Dusk falls, rain comes, and still I am with him. It is all that matters to me anymore; not the title, not the power, surely not the marks that fade from my hands even as I sit here. Part of him is in me; and as obscene as that sounds, it's not nearly as obscene as the truth.
My vision aches with him.
Fuuma has left me now; I suppose I have become boring to him - simply something to play with, to poke and see if it moves. I fill the empty position among the dragons of earth, and... that's about it. I think he only gave me part of Him so that I wouldn't run out and die and leave the post vacant. No; quick deaths aren't dark Kamui's style.
Apparently, they're not mine, either. He took minutes to die - an eternity while his blood poured down our arms, pooling between us like broken promises - and he spoke his last words to me, and then -
Irony; such irony. He'd thought he was going to fulfill my wish with his death, and I'd thought he was going to kill me and fulfill mine. She'd wanted us both to live, which was the reason for her spell - and yet, only I survived. So, in the end, we satisfied nobody. Fuuma would have been proud.
...Seishirou-san....
I'd saved my death for him as if it were my virginity; I suppose in a way, it was - yet another thing you can give only once. He'd had my virginity in another sense, anyway, so what did it matter? Not that I remembered it at the time, of course; I was usually unconscious for those moments. Seishirou-san, as it turns out, was only romantic when he had to be.
I wonder what hell is for people who've lost their wishes; do I have to replay the moment when it was lost, over and over again forever? His blood was so warm on my hands; so warm on my body. It soaked into my coat, sticking my clothing to my skin and making me smell like he sometimes did: of death. And I was so shocked that the only thing I could think of then was how WARM it was, and how it couldn't possibly be that warm because HE wasn't, and then -
Then he told me of Hokuto's spell. And I told him my wish. He never told me his; for all I know, he didn't have one. And then he told me things I never even dared dream.
And then he died.
Yes; that entire sequence could replay for me, over and over again, in hell, out of hell, it wouldn't matter: hell would be in ME. If that's all I could see for the rest of eternity, all I could experience -
It's funny, though; after experiencing that for real, I don't think that the mere memory of it could truly make me suffer. Not anymore; not here, not now. My heart has died; my soul is black, and I am the new Sakurazukamori.
I just have to wait until it stops hurting.