Plague's End

Dreaded Terror
After several days of venturing the rock infested terrain of the Earth Country, it had come into sight at last. Plastered across an inky black canvas, of which itself was flustered with the stench of rotting corpses and decaying trees, was an old log cabin sitting on the edge of a steep cliff. Glancing between the monument and her map, Senjō found a sly trinket of hope harness her being. Perhaps this would be the end of the road. Maybe —just maybe, she would be reunited with her daughter once again.

It had been over a month already since Senjō had last so much as seen her daughter. Previously on her quest — as per the directions left behind on the note — Senjō had come across an abandoned apartment in Amegakure, where she had been rewarded with Sumire's signature blade. Thereafter, upon her travels to the further north, more specifically that which is known as Shimogakure, Senjō had the opportunity to hear the voice of her own child, through the use of an old record player left behind in a hostel.

Beads of sweat trickled down from Senjō's forehead as she tucked the map away into her pocket. With a resilient breath, she took a step forward in the direction of the cabin; what awaited her next, she did not know. However, it was the only option she truly had been given. Even Konoha's ANBU had proven futile in obtaining a trace of Sumire; to make matters worse, the letters had promised Sumire's death had Senjō the nerve to tell anyone else about the situation. Though it was kept a secret even from her beloved husband, Shikaniku, the man, with his keen intellect, had been able to come to his own assumptions. Even so, there was little he could do at this point.

It had all been left up to Senjō. Turning the knob of the wooden door, Sumire's precious smile returned within her inner subconscious. Her daughter's graceful voice; the flicker of her blonde hair; the charming presence of which she embodied; it had all torn at Senjō during the course of her travels. The woman was at a point of utter exhaustion, both on the physical and mental planes. She wanted nothing more than for this sick game to come to an end. She was tired of being a pawn; of being defenseless; of being being unable to make any decisions of her own. She wanted to see her daughter, to hold her more than anything.

What awaited her inside the cabin was rather peculiar. Lingering about with the scent of corpses was the aroma of butter and cheese. In one corner of the room was a popcorn machine, bearing a new note for Senjō to abide to. Aside from that, the room was composed of nothing more than a lone sofa, standing before a large screen. In the lone of the night, the only light source came from a series of candles along the wooden walls.