At the tender age of 29, (Y/N) Rengoku found herself grappling with a reality she never envisioned. The tragic demise of her beloved husband aboard the Mugen Train, plunged her into a profound and shattering sorrow. The very fire that had once kindl...
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Chapter Three:
(Y/N)'s steps were slow and heavy, each one carrying the weight of the world upon her shoulders.
The bed before her held a figure that seemed both familiar and distant, a stark reminder of the life that had been snuffed out so suddenly.
Her breath caught in her throat as she approached, her heartache growing with each passing moment.
Kyojuro's peaceful countenance contrasted sharply with the storm of emotions raging within (Y/N).
She stood there, her eyes fixed on his face, her heart sinking as the reality before her became more tangible.
Her hands trembled as she reached out to touch his cheek, her fingers brushing against his skin, willing herself to feel the warmth she so desperately craved.
The smile that graced Kyojuro's lips was etched into her memory, a symbol of the joy they had shared, the moments they had built together.
It was a smile that had melted her heart countless times, a smile that had reassured her in times of doubt. But now, it was a bittersweet reminder of the life they had lost.
As she held his cold, lifeless hand in her own, (Y/N)'s heart shattered into a million pieces. It was as if the pieces of her soul were scattered around her, lost in the abyss of grief.
She couldn't believe that the hands she held had once been so full of vitality, so strong and capable.
Now, they were still, the essence of the man she loved slipping through her fingers like sand.
Her mind waged a battle against the truth, clinging to the notion that this couldn't be real.
She wanted to believe that any moment now, Kyojuro would open his eyes, that his hand would tighten around hers, that they could share another smile, another laugh.
But the cold reality of death lingered in the air, a truth she couldn't ignore.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she leaned down, her forehead resting against his.
She whispered words of love and longing, her voice a gentle caress against the stillness of the room.
She wished for one more moment, one more chance to tell him how much he meant to her, to hold him close and never let go.
The room was silent except for the sound of her quiet sobs, her grief pouring out in waves of raw emotion.
She clung to his hand as if it were a lifeline, as if by holding on tightly enough, she could defy the cruel fate that had torn him from her.
