Reflections in the snow.
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A single snowflake, soft white and wet, drifted through the murky gray overcast sky. Soon more fell, falling onto the dying brown grass, and slowly accumulating. A brisk wind picked up from the northeast, and the sky darkened as the sun fell from the sky with the same uncaring grace that the snow showed.
On the gravel road his sandals made a soft crunching noise, almost unheard and steady. His footfalls were coming regularly now, but not quickly. Slowly he moved foreword having nowhere to go but foreword, and in no more hurry then the soft snowflakes that now dusted his crimson red hair.
His face was impassive, his thoughts carefully shielded, and his eyes troubled. Nothing could faze those amber eyes, not anymore.
Mistakes. Too many mistakes had already been made. Sometimes he couldn't pinpoint which mistake had been the most traumatic one. Which mistake would haunt him the most?
At times the answer seemed so simple. Her death by his bloodstained hands had been his worst mistake. His sharpened katana cutting through his beloved wife, taking her life away even as she tried to save his. Even as she had already saved his . . . .
Without her, who would he be now? Without her what kind of man would he be? He had been on the verge of chaos, standing on the very edge of death and willing to fall either way. Uncaring who lived or died by his hands so long as the peace he wanted was achieved by someone. So long as someone benefited from the chaos he caused in others lives, he didn't care who he had to kill. She had saved him from that route, that destination, that hell.
She had turned him away from the child killer he had become. Since meeting her he had been better. . . . somewhat. He still assassinated people, he still took others lives away, but slowly she had pulled him back from the cliff he was poised above.
She had been his wife, and he had killed her. It had been snowing that day too. Heavy, wet snow had tumbled slowly from the sky. He had hardly noticed the cold. He had barely felt the chill in the air that turned the precipitation into the cool white snow that fell around him.
There had been people who had tried to get in his way. He hadn't really been able to focus on them. He had gotten injured; his blood had left a crimson trail behind him. A trail that was slowly buried by the falling snow.
He had been in shock to begin with, that had been part of his problem. He had learned that his wife was supposed to kill him, but worse then that had been the knowledge that he had hurt her.
He had killed her beloved, her fiancee. He had read the words in her journal; the journal that she had written in every day that he had known her. His scar had started to bled then. The scar that he had gotten from her fiancee, the man that she had loved, and he had killed.
In the end, he had reached the cabin that she was at. Someone, he could no longer remember the name, had stood in his way. They had fought, his wounds bleeding freely, and he had been losing.
A final strike had been his idea. He would stake his life on one last strike. He charged foreword, yelling his battle cry. A cry that he couldn't hear. He closed his eyes, a picture of his life with her filling his mind. Had it all truly been a lie? Was the love that he felt for her unreturned.
A wind had blown up then, the scent of her perfume filling his senses. White plums. He opened his amber eyes, watching blood flow from her body as his sword cut through her.
He collapsed beside her, his adversary forgotten. He couldn't remember if they had spoken. He held her in his arms while she died. It had been then that she had scarred him.
Lovingly, she had raised the blade of her dagger to his cheek, and cut into his skin at a right angle with his existing scar. The one that her fiancee had given him. Together they formed an X on his left cheek. A permanent reminder of who he was, and what he had done.
Surely that had been his greatest mistake, hadn't it?
Surely taking the life of his beloved her had been his worst crime. Most times he agreed with himself that it was his biggest mistake, but the rest of the time he knew better.
Killing his wife was the thing that he regretted most in life, but his biggest mistake was leaving Master Hiko's side and joining the Chosu Clan. That had been the start of his road to chaos.
The first time he had killed someone was burned into his memory. He should have stopped then and there. Continuing had been his greatest mistake. He knew that now. He knew that without a shadow of a doubt.
A wind rose against the darkening sky. A scent mingled with the air. White plums. His eyes widened, and he turned slowly on the gravel road leading away from Tokyo.
"Tomoe?" he whispered his dead wife's name. His breath billowed out in front of him in a trembling cloud. There was no one around. He was alone. He was going to be alone for a long time; perhaps forever.
His vision blurred with tears that he longed to shed. He couldn't forget her. The wind turned bitter, causing the snow to fall in a swirled pattern. He dropped to his knees, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. Remembering her in her entirety for the first time in almost a year.
He had been busy this past year, he slowly realized. It had been one thing after another. One fight followed by another. One new friend followed by two new enemies.
Perhaps, in a way, coming to Tokyo was his biggest mistake, and yet the thing that he regretted the least.
If he had continued on with his plan to bypass the new capital, he would have never met the other woman.
The girl that made him feel again. The girl who excepted him, past and all. The one who he could depend on. The determined young swordswoman, Karou Kamiya. The girl, no woman, who smelled of jasmine, and had the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen.
In many ways Tomoe and Karou were the same. Both of them saved him from himself. Both of them had met him with plans to defeat him. Both of them had forgiven his past, and he realized, that both of the dark haired girls held a special place in his heart.
Tomoe had saved him from his hitokiri self, and had fallen in love with him despite his crimes against her. She was the only reason that he was no longer worthy of the title Hittokiri.
Karou had saved him from his rouroni self. She had saved him from the loneliness and guilt that tore through his soul. She had saved him from the endless search for forgiveness that he was on.
The same search that he still didn't believe he should be allowed to complete. He was guilty of murder. Was their any forgiveness for that? Was there any way that he could forgive himself for killing? For taking life and destroying it?
Karou had saved him from that, and while he still didn't believe that he deserved to be forgiven, he accepted the fact that it wasn't up for him to decide. Other people had to make that choice. Other people that he met had to decide if he was worthy of their forgiveness. It wasn't his choice.
The spirited girl loved him. She looked at him with the softest expression in her huge blue eyes, but she also wasn't sure how he felt. He hadn't let her know. He didn't want to hurt her, and that meant that he didn't want to love her either.
Not wanting to, and the reality of the situation were different. The truth was he loved Tomoe and Karou. He loved both of the dark haired women as the individuals that they were.
So why was he leaving Tokyo? Why was he leaving Karou behind? He knew that she would be sad when she realized that he was gone, but he couldn't help it.
He'd been dreaming of Tomoe night after night with each dream ending in her death. Then an image would float across his sleep ridden brain, and her body would
morph into Karou's.
He didn't want to hurt her. He told himself that she would be all right. The others were there to take care of her. She would cry for a long time, then one day she would wake to the clear blue skies and find love again.
"Forgive me, Karou. I must . . . . leave. . . . ." he whispered. "Tomoe. . . . Karou . . . . . . I love you . . . . . Both of you."
He stood up, his hand resting on his saya, pushing his sword up as he stood. He turned his head towards the distant city of Tokyo, aware that Karou was just getting ready for her evening bath. Aware that he would never see her smiling face again.
The wind picked up, scattering large fuzzy clumps of soft, white snow. Blowing his crimson hair and his magneta gi's sleeves. Scattering the mysterious scent of white plums into the cold night air.
He narrowed his eyes, in the grip of indecision for the briefest of moments. A single tear gathered on his eyelashes, and he blinked. The tear tumbled along his left cheek, following the groove in his skin left by Tomoe's fiancee.
Then Himura Kenshin turned away from the city of Tokyo, and the let his heart freeze to the emotions he had for the spirited tankuni girl. He locked them deep inside himself, in the place where he placed his memories of Tomoe.
"Farewell . . . . . . . . ." he whispered. "I love you . . . . Karou . . . ."
~Owari~
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
Author's notes; I just got a printer and spent half the night finding pictures that I love of Kenshin, and the Kenshin-gumi. This fic was inspired by one such picture of Kenshin standing in the snow, one hand on his sakabatou's saya, his hair blowing in the wind, and a sharp expression on his face.
I love the picture, so I decided to write something about it, this is what I came up with. I hope you like it. Please R&R!!!!
And if you want. . . . that is. . . .if you like it, I might write a sequel from Karou's prespective and she can go get her man back. \^^/
Thanks for reading'
Kissa-chan
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
A single snowflake, soft white and wet, drifted through the murky gray overcast sky. Soon more fell, falling onto the dying brown grass, and slowly accumulating. A brisk wind picked up from the northeast, and the sky darkened as the sun fell from the sky with the same uncaring grace that the snow showed.
On the gravel road his sandals made a soft crunching noise, almost unheard and steady. His footfalls were coming regularly now, but not quickly. Slowly he moved foreword having nowhere to go but foreword, and in no more hurry then the soft snowflakes that now dusted his crimson red hair.
His face was impassive, his thoughts carefully shielded, and his eyes troubled. Nothing could faze those amber eyes, not anymore.
Mistakes. Too many mistakes had already been made. Sometimes he couldn't pinpoint which mistake had been the most traumatic one. Which mistake would haunt him the most?
At times the answer seemed so simple. Her death by his bloodstained hands had been his worst mistake. His sharpened katana cutting through his beloved wife, taking her life away even as she tried to save his. Even as she had already saved his . . . .
Without her, who would he be now? Without her what kind of man would he be? He had been on the verge of chaos, standing on the very edge of death and willing to fall either way. Uncaring who lived or died by his hands so long as the peace he wanted was achieved by someone. So long as someone benefited from the chaos he caused in others lives, he didn't care who he had to kill. She had saved him from that route, that destination, that hell.
She had turned him away from the child killer he had become. Since meeting her he had been better. . . . somewhat. He still assassinated people, he still took others lives away, but slowly she had pulled him back from the cliff he was poised above.
She had been his wife, and he had killed her. It had been snowing that day too. Heavy, wet snow had tumbled slowly from the sky. He had hardly noticed the cold. He had barely felt the chill in the air that turned the precipitation into the cool white snow that fell around him.
There had been people who had tried to get in his way. He hadn't really been able to focus on them. He had gotten injured; his blood had left a crimson trail behind him. A trail that was slowly buried by the falling snow.
He had been in shock to begin with, that had been part of his problem. He had learned that his wife was supposed to kill him, but worse then that had been the knowledge that he had hurt her.
He had killed her beloved, her fiancee. He had read the words in her journal; the journal that she had written in every day that he had known her. His scar had started to bled then. The scar that he had gotten from her fiancee, the man that she had loved, and he had killed.
In the end, he had reached the cabin that she was at. Someone, he could no longer remember the name, had stood in his way. They had fought, his wounds bleeding freely, and he had been losing.
A final strike had been his idea. He would stake his life on one last strike. He charged foreword, yelling his battle cry. A cry that he couldn't hear. He closed his eyes, a picture of his life with her filling his mind. Had it all truly been a lie? Was the love that he felt for her unreturned.
A wind had blown up then, the scent of her perfume filling his senses. White plums. He opened his amber eyes, watching blood flow from her body as his sword cut through her.
He collapsed beside her, his adversary forgotten. He couldn't remember if they had spoken. He held her in his arms while she died. It had been then that she had scarred him.
Lovingly, she had raised the blade of her dagger to his cheek, and cut into his skin at a right angle with his existing scar. The one that her fiancee had given him. Together they formed an X on his left cheek. A permanent reminder of who he was, and what he had done.
Surely that had been his greatest mistake, hadn't it?
Surely taking the life of his beloved her had been his worst crime. Most times he agreed with himself that it was his biggest mistake, but the rest of the time he knew better.
Killing his wife was the thing that he regretted most in life, but his biggest mistake was leaving Master Hiko's side and joining the Chosu Clan. That had been the start of his road to chaos.
The first time he had killed someone was burned into his memory. He should have stopped then and there. Continuing had been his greatest mistake. He knew that now. He knew that without a shadow of a doubt.
A wind rose against the darkening sky. A scent mingled with the air. White plums. His eyes widened, and he turned slowly on the gravel road leading away from Tokyo.
"Tomoe?" he whispered his dead wife's name. His breath billowed out in front of him in a trembling cloud. There was no one around. He was alone. He was going to be alone for a long time; perhaps forever.
His vision blurred with tears that he longed to shed. He couldn't forget her. The wind turned bitter, causing the snow to fall in a swirled pattern. He dropped to his knees, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume. Remembering her in her entirety for the first time in almost a year.
He had been busy this past year, he slowly realized. It had been one thing after another. One fight followed by another. One new friend followed by two new enemies.
Perhaps, in a way, coming to Tokyo was his biggest mistake, and yet the thing that he regretted the least.
If he had continued on with his plan to bypass the new capital, he would have never met the other woman.
The girl that made him feel again. The girl who excepted him, past and all. The one who he could depend on. The determined young swordswoman, Karou Kamiya. The girl, no woman, who smelled of jasmine, and had the clearest blue eyes he had ever seen.
In many ways Tomoe and Karou were the same. Both of them saved him from himself. Both of them had met him with plans to defeat him. Both of them had forgiven his past, and he realized, that both of the dark haired girls held a special place in his heart.
Tomoe had saved him from his hitokiri self, and had fallen in love with him despite his crimes against her. She was the only reason that he was no longer worthy of the title Hittokiri.
Karou had saved him from his rouroni self. She had saved him from the loneliness and guilt that tore through his soul. She had saved him from the endless search for forgiveness that he was on.
The same search that he still didn't believe he should be allowed to complete. He was guilty of murder. Was their any forgiveness for that? Was there any way that he could forgive himself for killing? For taking life and destroying it?
Karou had saved him from that, and while he still didn't believe that he deserved to be forgiven, he accepted the fact that it wasn't up for him to decide. Other people had to make that choice. Other people that he met had to decide if he was worthy of their forgiveness. It wasn't his choice.
The spirited girl loved him. She looked at him with the softest expression in her huge blue eyes, but she also wasn't sure how he felt. He hadn't let her know. He didn't want to hurt her, and that meant that he didn't want to love her either.
Not wanting to, and the reality of the situation were different. The truth was he loved Tomoe and Karou. He loved both of the dark haired women as the individuals that they were.
So why was he leaving Tokyo? Why was he leaving Karou behind? He knew that she would be sad when she realized that he was gone, but he couldn't help it.
He'd been dreaming of Tomoe night after night with each dream ending in her death. Then an image would float across his sleep ridden brain, and her body would
morph into Karou's.
He didn't want to hurt her. He told himself that she would be all right. The others were there to take care of her. She would cry for a long time, then one day she would wake to the clear blue skies and find love again.
"Forgive me, Karou. I must . . . . leave. . . . ." he whispered. "Tomoe. . . . Karou . . . . . . I love you . . . . . Both of you."
He stood up, his hand resting on his saya, pushing his sword up as he stood. He turned his head towards the distant city of Tokyo, aware that Karou was just getting ready for her evening bath. Aware that he would never see her smiling face again.
The wind picked up, scattering large fuzzy clumps of soft, white snow. Blowing his crimson hair and his magneta gi's sleeves. Scattering the mysterious scent of white plums into the cold night air.
He narrowed his eyes, in the grip of indecision for the briefest of moments. A single tear gathered on his eyelashes, and he blinked. The tear tumbled along his left cheek, following the groove in his skin left by Tomoe's fiancee.
Then Himura Kenshin turned away from the city of Tokyo, and the let his heart freeze to the emotions he had for the spirited tankuni girl. He locked them deep inside himself, in the place where he placed his memories of Tomoe.
"Farewell . . . . . . . . ." he whispered. "I love you . . . . Karou . . . ."
~Owari~
** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **
Author's notes; I just got a printer and spent half the night finding pictures that I love of Kenshin, and the Kenshin-gumi. This fic was inspired by one such picture of Kenshin standing in the snow, one hand on his sakabatou's saya, his hair blowing in the wind, and a sharp expression on his face.
I love the picture, so I decided to write something about it, this is what I came up with. I hope you like it. Please R&R!!!!
And if you want. . . . that is. . . .if you like it, I might write a sequel from Karou's prespective and she can go get her man back. \^^/
Thanks for reading'
Kissa-chan