A/N: I wrote this in a fit of anger - Every Inuyasha fic that features Kikyou portrays her as a vindictive bitch that never loved Inuyasha, was only out to kill him from the very start, plots with Naraku to destroy Inuyasha, et cetera. This, to me, is a gross misrepresentation of her true motives...it seems people are offended with the way she decides to see her means to the desired end.
Don't get me wrong, Kikyou isn't at all high on my list of favorite chara from Inuyasha. But I also think she's quite misunderstood.
Disclaimer: The setting, characters, and affiliated suchlike of Inuyasha do not belong to me. I'm not profiting by any monetary standard by the publication of this fiction. It just makes me feel a little better ^.^
Stats: One-shot from Kikyou's PoV. Present tense, set somewhere randomly in the storyline, the only time standard I can create is post-Kageromaru/Jeromaru. But only a *little* after that.
Reviews are always welcomed ^.-
Enjoy!
***
I watch her stare at me, open-mouthed, betrayal etched in the lines of her face. I stare as one would into a mirror, unflinching, uncaring, simply mindful of the reflection. She slumps, unconscious, but powerful. From the feel of it, I have little time before he shows up to reclaim her.
Or not.
Contrary to popular belief, I fully understand his devotion. I know the bonds of love, the skipping of the heart at the simple sight of the center of one's being. I know too well.
Him, that hanyou, that Inuyasha, that permeation and that center of my entire world. I should never have allowed him so close, but he forced his way in, convinced me such vulnerabilities were acceptable. He gave me hope.
The life of a miko is one of self-imposed isolation when it comes to loved ones. I cannot afford to become attached to anyone, anything other than my own power. To have someone like him walk around so freely with my heart in his hands was a catastrophe in itself. To have someone like him follow me, dote upon me, surprise me into laughter. I began to feel special, having someone want me near him for more than just a means of protection. I began to feel special, having in effect 'tamed' one even part youkai.
And, shamelessly, I returned his affections. I allowed him to come back to me day after day, to welcome his company. I encouraged his incorrigible behavior, neglecting my duties in the process. But he gave me hope.
I found myself dreaming of carefree days, days without the Shikon no Tama, days fogged with love and sunshine. I even went so far as to suggest we use the jewel itself for our own means, hiding my personal motives behind the result of its purification.
Shards of the Shikon no Tama, the purpose of my existence, pinch the skin of my palm as I close my hand around them. They will go to Naraku, as always. According to my plan.
I do not give them to him out of any sense of obligation or goodwill. He is another ignorant, power-hungry hanyou with a juvenile crush on this, my body. If I had a heart at this point in time, perhaps I would follow my old ways, foolishly dropping into love. Perhaps I would give them to Inuyasha. But my heart now beats in this recumbent form beneath me.
Losing such ties, such emotional obligations, has left me with simple logic. Naraku hasn't the sense to control himself as he progresses further into the jewel's power. He cannot even control his own incarnations at times, overpowering himself with, essentially, his own body. In him is planted the seed of his own destruction, humorously enough.
And, had I my heart, I would be unable to kill Inuyasha in that state. Not now. Even this shell of my former self, mud and bones and stolen souls, I understand why. And although I am incapable of loving him, in the sense of extreme self-preservation, I want him with me. Possessive jealousy, hoarding him like a prize, grasping for the love he so willingly and tragically pours into my memory. He lives so long as I command, and he will follow me to hell according to my wish. But not a moment before.
She stirs, whimpering in imposed slumber. I consider killing her for her soul, the completion of my own.
I cannot kill her, not now. I wait, ever-patient, for the day when all my planning comes to fruition. For now, I want to prove to him that I am always able to subdue her. I want him to choose between us, to ache with uncertainty, to be torn between her helplessness and my memory. I want them both to know that I am completely different from her. Hell, as opposed to this, may then seem preferable.
All because he gave me hope.
I sense him coming, breathing hard, crashing through the undergrowth. And I make sure he sees me.
He always breathes my name like a curse. Or a prayer. His golden eyes, like the sun, the center of the world, lock upon me and my captive is ignored. In them I see a reflection of myself. I see confusion, exhaustion, startled recognition.
I see hope.
Don't get me wrong, Kikyou isn't at all high on my list of favorite chara from Inuyasha. But I also think she's quite misunderstood.
Disclaimer: The setting, characters, and affiliated suchlike of Inuyasha do not belong to me. I'm not profiting by any monetary standard by the publication of this fiction. It just makes me feel a little better ^.^
Stats: One-shot from Kikyou's PoV. Present tense, set somewhere randomly in the storyline, the only time standard I can create is post-Kageromaru/Jeromaru. But only a *little* after that.
Reviews are always welcomed ^.-
Enjoy!
***
I watch her stare at me, open-mouthed, betrayal etched in the lines of her face. I stare as one would into a mirror, unflinching, uncaring, simply mindful of the reflection. She slumps, unconscious, but powerful. From the feel of it, I have little time before he shows up to reclaim her.
Or not.
Contrary to popular belief, I fully understand his devotion. I know the bonds of love, the skipping of the heart at the simple sight of the center of one's being. I know too well.
Him, that hanyou, that Inuyasha, that permeation and that center of my entire world. I should never have allowed him so close, but he forced his way in, convinced me such vulnerabilities were acceptable. He gave me hope.
The life of a miko is one of self-imposed isolation when it comes to loved ones. I cannot afford to become attached to anyone, anything other than my own power. To have someone like him walk around so freely with my heart in his hands was a catastrophe in itself. To have someone like him follow me, dote upon me, surprise me into laughter. I began to feel special, having someone want me near him for more than just a means of protection. I began to feel special, having in effect 'tamed' one even part youkai.
And, shamelessly, I returned his affections. I allowed him to come back to me day after day, to welcome his company. I encouraged his incorrigible behavior, neglecting my duties in the process. But he gave me hope.
I found myself dreaming of carefree days, days without the Shikon no Tama, days fogged with love and sunshine. I even went so far as to suggest we use the jewel itself for our own means, hiding my personal motives behind the result of its purification.
Shards of the Shikon no Tama, the purpose of my existence, pinch the skin of my palm as I close my hand around them. They will go to Naraku, as always. According to my plan.
I do not give them to him out of any sense of obligation or goodwill. He is another ignorant, power-hungry hanyou with a juvenile crush on this, my body. If I had a heart at this point in time, perhaps I would follow my old ways, foolishly dropping into love. Perhaps I would give them to Inuyasha. But my heart now beats in this recumbent form beneath me.
Losing such ties, such emotional obligations, has left me with simple logic. Naraku hasn't the sense to control himself as he progresses further into the jewel's power. He cannot even control his own incarnations at times, overpowering himself with, essentially, his own body. In him is planted the seed of his own destruction, humorously enough.
And, had I my heart, I would be unable to kill Inuyasha in that state. Not now. Even this shell of my former self, mud and bones and stolen souls, I understand why. And although I am incapable of loving him, in the sense of extreme self-preservation, I want him with me. Possessive jealousy, hoarding him like a prize, grasping for the love he so willingly and tragically pours into my memory. He lives so long as I command, and he will follow me to hell according to my wish. But not a moment before.
She stirs, whimpering in imposed slumber. I consider killing her for her soul, the completion of my own.
I cannot kill her, not now. I wait, ever-patient, for the day when all my planning comes to fruition. For now, I want to prove to him that I am always able to subdue her. I want him to choose between us, to ache with uncertainty, to be torn between her helplessness and my memory. I want them both to know that I am completely different from her. Hell, as opposed to this, may then seem preferable.
All because he gave me hope.
I sense him coming, breathing hard, crashing through the undergrowth. And I make sure he sees me.
He always breathes my name like a curse. Or a prayer. His golden eyes, like the sun, the center of the world, lock upon me and my captive is ignored. In them I see a reflection of myself. I see confusion, exhaustion, startled recognition.
I see hope.