Chapter Text
Little value do words hold in a world of endless bloodshed and warfare. The absence of their entailment currently exists as the likely root of the contemporary situation of this era.
However, perhaps it is owing to the fact that I differ in great quantities from others that society's unspoken normalities hold little application over myself.
Or perhaps, it subsists due to my nonpareil fate provided by providence that produces my distinctions.
“Born from blood of ice,
a longing of paradise.
Come her eyes with price,
like a fox in mien and vice.
She be the snow woman.”
Mere poetry, the basis of my dictated life. A petty five lines from which I could not stray. [1]
Ironic, that such a prophecy existed for one such as I.
Such prose used to exist normally employed in celebrations, competition, or exchanges of love. [2]
Every single one irrelevancies, and apparently, my life exists among them.
Luxuries of times different. Such occurrences currently are not fruitful in such an era.
Matter it did not, for reasons alter not results. Mortal curiosity enthralls the best of us, though I should hasten to add that not any would station myself within such a classification.
Worthless. Within a period of war, all lives are given such consideration.
Mine does not get even that quantity of concern. Such is life, such is mine.
Yukina.
The one originating from the people that fan the flames. [3]
I am Yukina of the Uchiha.
And this is my legend.