Gwah. Before I completely chicken out, I better finish this.
The subject line isn't the title; in fact, it has none. It's
just a thing I learned writing this.


She held her head high. She was about to pass away, and knew it.

She made a small, wheezing noise, to inform her husband that she
wanted to see him, one last time. Ranma soon ushered himself within
the closing circle of vision she had.

He looked the dignified, honorable man that she married, that fateful
day. The day he swept her into his arms and promised to be with her.
Always, always.

She knew that she, that woman who entered with him, and held his hand,
was to marry him, after her death. She knew how much she had meant to
him, and was only so sorry to take too much of his time, and concern.

It was a shotgun wedding, theirs, of course, but Ranma held his end
as best he could: no one would blame him. But he loved her, and she
loved him.

Were it different, she would only cry in despair, but Ranma made
comforting noises, which helped ease her tension. He couldn't have
loved her, she thought. She would have cried in despair if she could.

They waited for her to die... the body wasn't even dead yet, and they...
she wailed, the most pitiful soft and loudest sound she could make.
Then she was gone, lifeless in her groom's arms.


Ranma held back tears. He gently return the body to its forever sleep.
The girl who filled his arms cried, and he could tell that it mourned
of entirely different things.

Ranma simply lay an orchid atop his wife's snow-white breast, and said
his peace.


The next day, in a small basket, they buried the duck that was "Mrs.
Ranma Saotome".


Suddenly, I feel like I'm going to be flamed for this...