[ For half a second upon seeing those eyes, at once hauntingly familiar and then shockingly foreign, an overwhelming sense of dread washes over his person. It's a wave far greater than his conscious awareness of his brother's intentions or his self-delusion of "objectivity" that has him sitting so still and calm in Itachi's presence, and even as lips part and the fingers of his remaining hand clamp down white-knuckled against the table's surface he's unable to further react.
It's a perfect crystallization of years and years of buried trauma, all relived in the presence of the monster his brother has painstakingly created. Tsukuyomi is a technique employed effortlessly for his torture, not for communication or peace, and when his own eyes reopen within the vision he half-anticipates a blood-red sky.
Nothing could be farther from the truth, and rather than being unsettled by the unknown he is deeply, viscerally comforted by it. Tension is gone from his shoulders as he openly examines his surroundings, senses alight with a vivid swath of color, smell, and feeling. ]
no subject
It's a perfect crystallization of years and years of buried trauma, all relived in the presence of the monster his brother has painstakingly created. Tsukuyomi is a technique employed effortlessly for his torture, not for communication or peace, and when his own eyes reopen within the vision he half-anticipates a blood-red sky.
Nothing could be farther from the truth, and rather than being unsettled by the unknown he is deeply, viscerally comforted by it. Tension is gone from his shoulders as he openly examines his surroundings, senses alight with a vivid swath of color, smell, and feeling. ]
Where are we, Itachi?