...Burn it to the ground...

He looked around, confused, floating in his dreamlike state. The ground he stood on was alien. It was all too familiar. Bamboo leaves, sharp as knives, floating innocently to fall at his feet.

You don't need this place anymore...

"I know," Kurama whispered, gently stroking the petals of the branch extended to him, feeling the life flowing through bloody roots.

You need to let me go...

"I want to..." he swallowed through the constant of his throat, tears left unshed threatening to suffocate him. Drown him in time he was trapped in, "I want to, but I can't...!"

Didn't Kuronue understand?

"Kurama."

He turned, finally breathing, feeling the weight of his shadow, the guilt of his existence startling as the green of his new eyes. "Kuro..." he wasn't sure if he'd said it out loud or not. Why was he here again? "Kuronue..."

There was no one there.

Kurama. Let go. You have to let me go..!. Pretty little whispers, petals of roses against his skin.

"But I loved you-!"

It would be okay. It's what the grass told him, little green fingers wrapping around his ankles, threatening to trap him. It would be okay if he could just-

Leave.

He would. Soon. Someday. He sank into the soil, deep beneath the weight of his guilt. He held the pendant in his fist, the red gem glaring accusingly. Desperate panic crept up his spine... If he could just-

Get out!

And his eyes were open again. Mouth agape, trembling lips forming the words no one could hear. Because he was there, shimmering light and particles. "Kuro?" And the familiar purple eyes were no longer accusing...they were as he remembered them, warm and glimmering with amusement; because in life, everything was temporary, so there was nothing to worry about. It seemed death was the same.

"Kurama...you have to go now." The voice was gentle. Kurama bowed his head, trembling, vibrating from the countless knives sinking into his heart again, "It's all my fault..." he whispered, letting the tears fall, little clear puddles on open palms. And there were weightless hands in his his, and he felt the whisper of a kiss against his brow.

"It's okay," Kuronue said, clear and high as a violin, deafening in the silence, "It's okay. Let go...let me go."

Kurama fell into an emb race that no longer existed. Alone in the graveyard no one else could see, he sobbed, digging tiny graves with his fingers. Kuronue was not buried here, but in his own mind, a relentless ghost insisting it was alright. But it never would be.

Because Kuronue was dead. There was no solace in death. Only the shivering of the bamboo leaves in his hair. And no matter how many times they burned, the ashes would return. "Little ghost," he smiled, numb, shaking his head, "My dear ghost...no matter how many times I leave this place, I can never say goodbye."

There was no response.