/disclaimer/:: never gonna own this shit.

/title/:: standing water

/summary/:: Her only ties to the world now are heads still in need of severing. — Hotarubi/Yashamaru

She holds herself up, rewinding life in a reel.

Boiling blood jolts her veins up to the skin, a living timeline of every moment that has ever mattered.

Every time he brushed his thumb across her cheek.

Every time he'd looked through the coarse threads of his bangs and given her a reason to look up from the ground.

"Hotarubi, you have beautiful hair..."

Her eyes are on fire, cracked and salted with the thought that, now, she will be alone. Rain pelts over the leaves of the old twisted tree she's met him under so many times, so many times…

"You have beautiful hair…"

Pleated in a grimace, her mouth prepares to scream; a feeble crutch with which she can only hope to maintain whatever sanity hasn't drained out and over her face and plummeted to the ground.

It spits, in a phlegm thick plea to every dark crevice between the trees, every blade of grass that caught sweat from their love making, every hair he stole from her head, up and over the wind…


It churns over the gulch, then flits back over her eyes, dusting her with echo and hardening her heart.


Acid rolls up to her throat, like clouds over the plains of Iga; the hurt it brings is just as flashing, brilliant, and destructive. There will be no recovery.

Her knees ache with the give she has hardly noticed she's been reduced to the ground for.

Bitter taste already inflaming her gums, she leans her head down in a bow and kisses the Earth, wracking sobs disguised by the cracking of thunder over head.

She is making the mould. The mould for every Kouga man, woman, child. And with this curse, the last press of her lips to anything—what Yashamaru ultimately has fallen and become one with—a promise.

It is the only thing that lifts her to her feet again, carries her from their spot, and seals the tears. A woman dead and waiting for the burn of hell.

The world has stopped, for all she's willing to acknowledge.

And still, the rain stings.