Disclaimer: Don't own it. Wish I did. Except for... well, you'll find out.

Ok. This fiction is a quick little 'Happy Birthday to meeeeeee...' thing I jotted. At first, I was doubtful about posting it, but I had some help and thought 'eh... what the heck'. So I made it into a celebration fiction. Yay!!

A huge thanks to: my muse, Hikegan-sama. Go read her story, it's full of yayness! Actually... there is soon to be TWO in her family of stories!

And my betas: Khepri (GO! PROFILE! READ! NOW!) and Aamalie (HER TOO! EXCELLENCE ABOUNDING!). Thank you! You helped so much!! Thanks for the tips, Khepri! Hope you are satisfied!



Three words he never thought he'd hear from her mouth. Never, not in a thousand years, did he think he'd be hear those words tumble out like a river over rocks. But still, they came, and still, he wept.

"Hou-Miroku... I'm scared..." Sango whispered, blood clotting on the side of her mouth. Her speech slurred slightly as her tongue went numb, and Miroku choked back the desire to scream. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. His Sango, his beautiful Sango, lay in the dirt bleeding slowly. The dark brown earth, already stained purple from Naraku's splattered acidic remains, began to turn an odd purplish-indigo as her dark red heart's blood steadily seeped in.

He walked quickly to her side, unable to push his shocked limbs to a faster pace. Kneeling beside her, he automatically ripped part of his outer kesa off and began to put it around the hole in Sango's midsection. He winced as she cried out in pain, small red bubbles forming on her already bloodied lips. Sango's limbs had begun to shiver uncontrollably already, and Miroku's mind screamed in panic as he realized that she was fading away in shock. Her dark brown eyes, misted from pain, were wide with fear as se looked up at him.

"Please make the pain stop," she begged, her warrior's facade falling away to reveal the barely 16-year-old girl underneath. The young girl who never should have seen what she had. "Miroku... please... kill me... I can't... stand... this anymore..."

Miroku froze, unable to think or speak. Deep down, past his hopes and misery, the monk who had witness so much- no, too much- death spoke.

"She will not live. You are obligated to kill her."

No. I cannot kill Sango. Not Sango.

Miroku's mind was a blend of worry, panic, heartache, and disbelief. Sango, his fiancee... she was dying. Dying a death so painful anyone would have begged for a quick end. He could see the painted ground through her, through her. Nothing was blocking his vision. As though in mockery of the situation, he could see red and green grass beneath her. Through her. Through the hole the size of one of her shoulder's armor cups.

Through Sango. No. This could not be.

Again, Sango let out a whimper of pain. Miroku's mind jarred roughly back to Japan, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw his own blood. He finished wrapping her stomach, and moved to search for some sort of medicine or perhaps a healing sutra in his robes. Nothing. He'd used it all already. He turned back to the taijiya, and let out a cry.

Black blood trickled slowly from her mouth. Her eyes, once so clear and vivid, were all but completely clouded over with death. Her lips moved, and Miroku realized she was trying to speak. Uttering comforting noises, he leaned over her. He barely caught

"Miroku-k-kun... if you truly love me... please..." That's when it honestly hit him.

Sango was going to die. She was in pain. And he, he was letting her suffer. Quietly, he came to grips with reality; he must do this, or he would lose all honor as a monk. As a man.

As her lover.

Nodding to Sango, he kissed her forehead and placed a purifying sutra where his lips had been. It would erase the poison inside her, and with it, her life. A quick, painless, and honorable death. He heard her quiet confession of love fall off her lips before-


Miroku walked silently, not making a sound as he had been doing for the past 3 days. A figure, wrapped in white, lay deceivingly peaceful in his arms. His footsteps made slight crunching sounds on the gravel, the steady sound reminding him of all of his travels with the group. His jaw set grimly as he remembered for the hundredth time that he would never be able to do that again.

Memories twisted and turned about in his mind as he recalled the previously forsaken thoughts. Kagome's laugh, light and cheerful, the way her voice swelled to something akin to pissed off as she sat InuYasha for some badly directed remark. He'd never hear that again.

For InuYasha, the cause of such changes, was dead as well.

Kagome had returned to her time, giving Miroku only a tearful hug and a single gift; a picture of Sango, who was smiling and laughing with him as they sat on picturesque grass by a river. He cherished the photograph, and had slipped it into the protective cover Kagome had given him as well before putting it reverently over his heart inside his kesa. In return, he had wordlessly given her a charm, meant to protect the wearer from all evil. To Shippou went a charm as well, one that said 'fire' and was said to give the one who held it strength. Shippou had given him a purple top, and left with Kagome to go to her own time. So ended his relations with everything from his past life. Now, he was slowly making his way to the taijiya village to bury the person he held in his arms.

Sango, amazingly, had retained a fairly healthy look for someone who had been run through and then died; Miroku had numbly assumed it was because of the sutra he had used to end her suffering. Her skin, though it lost it's glow, had not rotted, and even now Miroku could smell her lily-tinted scent through the burial wraps.

He was not looking forward to burying her. He was all alone, but he preferred it that way.

Still, burying Sango seemed a hideous thing, as she had already been buried before in her life. This time, however, she was not coming back. Her pulse was missing, her blood had separated into a mix of red liquid and water soon after Miroku had purified her gently. She, obviously, was not breathing. No, Sango would not be resurrected. Could not be. And Miroku, though he wanted her beside him so badly it was killing him, refused to make another Kikyou. Sango would not have wanted that.

Foot after foot, he reminded himself. If he was lucky, he would make it there before the sun set.


Groaning slightly at the pressure in his shoulders, Miroku lifted the last pound of dirt out of Sango's grave. He had spent some time on it, wanting to give her a proper burial. Putting his hands gently on either side of the grave, he pushed himself out, feeling his muscles cry out in agony once again. Somehow, digging a hole to put Sango's body in had been twice as exhausting as digging a mass grave. He wondered if it was because...

Gently gathering the white-wrapped body in his arms, he slid back into Sango's grave and lovingly set her down on the thin futon he had placed in there before; it was theirs. Not his, not hers, but theirs. Oh, they had never quite shared a bed, but the night before the final battle... Sango had allowed him to sleep with her. The lulling sound of her breathing had comforted him, and she couldn't sleep without him. Miroku wanted her to have that same peace now.

As he jumped out once more, Miroku looked in. He did not cry; he had no more tears left to shed. Grain by grain, he slipped the black soil over her still form. But not before letting a few sakura blossoms waft down to settle on her. They... had been her favorite.


Now, as Miroku set Hiraikotsu and her katana on the fresh dirt, his throat tightened. It was almost done. He had to beg for her spirit now, something he had always done for the dead he had buried. The prayer. A simple prayer asking for pardon on the person's soul and a chance to come back as a human, permission to become reincarnated, pleading for mercy and the ability to finish their mission. Miroku knew, however, that Sango would probably rest forever now: Kohaku had died in her arms before she herself was killed, thus completing her mission. She need not come back.

A final part, and Miroku would be done with burying the woman he had loved. All he had to do was sing for her, as he had done around the campfire when she couldn't sleep, and her funeral would be finished. And as Miroku completed it, the tears finally fell.

Let me sing your requiem

Your never-ending song

Let me sing your requiem

That we won't be parted long

Let me sing your requiem

A gift for you in death

Let me sing your requiem

Until we meet again


"Requiem" ©2004 FluffyLemonn

That's it. If you want to use that song, let me know in a review. The full version is currently up in my profile for a little while.

And... because I've been here for a whole year today... Could you go to my profile? Just go and look at my other stories? If you're reading this, you'll like my other stuff. I think. Anyways- thanks for reading, until next!

Love you, Sango. Sorry, Miroku.

No flames, please. Don't want to burn Sango's body.