As cold as the white frost on my fields, if I were a ninja I would decapitate everyone. I'd go mad, madness, madness, madness, in a crowded market, the blood would flow like rivers, all men, women, and children, a shopkeeper's torso cut in half. Smoke bombs, and disappearing into the shadows and dark alleys. Throwing stars at birds, a rat in a slick city full of rain. I would set traps, I would watch people die. Poison is elegant, gasping, their eyes go black, and no one sees me.
I would have two swords, both as equally deadly, and lusting for flesh and blood, bone, the marrow of life that I would murder. The soul of a ninja is a dark place, so many secrets, watchful, hurtful eyes hidden and cunning, always best when alone, the accuracy and precision is romantic, it isn't like the movies. Violence isn't slow and beautiful, it's lightning fast, and brutal, like a gunshot glint of light off the casing, and it's over before anyone knows it's happening.