"please, I beg of you take me but not my baby. She's still young! Please." the woman begged shielding the young child in her arms. The youkai in front of her gave a harsh laugh.

"Quite, you miserable human. You and your little brat are both worthless. Neither of you deserve to live." And with that the kitsune lashed his whip out upon the woman killing her and her baby on impact.

The rest of the woman's village lay in ruin around him. She and the child were the only survivors of the raid. Well had been the only survivors of the raid. As he surveyed the wreckage around him he tipped his head back and laughed a harsh cold laugh. A soulless laugh.....................

Kurama sat up abruptly in his bed. His long red hair was tousled and perspiration dripped down his face.

Nights were definitely the worst. At night he dreamed. Images of battles raids and death filled his head. Occasionally he dreamed of Shiori finding out who he really was, who he had been. How ashamed she would be if she knew her beloved son had once been a ruthless killer who slaughtered whole villages without blinking. She would be disgusted with him.

He could never be the perfect son she wanted.

Without thinking he got up and walked into his bathroom. His gaze landed on his reflection in the mirror. Disgustedly he turned his head away.

Quietly he reached back into his hair and pulled out his rose whip. He stared at the perfect red rose in his hand. It was flawless.

"So beautiful" he whispered aloud gazing at its petals. He did not deserve to wield something so beautiful. So perfect. Something so unlike himself. With disgust he turned it in to a whip.

With one swift motion he ran the thorny whip across his arm. As his blood began to flow, red as his hair, he felt the tension drain out of his body. How many times had he done this? When did he start mutilating himself? Deep down he knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew it wasn't good for him. But then looking at the blood flowing out of his wrist he felt a sick happiness that over powered his common sense.

After watching his blood pool up on the edge of the sink with a small smile on his face, he reached for a tissue and pressed it against his wound. And in a minute when he removed the now blood stained paper, the wound had healed. That was why Shiori didn't know about his cuttings. He didn't won't to shame her even more.

That was the only thing he even remotely liked about his demon blood, he healed quickly.

Carefully he cleaned up the blood that was left on the counter like he did every night, and went back into his bed room. As he got in to bed he shot a look of longing at his journal. On most nights he would have written something but tonight he ignored it. It was close to dawn and Shiori would wake soon. He'd have to write later.

He leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes, but he knew it would be a while before he slept.

Okay that wasn't like anything I've ever written before. I'm not sure If this'll be a real story yet or not. Review and let me know if you want me to continue.

Authoress Mega Rose