DISCLAIMER: I own nothing of either Rurouni Kenshin, OR By These Ten Bones. That honor goes to Clare B. Dunkle and Nobuhiro Watsuki, the luckies…

Hey, everyone! Ok, new story. Now I can't add anymore, so if I start another one I want you guys to chew me out, ok? Until I finish either this one or Related? I can't start anymore stories. That's why I stopped updating last time, too many stories to keep up. Lol.

So anyways, this story is loosely based off the book 'By These Ten Bones' by Clare B. Dunkle. Awesome book, her writing is so totally awesome, I love ALL of her books… Lol. Ok, so this first chapter is a LOT like the first chapter in By These Ten Bones, but the rest is going to be really different (mostly because I'm placing this in Japan instead of Scotland) so I don't want anyone accusing me of stealing Clare's books. I practically worship Clare's books, I'm stealing NOTHING. Comprende?

"You'd be better off dead."

The two sat by a hissing fire, their shoulders hunched against the cold. The trees nearby creaked eerily in blistering wind, the dark creeping up to the edge of the firelight.

The man had black greasy hair, pulled back in a tail and a tired face. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then threw a stick of wood ferociously into the flames, his lifeless black eyes avoiding the huddled child across from him. "Best if you were dead and with your folks," he bit out, wrapping his hands around a sake bottle as if to get warmth from the cold clay. "You'd beg for death if you knew."

The little boy stared into the flames, his face white and pinched. He didn't know what he was doing there. He didn't know who the man was. His life had become a terrifying riddle, and he was too young to make sense of it all.

"It's the only kind thing," insisted the man slowly. "But I don't have the strength. You'd kill me. I don't know how, but you'd do it. You're hell spawn now, that's what you are. I got to keep you alive."

The child huddled in a tunic that was much too big for him. Faint stains marked his arms and hands. They hadn't cleaned it all off. Black lines under his fingernails. Blood looked black at night. He raised frightened violet eyes to the man.

"No, don't look at me!" was the hasty response. "I can't take it, I tell you! You're cursed, understand? Don't look at anyone ever again. Don't decide you love me because I take care of you, you're the kind that kills those they love."

The wind rose, flattening the lonely fire and whipping the invisible branches of trees. Wet leaves stirred and flopped on the ground, too heavy to fly away. The boy wrapped his thin arms around himself and tried to understand. How could I kill anyone? He wanted to ask. I didn't kill them. I saw what did. But he wasn't supposed to speak.

"Don't tell me about your parents, not a word. I don't want to know. I can't change anything, so don't make me want. I can't help anyone now. Don't cry either, hear me? Don't start wailing for your mum." The man's head suddenly bowed, hiding the tear slipping from his eye.

But the little boy didn't cry for his mother. H didn't shed a tear. He was in such pain of so many different kinds that he felt only bewildered surprise. He held his father's katana in it's beautiful leather sheath, clutching the solid form close against the torment that he felt. Only one thing was clear to him in the whirling chaos of his life. Yesterday it had belonged to his father. Today, it belonged to him.

Red hair the color of spilled blood whipped in his violet eyes.

Songs I listened to while writing this chapter:

Halloween by Marilyn Manson

The Bird and The Worm by The Used

The Paperthin Hymn by Anberlin

Tribute by Tenacious D