Chapter 10 Preview
Hunter awoke with a grimace, her headache still lingering even as she awoke within another moonlit dream. Lillian was waiting, as she always was, perched delicately on the nearby wall and almost looming over Hunter from where she sat on the cobblestone path.
“Good evening, dearest Hunter.” She said, sliding down and extending a porcelain hand for Hunter to stand with.
Taking it wearily, Hunter was lifted to her feet and not for the first time was startled by how real this all felt. She could almost feel muscles flexing beneath the cold clay varnish. Almost.
“You would think I’d have a bit more of an imagination and dream of something else at this point.” She said, glancing upward to see the ever-present gaze of the celestial body shining down on them.
“Some scholars claim reoccurring dreams are a sign that something heavy is weighing on your head.” Lillian said, walking besides Hunter as they left the small lantern marking the start of the path and her resting place. “Tell me, what troubles you so?”
“Other than the fact I still don’t remember my own name?” It came out harsher than she intended. She stopped at the start of the stairs.
Hunter sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath, another sting piercing her brain for her efforts. Honestly, couldn’t she escape these migraines even in sleep?
“But something else is troubling you.” Lillian insisted, pulling her hand away and rubbing a cooling thumb into her skin. The headache abated, slightly, and Hunter nodded.
“I couldn’t help him. At all. All I could do was run.” She remembered Naruto’s words from earlier, still taunting her with the fear
“But he survived, yes?” Lillian said, making Hunter almost snort.
“This time. But there will be others.” She said, restarting their trek towards the hybrid building perched on the hill.
“Yes. The commissioned killers…” Lillian echoed Hunter’s thoughts toward Gato and his mercenaries.
“How can I help them? How can I keep them safe?” She said aloud, allowing herself to finally feel the fear that had been eating away at her subconscious far longer than before this journey even started.
The moment she set her eyes on the children. How couldn’t she? They were so young, so bright, so vulnerable and precious. Spending time with them only made her fear increase tenfold, filling her mind with flashes of what could happen, of the light fading from their bright little eyes with their bodies splayed out on the forest floor…
“If I could just remember something!” She slammed a fist against the door, trying to push her guilt and frustration and anger in the forefront of her brain to hide the image of Naruto’s throat being torn open.
“…How could that possibly help you, Hunter?” Lillian said cautiously, her expression neutral as she stood patiently by the door. Hunter rubbed at her face, not fully succeeding in putting her imagination to rest.
“I am a fighter. Was a fighter, anyway.” She said, tapping at her chest in memory of the sparing exercise she had briefly interrupted, “My body remembers—somehow—but that’s not enough! How can I act on instinct alone?”
Another memory resurfaced, one so easily overlooked at the time but now as she had time to digest her actions it only proved her point.
“The clearing.” She said aloud, now staring at her feet. “I had—I was standing so far away but somehow I could reach Sakura and—what was that?”
“What was what?” Lillian tilted her head in confusion.
“Me!” Hunter turned away from the chapel, now marching into the open field as her mind continued to race. Lillian followed, trotting after her on her tiny bare feet.
Hunter stopped in the middle before she reached the start of the tombstones, spinning around and glaring in concentration. She wasn’t a ninja, had no access to chakra of any kind and yet she somehow managed to teleport as they could. Was it a mistake? A trick of her imagination in the frenzy of life and death? No one else seemed to notice, Kakashi didn’t even mention it when he had the chance…No. No it was real, she did teleport she was certain of it!
Hunter sprinted forward but nothing happened. She spun around and tried again, focusing on that moment of panic, trying to trigger the feeling of slipping between spaces and jumping from one point to the next. Again, there was nothing.
“Confound it all!” She swore when it didn’t work again and fell to her knees.
She was being ridiculous. Hysterical, even. It had to have been her own mind tricking her into feeling like she had done something useful when the truth was she could do nothing at all. Absolutely nothing.
Unsurprisingly—though accompanied by another pang of shame—tears began making themselves known at the edge of her vision.
“Damn it...” She rubbed away at them, more shame heating her neck as Lillian calmly approached and knelt in front of her. Hunter shook her head as it hung low, not wanting to display any more of her pathetic outburst.
“I’m truly pathetic. Wasting my breath on dreams that don’t even hold the answers…” That don’t even taunt her with memory, her thoughts finished.
Any answers she could have gleaned from this place should have shown up long ago. Instead, whatever nostalgia she once had for this place was gone, entirely washed away since it was all that could fill the empty recesses of her mind.
Lillian said nothing, holding no judgement as gently peeled her hands away. Hunter couldn’t meet her gaze, flinching a little as she felt soft fabric dabbing at her cheeks. It felt so real…
Lillian slid her hand under Hunter’s chin, sending a wave of cooling relief as the pain in her head averted at the touch. She still said nothing, only meeting Hunter’s gaze with a calm, benevolent assessment.
“…your past is not what defines you, dearest Hunter.” She said with absolute certainty, even as Hunter’s gaze flickered away in doubt. She kept her head firmly in place, forcing her to look her in the eye.
“Who you are, who you will be, is not determined by your past deeds alone. It is also marked by your future. Your present.” She said, the fingers trailing down to cup around her cold hands.
“If you cannot find comfort in the past, look to what you will do moving forward. Your body already remembers…it will not take long for the mind to follow.”
“You truly believe that?” Hunter said softly, the lull of sleep stopping her from adding anything more.
Lillian’s expression, for the briefest moment, seemed to crack in a look of pain. A bittersweet smile that disappeared instantly.
“I am certain, dearest Hunter.” She said, and then Hunter was pulled to the waking world.
But Lillian remained, as did the dream. Both moon and doll waited in the silent aftermath of the Hunter’s departure, patiently waiting for her return.
A faint breeze filtered out from the door of the chapel, reaching out to briefly brush against Lillian’s face. It played with her hair the way it would with Hunter’s, though Lillian paid it no mind.
“She does not know what she is asking for.” Lillian said sharply, as if to the wind. It picked up again, this time more insistently and the fabric of her undergarments were tousled roughly. Lillian shook her head.
“It is the exact opposite of what she has asked of me.” She insisted.
This time petals were pulled from the surrounding flowers and Lillian’s shawl was ripped from her shoulders, exposing the larger cracks that had to be filled in with a golden resin. She did not sigh—a doll could not sigh—and regarded the sky patiently.
“If this goes wrong,” she warned, “if her mind comes undone as it did before, it will be on both our heads.”
And yet the wind insisted. Then it retreated in a single breath, leaving the air unnaturally still and the oppressive silence that followed grew heavy and stale.
The doll did not sigh as she slumped against the glowing flowers. She did not fear or ponder the possibilities of what a mistake she was making could bring, nor did she wish selfishly for Hunter to gaze at her fondly once more. If even for a moment.
“The coming clash between her and the hired murderers will suffice.” She finally said. “I…will refrain from keeping whatever memories follow suppressed. But should she react negatively—”
And here she held up a warning finger, daring to point an accusation at the omnipotent moon,
“—I will not allow this to continue further! Her response will determine how we proceed with everything that has been discussed.”
The smallest dusting of rain was given in response. Lillian tilted her head back, the cold water splashing against porcelain that could not feel its gentle presence, and waited.