July, 1878
Kyoto, Shirabeko
Pain.
So much pain.
My right shoulder feels as though it's been blown off of my body. The stab wound in my abdomen feels like it will never close up. I can't move. I can't open my eyes.
Cold, wet. There's something cool on my burning forehead. Gentle caresses all up and down my bruised and battered body. The pain isn't as bad as just a moment ago. Every time I feel that gentle touch, it recedes just a bit more.
Singing. The voice of an angel, calling me back from the darkness that has enveloped my consciousness for so long. As I race toward the light, I see her. She turns to me, smiles and holds out her hand. I run faster, the demons and the dead snapping at my heels, trying to drag me back with them. I reach out for her and am pulled from the darkness.
My eyes open for what seems like the first time in eternity. She's looking down at me, her eyes large with worry, her face pale as though she hasn't slept in weeks. I try to speak, but my voice is cracked and faint. She touches her finger to my lips to silence me.
Cradling my head, she raises it just a bit and has me drink a cup of cold water to soothe my parched throat. After my head is again resting on the pillow, she dips the cloth into the bucket of water, rings it out and then replaces it on my forehead to alleviate the heat of my fever.
She followed me here, after I left her alone and weeping in the shadows over two months ago. If she hadn't followed me and made me promise what I did, I would now be dead. Though I'm not yet ready to tell her, she is no longer just a friend, but something much, much more. I never want to be parted from her again.
Owari