girl whom she didn’t like, of course, was gone to I-couldn’t-care-less. Five all together.
“See that target?” Flea asked.
A red circle had been painted on a tree about forty feet away. “Yes.”
“Here.” Flea handed over his knives. Celaena stared at the daggers. Both gleamed. Nice.
“Try to hit the target with the knife.”
She grasped the end of the blade and threw the knife. She missed. So did the next one, and the five after that. Frustration welled. Focusing, she pushed all distracting thoughts and problems to the side and concentrated on the red circle. The knife hit the target and bounced off.
“There. I hit it.” Cree pouted.
Flea’s huge hand clamped onto her shoulder. “Not bad, try again. It has to stick.”
Her aim had improved, but none of the blades would pierce the bark. “It’s too far for me. I’m not strong enough.” Her voice whined. Normally, she would have been appalled. Not today.
“No. You’re not putting enough heart behind it.”
“Heart?”
“Yeah, heart.” Flea scratched his arm as he searched for the right words. “Heart like energy, desire, emotion. Think of that target as a giant spider and then throw the knife.”
“I like spiders.”
“Then think of it as something you don’t like. A snake or, or anything.”
Cree aimed at the red circle and imagined an image on the tree’s trunk. Anger and annoyance in equal measure flowed through her. Whipping the knife, she put heat into the throw. A satisfying thunk sounded.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Flea said. “What did you think of? A snake?”
“Nope.” Could she do it a second time? Conjuring up the feelings the image evoked, she sent the second blade deep into the trunk next to the other.
“Nice. See, you are strong enough.
She pulled the knives from the bark, returned to Flea’s side and buried them both again.
“You got it. What gave you the motivation.?”
“Flower’s face inside that target.” Cree sucked in a deep breath. Pain no longer stabbed quite so deep. Perhaps she needed to throw a few dozen more knives right between Queen Bee’s eyes.
“That’s not nice,” Flea scolded.
“Too bad.” Thunk. “So sad.” Thunk.
“At least you’re smiling again. Think you can hit a moving target?”
“Maybe.”
“For any task, you need two things above all else. Confidence and practice. With those two, you can do anything.”
“ A cheesy motivational quote. Kill. Me. Now.”
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk...
Flower had the fire roaring in no time. Being a fire starter as she calls it would do that. Cree was silently listening to them chat amongst themselves while she made dinner. She wasn’t particularly good but they gave her the confidence to do so anyway. When the soup was heated and done, she made a show of letting Flower try it first since she's the bitch.
“Fine with me,” Sora quipped, the shy one. “She’ll also be the first one to keel over, killed by Cree’s cooking.”
“But what if I used a heavy poison?” Cree asked. “One that sinks to the bottom and only kills the men who eat the last couple of bowls?”
Sora stared at the Kamyuja as if he weren't sure if she joked or not.
“You have an evil mind,” Sora hedged.
“Thank you.”
Flower’s hands suddenly went to her throat. She wheezed and gasped, then slumped over.
Everyone but Fleaa jumped to their feet. Cree knelt beside Queen bee. Was she allergic to parsley? Her body shook and the Kamyuja touched her shoulder. The bitch was laughing.
The Kamyuja played along, fussing over her, apologizing for not waiting long enough for the poison to sink.
When the others inched closer, she sat up. “Gotcha!”
They yelled, then scolded Flower for her prank. Cree just made a new friend.
CHAPTER FIVE - Six month’s past
Six months had passed since she left the group behind. And during those months it had been hell. Her grandfather had found her again. But instead of trying to reclaim her, or brainwash her with sweet words, he tried to kill her. Sadly his drop by had caused a scene and now the people think her a beast. Trial after trial went by as she pleaded her case. But all they see was her, a chaotic monster, despite defending herself was now out of control. They sent her to sleep. Until it was time for her to reawaken in a new century, out of their hands…
CHAPTER SIX - The awakening after one hundred years
Rain was falling thickly. She couldn't remember the last time the sun had shone brightly, and she was cold to her bones. She stood and looked out of the window, then wished she had not. The rain wasn't heavy, but it fell in a persistent downpour that made everything outside appear as if it was viewed through a silken screen. Each colour was muted. She knew if it were only to stop raining, the heather would glow warmly purple. The bracken would be rich gold. Even the distant mountains would appear majestic rather than threatening.
Lucretia sighed deeply.
"Come and sit by the fire," Shimizu coaxed. "There's nothing either you or I can do about the weather, I'm afraid. Spring will get here eventually, I promise." He patted the sofa at his side enticingly. Before she could sit beside him, her place was stolen. "Get off, Botan. I want Lucretia to sit beside me, not you." Shimizu nudged the huge dog that had leapt up and taken her place with his elbow. In response, Botan licked her friend and savour’s face enthusiastically.
"I thought wolfdogs were supposed to be fierce," she said.
Lucretia squeezed in at Shimizu's side, and Botan looked at her reproachfully before sliding to the floor. She lay right in front of the roaring, spitting log fire and immediately began to pant with the heat. She was sure she could see the steam rising from her thick, rough coat.
"She looks the part, at least," Shimizu said.
The silence was comforting, but words must be said and like she knew he would, he spoke.
"Konohagakure shinobi system is very rewarding." Lucretia stood with this and began pacing the room. "When my great-great whichever grandfather saved you that dreadful night, child, you were apparently a spitfire once the adrenaline kicked in. They documented that the child he rescued was a beautiful creature with extraordinary strength. I am glad he learned of your heritage and had you put to sleep for one hundred years otherwise I would not know this beautiful young woman I have come to know now. This career will be perfect for you as it is for me, your effort will not be a waste," He continued as though her anxiety isn't visible.
"Yes. But I will be no more a stranger in a strange land. Dressed not for battle, Shimizu. I will not change my attire. I like my gowns," she replied coolly.
"Yes, but you won't have to change who you are. That is not why you resent the idea. What is it? Your status? Would you prefer to go back to your country of Sand? Be a Sand shinobi? Don't shake your head. You can not survive on your own? Your family is dead. You have no way of supporting yourself. I can't keep doing it. I could be called out at any given moment. You will make a good ninja. Konoha will welcome you with open arms. We are a welcoming country. I have already handed in my report and they are keen for you to start when you are ready. Child, come sit beside me. You will ruin the carpet with your feet if you don't stay still."
Lucretia planted herself beside him with a huff and folded her arms.
"I'm cold here."
"It won't always be. Give it a go? You might surprise yourself and enjoy it." He said, resting his hand upon her thigh.
"I have just woken up. A hundred years have passed by and I understand nothing. If that earthquake had not awakened me, I would still be asleep. I am not ready, Shimizu. My mind is still locked in the past."
"Sleep on it, and we will agree in the morning. Give it some thought, Lucretia. Your Kamyuja clan will thrive, no you as a whole will thrive. I see great things in you, child. We will settle this tomorrow." He stood and levelled out his hand. Lucretia placed her hand in his and stood rather shakily.
"Well see." She said softly before heading to her room.
Deep in the stillness of the night when everyone was sleeping, she tossed and turned as though in a nightmare…
... …. ….The quake struck without warning, in the blackest hours of a rainy night and throttled the outskirts of Konohagakure. Aftershocks rivaling the magnitude of the original quake continued for days and migrated down the unstable fault line, ripping as well into the southern half of the continent. In all recorded history, no quake of such magnitude had ever roiled Konohagakure - most certainly not in Mo village. But for some reasons unknown, the giants of the depths had awakened and pounded their first upon Konohagakure with vengeance in their bosom and the apocalypse was nigh. Deep within the ground, a polychrome granite crypt buried in the heart of a manmade cell fractured during the epic quake swarm. It began as a hairline crack at the head of the crypt, but with each heave of the land, the line of default deepened until it took root and zipped the length of the tomb. Additional fractures spidered from the line of origin until, like an eggshell, the granite yielded to the fissures and allowed, for the first time in hundreds of years, fresh air to seep within.
The body inside exhibited no decay, but retained the splendor and beauty of youth in a suspended state. When the whispers of frigid air kissed her lips and brushed her nose, her first, sibilant slurp of breath splintered the silence in the chamber. Colour bloomed anew in the porcelain skin of her sculpted cheeks, Almond-shaped eyelids fluttered open, and despite the darkness of her underground necropolis, a spark lit her crystalline emerald eyes. She parted her lips and gulped a deeper breath of air. Her respirations increased, and her heart thrummed faster as her body awoke from its long sleep. She flexed her fingers and tensed against the prickling waves of needle-sharp jabs that surged through her skin. Closing her eyes, she focused inward, on controlling her breathing. As the stinging receded, her body relaxed, and the gears in her mind clicked into overdrive.
What must she look like? Her hands flew to her head and stroked her smooth tangled hair. Her fingers skimmed her brow and cheeks and trembling lips. She registered the icy chill of the chamber and rubbed her arms against the freezing cold before tracing the slim contours of a silk chad body down the length of her torso. She moved her legs and then her feet and exhaled. All her body parts worked, and the remaining tension in her body dispelled. Her immediate fears alleviated, she no longer could bear the memories knocking at her consciousness. They flooded forth, buffeting her in a maelstrom of emotions. With a saddened smile, she rested her shaking hands across her abdomen and yielded to them.
All those years a statue, but her memories remained untarnished. As they inundated her, she remembered, and a tear slipped from one eye and froze against her cheek. How long had it been? How long had she been immobilized in this tomb while the world moved on without her? While they moved on without her? She pressed her hand against the shell of the granite tomb. It yielded with ease and crumbled around her, and she picked her way out. She must think. She closed her eyes again and emptied her mind of the emotions consuming her. She'd make her peace with them later. Right now, more important matters required her attention. If she'd awakened, the time had come, her trial had ended. Had the world already descended into chaos and despair, or did time remain in which to prepare? She didn't know, but she'd find out. Of one thing she was certain: they had no idea what she'd unleashed…
Lucretia awoke with a start and noted that sunlight shone through the opened windows and blinds. Opened windows. She sat up with a start and looked around. The smell of cuisine scented the air and her stomach rumbled. Legs over and out of bed she approached and exited her bedchambers. Silently she entered the kitchen and watched the man she came to think of as her saviour with her hip resting lazily against the door frame. He didn’t look up but spoke anyway.
“I hope you are hungry. I have to be gone in ten minutes. A mission that requires me to leave for Tsuchi. Have you,” he paused as a piece of bread slipped onto a plate “made up your mind regarding your life. I stand by what I said.”
She regarded him silently for a moment before taking a seat. “Yes,” she paused, licked her lips and continued confidently. “Yes. I will. I will become a shinobi of Konoha like you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN - The academy and doctor appointment.
A lady without a character is a lady whose past is so obfuscated in mystery that to attempt and find her way would be similar to an attempt to seizing darkness with clawed fingers. Lucretia is much like the tentacle-like vapors of a metaphysical veil, her presence is capricious, and reticent. What's more, when everything around her lies in remains, she could undoubtedly go through and vanish without a trace, or remorse. But to understand her emotions and behavior always starts with an antiquity of old times and the only genuine source of data specifying her affairs in both her life and her feelings are all her own, yet a memory and recollections are constantly whimsical, not even she could review all her historical moments in life, regardless of the possibility that she did by some chance have an Eidetic memory. Lucretia is a young woman without a family, and a female with no genuine origin and she is about to start her new life as a shinobi of Konoha.
"It is good to hear that you are remembering your past, Cree. No, it’s Lucretia now, isn’t it? But we don’t tolerate this kind of behaviour at the academy. You can’t go around hurting people for no reason at all. When you visited the medical centre to have your injuries looked over, the doctor did a full assessment. Your result has come in.” Sensai Sakurai asked as they strolled down a long white hall with glimpses of cherry-blossom trees peeking through the limitations of windows.
“I do not care to know my results, for I am perfectly fine.” Lucretia gave a sidelong glare before continuing with, "But since you have something to say, you might as well get it over with. It must be something interesting to tell otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it.” She paused when he didn’t say anything. A small smile formed on her pale features and she spoke once more. “Yet me tell you a story. A memory if you will,” she looked up and saw that she had his attention and continued, “Once upon a time, eh, no. Do you know how old I am? Because I don’t. I look young, but I feel old. It doesn't generally make a difference unless you are endeavouring to state that I can't have my own privacy and that every little detail about me should be clarified on a sheet of paper that anyone can read. That is the reason why I didn’t write my age down on the enrolment slip."
A murmur left her lips before she began once more.
"Fine, sensai, by what strategy would it be advisable for me to tell you? I was conceived in a little village, no you wouldn't even call it a village really, more like a pit or a hole. If I recall it was near Suna, a town called Sujuinushi no Shinseina Bashoi. Anyway, my momma was named Sakura and my papa's name was, was. I can’t remember. I had an older sister whose name I also cant recall. But like you, we were all Kamyuja's. I don't remember how old I was when my family was slaughtered. They were assassinated because my grandpa was obsessed with me. Do you also want to document this on my shinobi file sensai? I know the greater part of this since I have been informed that I have hyperthymesia, an autobiographical memory. Should I proceed or do you think me insane?"
They had achieved the end of the lobby when Lucretia looked upward and gazed at an extremely pale sensai. She understood then how frail men brains can truly be. She huffed and continued briefly. “Yet, I have trouble remembering certain things. How mystifying the brain is. Is it not?”
He had informed the doctor back at the medical entre and she was given medications for use. However, when she read the label and sought up what the pharmaceutical was utilized for, she ended up hurling the pills down the drain. Insanity, they didn't believe her. Each gathering she had with him from that day forward, she lied through her teeth. Furthermore, the day she was discharged from both the academy and the medical centre, she was given a sheet of paper with her details saying that she was diagnosed with Dissociative personality disorder, Social anxiety disorder and Atelophobia. Just to name a few. Regardless of the man, he was right. But then again she did have a scene when she had changed identities in class and went absolutely ballistic. That day she introduced herself as Lucretia instead of Cree. She laughed delicately as she recalled their faces. It was as though they believed she was speaking in different tongues. At least, Lucretia was shocked to see that he didn't mention insanity. Goodman.
To be continued...
