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"Remember!" said the witch. "Once you have taken a human form, you can never be a mermaid again. You can never come back through the waters to your sisters, or to your father's palace. And if you do not win the love of the Prince so completely that for your sake he forgets his father and mother, cleaves to you with his every thought and his whole heart, and lets the priest join your hands in marriage, then you will win no immortal soul. If he marries someone else, your heart will break on the very next morning, and you will become foam of the sea."
The cool, soft grains of sand beneath his feet are a small comfort as he walks along the shore. Just out of reach, the waves gently climb up to him, eager to soothe his aching heart, to drag him away to oblivion.
Alone at this hour, the wind carding through his hair with familiarity and tenderness like a mother would, Tobirama closes his eyes, swallowing down the cries threatening to push past his lips. He breathes in deeply the saltiness of the sea, succumbing to his fate in the very near future. Solace and agony war within him.
Soon, he decides, opening his eyes even though he will be met with nothing. In this darkness, his senses stretched thin, using only sound and scent as his navigators, he moves down the shoreline with purpose—away from the castle, the comfort of where his second home had briefly been.
Three weeks he was given. And each week drove home how unwanted he was, how inadequate he had been in the shadows of his brother.
How could he hope to compare when his image was that of the quiet flickering of starlight while his brother, oh, his dear brother, was the Sun given life in human form? How could he hope to compare when he rarely smiled, rarely laughed with a full-bodied cheer, unable to fix how his facial expressions sat on his face, while his brother knew what to say to bring forth a smile, a good-natured chuckle, a softness to his face as easily as breathing?
How could he ever hope to compete against his brother when Tobirama had lived as his shadow all his life?
He should've known from the very first time they met.
He should've known that this, too, would be no different.
They'd all met when they were children. The Uchiha and the Senju were neighbouring clans. For generations, their families waged war over territorial borders, among other things. But it was during his father's reign that a tentative peace could be achieved. An agreement of sorts was settled and would be renewed each year- or earlier if any issues arose. Tobirama had heard this was the longest ceasefire between the two clans, no short of a miracle.
So, by the time he was twelve and his elder brother was fifteen, there was no longer any need to strengthen their military forces. Instead, each year, a coming-of-age tournament would be held on neutral ground where the Ino-Shika-Cho clans reside. It was a show of strength and an opportunity for the young heirs and heiresses to socialise among themselves. Tobirama was there that day when he met the eldest son of the Uchiha clan. He was there when Uchiha Madara fought against the firstborn of each clan and came out victorious. He was there when his brother Hashirama found his match; their duel ended in a draw of strength.
He was there when he saw the spark between the two heirs and knew.
Over the years, Tobirama maintained a respectable distance even while attempting to learn more about the Uchiha heir. He tried his best to listen in on the excited chatter in the background as he read, tried his best to remain composed and regal as the voice of reason as he was taught, when his brother and his friend abandoned any social decorum and acted like young, foolish children. He tried to distract himself from the inevitable ache in his chest whenever Uchiha Madara saw no one else except Hashirama. That should've been his sign. There was no one else in the Uchiha heir's eyes except his brother, who was everything one could want in a lover—warm, friendly, loving, lively. Tobirama was nothing like his older brother, but his dedication and passion were no less than the blazing fire burning in Uchiha Madara.
But it wasn't enough. All he would be known as was Hashirama's younger brother.
The fact was, while the Uchiha were known to love deeply and wholly that no other clan could compare, the Senju were cursed for theirs.
To give one's heart entirely to another was a risk not many were willing to take. His father had been one of the lucky few to have found reciprocated love so powerful it had sustained him for several more years before he started to wither, wishing to follow in his heart's path as old age caught up to him, but could not for the sake of his sons. Tobirama wanted a love like his parents—one that was wholly, irrevocably theirs; one that he would treasure until his very last breath and beyond, with certainty that his heart's recipient would do the same. To honour each other's vulnerability with great care, regardless of how bright their love shone compared to others.
But that fate, that dream, was not to be his. Tobirama understood that the second he felt the twinge in his chest and the stabbing pain of a thousand needles pricking his feet with each step he took. His sight was gone. The people, the land—they became nothing more than colourful blobs.
Tobirama supposed he would at least be granted a poetic end. He was a bad man, after all—a terrible man and an even more terrible brother who coveted someone who was not—would never—be his. But he hoped. He held that hope in the palms of his hands as he held his head high and strove with purpose, even when he wanted to crumble to the floor like the sandcastle he'd built with his brothers when they were children; the sandcastle that was washed away by the sea.
For three weeks, his world was forever changed—forced to accept the curse that haunted his ancestors and now himself for daring to covet someone unreachable. Like a punishment, those three weeks crushed his spun glass heart into fine grains of sand.
"Tobirama," a weary voice stops his trek in the dark.
"Father," he whispers in disbelief.
Softly, gently, a hand cups his face. His father has never held him like this ever since his mother passed. So long it has been to feel a parental touch, a kind touch. A part of Tobirama breaks apart at this act of care.
"I couldn't follow through, father." He tilts his head to the side, eyes unseeing, hiding his face in the night's shadows. "I couldn't hurt my brother... in exchange for my life. Not after seeing how happy he is."
The wind brushes his hair again comfortingly.
"Do you hate me for it?"
The hand never leaves his face, nor do they hurt him even as tears pool at the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall. He blinks them away.
He doesn't know what he expects from his father, but the waver in his father's voice tears his heart just a little more. "My son," Butsuma whispers, careful in this moment of fragility. "I can only ask for your forgiveness."
A shuddering breath ghosts his face as their foreheads touch. "I have failed you as a father. But if you will allow me, your final moments will not be alone, Tobirama." The steadying hand cupping his face forces a soft chuckle from his lips, warmed by his father's declaration.
"Thank you," he whispers, when he means please, don't leave me.
His father is there when the wind picks up. He is there when Tobirama can no longer ignore the call of the waves, whispering into his ears his inevitable fate. The curse does not discriminate. Who is he to ignore his calling?
The waves lap at his feet when he strides purposefully into the freezing water—his body fights off the shivers wracking his form. If he should ever regret one thing, he cannot see his younger brothers again. He won't hear their voices as they talk over each other, their laughs or their scowls. He can already picture the scene in his head: Itama and Kawarama dancing around each other, their hands holding an empty bottle of wine each, happily celebrating the union of their eldest brother. The thought squeezes his heart painfully, like the strike of a whip upon his skin, leaving behind broken, marred flesh.
Come, the wind and sea seem to chorus. It is time.
He follows obediently, blind to everything the world seems resolute to hurt him with, even his own thoughts.
Away, far from the shore, the water reaching past his shoulders, his father's hands still holding him in one piece—Tobirama grieves.
By the first light of the next day, only Senju Butsuma remained, gazing out at the sea alone.
How beautiful love can be, and how terrible the heartache.