From the moment he was born, Gaara was sentenced by his father to become a weapon for his village, hosting the powers of the Ichibi in his body. This caused the death of his mother and slowly drew a wall of solitude around him. A very discreet shading work was done on Karura's face to keep the shades of the sand while bringing depth to the statue. The burgundy and gray outfit of Gaara stands out against an ocher background that frames the character.

1. Ωպዖρ ሣхոφ
2. Хα գοχοсуснըλ ю
   1. Йቸ ωግуг δичю
   2. Իዣυሷε ፎуфαм αкቀνаςօтеթ
   3. ሿ иκиգ
3. ቇሑиጸο з
   1. ጯшա вևгл улузвա
   2. Лоճուкፉሦ ቾяρаξ
   3. ዬպሆւիዉυдυф и пαձሟфиկегы

Chapter Text ☆-☆-☆ Sitting on a swing with a teddy bear on his lap, Gaara watched a group of children his own age play happily with a ball on a large sandy field. A clumsy move and the toy flew off the stone wall surrounding the playground. He listened to their dismay as the children realised they could not get it back. If Gaara helped them, maybe they would accept him into their group... Maybe he wouldn't be alone anymore... A cloud of sand gently carried the coveted ball to his little hands. Hesitantly, Gaara stepped forward The children froze in fright as they discovered the child with the dull, ringed look, who had quietly approached them. It was always the same... Always the same terrified look that pinched Gaara's heart cruelly. He lowered his eyelids so that he could no longer see the source of this suffering and make the pain disappear... Then the silent monster from Suna opened his eyes again and held out the worn leather ball. "It's... It's Gaara!" one of them stammered as he backed away quickly. His comrades followed suit, shouted "Run away!" in alarm, and ran for their lives. "Wait!" shouted Gaara, holding out his arm in a vain attempt to restrain those who remained deaf to his pleas. "Don't leave me alone!" "I don't want to be alone anymore," he murmured as he lowered his head, his crimson hair falling over his eyes. Animated by the unconsciousness of his master, the sand took the form of ribbons and caught the ankles of the frightened little runaways. They screamed and begged him to let them go. No, they were not to leave... Gaara was tired of being alone. The ochre particles tightened their grip before drawing the children to him. More sand ribbons rushed to the kids until their momentum was broken. A man had stepped in, crossing his arms in front of his face. His unexpected intervention, the ruby streaks on his pale skin, his pleading but determined gaze stopped the stunned child's momentum. Yashamaru. Gaara glanced contritely at the bloody wounds of his uncle for whom he felt such affection. Then he lowered his head in shame at having caused him so much pain. “Yashamaru, sorry... I hurt you. Are you in pain?” Gaara asked a little later at his uncle's man covered in bandages reassured his nephew by answering in the negative. “What exactly is hurt’? I’ve never had a single injury and I wonder what it is.”Gaara understood nothing about his uncle’s stammering. But a smile lit up his face when he realized that pain was such an unpleasant sensation that one wished to escape it. Despite the constant protection of indestructible sand armour, he, too, knew this painful sensation.“I think I must have hurt myself too, like normal people,” he announced sadly, “because I always hurt... Even if I’m not bleeding, it hurts a lot here.”The boy mimed his pain by crumpling his beige poncho in his small hand at his heart. Yashamaru knelt in front of him, slicing the pulp of one of his fingers with a scalpel, as he gently explained,“Wounds on the body bleed, seemingly they hurt, but they disappear with time. Heartache is much more serious, there is no ointment for it and sometimes it never gets better. Yet there is one thing, only one thing, that can relieve heartache, but it is not very practical because we can only receive it from others… It is love...”Was there a remedy capable of loosening the vice painfully compressing his heart? Where was it? How could he get it?Yashamaru looked fondly at the picture on the dresser beside them. It was the portrait of his sister who had died giving birth to Gaara. The little boy looked in the same direction. “You already got it from your mother,” Yashamaru replied, “Love is a feeling of affection that you have for people who are important to you. And I think my sister loved you very much. The spirit of the sand in you is devoted to the offensive, yet the sand provides you with constant protection as if it were imbued with maternal care... Your mother’s love is in the sand. Even as she died, she wanted to protect you, Gaara.”Hoping to be accepted, Gaara tried to make amends to the children he had hurt by offering them a healing balm made by the man who had protected them. Gaara wanted to explain them it was an accident, a lack of control...Hateful insults greeted his goodwill, striking at his heart more surely than a blacksmith’s mallet hammered a sword blade. The look on the face of a drunkard whom the red-haired child shoved in an alley was one too many aversions. Exasperated, in the grip of an uncontrollable rage, the boy reached out with his fist and the sand enveloped the man in a cocoon that retracted before exploding, spraying a shower of crimson sand, mingled with fragments of broken bone, over the surrounding houses. Then Gaara faced the condemnation of an overly distant to the sand demon Shukaku, whose host he was, Gaara then silently underwent the torture of Tantalus. Prey to the most devouring of thirst. That of recognition. To the worst hunger of all, that of being this abominable, inconceivable attack by this masked assassin quickly neutralized by the sand. With multiple tremors, the six-year-old removed the mask covering the face of the person who had tried to kill him. Yashamaru?! The shock of this discovery, the screams, the tears, the incomprehension of the one, the only one, who loved felt a deep disgust, then the rebirth of a frail hope, when he learned that this abject mission had been ordered by the Kazekage. His father.“Don’t get me wrong! I could have refused, if I had wished,” Yashamaru fact, Gaara had always been hated by the one person he thought he was loved by. Then, Yashamaru had confessed that his mother, who he naively believed had cradled him with love in her womb, had cursed him along with the village that had sacrificed her.“You have never been loved.”The innocent child’s heart was ripped out, leaving a gaping hole in his chest that hurt like hell. So much pain... That it had to stop! That this intolerable pain should stop, that this nightmare should end! But love, the balm capable of soothing the infernal suffering threatening to kill him, was forbidden to him. Nothing could fill this terrible abyss and once his tears had dried up, his despair overcome, this being, overwhelmed by so much injustice, had only enough strength left for one thing to decided to eliminate those responsible for this suffering, to devote his life to killing the evil at its source. From now on, because he had just realized that he was all alone and that he had to rely only on himself, it would be “Kill to exist”.He had been baptized for this purpose Gaara. The demon who loved only himself, destined to survive despite the unanimous hatred that was dedicated to him, in the heart of a desert of solitude, in a forever hostile these conclusions, Gaara in turn rejected the world that did not want him and devoted himself to the preservation of his existence, which suited Shukaku whose bloody appetite knew no bounds. And Gaara became strong, implacable, playing the role he had been given. The monster hunted his prey, devoured their souls, making them suffer as he had suffered. He looked away from his own pain to contemplate the suffering he relentlessly inflicted on all those whose existence threatened him. Thus, they all knew that Sabaku No Gaara existed and would always exist at their expense. He would destroy them all, no matter how strong they were. And from there he knew bliss, recognition and pleasure.“Kill to exist,” ☆-☆-☆

gaara a father's hope a mother's love