Disclaimer: I own nothing heh.


The windowsill is cold.

Cold, like the icy fingers of Death… and the disappearance of everything I held and still hold dear.

Everything; what a misnomer.

Everything, for me at least, started the day we fought off the akuma on one of our missions together. We were in Europe then, if you remember, investigating disappearances in a small village on the outskirts of London, not that far from the headquarters. A little girl led us to a broken shack where moss and lichen grew on the crumbling bricks. We looked in to see a family of four staring at us with the glassiest of stares.

You shivered a little – yes, I do remember – and asked me if I thought them a little pitiful and more importantly, strange. And then we knew. It was startling, the way we both activated our Innocence at the same time, even before my eye reacted.

They burst out of their human skins at once, revealing one level four and three level threes with humanoid appearances. You were shocked, I could tell, but you never stopped fighting. You decided to distract the level four while I settled the level threes as quickly as I could. But as far as I know, you were already injured by the time I finished with the level threes. I saw it hit you to the ground, and a fiery red anger suddenly rose within me. I didn't know what was happening, but I ended up destroying the last level three in half the time it took for the rest.

Then I recalled your injuries and went over to aid you. We fought the best we could, and I tried to protect you as much as was humanely possible. I didn't want to see you hurt and bloodied. I threw my sword of exorcism at it a total of three times before it started to stagger. It took quite a bit of my strength away, I have to say. Then you kicked and I stabbed and it screeched, and it was no more.

I was relieved at the relatively short time it had taken to die. Then I heard you gasping for breathe. I was surprised and worried beyond measure. After all, you rarely panted at all. You were fit and healthy, and I was more often than not the one who ended up panting and wheezing after some physical exertion.

A part of me didn't want to turn towards you, for fear of looking Death in the eyes, but the other parts of me moved my muscles and thrust me in your direction.

You were too exhausted to speak, so I tried to dress your wounds. I could see splotches of red on your pretty sleeves. With trembling fingers I lifted your sleeves to have a better go at bandaging your arms, when I saw open ridges of broken skin, with pus the colour of the dying sun oozing out.

And there was blood. There were lots and lots of it, all staining my grimy white hands red with the anguish of centuries' worth of hate and despair. I gaped, and worried, because I thought the akuma might have hit you with their toxic bullets of hate.

"Lenalee! Were you hit? Don't worry; we're going back to the Headquarters now. You'll survive, just you wait and see."

I remember standing up to work the Ark. Through the misty years, I can still remember stumbling into the Order, with you all limp and bleeding on my back, shouting for medical aid. Then Komui came along, and I knew no more. I highly suspect they knocked me out so they could drag me to the infirmary too, because the next time I opened my tired and wordlessly leaden eyes, I found myself lying in the medical wing. I looked around for you, to reassure myself that you were still living.

There was no one. My gaze swarm as I dredged my eyes through the empty sea of pristine white.

Nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

I rose, wincing as my own injuries made their discomfort felt. Then I noticed voices coming from the adjoining room, one of those one-bed rooms made for infectious diseases and the like. I thought you might be in there, so I struggled out of my bed, wobbling my way across the slippery floor, arms reaching out ready to grab something in case I fell. The door I wrenched open with infinite haste, and I stood outside your room, ears glued to the keyhole, listening.

"Supervisor, I'm afraid that there is nothing we can do for her. Nothing at all." A grave voice was speaking – the voice belonging to the head doctor.

"Are you sure? Nothing?" Komui's voice was indistinct, but his tone was flavoured with absolute, acute misery. My heart nearly stopped then and there; I thought you were dying or dead. Had you really been hit by akuma bullets, then? It couldn't be…

"No. There is no cure that I know of, I'm really sorry, Supervisor."

"How…how long more does she have?" Komui's voice came again, this time broken with suppressed sobs laden with a piecing pain.

"It's hard to say, really. It might be anywhere from a year to a decade or two. It's hard to tell with this disease. I'd say that she has at least a year to live, judging by the appearance of these lesions. She's probably in the first stage right now."

I stiffened outside, somewhat relieved. So you hadn't been hit by the akuma after all!

But there was still a pressing problem. The way the conversation went, it sounded like you were dying. And more importantly, what were lesions? I thought about it and remembered the strange valleys and hills of broken skin I had seen on you, those dripping with blood and pus. What did that mean?

The doctor spoke again.

"I can prescribe some herbs to relieve the inflammation, but that's all I can do, really. This girl has to be watched closely, so that we know when she has passed into the second stage of infection. Don't cry, Supervisor. You need to be strong for her. She doesn't deserve this disease."

"Indeed she doesn't!" Komui cried out, sobs ringing in the stillness reigning within the silent halls. "My sweet Lenalee is such a pure girl! I will never understand how she came to contract this disease!"

"Syphilis strikes easily in this age, Supervisor. Don't cry so loudly. You may wake her."

Syphilis. I sank to the floor. Wasn't that a deadly disease that the sexually promiscuous contracted? I felt a constricting arm squeeze its way around my chest. How did you get it, Lenalee?

I wouldn't have been surprised if Master got it, but you were always too pure, too sweet to get such a vile illness. And those with syphilis would die, mostly through horrifying deaths after living the remainder of their lives as shadows of their original selves, torn apart by the grisly fingers of the illness and drifting through nightmares masquerading in the sheer apparel of night-painted reality.

Suddenly, those happy dreams I had weaved ever since entering the Order flooded my mind and then melted into ashes at my trembling feet. The happy family, you smiling in your apron, those joyful cries of children, all of them broke like glass, screeching as the heavy pieces reached the floor, screeching, screeching, till I screeched out myself.

That which I thought was a bullet wound was a lesion of a deadly disease!

The door opened, and Komui looked out through his misty eyes. "Allen-kun."

"I heard everything."

"So you did." He sniffed. "Come in."

"How is she?"

"Sleeping. She can fight for a while yet, don't worry." The doctor gave me an understanding smile, leaving with a pat on the head. The two of us gazed down at your sleeping form, and we broke down.

Poor, poor Lenalee, and those who loved her.

When I fell asleep that night, my dreams were clouded with white-robed demons with red skin and hairless scalps. You came towards me, robed in white too, and we stood under the doorway for a long, long time. We stood there, hand in hand, waiting, waiting, waiting…

And then you disappeared; I was left all alone, holding on to a white arm. I dropped the arm; it rolled onto the floor, bruising as it went along. Splotches of red dotted the arm, and volcanic ridges dressed it with great vehemence. Then you came back again – robed now in pink, tendrils of red fluid slinking off your apparel.

I reached out to touch the fluid, and it came off, red and sticky. Blood. I looked at you and tried to see your wounds, but the more I pulled and tugged, the more you faded…

Like the echo of carrion cries drifting into the breeze…

You crumbled into dust.

When I woke, I padded into your medical sanctuary and took your hand in mine to confirm that you were still there, that you were not yet returned to the embrace of the earth.

But the ridges were still there, and the dust in the room made me cough.


It seemed the plum trees

were already in bloom,

but when I picked a branch,

what fell – so much like flowers –

was snow.

(Izumi Shikibu)


A/N: I'm back! Hahaha nothing much to say actually. The poem above was translated into English by Jane Hirshfield in The Ink Dark Moon.

Feel free to drop a review if you have any comments; if you don't, it's okay too heh I'm glad that you read till here (: