“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.”
― Fred Rogers

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*Thwack* *Thwack* *Thwack*

Noramori's shin slammed into her impromptu tree trunk target again and again. She vented her frustrations into its bark with the unbridled restraint of a runaway bull. She had been at this for hours, practicing the interceptor style to the detriment of her body. She was confused, angry, and lost. Her mind wanders through a host of emotions more unstable than a radioactive isotope in decay and just as threatening.

*Thwack*

'Why was I brought here?'

*Thwack*

'Why wasn't I good enough?'

*Thwack*

'Why can't I control myself? I am a fucking adult trapped inside a child's body!'

"WHY!"

*Thwack*

"WHY!"

*Thwack*

"WHY!"

*Thwack* *Thwack* *Thwack*

Her body twirled through the motions, her shins and arms covered in blood, even as her mind spiraled into darker times.

When she was honest with herself, Noramori could admit that this wasn't the first time she had felt like this. Even in her old life, she had known defeat. As Soraza, she had grown up in a life full of loss and poverty.

Soraza was born on the northwest side of Willow Glen, California. She was raised in a poor household by poor parents with poor outlooks.

Her mother was completely absent from her life. She spent more time focusing on her various affairs and how deep her Xanax prescription went than on Soraza's well-being. Soraza's dad was, well, her dad was present. That was the most she could say of the man. When he wasn't buried in a bottle, he used his hands to paint her mother's flesh like a black and blue tapestry. The only time he paid any attention to his "mistake" was when Soraza received her "punishment" or when he manipulated his daughter's innocence to find out more about her mother's infidelity. She didn't blame her mom for trying to find comfort in another's arms. Dad always ensured that you didn't have anywhere else to run when it finally came time for him to "show you your place."

She still remembered the police sirens and flashing lights the night they took her. Her father was splayed out on the kitchen floor by her mother as she beat his head in with grandma's cast-iron pan until his brain resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. Spread out and displayed for all the world to see like a fucked-up dream come true. Soraza had just stood and watched, not feeling much at all for the abusive piece of shite as he bled out from the blunt trauma delivered to his soft skull.

The group home she was sent to tried to help her. They tried their best. State-funded therapists, psychologists, and social workers did their best to help her unpack these emotions. The only thing they ever managed to reveal regarding that night was a sense of disinterest, apathy, and alarmingly, feelings of catharsis. She didn't blame her mom since her dad was an abusive piece of shit, and he had pushed her mother one too many times until she snapped.

She was 13 when this happened. She spent the next three years floating through life, feeling nothing mattered. She diligently completed her state-mandated learning, mostly keeping away from the other kids. She was afraid to let anyone else in. She was too scared to give them a chance to hurt her again.

Her only friend was a girl named Madelyn. Madelyn was two years older than her and shared a birthday with Soraza. The other girl was emotionally stunted and hurt, and her eyes held the same depth of trauma that Soraza's eyes held. They bonded over dark fantasy, comic books, poetry, and which prepackaged cereal boxes and artificially flavored milk were the best.

On Soraza's 16th birthday, Madelyn was released from government-funded housing and booted onto the streets. When Soraza finally joined her in tasting what it was like to be free, it wouldn't be the heartfelt reunion she dreamed of. Madelyn quickly became addicted to heroin on the streets, using the drug to fill the gaps that her empty childhood had left behind. She passed away barely a year later from an overdose. Noramori missed her friend; the group home felt empty without her.

Her favorite group home counselor was Jared. He spent exuberant amounts of time with Madelyn before she left, and Soraza never found this suspicious. He came to her a week after Madelyn left. He said he was proud of her and that she was a strong young woman. He told her that he was inspired by her strength and enamored with her ability to keep pressing forward despite the many traumas that life had thrown at her. He said this is what made her beautiful.

When it first started, she resisted. She screamed no, sobbing into the night, her terror ignored by the other night shift caregivers and group home kids. After all, she was the weird girl; her screaming and crying in the middle of the night was nothing new or strange to them. No one cared enough to check on her. After a while, she got used to it. She even waited deep into the late hours of the night to experience a lone flicker of connection in a sea of disinterest. He made her feel whole. He convinced her to think she knew what love was.

It took her a while to come to terms with her relationship with him. It took longer to realize why Madelyn had been so close to him. It wasn't until her 18th birthday, when she received the same treatment as Madelyn, that it hit her. She expected that man to give her the world. She thought that he loved her. She was wrong. Her dream of the hero riding off into the sunset with the princess by his side was but a farce. A fucked-up fairy tale told by a victim to make what he did okay He had laughed in her face and spit on her, calling her trash and telling her that it was hilarious that she thought he would take care of her.

They never found his body.

The police had questioned her, but the only connection they ever found was that she had spent a lot of time with the man before her release from her incarceration in a publicly funded group home. They dug into this connection, and what they found disturbed them. They had looked at her with pity, either giving up because they understood what happened to Soraza or simply because there wasn't enough physical evidence to prove she had done it.

He passed away just before she finished school. She graduated Summa Cum Laude. Standing at the literal top of her department, she received her bachelor's with a major in mortuary science and a minor in forensics and investigative science. Mr. Addams would have been proud.

She didn't know until she had graduated and was reached out to by his attorney, but Mr. Addams had loved her like a daughter. Not having any next of kin, he had put her down as his sole beneficiary with the condition that the estate would be released to her when she graduated or turned 25, whichever came first.

The attorney had already liquidated his physical assets in the execution of Mr. Addams's will. It wasn't a lot of money, but with that combined with his life insurance policies, minus his funeral expenses, she was able to move to San Francisco and buy a cheap studio apartment on the east side of Golden Gate Park. It was a simple affair: a small open floor plan design nestled into a Victorian-style building on Haight Street that had been converted into something like an apartment building.

It was chilly but cozy. It was hers. For the first time in her life, she had something she could truly call her own.

She got a job as a forensic investigator with the SFPD. It was good work, and she finally felt like she was doing something that would help other people. Help bring closure, real closure, to the families and friends of the tragically departed. She loved the work she had done with Mr. Addams, but she never felt like she had the spark that he had at guiding people through their loved ones' afterlife preparations.

She was damn good at her new job, and she helped to catch many murderers and serial killers while she diligently ground away the day-to-day monotony of her life outside of work.

She was content. Not happy, but content. Finally able to just sit back and relax in relative safety, she found herself okay with the way life was.

She still missed something—some spark, a level of satisfaction that she didn't think she would ever be able to receive in life. That is, until she woke up one morning, having been born into another life in a whole new world.

The time between her old life and her new one was hazy and indistinct. She didn't understand how she got here; hell, she didn't understand when her previous life had ended.

This new life was amazing. It frustrated her to no end, but she had never imagined anything like this. She had never imagined feeling loved, and she hadn't imagined feeling happy.

It was confusing as all hell. Noramori had all these experiences and traumas that felt distant yet part of her. It was like she was a child that had more memories and experiences than she ought to have, and that was the case. She was a child, and her development was directly in line with that. Sure, she had more memories and experiences, but they very rarely helped her with the rules of her new world. Regardless, her emotional maturity and physical development were those of a child.

She rested her head against her practice dummy, and blood coated her forehead from touching the sticky surface of the splintered bark.

Her eyes bore holes into the wood, looking through it as if it weren't there, a forlorn look gracing her delicate features.

This life was more than she could hope for. She had a family. A family she loved with all of her heart, and they loved her back. Everything was harder here, but it seemed to make sense at the same time. The world was cutthroat and brutal, but it was honest about it. It never hid the fact that knives were waiting at every corner for you to pass so they could plunge unheeded into your back.

Her new father was stern but caring and affectionate. It was obvious that everything he said came from the weight of responsibility and the hope that it would drive his children to be as good as they could be. He was militaristic in thinking and met every problem with a hard-headed drive for a blitz of confrontation. It scared her sometimes, but in the end, her father was a good man.

Her mother was precious to her. She had never had someone that she truly felt would catch her no matter how far she fell. She was kind but didn't let that stop her from disciplining her children in a way that always ended with them thanking her for the wisdom she had imparted. She was particularly good with Noramori. It was like she always knew when her daughter needed her to be harsh and dole out tough love but also knew when she needed to be pampered, loved, and held in her arms. It filled Noramori's heart with sunshine just thinking about the smile and beautiful face of her mother. To her, Motoko was a paragon for all that was good in this world.

Itachi was passive, his eyes holding a depth of pain and trauma he didn't seem to like to get into. She still remembered that terrifying and defeated feeling she had gotten when she first looked upon him in this world. He was the first person that she had truly taken in; even her father had been but a passing glance as he held her in his arms just after her birth. Itachi was confusing, but he was her big brother, and she loved him with all her heart.

Sasuke, well, Sasuke was annoying, but he was her annoying. There was no one else she trusted more than him, and she knew that he felt the same way about her.

It was weird having a family. Even after 7 years, it still felt foreign to her. Her heart pounded with pride when she thought of their strength. She couldn't help mentally repeating the scene of her twin reaching the level of a full Clan member in the eyes of the Uchiha. She felt immensely proud of him. She wished that she could feel the same about herself.

She knew that her current predicament would not stop them from loving her. Even if she never improved, they would still love her. After all, she was their princess, her father's only daughter, and she didn't need to be some great Kunoichi for that to be true.

She pushed off the stickiness of her target's blood sticking to her face, barely noticing under the weight of these emotions.

"Take a deep breath, Moriko," she imitated Sasuke with a sigh, "just keep working, and you'll make it one day."

She jumped back with a burst of speed into the middle of the clearing, where her impromptu training sessions took place. She had to try to use her chakra. She needed to; she wouldn't feel whole until she could stand on the same footing as her twin brother. She didn't want to be left behind, not again.

Her hands flashed through the seals for the great fireball jutsu. Her lungs sucked in air as a fish returned to the water. Then she braced herself and shouted.

"Koton: Gokakyu no Jutsu!"

A nuke went off in the clearing.

Noramori's vision was filled with white and orange. Pain is so much pain.

She screamed as a large sphere of fire engulfed her entire body and ignited the surrounding area into a large sphere. Her failures were much worse than Sasuke's.

Everything burned. Everything bled. She lay on the ground in a bloody mess, not even able to cry as the heat from the blazing inferno had stolen all of the moisture from the air and her eyes.

The fire was snuffed out. She made no motion to move from her place. A pair of sad, dark eyes looked down upon her.

Itachi reached down and tried to pick her up gently.

Despite the pain, Noramori gritted her teeth and shoved his arm away. Her mind was whirling with a mess of emotions. Embarrassment reared its ugly head, and she struck out at her brother. Her fists and feet flew out to fight him off, blood smearing his clothes as her blows struck his clothing.

"NO!"

He just stood there and took it. Not reacting in any way, and that only served to make her feel more pissed off.

"Take me seriously; stop treating me like a child; stop treating me like I'm broken!"

His eyes sharpened, and he responded by simply redirecting her blows off-target without harming her.

This pissed her off even more.

"Why can't I do this? Why can't I be good enough? I don't deserve to live."

A flash of pain, and she was on the ground.

She didn't know what had happened and hadn't even seen the blow that struck her face.

Itachi had slapped her hard enough for her to start seeing stars.

She looked up in disbelief and flinched at what she saw. His Sharingan was active. She had never seen him so furious before now. She had never really seen him with any intense emotion of any kind, for that matter.

"You are a child!"

"I am not..."

"Listen and don't speak!" He glared at her and said, "I will say this once and once only."

Noramori held her tongue, staring in surprise and more than a little bit of trepidation at her older brother.

"Noramori, you are a child. You act up when things don't go your way. You hide it well, but I can see the inner turmoil you hide from others. Just looking around this clearing, I can see the evidence of your little outbursts." Besides the obvious fire that probably would have spread out of control if it wasn't for him, there were many trees with dried blood stains and splintered bark. Her gaze hardened with a feeling of pain and betrayal.

He continued, "You are a skilled bushijutsu user, probably the best of your entire generation, but that won't carry you to being a great ninja. You can only get so far on physical ability alone. I could have wiped the floor with you when I was your age, and I would have done it without breaking a sweat."

"You're weak, and it has nothing to do with your chakra control. You are weak because you are fated to be. Your entire existence is built upon the simple fact that you don't have to be strong. The family doesn't expect that from you. That is for me and Sasuke alone. You will never be able to match even a fraction of my power in the art of being a ninja.'

She choked back a sob. She was so far past feelings of betrayal now. She was murderous. Emotions flowed through her and hammered through her veins like Calvary bearing down upon an enemy.

As she stood up, he still had more to say.

"Sasuke is going to leave you behind. He will still love you, but he won't have time to coddle his weak little sister in this harsh world.

Noramori's hands clenched into fists as her nails dug into her palms until they drew blood. Her muscles screamed in agony. She was covered in second and third-degree burns and hadn't had time to register the depth of the damage she had done to herself. The only thing she felt now was rage and disbelief at her brother's words.

"No one wants to admit it, but if you died, it would be easier on the entire family."

Noramori's eyes itched as she began to see red. She lashed out and delivered blows with the intent to kill her older brother. She wasn't thinking anymore. If she was, she would be horrified at the murderous intent behind her blows. Even with his words, he was still Itachi, her brother, and she didn't understand why he was treating her like this. He had never done this before.

He dodged everything that she tried. Taunting her to try harder. He struck back, and she countered perfectly, barely even thinking about her response as her body just moved to intercept the incoming blows.

The more he dodged, the angrier she became.

Her hands flowed through hand seals again.

"Koton: Gokakyu no Jutsu!"

As she exhaled, time seemed to slow down for her, and she felt the flow of chakra through her meridians. She had been doing it all wrong.

She had been trying to force her chakra down. Trying to compact it and make it do what she wanted wasn't the way to go about it.

Her chakra was proud and strong, a raging inferno. It needed to be guided, not snuffed out. It needed to burn forward with ruthless abandon. It needed to rage!

A massive fireball exploded outward toward her brother's position. Blasting away trees, grass, shrubs, and even glassing sand and rocks as it traveled forward.

The feeling of power, of unrivaled brutality, that flowed through her was freeing. Like she had popped a cork on repressed trauma and emotions, she knew she needed to reign them in, but she couldn't bring herself to stop this deluge of intent.

As she began to take in what she was doing, her excitement rose. She started to mix all her other emotions into this one jutsu, and it burned hotter than the sun, vaporizing everything in its path. A great crater of glass and ceramic was formed under it like someone took the world's hottest ice cream scoop and shelled out the ground around the jutsu.

As the fire began to die down, she began to realize what she had just done.

Where was Itachi? She couldn't see him anywhere. She looked around frantically, her senses failing her in her moment of unrestrained panic.

She jumped as she felt hands on her shoulders and looked up into her older brother's sad, dark eyes.

"Good job, little blossom," He smiled down at her and said, "I knew you could do it."

She turned around and started sobbing in his arms.

Her weak slaps landed on his chest, and he simply held her as she cried.

Unbeknownst to her, they were surrounded by ANBU on all sides. The conflagration she had released had triggered more than a few alarms.

The ANBU simply sat and watched the scene, not wanting to intrude on their moment.

Itachi acknowledged their presence, however, hidden, with a sharp glare, and all but one flickered away, likely to report this disturbance to Danzo and the Hokage.

He didn't care; he only focused on diverting attention from Noramori's eyes. Eyes that were bright red, with two tomoe nestled around her pinprick pupils.

The last remaining ANBU watched their surroundings. He was the first to arrive, and he had seen the eyes of the young Uchiha girl. He knew the gravity of the situation surrounding her dojutsu. At such a young age, she would be an easy target if Itachi was looking to hide them, and he would support him in this decision. This ANBU was known as the Hound, and he was none other than the great Kakashi Hatake, the legendary Copycat Ninja.

As she cried into Itachi's arms, her dojutsu deactivated, and she began to lose focus. Her limbs were weak and full of pain. Her body was riddled with burns, bruises, cuts, and trauma. It screamed at her, and she couldn't for the life of her muster the energy to listen. She was wrung out and drained. Her consciousness barely held on by a thread. Then the darkness started to close in as her vision tunneled toward the massive crater her jutsu had formed. She wondered who made that crater; it made her feel... pride?

As Noramori passed out in his arms, Itachi locked eyes with Kakashi. Kakashi could see no threat contained within their depths as they bore into the eye of the ANBU operative. No, not a threat, but a promise. A promise that Kakashi simply smiled at and nodded at. It took a moment for Itachi to return the gesture, and as the two men settled their silent dispute, their gazes strayed to the massive crater left behind by Noramori's jutsu. More than just this was in her eyes. Just before Itachi hid her face against his chest, they noticed something odd with the girl's Sharingan. It lacked normal pupils, and instead, a large purple circle rested in the center of her eye, contained within the tome ring. The only thoughts running through their heads were laced with surprise and a bit of fear for the girl's well-being. This girl was going to be a monster.