She was unnatural.  Different to the extent of being completely alienated amongst her own people.

From the beginning, the course she had chosen had dictated that she stand out, make her way independently, on her own strength.  While it was not forbidden for women to wear the various designs of the ninja mask, it was not exactly commonplace either.  For a woman to be chosen as one of the personal guards of their clan’s heir was practically unheard of, a mere girl even more so.

Her comrades among the Yao Clan respected her.  They were her equals or near-equals in the art of combat and they shared a bond that would be unbroken by life, torture or death.  However, they were not her friends.  Allies and companions, yet they would never be able to except her for what she was.

Nor could the women of the clan.  She could not cook, nor did she clean, as she was occupied nearly constantly with her studies and training.  They talked with her, and never turned her away, but the feeling was there: the lack of common ground they shared with her had created the abyss and her own determination to pursue her goals had filled it.

Goals.

Heh.

For someone with a personality as driven and strong willed as her own, was it odd that every action, every move she made, every breath she took was for his goals, his dreams?  It had taken no small amount of strength and skill to come as far as she had – for herself alone – never following; she either walked side by side with the others, or she led.  And yet now that was all she did.  She followed him, guided him, protected him, pursued his aims in place of her own.  Why?

Her mother had once told her that was what love was: realising your own dreams in the heart of another.

But this was not love.  It couldn’t be.

Love was the look her parents had shared, before her father left to serve the Yao Clan’s heir-hopeful for the final time and her mother had taken her in her arms and comforted her, even as tears coursed down the older woman’s face.  Love was the young girls of the clan, cooking and cleaning wholeheartedly, blushing and giggling when their men turned gazes their way.  Love was the besotted woman who fasted for weeks to afford a new kimono to wear before her beloved – and Love was the man who bought her a bejewelled hair comb in return, rather than a new sword for himself.

Love was sacrifices and comfort and protection.

Pain…

Yes, there was pain…in broken hearts and childbirth and life.

…the pain in her shoulder throbbed and burned, slowing her mind and dulling her senses.

But maybe, in the end, love was worth it?

Her breathing caught in her throat and she slumped down against a wall, victorious even when her body was at its limit: broken.

Was she so different that she couldn’t love him?

The world faded to black…and the last image left imprinted in her mind’s eye was that of his face…

So this was what Love felt like, after all.

“Ling…”