perturbation

ˌpəːtəˈbeɪʃ(ə)n/

noun

1. anxiety; mental uneasiness.

"she sensed her friend's perturbation"

()

2. a deviation of a system, moving object, or process from its regular or normal state or path, caused by an outside influence.

"these shifts and swings in wildlife populations are possibly related to climatic perturbations"

()

3. A small distortion (from its normal shape) of an object or of the spacetime curvature around an object.

"her time travel was a perturbation"

Chapter 3 of X. / Past Time. / 6YRS 4MNS 10DYS left.

"A Woman Far Beyond Her Eras"

War is cruel.

Of course, anyone with even half a brain would realise that- When is death not cruel? Especially when you're the killer?

The answer would be that it isn't... although I could say that a lot of things have at least some form of cruelty to them; as someone who has indeed experienced an array of life-altering events, I have experienced five lifetimes' worth of cruelty. I've experienced heartbreak and loss, death and sadness, blood staining my fingertips as my hair has matted together- I've lost my family, I've lost my friends, I've lost strangers after they'd been set as my responsibility.

As a fighter- as a ninja- I've been forced to take lives every day for the past four years, forced to ignore the nausea residing in the pit of my stomach as I mangle corpses. I've been made to accept it, welcoming it as a normalcy despite the disgust that has me gagging in the nearest hidden corner that I can find. In a world like mine, this is the natural order: Birth, murder, death. Somewhere in that, you have your stupid moments of happiness that slip through your fingers before you even notice what's happening, and you have your tragedies that you try to belittle and normalise, only they always manage to startle open you eyes in the middle of the night.

That brings us to my next point- night terrors.

Anyone who's lived through a war could tell you that, although the killing itself is awful, it isn't even the worst part; the worst part is that, despite every attempt you formulate to make them stop, those deaths haunt you in excruciating detail, redecorated in ways that seem to make those vicious moments even crueller. When you beg your mind to close off your thoughts, exhaustion numbing your bones as your muscles begin to ache, they awake in storms of bloodshed, running through your mind over and over again until your sobbing into your pillow, the agony igniting a merciless burn in the depth of your heart. You see faces, faces that you know you'll never be able to forget, and you reenact those scenes until they're all you can see when your eyes flutter close, embedding the screams into the hallow shell of your eardrum. Every night, for what seems like it's going to be the rest of your life, you'll preoccupy your slumber with a chorus of clanking weapons and shouts, you'll paint your eyesight in flesh-coloured dots and crimson shades of gore, feeling your insides lurch once again, for the millionth time since it actually happened.

Night terrors.

When you're caught up in the war, fighting for your life without even a second to spare, you don't dream- You can't, you don't have that leisure or that time. Instead, you might be running battle strategies through your mind, constructing plans and schemes that you're desperate to work, begging your body to replenish your chakra at a much faster rate; you don't comprehend the dark marks hanging to your life force, you don't consider what dehumanising acts you've done- You just fight.

For the first time ever, in what seems like an endless amount of decades, I have time to spare. I have a chance to comprehend and consider, to feel the acid in my abdomen do flips and twists, to distinguish the vibrant shades of ruby and wine and scarlet that will forever stain my palms.

I had experienced my first terror on the second night that I arrived here, in this cleaner time. Unsurprisingly, I had woken up breathless, gasping for air as I felt my lungs constrict, screaming and sobbing and wailing for help, for support. I had felt my heart hammering against the skin of my chest, had smelt the putrid odour of decay as I heard thick liquid seeping onto the wooden planks of my room. It was like I was there again, watching my first kill and, in an almost sadistic way, enjoying it- Enjoying the power, enjoying the warmth of their entrails as they slivered onto my bare limbs, enjoying my first success as a soldier. And then, after the adrenaline and the pride that overwhelmed me to the very organisms I contained, I had thrown up, feeling such a sense of self-loathing that I had almost wanted to tear out my insides, as some sick form of retribution.

What I didn't expect to feel, however, as I sat bent forward like a beggar, was a pair of comforting arms holding me against my mother's chest. Silently, without even needing an explanation, she soothed my hair in gentle strokes, hushing my pierced howling with the delicate hum of her voice. Even when my body had stopped quaking, my mental capacity and logic suddenly returning, she stayed still, squeezing my waist in light, feathery motions. When my voiced had been rendered into a cracked whisper and my snivels had lessened, the woman didn't press or pry, simply placing chaste kissing along my forehead.

And then, she had uttered a meaningful 'I love you', placing her lips against the tip of my nose with a saddened smile. She had offered my shoulder one last squish before she left, wordlessly, with a grace and cautiousness that I thought she had been incapable of. Her presence had calmed me, transforming my violent shakes into softened trembles, but the memories and the sensations still bit at my conscience like hungry wolves.

That nightmare had been the worst one I have had for the prior week, and so I haven't woken up with my mother by my side again, growing almost accustomed to the bitterness that turned my food bland- but life has a funny sense of humour, I've come to learn. And, by funny, I certainly don't mean for me.

My worst night terror yet presented itself in the early hours of today, just a little past midnight, as I lied in the thin, cobalt tent beside my teammates. I'd just drifted into the world of slumber, content with the familiarity of my surroundings, when I had felt an aggressive jolt beat the air out of my lungs. My organs froze, momentarily, knowing exactly what was happening, before they all simultaneously went into overdrive, causing every fibre and nucleus in my anatomy to sprint marathons. Within seconds, I'd felt tears spilling from the corners of my eyes, eyelashes prickling irritably at the jade of my irises as my entire optic organ went bloodshot. My throat closed up, trapping rising bile into my stomach but still enabling me to taste it, drying my mouth harshly and sending my torso into a lively fit of coughs. Somehow, my gustatory sensations were infected by putrid flavours and aromas of human flesh, tongue welcoming the smooth skin as I choked up blood, confused whether it was mine or not. My spine was arched over, annoying and so there against my integument, as I cried out in horror.

Faces.

Bodies.

Corpses.

Enemies.

Allies.

Pain.

Injuries.

Death.

Me.

I couldn't control anything- I couldn't order the shambles of my head into chronology, nor could I recall a name or an event. Everything blurred together before my pupils, fogged and vague, yet still so vivid against the thoughts that dictated my whole being. My skin felt as if it had been set ablaze, that so-called ash of mine emanating from the tent material beneath my feet, and my lungs felt as if they were collapsing onto one another. Although I could hear nothing but the protests of my victims as I shut down their life span, I could feel my voice screaming out in torment.

Everyone was instantly alert, staring my aching form down in astonishment, not understanding or comprehending a how or a why. Instead, Naruto's childlike hands clasped my torso with far more assertiveness than my mother had, his blond hair fluttering against my cheeks as he buried himself into my neck, trying to offer as much physical presence as possible. Our resident Uchiha simply spectated, unsure of himself for the first time in his life, his fingers fumbling in urgency as Asuma peered into my eyes, barking out questions that neither of the two were able to answer. Much alike to Sasuke, yet also far more composed and calm, Kakashi just watched, probably running through possibilities, with his perfectly analytical mind.

I didn't see them, though; I only saw bodies, lifeless and bloodied bodies, falling at my feet as my hands were covered with their insides. I only heard the pounding of my heart and the blades that I glided into people. I only felt the bitter wind of the alabaster battlefield and the desperation I had to kill another enemy, before they hurt another one of my own. I only tasted the blood in the air and smelt the fire burning against flesh. In that moment, I was back in my own time, eye glazed over and hyperventilating that I'm not doing enough, I'm not helping enough.

"Sakura," Asuma had called out but it barely registered, as my eyes saw only his dead body and the tears that fell down Ino's face as I held her, "Sakura, listen to me. I need you to calm down,"

I didn't calm down.

In fact, I screamed even more, shivering as I felt his unfamiliar and rough hands grip my clenched joints, in a manner he probably assumed was comforting. I only recoiled though, whipping him away as I embedded myself into my best friend's side, relishing in Naruto's familiar scent and feel. Asuma is dead, I kept reminding myself, ignoring my time travel predicament, Asuma is dead. His face was younger, though, stress-free and completely not reminiscent of his long, lasting marriage, firmer and actually groomed. He spoke differently too, I think, or maybe that just seems like the case because I can't even recall how it ever sounded, anymore, and his words held a weaker tone of strictness, as if this wasn't a life or death situation. Well, I suppose it wasn't.

And then, I remembered. I remembered where I am, why I'm here and what I'm supposed to be doing. I remembered why it's okay that Asuma is alive and breathing, softly condoling my inner bruises with his natural kindness. I remembered why Naruto feels so much smaller against my form, and why Sasuke doesn't drive a katana straight through my unsuspecting heart. I remembered that this mission is crucial to everyone's lives.

; .-;

"Hey, Sakura-chan," Naruto calls out finally, after his stare has been pining into my back for at least an hour, "I know you said that you're okay now, but are you really? And, like, why were you even like that?"

I'm not expected to respond, though, and I can tell that by the way Sasuke nudges his elbow into the blond's stomach, and by the way that Asuma casts him an astonished, outraged glare. I can tell that by the way we're suddenly talking about something else, animated and so much more carefree, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the way their gazes linger too long on my moving form, or the panicked glance they all share when my figure shifts too quickly. None of them can conclude anything, and their speculations are definitely way off, but that doesn't stop the paranoia from seeping into my bones.

In contrast to the setting I'm used to, my childhood eyes seem to just see the world in more vibrant tones; Instead of green trees, I can differentiate the shamrock leaves from the cooler parakeet of budded flowers, the crocodile undertones apparent at the lowest points of the deciduous, brighter hues of chartreuse painting the earliest blossoms. Soft salmon petals are beginning to appear as the season warms, coral and cyan clusters litter the ground whilst pansies dye the pistachio of my irises in shades of indigo and amethyst. Usually, I can utter a few words about the burnt amber leaves, and that's it- The rest can be a rainbow that is solely a variety of red, and then my description would have to come to a halt... But not here, not in this time.

"Do you understand your objectives?" Kakashi addresses us casually, although it's pretty obvious to me how important this mission is to him, "Do you understand what you are to do?"

In response, Sasuke only offers a slight nod, but Naruto is vocal in broadcasting our plans, ignoring any code of ninja that I've ever seen. We are to 'babysit' some rich priestess' daughter and ensure her safety after an attack had wiped out half of the temple's bodyguards, whilst discovering who the attackers were and 'dealing' with them, in the loudmouth's words. In all honestly, I'm relatively certain that we're just a cover whilst Asuma and Kakashi partake in whatever we've actually been sent here for: a five-man squad on a simple safety and discovery mission? Ha, yeah right.

We arrive at the temple just before nightfall, when the sky is a haze of medallion yellow and sandstone orange, more exhausted than any of us are willing to admit. Sweat glistens on the younger boys' skin, reflecting the last beams of sunlight onto their cheeks in a way that makes them seem even more childlike, that beautiful innocence gleaming in their coloured gems like the shine of an emerald. I don't miss the deeper huffs of air either of them try to sneak, but I decide to leave their pride in tact and remain indifferent to it.

The temple itself is stunning, with high cobble pillars and glossed marble floors, unique in the way that it doesn't contain even a single plank of wood; even in my current time, 'the future', most areas aren't so advanced to have upgraded from tree bark to refined concretion. Strange forms of creatures- perhaps gods or spirits- are depicted on these gorgeous, elegant statues, some with animal body parts and others just inhumane in an abstract sort of way. The women that greet us, possibly handmaidens, seem to blend in perfectly with the sophisticated aura of land, so pristine and so well composed that I almost find myself pulling at the material of my clothes. They're appealing to the eye in the same way that a Hyuuga would be: graceful and soft, like a painting crafted for the sole purpose of being looked at, and without any deeper, externalised messages. No emotions escape their marionette facades, thick masks concealing any form of humanity in a manner that almost puts me on edge, all four of them present with hair the colour of primroses, ashy and blond, and these stale, sea foam eyes.

"You must be the Konaha shinobi," The tallest one smiles a polite smile, coming forward in front of her clique, the essence of spring itself radiating from her delicate features, "It is a pleasure for us to make your acquaintance, we are very humbled by your kind services,"

"Nonsense," Asuma chuckles out, his louder voice sounding so out-of-place amongst these dainty women that it almost offends me, "We wouldn't be here if it caused us too much hassle,"

He receives a chorus of silent nods, the world seeming to grow soundless in the occupancy of these females. "We presume that you must be weary after what we assume was a long journey?" The same girl speaks again, something about the tone of her voice alerting my inner instincts, "Come, allow us to escort you to your rooms,"

We're lead to an ivory corridor with many branching doors, all magnolia and somehow grand, and are eventually halted between a set of two doors, facing one another, right at the very end of one of the winding halls. We're told that one of us is to sleep with the priestess' daughter to ensure her safety and, for some reason, Naruto is volunteered immediately. He doesn't complain and leaves quickly and quietly, right after our senseis have stumbled into their own quarters, resulting in a brooding Uchiha as my roommate.

Oh, how pleasant.

"Are you prepared for an attack?" Sasuke asks, once again belittling my capability as a ninja.

"No, I didn't read the mission briefing at all and therefore thought we were just going stargazing. Whoops, silly old me,"

"Don't be moronic," He hisses, shuffling through his bag. His arsenal is weak, if I'm being completely honest, only consisting of a few kunai and smoke bombs, shuriken and tekagi- Basically, the bare essentials. Stupidly, though, it's better than mine as I have forgotten to stock up on my own supplies (I also completely lacked the money, but that's irrelevant), "Sarcasm is the lowest form of intelligence,"

"You sound like my mother," I snort back, ungracefully flopping back onto one of the single beds, structured from metal and what feels like pure cotton beneath my fingers. In truth, I miss the way my mother- my actual mother, not some younger copy- used to reprimand me about the stupidest things, like how I rolled my eyes too frequently and how I also left unannounced, or how I walked with too much stealth that it 'creeped her out'. She was always so picky and particular about things, so much so that it often irritated me to no end, but I guess, in some ways, that was her charm.

My dad had been just as bad, really, but in other ways; he was always so protective and difficult about things, never quite believing that I was strong enough to fight for myself. I think, to him, I way always going to be 'his little girl', no matter how many people I managed to beat up that were twice his size. In his eyes, his traditional and conservative eyes, I think I was to be the embodiment of a stay-at-home housewife, hidden from harm and protected by some patriarch who preferred to keep to himself and out of the ninja politics of the world, raising the next line of equally civilian Harunos.

Well, I'm sorry daddy, but I broke the cycle.

Amongst our small, quiet bloodline, I am the first to be trained as a ninja. Amongst our gossiping, average linage, I am the first to be anything but ordinary. Amongst the shopkeepers and the florists and the dressmakers and the bakers, I am the first to be different. It's funny, I always thought this new lifestyle would be so much more exciting than that of my parents- for their eyes had always seemed so dead and bored- but honestly, sometimes I think maybe life would've been far better for me had I not branched off from the family tree. Less exciting, obviously, but maybe I could've saved myself some heartbreak?

Like the heartbreak sitting right across from me, suffering with his own heartbreak that will eventually mould into mine.

This whole time travel thing really makes you reevaluate your life choices- The ones that, at the time, seem so irrelevant yet make the world of difference. Equally, there are some things that I'd rather keep the same, but it's difficult to depict those things when my timeline grows so scrambled, day by day. One wrong move and the entire future is doomed, one wrong move and everyone I've ever cared about ceases to exist: that's a lot of pressure.

I think that I've been so overwhelmed about everything that's happening, that I haven't even given myself a chance to fully digest things- To fully question things. For instance, what happens if I succeed and go back to my own timeline? Like, what happens to this world and what happens to the bonds I've made? Maybe I'll fall in love here or discover something that drastically changes my entire life standing, and then I'm forced to throw it all away? Would I really be so willing? Like, worst case scenario, what happens if I don't want to go back? What happens to me when I've outlived my own original timeline? What happens to the world I've left behind?

To be honest, all of that is highly unlikely anyway, but I can't help the curiosity that eats away at my mind. A chance to redo everything- to right all of my wrongs, and then to just give that all up to go back to an imperfect world? A world where I'm not exactly who I want to be, in a place that I'd rather would stop existing all together? In the middle of a battlefield, with blood permanently stained onto my hands and my once closest allies ripping each other apart? Well, obviously the choice has been made for me...

But it's sometimes nice to speculate: to fantasise, to dream.

"Your mother must be very intelligent then," Sasuke Uchiha scoffs like he's just come up with the greatest comeback of all time, that unimpressed snark baring its teeth at my attitude, yet not bothering to conceal his downright immaturity.

"If she sounds like you, Sasuke," I laugh, strangely feeling some kind of liberation in mindlessly bickering with him like this, "I'm afraid not,"

The Sasuke of my time period is nothing like the Sasuke of my childhood, that's for sure- Anyone with half a brain and a pair of eyes could tell you that; This little boy, who overreacts at the simplest inclination of some kind of flaw, who hides his slight smiles behind eye rolls and one-syllable noises, is so innocent and wonderful, radiating the type of beauty that I didn't even bother to acknowledge the first time around, and so unlike the one I know now. If I had to choose between them, the child before my eyes would instantly be my choice, without a second's hesitation. It's purely speculation, of course, but my internalised problem is that, perhaps, one day, I might have to actually choose.

Obviously, though, that choice wouldn't be as simple as 'Sasuke A or Sasuke B?', but far more in depth and complicated.

But, for now, and maybe for ever, I don't have to even comprehend that decision.

In the middle of the night, when my eyes are on the verge of closing and when the homely lamps have been completely dimmed down, I hear Sasuke's huskier- not by much, though, he's still very much pubescent- voice call out to me, cracked from sleepiness and with exhaustion evident in his entire form. At the sound of his muffled whispers, I roll on my side to face him, unknowingly mirroring his exact position, with my palms pressed together against my right cheek.

"Hn, Sakura," His tone is weary, obviously straining to speak, and it's so soft that I almost don't make it out, but I don't think anyone could quite miss the words that Uchiha Sasuke utters milliseconds before he's in a deep slumber: "You're not so bad, you know?"

And that's it.

The next think I'm aware of is his steady breathing and closed eyelids, his chest dancing a rhythmic waltz as I simply watch his peaceful expression. I don't fall asleep for hours, vaguely recalling the images that never cease to keep me up at night, and just sit there, observing his occasional twist and halt, wondering just what on earth is going through that mind? as I blissfully replay his words like a bedtime lullaby. I don't think I've ever seen a Sasuke look so delicate, so youthful as the twelve-year-old that rests beside me, and the sight is honestly enthralling.

; .-;

Breakfast is eerie, to be completely truthful, disturbing me with the quiet clanking of the cutlery as we all just sit in complete silence. Kakashi is uncharacteristically blank for the giddy man he was at the start of our apprenticeship, his analytical eyes judging everything like the newly invented machines of my own time, merciless and efficient. He doesn't eat either, ignoring his courtesy as a guest, which would appear odd to the untrained eye for there are probably very few who have seen a banquet more extravagant and delicious.

Rich berries and exotic fruits colour the alabaster of the dining room, variations of differently styled toast presented like artwork on sliver platters, foreign dishes shipped in from a manner of countries and lands- There are fish, eggs, meat, vegetables and a huge array of carbohydrates to choose from, all prepared exquisitely for the eye and heavenly on your taste buds. If money could buy you happiness, it's right here, in these meals. In the four years I've been a soldier, I haven't been able to eat anything other than rice and the occasional stew, and, even as a twelve-year-old villager again, my family have never been particularly versed in making food for the enjoyment of flavour, and so I cannot contain myself as I scoundrel the plates of meat. There's wine too, but I'm obviously not allowed it as this body of mine is underage- although it's underage anyway, but I don't let that stop me anymore- and so, instead, I have blackcurrant juice, which is actually a first experience.

After devouring enough cuisine for a whole village myself, we're lead to the priestess, who I can only really describe as overwhelming- When we enter her esteemed quarters, we're greeted by her guards and lead to a section even more closed-off, before we come face-to-face with her, herself, in all her grace and beauty. Unlike most women I have encountered, she has hair the colour of thorny roses, sharp and fiery, with these deep whiskey eyes that just pierce into your soul. Her face is striking and angular, accompanied with full lips that are shaded in with more of a peachy tone than most other females', naturally I presume. Underneath her long, flowing dress, I can only imagine a powerful physique with strong muscles and porcelain skin, but I'm unable to distinguish anything from my first impression. Unsurprisingly, she shares that sophisticated glare like most of the upper-class portion of our nation, and, although her title is less known than the average high-class priestess, she emits just the same sharpness and ridiculing expressions, and her slender fingers seem far sterner than any I have seen before. To put the woman simply, she's gorgeous and intimidating, much alike to Tsunade-Shishou.

"Am I safe to assume that your needs have been well accommodated?"Lady Shizouka, we were informed of her name in the mission briefing, has a voice as smooth as velvet, confident and sure of itself, with that renowned elegance that I've only ever heard about in storybooks. Although she asks a question, there is nothing questing about her tone, that's for sure, and I can't help but admire her.

"Very well accommodated for, I assure you my lady," The silver-haired man of our squad glances up from his kneeling position, which we are all inelegantly hunch over in, and offers one of his bittersweet smiles. He's always had this same mysterious fakeness about him, in all the years that I've known him, like he's never quite revealing all of his cards; which, to be honest, is probably exactly the case.

"My daughter tells me that she has taken quite a keen liking to your teammate," the smile that graces her lips is anything but kind, more as if it's a form to assert her upper-hand, "Which is particularly peculiar for her, I tell you. Uzumaki Naruto, is it?"

"Er, yeah?" the blond, who has been strangely soundless this entire time, splutters out, "That's me, believe it! The one and only,"

God, I haven't heard him bellow that phrase in a long, long time...

"What do you know of your linage, boy?" She questions with that same 'I-know-far-more-than-you-ever-will' smirk, ignoring his informality, dark eyes darkening even more despite the sunlight that seeps through the cracks of her drawn curtains. At this point, Kakashi is quick to interject, stating about it's irrelevance and so on, to which her irises only seem to gleam at. She puts me on edge, to say the least, as if she's secretly harbouring my deepest, darkest secrets beneath her floor-sleeved gown, the expression on her face only adding to my increasing fears.

Some people say that certain priestesses are able to sense things- abnormal, almost supernatural things- such as spirits and what-not, but others say that they're able to see inside of people, who somehow reveal every minuscule detail about themselves with just the meeting of their eyes. Unlikely, I'm fully aware, but there's just something so unnerving about her that I just can't place; Naruto's lineage? What would some random temple woman know about the fourth hokage? And, more importantly, why would it matter to her?

"I assume that you have thought out your strategies well?" in addition, she also assumes a lot, too, which is never a good sign, "And that you will not be needing any intervention what-so-ever, correct? My soldiers are more than willing to offer assistance, if it truly need be, of course, but I assume that you are more than capable yourselves and can handle this just splendidly, yes?"

There she goes again, with that word: 'assume'.

"Of course," Kakashi answers again, seconds before we're dismissed and lead out of the room.

Well, she's a character, alright, that much is for certain.

In my defence, before everyone tries to gut me, I have warned everyone of my appalling time management multiple times... But I'M SO SO SO SORRY FOR SUCH A LATE UPDATE! My timetable has been so busy and I just haven't really had much time to write, and, to be honest, I kind of went through a stage of writer's block ;/ All fixed and cured and whatever now, though, obviously, and so updates might be regular again, but some of you know how I can be ;)))

I've finally decided the route that this is heading in, as well, and so things aren't going to be as aimless and filler as the first few chapters (cuz is there a fandom who hates fillers more than us? I think not ;))) tho some do actually just GET ME GOING, YANOE?) so that's all good, I guess.

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Ciao my loves ~~