I don't own Inuyasha, nor Kagura... both are the creations of Rumiko Takahashi.
This is a poem, I guess, since it's got no real plot or story to it. It's something that came into my head psychotically just after I finished reading "Night falls like Silk" by Kathleen Eagle. I don't know how that inspired it, but anyway, here it is. A glimpse at some of the darker things in this mind of mine. I'm not even a hundred percent certain that it's about Kagura...
Fangs flash, crimson eyes flicker, blood falls. The fan rises up, sweeps through the air and more people die.
She feels alive in the moment, nothing else matters but the dance and the death. She moves easily, weaving among them, and more people die.
The blood splashes across her, power flails, and still the fan turns through the air. The winds call, beckoning, and she dances for them.
The fan turns, the blood falls, and more people die.
Her blood sings to her, no thoughts of words or meaning, simply the truth that this is life and life is this. She laughs, and more people die.
The wind fades, the dance stills, and blood pools.
There are no more people to die.
Suddenly, the feeling fails. Emptiness floods her and she knows nothing. Thought returns, painful, guilt-racked suffering. The call fades, and crimson eyes dull. The fan falls, folding, failing. And no more people die.
No more blood splashes, her skin unmarred, the porcelain demon a study in perfection. There are no more people to die.
Shoulders sluump, muscles relax, knees fold. And no more people die.
The dance is ended, the joy is gone, life is empty and meaning is fled. There are no more people to die.
Strings severed, emotion drained, death taken, the goddess weeps tears of silver.
There are no more people to die.