The symbol comes to his mind easily, naturally, nudging his quill into drawing it effortlessly on the piece of yellowed parchment.
A circle inside another, larger circle, and six lines that loosely resemble wings.
It looks perfect, and Tobirama stares at it in confusion for a few minutes, willing it to spill it’s secrets, because he doesn’t know where it came from.
“If you stare at that with a just
more intensity, it’ll burst into flames,” Toka sing-songs somewhere behind him.
“Does a closed door mean nothing in this house?” Tobirama snaps, but it comes out more longsuffering than scathing. Privacy is a dream he doesn’t bother chasing anymore.
Tōka snorts and hops herself up to sit on his desk. Three very rare, very expensive scrolls tumble to the ground and halfheartedly roll away.
“What’s that?” she asks, peering down at the parchment Tobirama’s been staring into submission for the past minute. Her long hair crawls across the parchment and smears the ink.
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