Author's Notes:

Hello again, readers. As some of you already know, this story is the sequel to Hatred's Binds. It is entirely possible to read and enjoy this story without having read the first, though some character issues and references to the previous story may be made. Unlike the other story, which I had finished before I began to post, this is not finished, and I am exceedingly busy right now, so I won't make any promises. However, not to be a review whore, I have to say that reviews really do motivate me to continue – especially constructive reviews. Enjoy the story!

-nel

Prologue

It was as if the sky itself were weeping for its loss. The rain splattered angrily against the windows and roof, crying openly in the way that the people inside could not. Black was the only color within the building, aside from the white robes of the priest, and the pure snowy carnations that littered the small room.

A solitary figure stood over the dark, shiny wooden casket, her narrow shoulders shaking horribly in an attempt to remain in control of the dam that was ready to burst. A gentle hand touched her shoulder, leading her away from the eyes of her love that would never open again.

He watched her from the back of the humble chapel, his blue eyes following the figure that seemed to have diminished in the three weeks since he had last seen her, lively, bouncing, holding tightly to the arm of the one who now lie still.

He could not say he was happy to see him dead. It was true that in more bitter moments, he had envisioned various creative methods of torture or murder, but he had always known there was an unspoken agreement between himself and that young woman whose heart now lay shattered under the foot of fate. He would accept the man and the love he held for his future bride, and in return, she would remain cheerful.

It now seemed that their silent agreement was void. The man was dead, and it seemed that the young woman was also, if not in body, then in spirit.

Her brother was leading her away, to the front pew of the chapel, and he was still watching, even as he took his own seat. There was much weeping, especially from the front few rows where his family sat; four siblings, an aging father, though no mother could be found. The man had been so beloved. His life had touched everybody he met. His joy and compassion and kindness had been terribly infectious. Even a man as usually unconcerned as himself could feel the effects.

The eulogy began. Of course she could not bear to give it. Her brother did so. He was impressively eloquent. He had always considered his sister's lover to be his brother as much as she was his sister. The speech was moving. The man in the back was not the only person that thought so, as a good portion of the room began to cry silently or loudly. A few people even had to excuse themselves.

Hymns were sung, and the palbearers, men he recognized as his six closest friends, lifted the box and carried it into the hearse. A few people murmered that it had been a lovely service. He thought to himself that that was probably the dumbest expression on earth, for how could a funeral be lovely?

He followed the mourning friends, relatives, and even teachers out of the chapel and onto the street, making his way to his own car and quietly pulling out of the lot. As he drove past, he glimpsed the young woman through the window of her brother's car, her russet hair obstructing those hazel eyes, usually so full of life, now deadened. Almost as if she had felt his presence, she looked up, tears flooding her pale, thin face and met his gaze. He nodded respectfully and sped off.

The funeral for the man whose name was Sho Kishkou was complete. Ayuru would not be attending the burial.