Naraku's claws dug into Kagome's back, and she squealed. She stared at the demon in front of her, eyes glinting with fury. She gritted her teeth, and he grabbed her cheeks, digging his fingers into the skin. Slowly, his hands inched up her face, till his fingers found her eyes. His claws struck down, and she screamed.
Sesshomaru did not mean to save her. He had just been about to leave Naraku's castle, finding it abandoned, when he saw her pale form in one of the dark rooms. Naked, she was curled up on the ground, covered in cuts and bruises. He took a step forward, and her head rose slowly. Sesshomaru stilled. Her eyes were completely destroyed.
She crawled forward, falling at his feet. Rare was it for a demon to take pity on a human, but something in him could not leave this helpless creature to die. He picked her up, much to her confusion. She tried to speak, but only gagged. He turned to leave. "It is me, Kagome," he said softly. She went limp, clinging onto him, her hands shaking.
She woke up. Or at least, she thought she did. It was hard to tell. Kagome rubbed her cheek on what felt like a pillow. She was safe, hopefully. Her fingers touched her chest, and found she was wearing something. Kagome curled up, and wished she could cry.
What a pitiful thing she was. Sesshomaru gazed at her impassively, his eyes taking in her broken form. He had brought her to his home, much to his mother's irritation. He took a step forward and placed a hand on her back. She was shivering, and he sat down next to her. Kagome lifted her head, and then lay down on his lap. His fingers found their way into her hair, and she sighed.
Sesshomaru started to read to her. He didn't know why, but the urge to do something to bring her happiness was too strong to bear. He read her fairytales and such, his voice becoming stronger every time he did so. She would lay and smile, her face expressing what her eyes could not.
She got sick. Kagome would lie while the doctor would poke and prod her, unresponsive. When Sesshomaru would touch her, he could feel the fever. One day, he closed the book he was reading and asked, "Are you afraid to die?" She grasped his sleeve. "A little," she whispered.
She died peacefully, in her sleep. Sesshomaru gazed at her lifeless body as he waited for the servants to come and bury her. Her lips were parted ever so slightly. He turned away, and looked out the window, his eyes dark.
He still read to her. He would sit, leaning against her grave, and murmur the words. No one dared to question him.
He kept Tenseiga in its sheath. Sesshomaru was a lot of things, but he was not selfish. He would not wake someone who was sleeping peacefully. Even if he wished he could.