The blood flows from her mouth, a scarlet nectar, drawn by the thorns that fill her throat, tearing through her almost as deeply as the anguish rooted in her heart. Forever suffocating, she tries to scream, but chokes. white and yellow petals, painted crimson, fall. If only she knew that miles away, petals fell from his throat as the memory of her haunted him. But a love will not be if the lovers think it can’t. Fever rushes through her, but she feels cold still. She knows her time is here, she can’t breathe, blood and petals making it impossible. He chokes as well, tears running down his face as flowers rip his throat.

They long for each other in their final moments. And suddenly, as if by some miracle, they are there. In a field of flowers, adding their death blossoms to the collection. They reach for each other, and maybe, in the second, a moment that stretches forever, they realize. But it is far too late. They fall, hands inches away, death rendering them still and cold, two heart-broken lovers, not quick or wise enough to escape the curse of the Hanahaki.