By Night Imp
Disclaimer: No, I do not own Alichino. Pray tell...why would you even think I did?
I also do not own Kouyu Shurei, who does own Alichino. :snivel:
I wrote this while depressed and listening to In the Arms of the Angels (by Sarah McLachlan) on repeat play. What else can I say? I had no intention of posting this, but my cousin told me that no, it is not putrid like I seem think it is. Please review :bows:
Slowly the door closed; Myoubi walked quietly across the old wooden floor to his bedside. He could feel the mattress shift as she sat next to him, he could hear her breathing as she sat watching him. But he did not open his eyes to look at her.
He shivered. The fire had gone out long ago for there was no longer anyone to tend it. He had sent Tsugiri away. The thought of a fire escaped Myoubi.
Enju would have tended it, if Enju were still alive.
Myoubi laid her head on his chest, and he finally opened his eyes. So many times he had considered what his death would be like. Never once did he picture Myoubi to be the only one at his side. He had once thought of marrying, expected to have children, hoped to live a quiet life, contended and loved. He expected to die sated with his wife and children at his side.
Then later he had hoped for a second chance, a chance to make things right, for Amiya if not for him. Get Hibiki back, kill Matsurika…kill Myoubi. She had, after all, killed so many that were dear to him. But he never did. He shouldn't have felt any hesitation, any remorse. But he did, and he lied to himself that it was because killing an Alichino was far easier said than done.
Then why did he feel so sad when he thought of losing Myoubi?
He looked down at her now. He had never gotten a wife, he had never gotten a second chance, but…
There was a chance that maybe, just maybe, he had found love.