The titles comes from the Pixies song, "Where is my mind?" It hardly relates to the story itself, it's just incredibly great to listen to. This is a 20-minute, nonsense one-shot that will never be re-written. One of those made just to see how much worse I've gotten at this sort of thing. From Kenshin's POV about the late Tomoe. It's obviously been a while since I saw the OVA, making my memory really fuzzy. It could be an AU, maybe not. Takes place at the end of the second tape.
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Where is my mind?
Lost in a sable sea; a sea that returns even the tender sun's caresses. A sea better suited for the light of it's own iridescent moon. So naturally wind-born. Alone those beckoning fingers of silk are a siren.
Calling me.
Teasing me.
Something beautiful—the succulent toy that gave birth to so many sensual temptations. Look but don't touch. Too priceless to risk breaking.
Where is my mind?
Helpless in orbs of the richest amber. Amber that makes me dirt in comparison. Unworthy of the half-moon smile you so rarely toss. Like a dog I would fight for the leftover scraps of those coral lips. To Hell and back with dignity and pride.
I'm caught. Caught within the ubiquitous rise and fall of the defining traits of a woman. A porcelain neck that would put a swan to shame. A veil of alabaster, made to harbor forgotten whispers of kisses.
Where is my mind?
Deep within haunted recesses. In the dark where I alone can fondle the soft dip of your waist. In the dark where I alone am free to explore the swell and retreat of your limbs. In the dark… Black.
Black as death.
I'm mourning.
Mourning over the loss of you. An unforeseen abortion of love.
The child finally found the toy in his needy clutches. Accidents happen.
Where is my mind?
It slips and shatters. Too many pieces—it's impossible for it ever to be whole again.
An accident. Blood, liquid crimson dug up for my eyes only. Even in the moments of sharpest regret I'm blinded by this new layer you've shown me. It pools calmly on the snow and your matching visage. Rubies and diamonds.
Hitched breaths can't distract me from absorbing the last minutes. Seconds. Moments.
The last shards that clung so desperately fall from the boy's fingertips, joining the rest. How long will his young memory separate it from the rest?
How long until she's nothing more than a vague recollection of white plums?
Where is my mind?