daydreams, they're fragile
.
.
.
It's the scent that calls him.
Her scent.
That vulgar aroma of intoxicating iron seeps into his lungs and his eyes flicker east, toward the trail of pine trees and mossy grey stones. She smells like her creator, her owner—she's nothing but a slave after all—a stupid, hopeful little slave wrapped in the hands of the greatest evil. It's pathetic, almost too cruel and unfortunately nostalgic to be so lost in love for something—for her, freedom—for him, however, her. This involving is immoral, even to the point where he knows he's becoming a little too humane. He could never reveal this side, with the acidic and bittersweet temptations and the muffled thoughts and the never ending charade of herherher blocking his murderous intent.
His façade must not be seen. Sesshomaru would never forgive himself if this became even the slightest bit obvious to his scum of a brother—or even if Jaken had started speculating the small, yet different quirks, the demon knew his pesky little follower would need to go.
He leaves his (somewhat) loyal companions behind after he's triggered with even the smallest whiff of her. It's a bad kind of aura; he can tell, and there's this awfully strange pain in his chest. But of course, he doesn't allow his face to be readable with the gut feeling.
He would have told Kagura, but he has the oddest tingle of knowledge that she already knows.
The smell of blood becomes heavier, drowning his senses and his nose scrunches in distaste. His eyes are sharp, withstanding the venomous mixture.
They water.
Not enough to fall, however, but enough to liquefy a crystalline shield on his orbs.
He doesn't care if she sees.
A silhouette comes into view; a maiden in silks of white and eggplant in a field of green and cream stares off somewhere beyond his eyes could see. Thick layers of vapor surround her in a mist and the oozing blood is even more sickening. He doesn't flinch.
He never flinches.
Kagura sits restlessly, as if there is no pain at all, looking for the hope that had abandoned her as soon as Naraku had stabbed her with a large fume of violet poison. She senses his presence, but she doesn't have the willpower to pivot her head.
He hovers over the measly flowers and lands in front of her with a steady face, even as he watches the blood fall in large amounts outside of her wounded chest. It trickles slowly and stains her kimono. Her eyes are faint—ghost-like—against his. They're both calm, collected, even.
She's dreamed of this moment before. But—it was different—it was happier. She would have sat on this very field of roaming petals and smoothly shaped grass, and he would come to her, fast. She wouldn't be bleeding this time, dying, or forgetting everything she's lived for. She wanted him to go to her, to show an ounce of care for her when she clearly did not deserve it. He would stand in front of her—just like now—and he'll reach his hand out and pull her up, and they'll go together off in the woods. Their eyes would never leave their craving stare.
He doesn't reach out for her hand, and the only lust in her eyes is for life, for the air she is slowly transferring into.
They both had known this was bound to happen, because for them, having hope is the same as walking on broken glass.
He would help her, give her back the life she deserves with his tenseiga, but it's impossible. She doesn't need it, though, she thinks. For him to come by her side in her final moments of the life she fought to keep with passionate, yet dangerous desire was enough to put a smile on her crimson lips.
He doesn't need to tell her.
She always knew.
They speak a few lifeless words that are incomprehensible to her ears as her senses die down along with her memory and brain, itself. It was something about Naraku that had passed her lips, or perhaps herself, and a dream she's had of him. She can't recall, even if it had been the faintest of seconds.
She always felt the same way.
She would have told him, too, but in that destructive instant, a cold shiver went down her decaying spine, and she knew he's always known as well.
It's all in his eyes.
Ruby against gold it stays, until one's pair transcends into a transparent grey, and the daydreams were never so fragile.
a/n: Soooo I was having a mixture of Inuyasha feels. I was reminiscing, and this is what became of all my emotions. hehe. enjoy.
This is really short, I know. I couldn't really make a long one, or actually most of my fan fics are pretty short to begin with. yeah. i don't know, but i hope you liked this. no prompt really, just their goodbye scene. if you weren't touched by kagura's death i don't acknowledge your existence
jokes, i make them
xo review?