Chapter Eighteen: Forgotten Dawn, Timeless Memories
Blood fell, splashed carelessly across the soft carpet of spring grass. The crimson droplets fell red where they touched; a bloody tapestry of ruby and emerald. Here, time did not touch this place, this shelter of death and pain. And here, as each non-existent second passed, yet another tiny piece of life passed back into the earth from where it came…
It didn't hurt as much as she expected, dying. It had, at first, when the Youki ripped through her body, tearing muscles and shredding insides. But when she saw the blood flow, red staining her body and hands, the pain left. Instead a strange peace came over her, light-headed and blank while staring at her shaking hands red with blood.
What… what was happening? The grass was so close to her face, she could smell the metallic scent of blood in her nostrils, taste it on her lips. Why was she on the ground? She tried to stand, but for some reason her body did not respond. She wanted to stand, to stand up and fight. They were losing; she could hear their ragged breathing, the slight stumbling of their stances. Somewhere a scream of pain reached her ears. She must get up…
Softness embraced her powerless form, helping her. She could smell the flowers, touch the whiteness, feel life. Who was this person? Her misted mind trembled to remember. It's there, just out of reach in her memory. She could see the forms, dark shadows shrouded in thick mist.
"Kurama, get over here now! Heal her damnit!"
Kurama? The name sounded so familiar…
"Thief, we can't hold him off much longer."
Thief? Ah yes, now she remembered the golden eyes gazed down at her. Youko, that was his name. The blooded lips curved into a tiny smile as she remembered. The name… it was important to her in some way…
"You know… your… ears are cute."
She had always wanted to say that, even since she first met him. The pointed ears, all furry and cuddly…
Someone… someone was trying to heal her. She felt someone trying to heal her wound. Silly them, it was no use. She knew that she was slipping away and no amount of help would do anything to stop that. A grin came onto her face as she laughed at the simpleton, but it soon faded.
"…It's so cold…"
She felt cold, was slowly losing feeling of her body. Was it winter, right now? She can't remember. No, it can't be winter. Winter was all white and pure. But she could smell roses, feel the grass, see the blurred mirage of color…
He embraced her. She could feel the heart-beat as he held her close. Safe, yes, that is the word. Now, as the mind drew ever deeper into the darkness, she knew that if there was anyone in this world she could trust, it was him. Had she ever told him, ever whispered to him that he was as important as the sun, the moon, the stars, the very air that she breath? Had she ever told him that, no matter what, no matter if the world ended, if the eternal cycle of life and death froze and broke apart, if the whole universe fell apart and disappeared, that she would always be with him? Did she ever tell him? She can't remember now, can't remember if…
"You…"
If I had the chance…
"Youko…"
If the world were to end tomorrow…
"I…"
If I could choose a single moment, a single second, when time could stand still…
"I…"
I would choose now, this moment, this second…
"I… lo…"
Choose now, so I could tell you…
Her mind sank into darkness. What was she going to say again? She couldn't remember. But as the last breath left her lips, she didn't worry…
Tell you… that I love you…
Someone, kill me. I can't seem to find my rifle, and my collection of weapons have been stolen by that god-forsaken thief. So I grovel here, before you, dear reader, and ask you for one simple thing; kill me. Why, you might ask? Easy; this chapter. Oh ye gods, I have never written, in all my life, something as pathetic and horrible and worthless as this. Look at it, it's damnation to fanfiction! I was tempted not to update again, considering that I had to write this if I was going to update. But in the end I did, purely for the fact that Yuki's owner would not let me off without writing a tragic death for her. And now see what happened? I told her to write this. Just because I was good at melacholy does not mean I'm good at romantic tragedy. This is seriously pathetic. And it's not even good! I'll just go and a rope to hang myself...