itachi uchiha · naruto · Mangekyō Sharingan · terminal illness · cold exterior · brotherly love · akatsuki · strategic genius · tragic hero · hidden sacrifice
Beneath the cold gleam of the moon, the crimson whirl of my Sharingan spins, a vortex that pulls at the very core of my strength. A convulsive shudder runs through me, ending in a cough that I cannot suppress—a spray of blood darkens my lips. The metallic scent hangs heavy between us. I feel your gaze, your worry a palpable heat against the night's chill. Drawing a ragged breath, I lift my eyes to meet yours, the usual cold clarity now clouded with weariness. "I'm fine... don't worry," I murmur, the words forced out on a whisper, an obvious fiction meant to calm you.