Disclaimer: Do not own Inuyasha.
Tacit Sorrow to an Everlasting Farce
"The farce is finished. I go to seek a vast perhaps." -Francois Rabelais
The pale, pale hand reached out from the barren colds of the wispy chill, lacing past the robust metal bars that caged all delicacy inside. Fingers curled and coiled, shining brightly under a circumstantial moonlight to wrap in an ever coating embrace of provision and protection that gave way to a tranquility against a trembling lip. Shake, shake, shake—it seemed even the glow of the moon was the only lasting chill that kissed in abundance along emaciated arms, with bones hallowed to empty shells and skin overlong with the imitation of pastel and death.
Reaching and reaching, and the ground shook to her call as a silver and gold hero answered to her, without a face and without a name that those fingers quivered with tremulous hope and love and with no shuddering whispers to call from a sand-wrought throat. They stretched and curled and quavered—I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!
A grin with no definition responded to her as red flooded sight and the big, white stick swiped against her damp and barren enclosure, the rusty iron shuddering a pink dim and giving out with a silent hum, thudding softly against the dry earth.
Warmth, warmth, warmth—something she felt under an empty smile. Embrace and hold and envelop, she dreamed of this silver and gold and red and heat and hope. She wished away from that vile cage and free, free, free with air fresh and naught of blood and mud and feces. A grass not crisp to ashes with fire or a flower scented of poison.
And then her warmth was taken from her—a cry ripping from the vices of her throat as pain rippled its influx upon the sickening cracks in post to her neck.
Another din howled to her clamor in heavy laughter under the devil's signature. Black and blood and him—she saw him.
"You're daydreaming, again, love." A charming lace to his sadistic humor as something sport of an innocent smile full of sins; because he was beautiful that way.
Blood splashed in a sickening squelch onto the ground, and she smiled under the mendacity he allotted her, aspen with palpitation or joy?—but not fear. No, she did not fear him.
"I love you." Because she could not hate.
"I know." Because he could not love.
And he smiled once more, a inexorable and bestial, everything in his sinful eyes singing its amusement and pleasure as she spat the offered food away, crouching as far as she could in distance from him against the hissings of her body.
Chuckling in forms that shook her in wobbles, had she the energy, he gripped her rough and matted hair, tugging mercilessly as he pulled her close to him, tongue along the lines of her collar as his eyes glinted maliciously at the bright jewel dangling frailly over the line of her chest.
Evil, evil, evil and everything against her very being traced lines along alabaster skin; sharp with protruding bones.
"I love you." He mumbled, an ersatz of words gold and silver and red used to whisper.
"I know." She replied, and so she played his games. She had nothing else to do.