The cherry petals fall like the blood did at the end of the Bakamatsu. It fell from her, the one I loved. So deeply did it stain me that it will never come out, my hands are smeared with the blood of innocents and still I live. What purpose do I serve but to make people unhappy? What does she see in me? Surely she cannot see the killer that lurks behind my gaze, for if she did then she would not want me. She thinks they are beautiful when they fall, but that is all right. She does not know the horrors of war, for she is fresh. She is like the spring breeze her cooling and calming nature also firey telling of the summer to come. She is so young. It is good. I love her naïve lies that are so very elaborate and heart felt that this one could almost believe them...but I will always remain Battosai and, because of that, I am afraid to love.