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“I wish I had not made him into a servant.”
Ink drips onto the paper after the period, ever impatient. Sasori knows better than to leave a letter unanswered, but when the conversation turns to regrets, what is he supposed to say?
He huffs on his workbench, fiery hair standing on end as he fiddles with his ink brush,. Drafting and redrafting. He spots his uncertainty in the choppy letters, and the realization is irking. He swiftly scraps the effort, and tosses the ruined scroll onto the table, fuming.
For once, Sasori will leave Kakuzu waiting.
It takes several minutes before he settles down, staring at the collection of carved geodes on top of a shelf on his wall. Bloodstone scorpions, lapis spiders, jade dragons– an assortment of deadly carved into everlasting beauty. In the corner of the studio, their creator, humming placidly as he sculpts a tiger out of onyx. Blue-black hair droops over his work, a jointed hand brushing it out of his face. Golden eyes flash as he lifts the tiger to inspect its form.
Gentle heart, gentle hands. The sight of the former Kazekage drains both his temper and his soul.
Now composed, Sasori picks up the brush and restarts his letter,
“Regrets are for the weak-minded…”
