"Writing is a sociably acceptable form of schizophrenia." –E.L. Doctorow
Hello again readers…it's been a while, but yes, I am still alive.
And as always…enjoy.
Midori Fujiwara
Her ruby eyes flickered, glancing at the moonlit sparkles the dark water reflected all around her. Her eyes wandered further, to see the moon in the sky. The beautiful crescent burned an image into her memories, and she let it, sinking her body further into the cool water.
One nimble hand reached behind her head to take hold of the ribbon and feathers that held her black hair up into a tight bun. What hair had been confined now cascaded down her neck and slipped seamlessly into the water, ebony ripples of flawless waves.
She closed her eyes and sank her head into the water to let it flow through her hair and cool down her mind of all that had happened that day. Resurfacing, she felt the chill of a light breeze coming in from the west, spreading cold over her bare midriff. Relaxing into the sensation of the wind, she lifted her head again to stare at the moon.
She could not stop the thoughts that betrayed her next.
About him.
But she did ignore them after a moment of reconciliation.
She took one last glace at the beauty in the night sky and lifted her body out of the water, throwing on her clothes quickly. She flipped her wet hair to the side and twisted it, letting water escape and run to the ground.
She froze and observed her surroundings with a quick sweep of her eyes. Seeing nothing, she checked her environment once again.
She could have sworn there was something else out there.
In truth, she had no reason to fear. What creature would come her way in any point and time, except maybe to kill her? She reeked of death and miscreation; there was no obvious attraction in that.
It was then when she realized the growing presence of absolutely nothing.
There was too much emptiness.
It was unreal.
Something was being masked.
Kagura didn't bother masking her own aura or scent. Whatever was here to see her had obviously found her. She need not be late and cover herself now. Instead, she reached for her fan, and stirred some wind toward her, in hopes that she might catch a scent or two.
Some demonic blood slipped through cover, and Kagura instantly recognized the smell.
She could not have mistaken it for anything else.
Sesshoumaru.
What heart she did not contain in her body fluttered.
What soul she did not have warmed.
What emotion she did not reveal came out.
Sesshoumaru.
At first she was shocked to be caught in such a state, her clothing sticking to her still wet body and her hair making damp whatever fabric was dry.
But she knew that it was in this phase where she was most beautiful, and she did not bother to neaten her hair into a bun once again. She let it stay down, curving along with the rest of body, covered, but revealed because clothing stuck to skin when wet.
She gave his presence a smile.
She could not see him; he had masked his image, but she was certain he was there.
She was sure that he knew she was there. She was sure that if he did not want to see her, he would not come within a hundred-mile radius of her. She was sure that he had a reason for coming this way.
But what reason did he have? What reason could he have possibly had?
She knew it wouldn't be for personal reasons. It would never be for personal reasons. He would be forever indifferent to her.
But she would be free one day.
Perhaps then he would give her a second look.
But as for now, whatever she felt for him…if that was what mortals called love…it would never be returned.
Gracefully, his masculine image appeared from underneath invisible fog, as he released himself from masked aura. And now, the full blast of his powerful demonic atmosphere was released, overpowering everything around her. Overpowering her.
Domineering and demanding.
Stronger than the force of the moon at the moment.
What awe and fear she felt for him in the same moment.
And to think that the magenta stripes along his cheeks was containing the truly full release of his powers…
Immediately she thought herself pathetic for having mortal emotions like love. Pathetic because…in comparison, she was…nothing to him.
As she was in comparison to everything else.
At times when she realized her worth to the world, she feared her release that she avenged herself to take one day. If she was released from Naraku, she would have no title any longer. As long as she was serving him, she had, at least, a reputation.
She hated what conflicting feelings she had all the time.
These conflicting feelings held her in place, in time, as if she were content with where she was though she really wasn't. She held herself captive in Naraku's hands. She had given practically no effort to free herself. She had not tried to fulfill her dream yet.
Because she was indecisive, her emotions lay in war against each other. Against herself.
At times when she realized this, she believed there was no hope left for her. And that she would remain in place, controlled by Naraku. He wouldn't need to do anything to keep her enslaved to him.
She did that quite well herself.
So here, she reached this conclusion as she had numerous other times she thought about her life.
But instead of accepting her fate and destiny, this time, she would try to change it.
The opportunity was just beyond her reach.
"I suppose you want something," Kagura said, her voice carrying through her self-inflicted wind.
Sesshoumaru turned his eyes to her, as if he only just realized that she was there. He regarded her, locking eyes with her, refusing to answer her question through speech. He gave her cold pierces instead.
She had made her statement. She could no longer go against it. She could no longer stop what she had begun.
There was no way to do that anyhow.
She regretted it somewhat.
But she noticed that his gaze was longer than what his gaze of indifferent would be.
"What are you?" he simply asked.
He had asked her the question she feared most.
She looked down, all her hope vanquished.
What beauty she thought she possessed no longer there.
What hope she thought she had no longer within.
What determination she thought she contained no longer present.
She would not answer the question. She would not even answer the question to herself. It would be beyond torture and millennia of agony to think of what she was. It was beyond comprehension the pain to tell him what she was.
But he pressed on.
"Who has created you?" he asked, as though he was making the question simpler to her to understand.
"Naraku," she replied, choking. She would not cry in front of him. The silence he held urged her to continue. He was forcing her to admit to herself what she was. He realized that her slip of hope had come through, and he was doing all that he could to depress it. "Naraku…"
Sesshoumaru seemed satisfied with her short answer.
"Now in what regard are you then?"
"A creation made by the most despicable hanyou. Something worse than the hanyou himself, made to serve him and his will, merely a tool for his actions," she said, without thinking. She had always known this.
Never had she admitted it to herself before.
She tried to cast a steel gaze back against Sesshoumaru, but his face expressed no sympathy.
Here was when she realized that his prolonged gaze was not indifference. It was not interest.
It was disgust.
Not only did he want to prove to her that he did not care for her.
He wanted her to admit to herself that he would never do so.
"What are you?" he asked again, tormenting and twisting her in ways that could not be described physically. In ways that could not be attained physically. And could not be equaled physically.
Ways that hurt more than anything material would ever imagine to experience.
She broke down.
"Nothing," she blurted, tears coming quickly to her eyes. "I am nothing."
Kagura stirred herself awake. She looked up at the sky, its crescent moon gleaming at her, beauty at such a height that was forbiddingly unreachable.
To the moon, she was nothing.
She brought her knees up and cried silently into herself.
Hn. I am weary. Show me the value of what I've done.
Midori Fujiwara