Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of the characters.
It wasn't love, of that her still obedient form was sure of. Perhaps infatuation, or even obsession, but most definitely not love. It was impossible for that man, though in technical terms he wasn't even that (if not a monster with the appearance of a charming young man), to love, even though ironically the only human part left of him was his heart.
She was his perfect doll, dressed in laces and frill. Never once would she disobey him, her fiery will, which had once been an inextinguishable flame roaring with stubborn fury, had been beaten. He was gentle with her, though that was what she hated the most. As if she were a glistening porcelain doll, instead of the twisted half formed one she had been made into, he would lift her up cautiously and set her in his lap with soothing fake words. His slender expertise hand would trail through her bleached blood locks, tangling into the neat smooth strands.
Out of sickeningly horrible events, he had made her into his own kind. Though they were much different, she was the puppet and he was her master. He now controlled her movements, once quick and rough, yet graceful and swift as if she were a lithe cat. With the fluttery motions of his fingers, she would dance in the most precise and delicate way. It was his puppet show for the one manned audience of himself to enjoy in his disturbing pleasure.
It was certain that she loathed this man with her entire being. Every moment of every wrenchingly torturous day, she was reminded of the pain and suffering she was forced to endure. His hair was that sick scarlet color, the color of the elixir of life, the color of blood. She was forced to remember how many times that dreadful color had stained her hands, even though she had worked saving as much as taking lives.
A mental nausea had overcome her when she looked at his face, not only from his blood tainted hair, but from the icy steel of his eyes, so empty and devoid of emotion. They were the same eyes that had looked at her in so much detest and malice in their first meeting. Although, now they looked at her with arrogance and superiority, as if he were silently saying what they both knew: he had won.
The puppeteer always placed his cold unreal lips to hers, and as much as she would like to smack him away, yell and scream in a furious rant, or do anything, she couldn't. She was only able to sit there like with the look of a broken doll, helplessly crying out in silence. He would then whisper those words that made her want to cry, to cry in misery of the thought that this was reality, there was no escape.
Day after day, it continued. Time had become trivial if not nothing to her, only the moments were real anymore. The little doll was crushed and mangled, and there was nothing she could do. No one was coming; she was alone to be broken by that man over and over again. He knew she was suffering, and he continued out of the pleasure of knowing that very fact.
"You're not alone, I'm here, and I will always be here my little doll."
'No, leave me alone; let me go. Please! I want out.'
With a sadistic grin he would lean in closer, knowing what she had been mentally screaming. He would whisper it into her ear with a soft voice lost in the air. With that said, he'd place his frozen lips over hers once again, a deadly promise he'd always keep.
"Oh no, my dear little Sakura, that would ruin the fun. You'll stay here with me forever and be my little broken doll."
This was a lot darker than what I usually write, but I did have a lot of fun writing this. I had actually been meaning to write a SasoSaku for quite some time, and even though this theme for it seems rather clichéd, I'll write a more original soon. So if you liked this, make sure to let me know in a review! And of course, thanks a ton to Hikari Adams for betaing,