Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha.
A/N: I'm currently in a state where I will cry whenever I see Kagura's death… I've gotten into a strange habit where I start liking bad characters after their death…-cry-…This fic was originally going to be written with Deidara (Naruto), but I'm glad I used Kagura instead…
This is my first attempt at writing about Kagura at all…there wasn't really meant to be any SessKagu, but it ended up in there anyway…
Words: 831
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Perfection
It was the one thing all demons sought after.
To be strong like a god, to be beautiful like a god, to be perfect –
And perfect, Kagura knew, she would never be.
Naraku, for all his strength, for all his evil, for all his twisted sadism – had human blood in his veins, was only half-demon; and so Kagura was blemished, blemished beyond measure.
She would sit, slit a finger on a blade and watch the red, blood was all red, there was nothing different about her blood, so why wasn't she perfect? Why was she flawed, why was she imperfect, when she was the same?
She had the same longing for perfection, the perfection she struggled to achieve and could not, it was beyond her abilities, it was literally in her blood.
And then, Kagura came to the realisation that, if Naraku became a pure demon, then he would be perfect, and so, perhaps, would she –
So she helped him, helped her creator, her father, with the twisted tasks she was assigned, reducing the lives of innocent people to rubble.
For perfection.
For perfection, it was all worth it.
My actions are chained
My words are chained
But at least, leave my thoughts to be free –
There were nights where she clutched at the empty hole where her heart was meant to be, wanting to claw herself apart, cursing Naraku, cursing her blood, cursing her longing for freedom.
And while she remained the imperfect ruin she was, she put up a mask – a cold, brutal mask which killed people like insects, laughed at their pain, and pretended that she didn't care while she did, she cared, she didn't want to do it –
She cursed that she was being controlled, and then, Kagura met Sesshoumaru.
She looked upon his beauty, his strength, and above all, his pure, pure blood – and realised that he was an existence far more perfect than she.
A man such as he, was it strange to call him "beautiful"?
Kagura continued to do so, for lack of a better word.
And before she knew it, Kagura's cold mask began to slip, began to crack, began to break beyond repair.
And finally, she took the mask and ripped it off, and for the first time she saw things the way others saw them, saw herself the way others saw her, saw Naraku's own mask and the hideous man hiding himself behind it.
The world had not changed, only her view of it.
She dropped her mask, and it shattered.
She never picked it up again.
Even more than before, she longed for freedom; it was a longing she was not meant to have, a longing she was not meant to feel at all, she and Sesshoumaru were not meant to be –
She cursed the monster who held her heart, who made her existence less and less, who thought of her as a tool and did not hesitate in using her.
I want to live uncontrolled
I want to live the way I want to
I want to do the things I want to do
I want to be free –
Again, Kagura woke up in the middle of the night, tangled in her sheets and covered in a cold sweat; she clutched at her chest, feeling the emptiness, feeling the blood pumping but not the heartbeat, hating Naraku and hating and cursing and hating herself.
It happened again and again, tossing and turning and cursing hating and hating and hating.
She met Sesshoumaru again.
"Kagura."
Kagura arrived on a gust of wind, his beautiful hair flew behind him, his beautiful voice pronounced her name, everything about him was so perfect, it was perfect, he was perfect, and Kagura wasn't. He was perfection itself, he was beautiful and strong and his demon blood, so, so, so pure.
Kagura sought for perfection, but a part of her was human, a mere, pathetic human.
"I am flawed, and you are perfect."
"Perfection has earned me nothing."
It was ironic, so ironic, that Sesshoumaru, the pinnacle of perfection, did not care about being perfect, did not feel pride in being perfect, did not feel vanity for what he had achieved.
And Kagura was vain, much more than he. She too, was beautiful. She too, was strong. If she just had the blood, just the pure blood that made her a full demon, just the red, red, blood that was the same as hers yet different, so different……
"Perfection like yours is what I seek."
"You are not perfect. You do not have to be."
Sesshoumaru gave Kagura these words.
Kagura etched them deep into her memories.
She kept these memories through her short-lived life, and into death.
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She smiled, and Sesshoumaru watched as Death claimed her tortured soul.
He did not cry, but gave a single phrase to the wind –
"Imperfection made you beautiful."
The wind carried Kagura's feather in arcs around him, once, twice…
Then it was gone.
Sesshoumaru left in silence.
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