Disclaimer: I don't own Kenshin, or anything to do with him, though I wish I did :P

Author's Note: WHERE HAVE I BEEN? Getting my degree, finishing an entire REAL novel of my ownsies (and starting the query process for that), going to Australia for three months AND dealing with a whole slew of family drama. I have excuses! I really do!

No worries now, fearless readers and long-time followers of this story, I have returned. To make it all better, I have revamped the entire story: omitted excessive adverbs, tweaked little grammar flubs, fixed continuity and simple setting errors (at some point, Okina met people for lunch at Akabeko while in Kyoto– he totally IS a ninja!), AND nixed Chapter 15 to start from scratch because I realized that I know NOTHING about Japanese theatre in the 19th century and have no desire to research it. I also plan on working on new chapters now that I am satisfied with the integrity of the old. This story WILL be finished.

So, sit back, read, review and MOST OF ALL: enjoy! There is more to come 3

Chapter One

"Aoshi Shinomori is dead."

Misao groaned softly as she pulled the kimono down from the line. She held it close to her chest, trying to shield it from the lashing rain. Omasu was going to have her head over this! Weeks had been spent on this one garment; stitching, embroidering, and even sewing on pearls. It would probably be more beautiful than her on her wedding day. Okina had said so himself, laughing.

"Misao-chan, what will they say about this? They will not remember you or Haru-dono! Omasu should be ashamed of herself, no?"

Omasu had stood to the side, blushing at his indirect compliment.

"It is beautiful." Misao was speechless "I can't – oh Omasu!"

Embracing her, her dear friend had whispered gently against her ear "The other three are nearly finished. The ceremony, and you, will be perfect."

But even now, struggling into the house with the kimono tucked tight against her, she found it hard to believe those words. Yes, they were having the best food sent in from Tokyo for the reception. Yes, all four of her wedding kimono - one gold, one silver, one red, one snow white - were being handmade by Omasu and of the finest silk. And yes, Haru was a handsome man, strong and with a good head on his shoulders.

There was only one person, however, who would have made things perfect. But the pain of thinking of him made her push away his memory.

A second time, in the dark of night, Aoshi Shinomori had slipped out into the gloomy Kyoto streets. He had left without saying good-bye. It was three years after their adventures with Kenshin. She was nineteen, expecting a proposal any day. A smile even! After all, she had been working on him all those three years, and in her exuberance, hope had blossomed. But what a child she still had been, to believe that Aoshi could have feelings.

That ill-fated morning lived in her mind, as if it were yesterday. Golden sunlight had spilled through the paper screens. The air had been warm and thick with the spicy scent of smoke. When she woke, she found that a red rose had been placed on her pillow as she slept.

Aoshi Shinomori was gone.

A slow-simmering sort of anger was kindled within her after that morning. Okina and the others had noticed the change; seen it in her eyes. The Misao everyone knew and loved was gone. No, she would not search for him this time. Not even for a smile! Aoshi obviously had no time for her, so she would not waste hers waiting on him. Five years had past since that morning. Haru had proposed to her a year ago on her 23rd birthday, and she had accepted

"Oh! What happened here?" Omasu pulled her from her thoughts.

"It started to rain. You said to leave it out to catch the scent of the cherry blossoms, but I did not think such a storm would come!" Sliding the door shut, she let the dull light of the kitchen welcome her.

"It will be fine." Omasu did not sound convinced as she took the damp fabric and hung it gently from hooks on the wall, but the air inside was warm and it would dry quickly.

In the kitchen, a large pot bubbled on the wood stove. Frothy foam grew and oozed over the edges. Alongside it in a small pan, fish were cooking in their own oil. Steam rose up and left a dark wet smudge on the ceiling. The smell was heavenly, and tinged with the soft aroma of cherry blossoms. Now wafting into the room was the fresh perfume of rain. The gentle hiss of the large drops on the roof left a dreamy quality in the air. The effect of it all hit Misao hard. She wanted only to sit in the corner and go to sleep.

"Are you making some sort of sauce for the fish?" she asked, drowsy words slipping off her tongue.

Omasu moved to stir the boiling contents of the pot, her brow creased "Why ruin good fish?"

"I just thought…"

"Thought what? Come now Misao, we're past childish dances around the subject. If you don't like my cooking, just tell me."

"It's not that! I thought – oh – just nothing. My mind was wandering again, back to the wedding."

"Oh! You're not worried about that, are you honestly? I told you, everything is going to be perfect."

"But, it's not going to be perfect." Something deep inside her dug its claws into her heart. She bit her lip but tears came nonetheless, surprising her and Omasu just the same.

"What's this Misao!" Omasu set the spoon down and moved across the room as the younger girl fell to her knees.

"It can't be perfect! Nothing is ever going to be perfect."

"I thought you loved Haru!" A hand fell on Misao's shoulder, she pushed it away.

"I do! It's only that…" she looked up at her friend fiercely, angrily as she lost the words she sought to say.

Omasu was not a stupid woman. Realization crept across her features and she sighed "You love someone else more."

Silence blanketed the room. The ticking of a nearby clock counted out the beats of the women's hearts. Out in the evening light, a dog howled.

"Listen Misao, I don't know another way to say this to you, so I'll just say it the simplest way there is: Aoshi Shinomori is dead."

Misao breathed in so fast that it hurt.

"He's been gone five years now. He loved you, whether or not you'll admit it, and I know that only death would keep him from coming back to you."

The air was thick. It filled Misao's lungs like water.

"I know he was gone as long before, but then you were a child to him, a daughter. A man can leave a daughter for years if he knows she is well cared for, especially a man like Aoshi-san. He understood that you would be well loved here. But when you came back into his life, you were something different. You were nearly a woman, and by the time he left again, you were one completely. His love was different then. Don't look at me so, I know because he told me."

Misao wiped her nose "He what?"

"He said he loved you Misao, and said it with all his heart. I would not lie to you. He spoke of his love like he had never felt the emotion before. I know for a fact, that a man who feels that sort of love could not be gone for so long. Only hell itself could keep him away from you."

A deep pain was growing in her chest. If Omasu was trying to help, she was not. "So you think he is dead then."

"I'm sorry Misao."

The finality in Omasu's voice sent numbness spiraling through her limbs. She wanted to be alone. Her voice came out as a whisper "Go."

Omasu looked hurt, but she nodded. Misao had never loved her more than she did in that moment. "You will finish the cooking then?"

"Yes."

Omasu departed, sandals making a soft swishing noise. Misao buried her face in her arms and waited for the soft click of the sliding door.

Dead. Such a horrible word! It was a word that brought even emperors to their knees. The sound of it, the meaning of it: no one should ever have to hear it. All this time she had known it was true. She had felt it, and encouraged the feeling within her, but was afraid to give up completely.

Even so! It might not be true! There was no body. No one had seen him; that was all. He might very well be wandering, as Himura had. There were a thousand possibilities.

No. She had to let go. The wedding was in less than a month, and it would not bode well to be tied to the past. She was betrothed. On this day, of all days, she knew not why she was plagued by his image, his face dancing behind her eyes.

Water from the rice pot finally overflowed, and the stove hissed. It had been left unattended too long. She drew herself to her feet. What was becoming of her? Months had passed without a single memory of Aoshi. Without a single dream. Perhaps now was the final time for closure. She tried to open her heart to it.

Minutes ran by, and the meager dinner began to come together. It was not until she was beginning to dress the plates up that she spied something on her wedding kimono that repulsed her, and yet drew her in for a closer look.

Waving its spindly legs, a large spider wove a web on the surface of one of the sleeves. It was pale brown and nearly a finger length long. Much as it made her want to look away, she was fascinated by its thread, so much like the silk that the cloth was woven from. Twitching a single leg, the creature danced between two large pearls, and then came to a rest as it noticed her.

Shuddering, she turned away. This spider was so much like Aoshi. He crept and crawled about her brain, tangling it in a sticky net. Damn him! She would certainly go insane if she thought about this much longer.

Ignoring the spider, she finished making the plates and carried them in to the table. What remained of her family at the Aoiya was waiting. Later, she would send Okina in to deal with the little fiend.