Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles…especially for the one doing all the plotting.

On the First Day of Christmas...

I've been watching, and Miroku-sama seems so unhappy. Maybe it's the void? Of course it's the void. The monk held death in his hand, and at times, it stole the life from his eyes. Usually, he shook off the melancholy with a witty jest and a provocative suggestion, but not this time. As he walked, his eyes never left the ground. It's as if he's forgotten how to taste, see, smile, live. He should be teasing, flirting, wheedling... not avoiding. This is not the Miroku-sama I know.

He was distancing himself, closing himself off from the rest of the group. I suppose he thinks he's protecting us. How foolish! Doesn't he know that pulling away won't shield our hearts? From the looks of things, he didn't. Is it possible... has he given up?

Shoulders squared. Nope. I won't let him keep brooding like this. He just needs something to spark his interest in living again. Something to look forward to. And I know just the thing!


Miroku stirred restlessly in his sleep, reluctant to open his eyes. Why bother? Letting his head fall to one side, he drew a deep breath to fuel a gusty sigh. Is that…cinnamon? Taking another experimental sniff, Miroku slowly opened his eyes. Just inches from his face lay a small, green bundle. Brows furrowing, he propped himself on one elbow for a closer inspection. Sweet flag grass filled the air with its spiciness as he gently prodded it with a finger. How…odd.

End Note: This drabble was written for the Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge. Details can be found in the final chapter. 245 words.