Disclaimer: checks pockets Nope, no fistfuls of money from owning this.
I've heard what is said about me. I know that I'm thought of as selfish, or hateful, or insane. Maybe, at the beginning, some of that was true. Sanity is a difficult commodity to hold onto when you're wrenched back into life after fifty years. Now, though, after I've had time to readjust and have learned the facts of the matter, it doesn't hold true.
I've said that I still hate him because I died hating him. Like all the best lies, that's partially true. I did die hating him, but not because I thought he'd betrayed me. Then, as now, I hated him for one thing only.
I was content in my life. Lonely, to be sure, but I had the respect of the village, the adoration of my young sister, and the satisfaction in knowing that my abilities were powerful, useful, and needed.
Because of the last, the Shikon no Tama was placed in my protection.
Like each of my duties, I undertook its guardianship calmly, not understanding the havoc that oversized bead would cause me. Wave after wave of daemon attacks came, some more difficult to fend off than others, but I was able to stop them all. My archery progressed from merely good to uncanny in the handful of years I shielded the Jewel. It was a tiresome job, but one I felt well worth the effort, and rewarding for that reason.
Then came the day my world began to crumble.
I was alone near the forest when I felt the presence of a daemon, but when I turned to look, all I saw were a pair of white puppy ears peeking out of the undergrowth. I waited to see what would happen, but after some time the ears vanished and the presence retreated.
Up to this point all of the daemons I'd warded off had been horrific monstrosities: Broken-beaked, three-eyed, foul-smelling crows; loathsome, gargantuan insects; putrescent things that leaked sticky fluids with no discernable face. This was the first time I'd seen a daemon that was… cute.
I caught a hint of the presence, though never another glance, several more times before he made a move. My first vision of him was nearly my undoing. No. No, it was my undoing, but it took me some time to realize that. I had built up an image of a large dog, or perhaps a silver fox, based on my brief glimpse of perked ears. Certainly something animalistic. Nothing could have prepared me for what came leaping out of the trees at me that day.
He was a vision. Backlit by the late afternoon sun, his long hair glowed, casting a silver halo over him. Clad entirely in billowing red, moving so gracefully he appeared to be floating down from the sky, Inuyasha pounced. He landed in a crouch at my feet and turned haunted eyes of the finest amber on me. Growling out his name and a declaration of his intention, to have the Jewel, he stood and raised a hand to strike.
The sound of his voice snapped me out of my trance, giving me time to ready my bow and turn it on him. We stood like that for an eternal moment, each of us ready to attack, but neither willing to move first. I took advantage of the time to study his features and what I saw melted my heart. He was beautiful, yes, but what drew me was what he was trying to hide: the haggard look of someone trapped by fate. Suffering was written into every line of him, no matter how he tried to disguise it. His mouth was snarling, but I could see the sadness. His eyes spoke of confusion, because I had as yet done nothing to harm him. His ears, those sweet puppy ears, were drooping in a manner I had seen before on the village dogs, in expectation of an unjust beating.
I couldn't let him have the Jewel, but neither could I eliminate him as I had previous assailants. I fired a warning shot at him, my arrow passing so close that I could see the fletching brush his cheek in a feathery kiss, and told him he would be better served by staying away. Then I turned and left him.
I should have killed him that day, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. At the time I told myself that it was unnecessary, that a warning would suffice and that there had been enough death lately without adding to it. If I were honest, though, I would have admitted the true reason: the look of inescapable destiny scribed on his features was like looking into my own reflection. I recognized him as a kindred soul, born into a thankless position through no fault of his own, but forever ostracized because of it. I should have killed him; instead, I went home and wept.
There were many more encounters like that over the following seasons. It became a game of sorts: he would spring out at me from unlikely places, but never manage to catch me unawares, and I would shoot at him, but never actually break his skin with my arrows. He would call out to me, trying to provoke my temper, demanding to know why I always spared him, but I never answered. I could not admit the reason to myself, let alone to him.
The first turning point came that autumn. One of the village youths had married that day, and I could not rid myself of the image of the bride's happy smile. I had always looked on marriage as a convenience, a means to an end. With a family came stature and respectability, both of which I already had without having to submit myself to some man. It had never before occurred to me that marriage could also be joyous until that rather plain-faced girl transformed into a beauty due to the glow of love and happiness caused by her new husband, and I had never before felt quite so alone.
In an effort to escape the celebrations, I retreated to a hill somewhat removed from the village. It was there, watching the play of the breeze through the fields and wishing that I could be, just for once, a normal woman, that I felt his presence. I can only blame my melancholy for what I did then: I called out to him, invited him to join me, and, basking in the warmth of the sun, I shared some of my troubles with my unacknowledged soul mate. He scoffed, of course, mocked me for my weakness, saying that it was unlike me to complain. What could I do but agree?
I don't know what he saw in me then, but whatever it was stopped him cold. He paused, having risen to leave me, and sank back to the ground. We spoke no more that day, but the feel of his daemonic presence, which should have alarmed and disturbed me, only comforted me. He was like a second sun, warming me from within as the mundane sun warmed me from without.
Our game changed after that day. He would still follow me about, but he no longer attacked, even in the hesitant, teasing way he had done before. And I… I no longer attempted to ward him away, not even the halfhearted efforts I had made previously. Rather, when I felt that we were alone, I would call to him and we would, hesitantly, with many false starts and stumbles, talk to each other. I would wistfully relate tales of day to day village life and he would boastfully tell me of battles fought and won, and neither of us gave voice to what came across so clearly in our tones: our loneliness, our feelings of being forcefully separated from the rest of life, our desire for acceptance.
We continued our illicit meetings through the winter, but it did not pass unnoticed. The villagers were whispering behind my back, doubting my sincerity in protecting the Jewel and my ability to do so if I was going to consort with monsters. The rumors troubled me, but I couldn't bring myself to break off the connection I had to him. I couldn't allow myself to stop seeing Inuyasha, not when I had seen the barriers behind his eyes begin to weaken, not when I could see flashes of a caring and generous heart buried under years of scars. I couldn't do it, and it was my doom.
That spring a badly injured man was brought to the village, and I volunteered to care for him. I knew he was a thief and a murderer, but looking at his broken form I could summon no emotion for him but pity. I had him secured in a cave and tended to him there, away from the village… away from Inuyasha. I still don't know why I hid Onigumo from him, but I do know why I tended to the bandit: I felt that if I could gentle the heart of Inuyasha, then I could, perhaps, forge a dying man into a better soul before he passed on. Only Kaede helped me, for the rest of the village felt that he should have been left to die. I don't know if that made any difference in what was to happen, but it was what I had expected. They, in turn, mouthed platitudes about my generosity of spirit while secretly gossiping about increasing lack of fitness for my role as priestess and guardian of the Shikon Jewel.
The next turn in my downfall was on a beautiful spring afternoon. Having called Inuyasha from the trees, I suggested that we take a boat out on the river. The whispers of the villagers had rattled my nerves, and the wind coming off the water was soothing. He silently complied, as he often did, and, once floating in peaceful solitude, I spilled my troubles out for him. I don't know what he was thinking, for he said nothing the entire time. He barely acknowledged me with a nod when I asked to return to shore, heart sore and weary. It was there, on the dock, that I, clumsy with sorrow, stumbled on a rough plank and fell forward, my hands catching in the rough cloth of his clothing. As on our first meeting, there was an eternal moment of shock when our eyes met, and then he dropped the pole he had used to propel us through the water and clutched at me.
The feel of his arms circling me broke something inside. I buried my face in his chest and sobbed out my sorrows, darkening the red of his robes with my tears, and it only made him hold me tighter. He lifted me up as easily as if I were a feather and, holding me so delicately, like something so fragile that if would break at the slightest movement, carried me off into the trees. We landed in a secluded copse where he let me vent my emotions in private, soothing my hair back with gentle hands and brushing away my tears with his clawed fingers. I looked up into his familiar, alien eyes and my heart spasmed in my chest. Catching his hand in my own, I pressed my lips to his palm and told him I loved him.
The emotions that passed through his face were indescribable, but when I saw him touch on a cautious hope I threw away my inhibitions and granted myself the gift of his touch. Before this day we had never made any physical contact, either by chance or design. Now I traced the lines of his face with exploratory fingers, combed my hands through his glorious hair, wind-tangled but as soft as the fur on a newborn puppy, and tasted, for the first time, the sweetness of a lover's kiss. He shuddered under my tentative caresses and pulled me to him in a tight embrace, as if he were drowning and I was the only thing keeping him alive. He breathed tremulous words of love, devotion, and fidelity into my ear while I nuzzled into the curve of his neck and I promised him the same.
I did not lose all sense of propriety; there are some things that should only occur between a man and his wife. I explained that I would joyfully wed him, but I could not do so as long as I was a priestess and the responsibility of the Shikon no Tama. His face crumpled at that revelation, but I had a solution.
I had been thinking about the Jewel for some time, and had come to the conclusion that it was always used for strength and power, destructive wishes that darkened the Jewel's spirit. I had concluded that a wish for weakness would reduce the Jewel to nothingness, thus freeing me from my obligation to it. I explained to Inuyasha that if he were to use the Jewel to become fully human, it would vanish, and I would be able to be with him. It didn't take much to convince him to meet me alone; I would bring him the thing he most desired, and he would release me from it. We parted with a kiss and a promise to see each other the next morning. I left with an unaccustomed smile on my face.
The final event of my downfall came that evening. Kaede and I went to tend to Onigumo and I, euphoric with love, confessed my plans to my sister. She did not understand, but she was pleased by my happiness, and I did not notice or care that the bandit silently devoured my words.
I know now, though I did not then, that Onigumo was consumed that night, giving birth to the abomination Naraku. I know now, though I did not then, that it was Naraku, not Inuyasha, who struck me down from behind and mocked my weakness in exposing the Jewel to danger. I know now, though I did not then, that Inuyasha was attacked by Naraku in my likeness and driven to the point of madness by the betrayal of one who professed to love him. I know now, though I did not then, that Naraku wished for the corruption of the Jewel and felt that new love betrayed was an ideal method to achieve that goal.
Nothing that I have learned since my final day has changed the true reason for my hatred. Inuyasha made me weak. He made me doubt my place in life; he made me uncertain of my duties and myself. He distracted me from what I needed to do and made me feel what I had never felt before and would have been better served having never felt at all. Inuyasha destroyed my life, my peace, my contentment, and my illusions.
I hate Inuyasha with the same passion with which I once loved him, for one thing and one thing alone, and I cannot forgive him for it. I hate him and I will destroy his soul for what he has done to me.
I hate Inuyasha because he made me love him.
A/N: I believe in writing stories in one language, but I agree that youkai is not well translated by the word demon—hence the use of the rather archaic, but far more accurately descriptive, daemon.