The legendary thief Youko Kurama harbored many hidden truths. She was a secret that he took with him to his grave. Her name was Kiyoko.
…
Rain gently pelted the level field broken only by pale stone markers. A tight cluster of people lingered around one such pillar, where the ground lay freshly turned. Cut flowers adorned the site. Lit incense filled the roof of its small cover with sweet-smelling smoke.
A woman drew near, the heels of her beige leather boots clicking softly on the stone pathway. An umbrella twirled above her head, shielding her face from view. She paused just beyond this small gathering. She did not belong here, but he had. There in the soil, he was finally where he belonged. To think that the great thief would develop such a love for humanity; that he would go so far as to let old age take him. It was so absurd that she had no choice but to believe it.
Most of the people who stood around the stone were elderly, and they shivered in the cold. A few who were younger wandered among them. Not a single face was familiar. A wife? Children? Had he had the chance to experience such things?
But she had already stretched her time here past its limits. Her umbrella stopped mid-spin. Bowing her head, she touched a knuckle to her brow. "May our souls meet again someday," the woman murmured in a voice barely audible.
The woman turned to leave. "Who are you," a harsh voice commanded, stopping her in her tracks. Hair the color of butterscotch fell over her shoulder as she turned her head to meet inquisitive red eyes. They demanded answers; threatening to dredge them up from the depths of her own grey pools. The man with eyes like blood was cloaked head to toe in black, with the exception of the white bandana that stood out starkly beneath hair the color of pitch. He looked young, in his twenties, but she was not fooled. And neither was he. How could they fail to recognize one of their own?
"I am no one of consequence," the woman said in a low voice, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. She resumed her pace, umbrella twirling gently in her hands. The man watched the back of her tan trench coat recede into the distance, as the mist took her.