She knew in her heart that he was going to die. It spread through her insides like a disease. It was a cold, lonely, tugging feeling.

Mommy, I don't want him to die.

Daddy, don't leave me all alone.

The hospital bed linens were thin and cool and the sound of his heartbeat, beeping faintly up on the monitor, seemed to get farther and farther away with every second.

He had been sick for a long time. For more than a year now. He had been getting better, but then it came back worse than ever. And now here he was, the most powerful man she had ever known, lying, weak, fragile, and pathetic, with his eyes already dead. There was no more life, no more happiness, no more smile, in his eyes.

She hated it.

She was afraid to take his hand. She was afraid that if she touched him, he'd break.

He was thin, now. His chest had grown narrow and his skin had grown pale. There were circles beneath his eyes and his cheeks looked hollow.

He looked like a ghost, and it scared her.

His hair had always been long; it was dark as midnight and hung in limp clumps around his gaunt face. His eyelids were heavy and she could hardly see his irises, and even if now they were dull, the gentle, honey brown of his eyes still shone through their gloomy housings like beacons.

She loved her father.

He was kind and compassionate and smart; he could always make her laugh. He never yelled. He never got angry. He was a wonderful man.

She was so young, then. She could see her hands, small, delicate, still pudgy with baby fat, ringing in her lap, but she couldn't feel her own fingers. Everything felt numb and cold; she couldn't stand, she couldn't speak, she couldn't cry.

IV's draped over his feeble limbs, needles gliding smoothly into the veins in his hands that protruded from his nearly transparent skin. He had been young barely a year ago; still sick, but happy, laughing, with a flush in his cheeks. He told her not to worry.

Don't cry, little one, He'd say to her. Your Daddy's strong. Your Daddy's going to make it through this, and then we'll watch the cherry blossoms fall together.

Spring had come and gone. She had watched the flowers alone.

At his funeral, she wore a white dress. She knew he would hate it if she wore black. She could hear his voice now, chastising her.

Black is such an ugly color, she knew he would say. Black is a sad, lonely, awful color.

So she never wore black. Not even to his funeral. Because she knew that it would make him sad, up in the clouds, to see his only child in such a morose hue.

Her father's favorite color was green. He told her so when he was brushing her hair one morning, and then he pointed to her reflection in the mirror.

Always be proud to have green eyes, He said. They're so beautiful.

She had grown to love her eyes, even if she was made fun of at school. She was proud, because in a sea of brown and black, her father told her that her eyes were the most beautiful.

She didn't know what she would do without her father.

She imagined that he rose quietly and peacefully from his body after he had been laid to rest.

She threw her chrysanthemums down. They were white, too.

Her father had been her sky every since she had been born. He was there to listen to her and tell her things were going to be okay. He was there to tell her bedtime stories and to keep away the monsters who hid in her closet. He taught her how to walk.

When he died, he took the sky with him. He took the sun and the moon and the stars. He took the birds and the green away from her. He took her heart and her voice and her feelings, leaving her hollow, alone, and made of stone.

She didn't think about her father after the funeral, or for weeks after that. She didn't think about how empty she felt, or how the sun had disappeared, or how it seemed to rain every day. She didn't think about the color green. She didn't think about hospitals or the sound of a flat lining heart. She didn't think of black lacquer boxes or long black cars. She didn't think about cherry blossoms or how her hair had turned black after days spent in the house.

She was that girl for eleven years of her life. For those eleven hollow years, she was Kamamura Mitsuoko.

The day she found her sky again, she was almost eighteen.

A/N: Sorry the update was a little late. Almost done, just one more chapter, you guys!