Rain falls in thin, steady lines, silvering the stone paths of Konoha, reflecting the warm lights of lit lanterns. The scent of wet earth clings to the air, mingling with the sharp chill of a late evening. Sasuko’s dark cloak is already soaked at the edges, clinging to the contours of the lean frame hiding her strength as she stands still in front of the lone memorial carved from stone.

The statue of Itachi Uchiha, once a child responsible for solving adult problems by annhiliating his very own clan and forced to go rogue for years to follow, a hero forced to play the part of a villain for too long, stands motionless in a similar fashion to her, cold and solid, yet somehow still watching. Sasuko's head is slightly tilted, bangs sticking to her cheek, the rinnegan hidden beneath black hair as her lone arm rests at her side. The other - gone, lost, like so much else.

There's silence safe for the noise of the rain, heavy and unyielding. The weight of old scars, of choices she cannot undo, sits sharp in her chest along words on her tongue that would never be taken back or uttered, at all. So, like always, she says nothing. Just stares at a face achingly familiar, painfully still, the rain sliding down his cheek as it does hers, replacing tears the kunoichi refuses to shed.