#mito ic

During such a turbulent period of militant struggles and noble establishment, marriage into a high clan was often a princess' dream. Oh, how girls would scuttle about within the hidden chambers hiding about the pagoda of their fathers' estate, whispering and giggling to each other about which high lord they would take. It's a behavior encouraged by their affluent mothers and equally smitten elder sisters who experience such luxury all the same.

Princess Mito, hailing from a family rather exclusive to the coast. Their rapturous weather and strict shrine-like culture didn't participate in high society quite like their sister clans did. Often would the matriarchs and mistresses within the lord's chamber travel to allied lands under the Daimyo control and host these tea ceremonies, serving a location for unrestricted gossip. Mito's mother was one of many that did such things. Mito herself, not so much.

At young age, while the eldest of many Uzumaki daughters, was born under an important star. A divine appointment granted by the heavens to imbue her with immense strength, resolve, and most importantly, duty to manage the affairs of the preternatural; the unknown, the living, the dead, and the beastial.

As her sisters would dress in elegant, restricting kimonos. White powder on their faces, their eyebrows plucked thin, and their long, burgundy hair wrapped painfully into a crown, Mito only participated in such formalities on the occasional important holiday or pinnacle event. Immensely blessed and full of heart to see her sisters enjoy their eloquent lives, Mito, herself, was equally happy attending her many duties as High Priestess.

Everything was written in the cards for her: hone her technique, build an immense spiritual foundation, creating the Grand Barrier, and seal all the demonic forces ravaging the land to ruin in the world. It was a perfect plan set into motion the moment she had turned 17.

However, those incredible, awe-inspiring talents were the same abilities that would land her in the spotlight where even her sisters did not shine— right into the watchful, calculating gaze of the Senju High Lord.

Thinking that she could easily decline such advances and pass along the duty to one of her many sisters ( those of which were more than happy to marry into one of the strongest, military shinobi clans at the time ), her father declined her refusal. The Senju Lord was strict on the conditions and would not allow substitute: it was Mito Uzumaki, or nothing at all.

Enraged by the contractual agreement, Mito spat in the face of her father, denouncing him and his merits as Lord Patriarch of Uzushio. Refuting any and all goodwill he may host for their land and its preservation. Unfortunately, all these criticisms fell on deaf ears.

Within the fortnight, Mito was packaged up in the same ornamental gowns that ought to be dressed on her sisters, her hair twisted in beautiful sacred braids with all the golden pins and talismans that as Shrine Maiden should never be without. Her eyelids shine with a deep, jade green with her lips painted a dark cherry rouge. With any luck, she was granted one female attendant for her travels and comforts; a meek young girl who could no more than squeeze her mistress' hand and affirm that this was only a meeting visit and that if his lord does not see fit, then she'll sooner be returning back to the Land of Whirlpools than she could blink.

Not exactly the words that she wanted to hear, but she won't dispirit the girl for trying.

At the Senju gates, their white-golden Palanquin lowered before the brooding iron doors, yawning open upon their arrival. The attendant was out first, opening the door for her highness, along with ensuring her outfit slipped out beautifully with not a detail out of place.

This Senju, intrepid as she was, made no effort to disguise herself this time. The Uzumaki Heiress held such a expansive radius of awareness ( and at times this Senju would be bold to attempt through it unnoticed ) that she could not evade her ever-watchful nature.

" He doesn't, " Mito's airy princess tone fell way to her natural soft speech; languid like gentle waves, " he only initiates when deemed important and keeps quiet when it has no place for him. You should know better than most how he behaves. "

"You must understand... that I am mighty," Hashirama says calmly, shrugging it off. "But I applaud the effort, my lady." || @senjufound

The howlite vial resting against Mito's sternum felt extra cold upon the realization that her latest attempts were for naught. Weeks of planning, learning routines, and managing enough trust between the two of them for her to pull off such an audacious feat— only for it to be squandered at the resiliency of this man's corporeal form.

The Uzumaki tampered with the thought of playing it off as a mistake. A last ditch chance to scrub her purple-tainted fingertips clean of her attempt, but the two of them were smarter than that. She wouldn't have fallen for such a pathetic lie, if anything, deem such a traitor a coward for not owning up to their shortcomings.

"You impress me, my lord," she forces the upturn in her lips," I will do better next time."

@aranlae​ | Hashirama ❝ you’re safe with me, i swear it. ❞

“You have such beautiful gardens in Konoha, Uzumaki-hime,” Chikamatsu languidly strolling through the blossoming greenery. The white flowers seemed to turn and follow his presence. “I have been orphaned of such luscious sceneries in the desert. And though Sunagakure holds all my love— such moments make me miss home.”

Gold eyes pass over the endless expanse of gardens, near apathetic to their residence near the estate. Mito's practiced smile is polite as it were inviting, her mood light in welcome company, regardless of her personal reservations.

" Thank you, " she said, authentic, if nothing else," they're absent of the mosaic quality I'm used to seeing over the glass pools in Uzushio, but I think the floral variety makes for a beautiful showing. "

The curious white flowers don't go unnoticed by the princess, Mito watching as they greet Chikamatsu with equal warmth as children would.

“ Once the generation renews, again and again, all that is left of us will be memories. While the blood cannot be fully washed away, the memory of it will be diminished, age to age. ” Hashirama to Mito. " At least, that is what I want. "

Painted lips are weathered terse and fitted with a frown. The Uzumaki clan's core culture was preservation; tedious record set is a valued, if not highly vetted talent. The meticulous and redundant details were captured for the sole purpose of lossless prosperity, but there is a point where Mito understands that memory will inevitably warp. Much like the pages of a book, or the ink over parchment, even the inanimate of all physical things will fade with age && time.

" What of the memory are you so desperate to hide? " the princess hazards to ask with intuition already offering her an answer.

The young woman takes one of her mothers hands in her own, after having passed a very carefully curated bouquet of spring wildflowers and greenery, as many of them in Mito's preferred colors as she could find, to the other.

"Thank you...for everything you've done for us, and for me, " Kaname smiles warmly. "There isn't a woman...or person, alive or dead, that I admire more than you. I am so proud and grateful to be able to call you my mother.

And you deserve all the happiness for being who you are, for all the extraordinary things you've accomplished, and all the hardships you've survived.

I love you, so much."

The Senju Matriarch stares down at her beloved daughter, gold-speckled eyes carrying a sea's worth of admiration for her child when her hands are taken into caring ones.

" Oh, my dear. " The severe look pressed in by years of duty and war fade in this moment, if only to embrace Kaname into her arms; treating her no different adult nor child. Mito's trailing silk robes wrap Kaname tight with the gifted flowers tangling into her auburn hair.

Mito stares down upon this young face. Those eyes burning with such an intensity that reminded her fondly ( and bitterly ) of older days.

" Nothing, child, " she casts a warm glance over him; the kind born from aged wisdom and having to carry such terrible burden, " my name no more than a stamp in a historical archive next to Senju Hashirama. "