Everything is so white in this place. I wonder why I bother sitting up, why I bother opening my eyes. Everything hurts, not just my broken ankle. My head aches. My eyes burn. My throat...feels raw. Look at these bandaged hands—how pathetic they seem to me now and how frail. And here I thought I was better than that painted doll he kept beside him. I once thought I was strong, as strong as that boy, though slower. I had the strength to wield the scythe. I believed I had the skill to destroy his enemies, but…that stick of a girl proved too strong for me, even.
I wonder, was I of any use at all?
Shishio-sama, in the end, I was too far from you to do any good. The boy at least fought Himura. I wasn't given the chance. I would have fought to the death. Why did you send me away? You knew how much it would have meant to me, to fight right beside you. I would have wanted to witness your triumph. I would have cushioned your defeat. In the end, I couldn't even die for you. She did that.
Why wasn't I good enough?
I feel so drained. I doubt I'd even bleed on these immaculate sheets. Everything I believed in, the one person I loved, went up in flames. What I'd give to have your ashes smeared all over me, sprinkled in this sterile room. My face is bare, my worthless hands have been wiped clean, and my person deprived of weaponry.
Everything is so white in this place. So clean. So empty.