#ino.

  Not a soul would not deny the house belonged to him, every paint-chipped pillar and creaky stair, every musty fireplace and rusted kitchen appliance. Equally true, however, if not more so, was that he belonged to the house. For near a century the walls stood tall and unflinching as they bore the brunt of storms and sun alike, but these walls doubled as prison bars in a manner that was unique to the sole occupant within them.

  He existed the way a flickering bulb may exist in a lamp: Unstable and uncertain, with neither the self-awareness of its existence nor the ability to break free of its confines, and with an eerie aura one would not want to cross in a narrow hallway after dark. He existed indefinitely, a being between two planes, content enough (only because he knew nothing but content, the way he felt nothing but the dead air around his ethereal, intangible form) to exist indefinitely until, for the first time in near a century, someone dared cross the threshold into his very own domain.

  The flurry of movement may have lasted a minute or a month; passage of time meant little for he whom time could not affect. Still, he lingered - around rooms now littered with boxes and furniture he did not recognise, around candles replaced with bulbs, around the scraggly, overgrown garden demolished and re-mulched, around a woman flitting in a world just beyond his reach. What else could he do but linger?

         "What, you’ve never been outside before?"

    Ino rocked forwards onto the balls of her feet, hands clasped demurely against her bodice. In contrast to the stony thoughtfulness of the lord’s face, her countenance radiated with sunshine, curiosity lacing the timbre of her voice.

    Truth be told, he unnerved her: everything from those dead, dead eyes to his unnaturally still posture set every hair on her head standing on end. But her father had instructed her specifically to be kind; alluring, even— an alliance with the neighboring royalty would benefit all parties involved.

             Still, that didn’t make him any less creepy.

    “It’s a little droll.” Ino added after a moment, delicate nose wrinkling. “Too many people. Lots of animals and screaming children.” She cast him a thoughtful look. “I… supposed it’s worthwhile to familiarise yourself with the peasantry, though.”

  Be normal, Gaara had been told. I won't ruin the future of our empire because of you. The 'you' had been a jab at the chest, an accusation of the last and least successful son , and the young price shrank back with a numb nod. The princess in question appeared unperturbed by his cool formality and his lack of conversation, but they had progressed through a tour of the palace, a stony dinner, and now a stroll through the outer gardens - trailed closely, of course, by guards of the highest caliber. Though nothing had been directly revealed, speculating their families' true intentions had been easy enough: Tying their two empires together. Gaara would never be king so long as his brother still lived, but a powerful ally was not an opportunity their father would pass up so lightly.

  Gaara could give a rat's ass about the kingdom and its successors. The conversation was minimal and largely one-sided. He showed only minimal interest about life outside the palace walls, and even that was one of derision rather than curiosity. His stare was flat, his mouth a thin line.

…