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She frowned at the sky as it if personally wrong her. It wasn't an entirely incorrect sentiment, since the sky was indeed to blame for her current predicament. It wasn't supposed to rain today.
Konan released a quiet sigh as she wandered the muddy path, mourning the state of her shoes and cloak. Her outer layer had peeled away roughly an hour ago, just moments after she collected a bounty on a particularly nasty missing-nin from Suna. A man who liked to take civilian lives and hunt their children for sport.
A truly vile excuse for a human. Konan held little love for civilians that weren't under her protection, but children, no matter their origin, were precious. She didn't like them and certainly never entertained any thoughts of having her own, yet there was an innocence and vulnerability to those young vibrant beings that deserved to be preserved for as long as possible.
Sidestepping a waterlogged furrow in the road, Konan rounded a corner only to come face to face with a quaint little tea shop. She briefly wondered who would decide to open a business in the middle of Tea's nowhere, then decided that it wasn't her place to question someone else's business practises.
In either case, the establishment was more than convenient. Nagato would understand if she ran a day or two late, especially when it couldn't be helped. The rain in Ame knew better than to soak her paper while foreign skies tended not to respect her wishes. Without her wings the journey would take three times as long so waiting until the weather changed seemed the wisest course of action.
Brushing a single piece of paper off her shoulder, Konan hurried her pace to avoid losing any additional layers. She had gotten too used to being constantly shielded to be unbothered by the rapidly thinning barrier between her true body and the world.
The wood creaked beneath her feet as she ascended a small set of stairs which lead to an outer sitting area. Curtains that fluttered heavily in the strong wind did a poor job at keeping the water away while the windows and door were shut and reinforced with heavy wooden planks. For all intents and purposes, the shop seemed closed but just as Konan was about to turn around and continue her journey, she watched the door open a crack.
A single flash of green peeked through the opening so Konan halted her movement and waited patiently for the flash to decide upon a course of action. She straightened her posture and arranged her face into a mask of blank politeness.
Mere seconds later, the crack opened further and revealed a small little being with wide green eyes and bright pink hair. A rare colour, almost as unnatural as her own. Konan tilted her head to the side as she considered the contrast of jade green and candy cotton pink. Fresh, youthful and entirely too innocent. Still, it made for a very compelling mixture.
“Who are you?” The child's voice stuttered as it shivered in the cold. Its clothes were threadbare with multiple patched holes and frayed hems. Owning a tea shop in such an unfortunate location was apparently just as much of an unfortunate decision as she thought.
“Konan,” she replied calmly both because it was her way and to avoid spooking this pink human. She was after all, dependant on its kindness. Konan would appreciate finding shelter within its dwelling. The child bit its lip as it stared at her progressively soaked silhouette, stubby fingers clutching the door frame.
“My parents told me not to let anyone inside while they're gone.” What they appeared to lack in business sense, they at least made up for with sensible advice. Such a remote location was guaranteed to attract unsavoury characters with little to no possibility of receiving assistance. The child was smart to be wary.
“I seek shelter from the rain. May I enter your establishment until the weather changes?” Konan wasn't much of a talker but she made an effort to sound nonthreatening and benign. The child shuffled nervously before continuing to chew on its lip.
“D'you promise not to hurt me?” Such a question seemed pointless. Surely if she wanted to hurt this human she would have already done so. Some of her associates, Orochimaru especially came to mind, wouldn't hesitate to make such a promise only to break it later. Perhaps this child's parents weren't quite as sensible as she had previously assumed.
“I shall not harm you for as long as I reside within your home.” The child scrunched up its nose as it considered its options before slowly moving aside, further opening the door and peering at Konan from underneath its messy bangs.
Taking the invitation for what it was, she inclined her head in gratitude, then entered the humble abode. The interior was clean and obviously well-kept. Pale woods with slightly darker furniture, spring green tablecloths and freshly bloomed daisies on each table created a homely, welcoming atmosphere. Konan's eyes spotted a thin layer of dust on top of the shelves closer to the ceiling that the child would have trouble reaching. Its parents appeared to have been gone for quite some time.
“D'you need a towel?” the young human asked as Konan unbuttoned her cloak and laid it out on the floor to dry. The wood was polished and pristine. The child appeared to take its responsibilities very seriously.
“A towel would be much appreciated,” Konan replied while meeting its jade eyes with her own amber ones. It lingered for another heartbeat and stared at Konan until it gave a small nod before dashing up the stairs.
Having taken care of her mantle, she realised that she would have to ask for a set of spare clothes as well. Her own were thoroughly drenched which was not at all good for the condition of her paper. Brushing as much water off her body as possible, Konan further inspected the shop. Most notably, was the fact that there was one of everything.
One glass of water on a counter, one set of dishes in the sink, one pair of used slippers next to the entrance. Logically, Konan knew that her case was the exception. Most children grew up with parents until they inevitably left to wander their own path. This one seemed too young to have already taken that direction.
“I got you a dress too,” the child proclaimed once it descended the stairs with a small bundle in its hand. Konan thanked it with a polite nod of her head and accepted the offering. The towel was soft and warm, a lovely shade of yellow reminiscent of a rainless sunset. She couldn't quite remember the last time she'd seen one of those.
“D'you want something to eat?” Konan critically analysed the child and its thin frame, the collarbones which were too visible for a growing human as well as the empty sacks of rice that lined the cupboard shelves.
“I am not hungry,” she answered while peeling off the outer layer of her dress which had come close to fusing with her skin. Konan had never come around to try and fix the glaring issue with her jutsu that was weather dependency. Perhaps the time to do so had finally come. Attempting to correct that oversight would give her something to do while she waited for the rain to pass, if nothing else.
“Are... you okay?” Konan blinked at the child and waited for it to elaborate. During her last confrontation she had not been harmed. If her outer shell had sustained any damages she would have been aware of it.
“You're...,” the child helplessly gestured with its short arms towards her bare shoulders.
“...flaky,” it eventually settled on, prompting Konan to nod in understanding. Taking the loose edge of one of her paper sheets between her fingertips, she slowly pulled at it until it had seperated from the shell. Slightly angling downwards to accommodate the young human's lack of height, she offered it the paper for further inspection.
“I hide my body underneath a husk of paper in order to protect it. The rain damaged the shell, thus giving you the impression of... flakiness,” she explained using the child's words. Konan didn't know much about young persons' mental development and reasoned that delving into a complex analysis of the delicate workings of her jutsu was likely to overwhelm it.
“So you're... not real?” the child asked curiously with wide eyes as it leaned closer. Konan was glad it didn't attempt to touch her, as young humans were known to do.
“The shell mimics my appearance yet underneath it I am, indeed, very real.” That seemed to satisfy the child for now. It frowned at her in thought one last time before wandering off, presumably to give her some privacy while she changed. A nice sentiment, if entirely unnecessary. Growing up around orphans in similar states to her own, then later never revealing her true self had eliminated all sense of false modesty.
Konan closed her eyes, formed a single handsign and expelled the entirety of her shell. With a wet squelch, the damp mass of paper separated itself from her body and landed on the floor. She released a single annoyed sigh, not looking forward to the task of laying out every single piece of paper to dry.
The dress the child had given her was simple in both quality and design, a bright red and woven from cotton, something that would clash with her hair quite terribly. Beggars weren't choosers, Konan reminded herself, thinking back to days where she had struggled to find anything to wear at all. It fit her well enough even though it was a little tight in places, fit for a woman one or two sizes smaller than she. It appeared like the child wasn't the only one in its family to struggle for food.
“Is that your husk?” Konan sometimes wondered if thinking of these young humans inadvertently summoned them. Ame housed an unusually high amount of orphans for a variety of reasons yet all of them were well cared for, she personally made sure of it. Some of them still tended to get in trouble every now and then which, as Konan had learned, was a natural effect of growing up without parents. Occasionally, one of them got lost in the underbelly of the village which suitably terrified them into never attempting to explore these depths again.
Retrieving them was a task which fell to Konan who barely needed to concentrate on them for more than a few seconds until they suddenly appeared in her closer vicinity.
“Yes,” she replied evenly before reaching up into her hair to loosen the bun in order to speed up the drying process.
“It's all wet and sticky... is it broken?” The child curiously advanced closer towards the remains of her shell, hunkering down in front of it while keeping its fingers close to itself.
“As it is made from paper, it cannot break. However, it isn't functional anymore. The paper needs to dry before it can be infused with chakra.” That got its attention. Excitement appeared on a rounded, blushing face as jade eyes began to sparkle and rosy strands bounced with sheer energy. The pure liveliness of this child was certainly a sight to behold. Konan wondered how long it had been since it had encountered another living being. Surely her paper husk couldn't seem that impressive to a young human who lacked the knowledge required to fully comprehend the intricacy of her life's work.
“I know about cha-ku-ra. There's been ninjas sometimes who told me about it and when I'm older my ma-” The child trailed off as the lights in its eyes dimmed and formerly wide smile turned into a frown. It appeared Konan's analysis had been correct. They usually were, though it wouldn't do to become complacent.
“I am a ninja.” As if a switch had been flipped, the child once again lost itself in its childish enthusiasm about chakra, ninja and 'super cool spinny kicks'. Seeing as Ame was a mostly militaristic nation with few civilians that held any illusions regarding the training and responsibilities of its nin, Konan had never come across a human being romanticising the at times gritty and dismal reality of one who fought and killed for a living. She watched the child prattle and gush and decided that it seemed too young yet, to be disillusioned.
“The paper needs to be laid out to dry. If you are careful, you may assist me.” Tiny hands clapped in joy as the child jumped back on its feet with vigorous nodding. It had been a long time since Konan was a child though she couldn't quite recall if she herself had ever been that easily amused by anything. Then again, until recently, this young one's upbringing seemed to have been happier than her own.
Konan picked her husk off the floor and carried it to one of the nearby tables. The child followed her, endlessly fascinated by the wet mass of paper that already came dangerously close to fully merging the individual layers with each other. If that were to happen, Konan would be forced to create a new shell and spend five weeks worth of chakra infusing papers. The mere thought caused her to frown slightly. Avoiding such a situation would be preferable.
“You will carefully separate one layer of paper from another, then place it on a table to dry. Watch,” Konan instructed the child, then demonstrated. Under her watchful eyes, the child then repeated her actions with great care and hesitancy. Pleased that the young one could be left to its own devices, Konan attended to her duty herself.
They worked in silence until the sky outside darkened and what little ambient light had been shining through the windows at the back of the building, gradually faded. As soon as that happened, the child abandoned its task in favour of retrieving a small number of candles which it placed on the few empty surfaces that still remained. Its fingers shook visibly as it lit a match before igniting the candles.
“Is your dwelling equipped with a heat regulation system?” The child blinked owlishly and mutely stared at Konan, who reconsidered her words.
“Your house. Does it own a central heating system?” Green eyes widened in recognition, only for them to dim nigh instantly.
“No... the el-ec-tri-cs don't work anymore... are you cold? I can get you a mantle...” Konan did indeed, feel slightly chilly, unused to being fully exposed to the open air. She didn't know when she had last wandered this world without a barrier of paper to hide inside.
“There is no need,” she replied before focusing on her task once more. They would be finished soon and then Konan would guide the child towards the fireplace she had seen earlier. She never had much of an affinity for katon techniques yet even her meagre abilities in said field would suffice. A simple fire should provide them with the required warmth.
“Um... I'm all done, Konan-san,” the child speaks up after an undetermined amount of time. Konan rarely got lost in her thoughts. Then again, she rarely found herself in the company of small ones either. It looked up at her as Konan surveyed the fruits of their work. Every single table in the establishment was covered in thin sheets of paper, some perfectly aligned with one another, others marginally messier though not by much. The child was a very precise worker.
“I thank you for your aid. You were quite helpful,” she praised it and watched its gaunt face light up with joy. The sight wasn't entirely unpleasant. It had pleasant features, rife with symmetry and the markings of one who would grow up to be beautiful. Konan had been the same once, long ago.
“Follow me,” she added before approaching the cold fireplace. A few logs were stacked inside a stony basin, the edges charred and ashy. Small black spots marred the surface of the thinnest piece of wood, no doubt a result of the child's inept attempts at lighting a fire. Konan kneeled down in front of the basin, extended a hand towards the logs, and called upon her chakra.
Fire had never come easy to her, much like water. Both were natural enemies of her jutsu and while she had eventually learned how to call upon both, neither ever felt as natural as her wind release. Separating a small ball of chakra from the well within her body, Konan shaped it into fire, then directed it at the wood in front of her. With a faint flicker, a small flame sprung to life, eagerly latching onto the logs, slowly consuming them. It took next to no thought to fan the flames with a barely noticeable gust of air.
“Woooow,” the child breathed from her left as it stared into the fire, eyes wide and reflecting the flickering reds and oranges. It settled down next to Konan, shuffling across the floor with its bare knees scraping against dark hard planks.
“You're so cool.” Konan, whose hands had already begun absent-mindedly folding small paper flowers, stopped. She glanced at the child who observed her every move, attention stuck on the origami she was currently working on. She hadn't even noticed that she had summoned a handful of dried squares from the tables into her lap.
“Can you show me how to do that?” Konan did not like other people touching her paper. Yet considering that this child had aided her in taking care of it, it would be rude to deprive it of its reward. Originally she had planned to leave a small pouch of money once she left. Perhaps this could be a more suitable prize.
“Watch,” she repeated her earlier instruction before slowing down her hands, demonstrating where to fold the square, how to shape it into its desired form. Once she held a small paper bird in between her thumb and index finger, Konan applied a minuscule amount of chakra to the construct, then watched as it came to life and took to the air.
The child gawked in amazement, mesmerised by the gentle flap of its wings as it soared above their heads, circling around the child before neatly settling on its shoulder. A small finger carefully reached for the paper bird before touching it so gently as if the smallest amount of pressure would shatter it. Ultimately a waste of chakra, not that the child would ever know.
“It's so pretty.” Konan nodded in agreement, pleased that this young one held an appreciation for art that would hopefully carry over into adulthood. There were too few artists in the world and then, even fewer who enjoyed the contrasting nature of complexity borne from simplicity. Simple beauty. Fragile, yet infinitely versatile. Something not quite unlike the child in front of her.
They shared no more words after that, both engrossed in their art. Whenever Konan ran out of paper, the constructs unfolded themselves and she began anew. Every now and then, she cast a single glance at the child. At first, its attempts were clumsy and unsightly. It mangled more than just one piece of paper that Konan had to smooth and repair with her chakra.
She was ready to declare the child a lost cause when, after an hour, it improved. The birds themselves were crooked and uneven but Konan could see the delicacy in its touch, the dexterity of its fingers. Soon, the birds became more recognisable for what they meant to be and not much later, the child discovered the merits of variety.
Some of its paper animals were large, others small. One had a mere single wing, another lacked a beak. It experimented, seemingly without thought or reason, actions a result of sheer childish curiosity.
Eventually, Konan's lap was full of roses while she herself was busy studying the child. Perhaps...
“This bird is suitable.” Her voice disrupted the spell the child had woven around itself and with a soft noise, said bird fell out of its hands and onto the floor. Its best piece yet, the construct was balanced and intricate, combined form with function. It would do.
“Take it,” Konan ordered. The child obeyed.
“Close your eyes and concentrate. Place a hand on your stomach and attempt to feel your chakra.” Konan had never taught another human being a single lesson in her entire life, so she drew upon her memories of the sannin who had, once upon a time, taken mercy on her.
“If it's hot, it burns like fire. If it's cold, it runs like water. If it's wild, it blows like wind. If it's solid, it remains still like earth. If it crackles, it sparks like lightning.” Konan's memory guided her through the words, accompanied by images and sounds of days long gone. Days she left behind on the ground once she gained her wings and ascended to become the angel of her god.
“It's... fast. Um, cold but also really wild? I don't know...,” the child trailed off, dejected. Konan had not expected it to truly feel anything at all. It looked much younger than the academy students she occasionally spotted when high up in the sky, surveying her kingdom. Unusual, certainly yet also interesting. Maybe this one had the soul of an artist as well as the talent to match it.
“A combination of water and wind. Suitable for this technique.” Dual natures in civilian children were nearly unheard of. As much as Konan disapproved of sending young ones to war, this one would sooner or later find itself in a struggle for life or death either way. Its parents weren't going to return and this child denied a truth it was already aware of. Orphans, as Konan had learned, never escaped their fates of violence and bloodshed. As much as she sheltered them, God decreed they attended the academy to learn how to serve their homeland. This one, if properly trained, had a chance of staying alive while so many of its brethren never opened their eyes again.
“Focus on your chakra. Imagine wind in all its aspects. Air is wild, untamed and omnipresent. It elevates just as it topples, can be soft or forceful, hide or roam free,” Konan recited her old teacher's words and felt the stirrings of foreign chakra next to her. The child had its eyes closed, both hands on its stomach while breathing slowly and evenly. Either someone had taught it to meditate or it came natural to it. Minutes went by. Konan kept feeling for its chakra, waited patiently as the foreign airy presence built and expanded. Once it reached the desirable level of stability, she spoke up once more:
“Take the chakra you built and guide it through your hands into the bird. Think of flying, not life. It is inanimate. Make it animate instead.” It was harder to deliver her own explanation. Konan had never much relied on clear thought or strict techniques when it came to her paper jutsu. It was as natural as breathing, an inorganic extension of her very being. If this child didn't hold the same basic instinct in its tiny body, Konan's jutsu would forever elude it.
“Fly, lil birdy,” the child whispered as it opened its eyes and looked at the construct in its hands. Nothing happened and the child's hopeful expression crumbled. Konan had expected this outcome. After all, she was used to being correct.
Until suddenly, the bird flapped its wings. The execution was clumsy and unrefined, the paper rustled loudly as inexperienced chakra flooded its artificial body. One wing struggled more than the other, so when the animal finally began to fly, it wobbled in the air, involuntarily going in circles.
How... unexpected.
“Birdy!” the child exclaimed loudly with a clap of its hands, eyes bright and mouth wide open in pure joy. It jumped to its feet, mindlessly chasing the amateurish construct around the shop, endlessly amused by the sad attempts at proper flight, not at all deterred by its numerous imperfections. Konan remembered the first time she had animated an origami flower to bloom and the indescribable euphoria that had consumed her. The memory was close, the feeling a mere echo.
“I did it, Konan-san! I made the birdy fly!” The child gazed upon her as if she was the only thing that mattered, as if she was important, as if she was...
“It's like an angel!” Tenshi.
“You did well,” Konan said with a nod and rose from the floor, paper flowers falling from her lap, unfolding and moving around her body before they could hit the ground. It was late and if she meant to move on in the early morning, a few hours of rest would do her well. The constant thrum of rain against the building had ceased and likely wouldn't return during the night or the following day. Tea country wasn't known for its stormy seasons.
“You should retire. I would prefer to sleep.” The child, still overtaken by its recent accomplishment, nodded quickly before running up the stairs, likely in order to prepare a futon. Its faulty bird fluttered past Konan's head so she reached for it with her chakra and fixed the child's raw approach to animation, granting the misshapen construct an adequate amount of stability. Satisfied with the results, Konan followed the child upstairs.
The upper area closely resembled the downstairs public space as far as materials and colour schemes went. She passed a door that stood slightly ajar and smelled the dust before she could see it. The child's parents' room had gone unused for more than a week.
“Here! It's, um, not much because we don't have much space but my grandmother used to sleep in this room and I hope it's okay,” the young one rambled as it opened another door which led to a much cleaner, if slightly stale room. A single futon was laid out on the ground amidst boxes of various sizes, old tablecloths and other unused items.
“It is acceptable.” Konan had slept in worse conditions. For a single night, it would do. The child hovered nervously at the door, wringing its hands and biting its lip. Konan was patient, so she waited for it to voice its concern.
“G- Goodnight!” it squeaked before dashing away and disappearing in a room further down the hall. Konan frowned briefly as she watched the child's door shut with a loud crack. She truly preferred humans when they were fully grown and easier to understand. Children would remain a mystery to her, perhaps forever. She chose not to spend any more thoughts on the oddities of young ones and settled down onto the futon.
She fell asleep, as every night, with a clear mind and dreamt of rain, paper flowers, and a very distant past.
The next morning arrived soon. The futon hadn't been comfortable but Konan, who considered comfort a luxury as opposed to a necessity, rose without complaint. Walking over to the boarded window, she cracked it open to reveal a bright sun, clear skies and wet verdant grass. With the soundless steps of a seasoned ninja, she hung up the futon to dry before exiting the room. The child's door was still closed.
Seeing no reason to wake the young one, Konan walked down the stairs to inspect her papers. Row after row rested on the tables, perfectly dry and smooth. Exceptionally pleased, Konan shed the dress the child had lent her and folded it over the back of a chair. Her own clothes fit her like a second skin and she was glad to feel the soft smooth material once more.
The Akatsuki cloak on the other hand, was still mildly damp. It couldn't be helped. After fixing her hair, Konan stood in the middle of her room and released her chakra. Every single square of paper lifted itself off the tables, swirled and danced in the air around her body until she withdrew her chakra. Following the energy, the papers attached themselves to her body, sticking to her skin in multiple layers so closely, they almost merged.
Releasing a single breath, Konan shut her eyes for a few seconds to relish in the feeling of finally being complete once again. She couldn't remember the last time she had spent such an extended period in her true form, naked and unprotected. Now that she had regained her wings, she could call herself God's Angel one more time.
Konan reached into the depths of her cloak to withdraw a small bag of money. It wasn't much but it should get this child through a few more weeks until it found alternate means of sustaining itself. It seemed resilient beneath that fresh and delicate exterior. Konan didn't doubt that it would find a way to survive and perhaps, if God smiled upon her, even thrive.
As she turned to leave, she was momentarily distracted by the child's paper bird that hovered right in front of her face. Konan's chakra would fail it once she took to the skies, returning its current elegance to its former state of gracelessness. The child would figure out how to refine its technique and correct that oversight.
Her eyes got caught on the three pairs of slippers next to the door and the layer of dust covering two of them. Konan had never met her parents, lost them before she could form a single meaningful memory. This child clearly remembered them. It had to lonely, all on its own, like this. Her fingers lingered on the doorknob. She thought of Jiraiya, Nagato and Yahiko and how the four of them had become a family, four broken and jagged pieces trying to fit together. It had worked for a while until it had, inevitably, fallen apart.
Without looking back, Konan walked through the door and left, leaving behind a single periwinkle paper rose on the doorstep.
Years went by and Konan forgot about this child. On her way home, she had stopped close to the nearest outpost on Fire country's side of the border. Applying a simple henge, she had informed the Konoha ninja of a young orphan living in its deceased parents' tea shop. They had agreed to look for it and bring it to Konoha.
She had done her duty for this lost child, played shepherd to one not of her own. Hours later, Tenshi returned to Ame, welcomed by familiar skies that slid over her form as if she was covered in oil, covering her in the smell of home and peace. She continued to watch over her people, shelter her orphans, protect her city. Occasional flashes of rose or jade did nothing to jog her memory, failed to recall images of a foreign little one that had shown a perfect replica of Konan's own talent of her younger days.
Time passed and Ame stayed the same, forever rainy, eternally guided by God and his Angel.
Ame stayed the same, until one day, she was called to the gates. A code consisting of chakra signals, requesting Tenshi's presence. The absence of danger slowed Konan's descent from the skies in which she dwelled until, eventually, her feet hovered inches above the ground.
“Tenshi-sama,” one of the guards greeted her with a deep bow which was immediately mirrored by the ninja next to him. Konan didn't speak and waited, instead.
“There is a girl here. She requests entry into Ame and claimed to have met you a few years ago.” As he said this, he stepped aside to reveal a young human. It barely reached his waist and Konan estimated it was around academy graduate age. It had a small pack slung over its shoulder and was dressed in a dirty scarlet dress with a hem that touched its knees.
Her eyes scanned the young female and only stopped once it reached her face. Or more specifically, bright jade eyes framed by rosy strands of hair.
“Hello again, Konan-san.” She stared at this child and absent-mindedly realised that it had indeed, as predicted, grown into its soft and youthful beauty. Its eyes still sparkled with the same kind of joy and excitement as they had years ago. The smile that rested on pink lips too, mirrored that of the one in Konan's far-off memories.
“Why are you here?” she asked, gazing upon this human who she had met once and never thought to come across again. It gave a small shrug before reaching into its hair and parting a few strands.
“I remembered you. I wanted to see you again.” The child's action revealed a crinkled and faded periwinkle paper rose attached to the white ribbon that sat atop its head. Before Konan's eyes, the flower unfolded and hovered in the air as it changed shape into a perfectly symmetrical bird. The bird flapped its wings and soared through the air between them with the kind of dignity and grace only years of practise could have wrought.
Konan looked at this child and for the fraction of a second, watched rose hair turn cornflower blue, jade eyes change into amber orange.
Without another word, she pulled a single square of paper off her body and offered it to the child. She waited until it accepted the token and read the words that formed in black ink.
'By the grace of Tenshi, you are invited into God's realm.'
Konan turned around and took off into the sky, soaring high above the clouds, and returned to watching over her people, her orphans, and her city.
Perhaps one day, this child of rose and jade could join her.