I feel absolutely refreshed for absolutely no particular reason. It's becoming a trademark. Weird spazzingness, without forethought or initiative.
So here I am – I curtsy to you with mock politeness. In truth, fair friends, I ought not be here. I'm supposed to be studying for a class that I might fail. It all rides on the one test I have to take in two days. I could go into my life story – sob over a soggy crumpet or something – maybe cheerily wail over "bubbles and vanity and all is dust and wind"…that sort of thing…but I feel ever so cheerful.
I'm in luuuuurve.
laughs Okay, without further ado, I present to you more Pointless Crap.
Twilight Reflections
By yours truly.
No, not yours.
Yours.
Oh, gosh, not you, I mean him. Okay?
No. Not him.
Him.
Behind you.
Yes. Him.
He said that twilight was the best time of day. She had to disagree. For twilight was the time the beasts had come. The time that she had fallen to her knees, bloodied her hands and soul with the stains of impurity. And yet, twilight was also the time when he had come. He had saved her, healed her…she owed him her life and was more than willing to give it.
So why was he so cold?
Eight years had passed since her death, since the day the fierce warrior had found her broken body among the reeds that covered the riverbank. Why he had rescued her, brought her back from the gates of death, still confused her. She liked to think that he felt a bond with her. That he liked her. Just a little. That was all she asked for. Just one sign of affection.
Then again, maybe he had saved her to fulfill the blood bond that had bound him to her. The bond that was formed the day she had found him dying in the reeds.
Then she had been nothing but a mute little girl, happy to be surviving her village's rough ways. With one eye swollen shut, her breath rasping in wheezing gasps, her arm broken, she could only smile when she had found the young man who – for once – did not spurn her on sight.
Eight years. She was a young woman now, and her ageless saviour was still as distant as when they first met. But still protective of her. A mystery.
She could pretend as if it didn't exist. She could push it back all she liked. But there was no denying the fact that every time he came in sight, it felt as if all the steel strings that bound her heart snapped under the strain of a love that ran as deep as the Cave of Sighs. She felt as if her soul was being released – like a captive kestrel finally let loose. Soaring. That's what it felt like.
It was a fierce as a slap to the face, a warrior's scream of rage, a waterfall of mixed joy and pain.
Ah, Sesshoumoru.
Rin had to do something about this. She studied her hands thoughtfully. She could…or, wait…maybe…
She could threaten to kill the filthy flea man.
That might work. After all, what could be more attractive to a violent demon than…well, violence?
Or she could dress up as cutely as possible and start flirting with Inu Yasha.
Hell, no! Inu Yasha was such a puppy.
Hm…
Bake him brownies?
And thus finishes my writing for the moment. Hurrah! I win at short, teasing, paragraphical writings! (I love Inu Yasha. Love, love, love…)
†Senbazuru