I have progressed into the higher level family spells.   At times, I find myself burning my palms in my attempts to master them.

The past month has been very quiet.  Still, I cannot help but feel uneasy.

Chocolates.  Candies.  Flowers.  Lace.  Cakes.  Jewelry.  The horns of a dead dragon.

My suitors are especially enthusiastic this year.

I like the tigress the most.  I'll have to find out who sent it.

Training is going smoothly.  No word on the peasant.

That was the first time I'd made fire that strongly... it lasted for a split second, enough time to ignite and destroy the dummy, but moments later I felt... tired.  Dizzy.  My sparring for the first few minutes suffered.

Hiro said that only Hyuuga who are impotent in family magic can utilize other magics, and told me that my apparent inability to control fire is a sign of Hyuuga strength...

Then he encouraged me to focus my time on family magic, for there are ways for the Hyuuga to counter and defeat most other kinds of sorcery, elemental included.  We wouldn't be the strongest in Konoha if we couldn't do that.

Maybe so, but I would like to try something new from time to time.

...

There has been no sign of the boy, but an investigation is sure to be made soon.

There were two fat scions kicking one boy between them on the street.  ((Log))

It was irritating to watch.  They were striking all the wrong places in all the wrong ways.  If they had truly wanted to hurt him, they should have aimed for his head.

The idiots dispersed after apologizing for standing in my path.  They left their mess behind.  My guards will take down their names the next time they are sighted.

So that he would not be a hindrance or an eyesore, I had the boy deposited behind a jumble of boxes in a nearby alley.

I was two minutes late for training because of this.  As a result, I must stay an extra hour every day for the next week.  I do not mind; this means less socializing and more practicing.

Interesting.  One of the branch house girls must have left it on the table.

Today, I shot magic into a dummy.  I made the thing blaze up from the inside by making a spark a split second before the energy completely separated from my control.

Father says I grow stronger every day, but leather and cotton are different from skin and organs.  I will practice with denser materials.

My training is going smoothly.  Father mentioned teaching me personally soon, because I have nearly surpassed my instructors.

 

No appearances in court yet, and none in the near future, I hope.

 

 

…

 

 

I think Father was joking about the poetry, but I shall attempt.

 

 

 

winter sunset
reflected
in a field of eyes

 

…

 

Poetry is useless.

Mondays through Saturdays, except when I must attend those atrocious parties or accompany Father on an outing. 

05:30AM – Wake, wash, and eat.
06:00AM – Light stretching.
06:30AM – Training
10:30AM – Break.
12:00PM – Lunch.
01:30PM – Training.
06:30PM – Break.
07:30PM – Dinner.
08:30PM – Bath.
09:00PM – Bed.

Sundays – again, unless I have to go to an event.

08:00AM – Wake, wash, and eat.
08:30AM – Training.
12:00PM – Lunch.
01:00PM – Break.
04:30PM – Training.
07:30PM – Dinner.
08:30PM – Bath.
09:00PM – Bed.

I sparked a flame on my fingertip this afternoon.  I wonder why elemental magic is so difficult.

Father has given me this journal.  I am to record my progress with my training, document my observations at court, and work on my poetry.

I am not sure if he was joking about that last item.

Father said that I may write down private thoughts as well, if I wish to, for the book is enchanted, and, save he and I, no one will be able to see a single word on the pages.  Not a commoner, not another Hyuuga.

This is a precious gift.  Father never intrudes on my privacy.

Training is over for today.  The dummy we received was extremely well-constructed.  I was afraid that thought it was alive at first, but it turned out to be a puppet of sorts.  It had a heart, a liver, and a beating throat.  It could move, but I shot magic through its joints and left ventricle, and it crumpled.

Father had to send it back to be repaired.  He was pleased.

She touched gently the area just above the bridge of her nose, between her eyes, and felt the light thrum of magic pass beneath the skin like the vibration of her throat when she hummed half-remembered lullabies before she remembered not to. Effortlessly, she pushed a bit more, felt veins rise up around her eyes and on her forehead, and instantly, she could see –

two flies in the house, one on the kitchen ceiling, one shielded by bamboo leaves in the parlor

a tiny crack in the pipes running underneath, how odd, it must be recent; she would tell her father later, and they would have it fixed

eight birds flying under the sun over her head and the transparent roof, everything gray and black and white. Seen through Hyuuga eyes, the sun is a cold blaze of ice over a monochrome earth. A noble family faded into skeleton colors over the passage of time, sickened by their own greatness…

Hanabi prodded experimentally at the blind spot - the spell’s, and their eyes’, only weakness – no matter how many Hyuugas tried over every generation, no matter how many geniuses were born, there was that little annoyance, that black dot, that itch they all tolerated but wanted to rip out, roots and all. Perhaps one day another mutation, or a stronger spell, would be discovered, and their only flaw would be banished; for now, the almost completely spherical reach of their vision would suffice.

Hanabi played, in her little bubble of time to herself – despite the mansion being filled with people, she never really saw any of them (no Hyuuga extended their vision into the private rooms), except the servants, and her father and the other members of the head family, when they sat down to dinner. As heiress to the House of Hyuuga, Hanabi was constantly instructed in the magic of her bloodline, in their special techniques and unique way of fighting. (She had been given a bunny-rabbit on her sixth birthday. She was told to make its heart explode. She did. They ate the rabbit later.) She was not allowed to spend too much time with the children of the branch family unless she wanted to use them as punching bags, and she was expected to utilize any break she had from strenuous training reading, writing, meditating, or practicing for the next session.

Hanabi had a break. She would play. It looked like she was meditating anyway, though she’d never fool anyone looking close enough. But no Hyuuga ever looked into private rooms.

She peered at the roots of her hair follicles, at the twists and tight folds of her pale, translucent brain, at the calm, steady beat of her blood. She examined the delicate capillaries and the thin, possessive meninges, the cracks in her skull, the holes in her bones.

A knock. Hanabi had already seen who was coming, but formality was everything in her society.

“Lady Hanabi.”

Hanabi rose from her position on the floor; the veins around her eyes receded into her flesh, and she padded over to the door.

The pale eyes that greeted her were as austere and brilliant as the white sun. “Your father has acquired a training dummy from the King. We will be using it to further your knowledge of the human body, as well as demonstrate various pressure points around the neck, heart, and liver. Follow me.”

Training dummy. Small rabbits. Living body. Screaming men. Blood on her hands and in her eyes. The Hyuuga should see in shades of red, not gray. She would do as she was told.

The floor seeped cold through her slippers.