Notes: I have no clue what is wrong with me….I have a weird thing for weird pairings for my OTPs…I think this is more like a long poem maybe then anything else…and make your own conclusions.
Recently I have a weird fetish for death-fics…I'm sorry.
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Beauty Was the Beast
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She knows that he does not love her.
Knows it with every beat of her bruised, aching heart.
There are just too many reasons against her.
(For who could ever love a beast)
She was too tainted by the world, had too many calluses and scars on her body to still be considered a woman. Too many things had stolen away her luster, and she was now just a dull, empty thing.
…
He does not treat her as his equal. Rather, she is a useful servant. No….an executer if anything.
Not pretty.
And most certainly not his lover.
Human.
He despises her kind, thinks that they are lower than the dirt around his feet.
(such a low hideous beast)
The demon-slayer does not even know why she loves him so. Perhaps it is because he is forbidden, a demon, is against every law, every rule, that her father has ever taught her. All of her ancestors are probably rolling in their graves right now at the very notion.
…
(The last petal droops)
Her life will go in the blink of an eye for him. And she knows this, but has found that her heart still will not cease to beat at what surely is an unhealthy rate.
…
(The last petal falls….)
She lays in a pool of blood, most of it her last opponent's.
And she knows that she's bout to die. She can hear the thorns wrapping around her heart, squeezing out stuttered heartbeats.
White hair flies around her master as she stares at her with blank, emotionless eyes.
(The beauty looks at the beast with disgust)
Choking on the air that struggles to escape her lungs her fingers claw upwards, desperate to clutch red and white cloth. She rolls over slightly, to try and alleviate the pain in her chest from the searing wounds, her face half smothered in her tangle of crow hair.
(The beast calls for beauty, but is ignored)
Eyelids flutter closed, and she finds that even that simple act makes her ache.
Opening her mouth the little girl in her suit of armor tries to tell him, but it will not past her lips.
(Beauty! the beast cries)
Forcing purple eyelids open she focuses on him, her mouth trying to contort in the right formations of speech.
Scoffing he walks away, knowing that she is now useless to him.
(Perhaps Beauty is not so beautiful)
As he fades from the line of vision, blood drips into her eyes, burning.
And she wonders if he ever felt anything, something, besides apathy in his whole life.
Maybe t hat is why he is so beautiful to her though…for one without emotions cannot get hurt, and aren't Beautiful things flawless?
(But Beauty is a seething, raging, hurt that lies deep within)
And beautiful things are flawless.
He is not.
Her last words:
Sesshomaru, you are ugly, so ugly.
