Priestess: An Inuyasha fanfiction…I haven't written one of these for a while, I must say. Oh, well. What harm can it do? The worst thing that can happen is that a) no one reads it, or b) I get flamed.

Naraku had to be long gone by now, and the darkness that had curled from her subconscious during that unbearable beating was blinding her and numbing the anguish in her artificial body.
She gazed at the darkness, the darkness of death. The darkness that could free her from all the misery, the loneliness, the bitterness, the pain of being alive. Though she was not truly alive.
Kikyou already knew because of this the peace, the relief of that darkness could not—would not—reach her. Naraku had come close to killing her, but he had not succeeded. He couldn't.
Her soul-skimmers twined around the mutilated clay body, her inauthentic flesh already beginning to heal itself.
The night was silent.

Demons, animals, spirits, any creatures which might usually be roaming at night had fled as if they knew by some primal instinct who it was inhabiting this place. The only beings still there were long snakelike beings which twined around a tree which had a strange structure of branches—almost like a leafy cradle.

A beautiful woman in the red-and-white robes of a miko, or priestess, lay in the branches. Her lithe graceful body was unmoving, her exquisite face impassive, but her eyes were open. She could not have moved had she tried, for the anguish was still fresh, so she gazed out into the night, and there was a depth of grief in her eyes which made one wonder what mysterious stirrings were hidden behind the calm exterior.

Grief…

This miko, the miko known as Kikyou, knew grief and pain well. Too well, for it was a part of her.

She was tired of getting hurt. But her frigid heart remained kind, she could not go without loving. But she couldn't love, so she had to hide it. Had to build an emotional wall around herself, for she had had enough grief for a million lifetimes.

Lifetimes…

Was that what she called them? She had had only one lifetime, and it was no true life. All her life was in that woman now. She was not alive.

She was just…there. That was all. She had nothing and nobody and she convinced herself she didn't want it. She was beginning to realize, however, that she was kidding herself. She desperately longed for someone to love, someone with a small intention of protection, someone to hold her in his arms the way Inuyasha once did. That was all over now. All she wanted to do was kill Inuyasha, kill the one she loved.

Love…

Her heart ached for love, but she would not have it. No, that girl had it now. Her reincarnation. Her other self, her so-called 'true' self. The one with the happy friends, the happy lifestyle, the happy memories, and the happiness of the little things in life, all the ones Kikyou had been denied. And who had, still, with all of that, taken everything Kikyou had left.

Kikyou's place by Inuyasha's side as the one loving him and changing him for the better, day by day. The one in the village whom the villagers looked towards, for guidance and hope and purity. More, if that was possible, as the miko who protected and purified the Shikon no Tama. It was those things that had made Kikyou into who she was, the core of her personality, her very being. How could Kagome, her own reincarnation, so easily rip it away; so guiltlessly, so effortlessly?

Something in Kikyou wanted this girl, this Kagome, to suffer. To know the anguish Kikyou had felt, to be a soulless prisoner of her own feelings and be hated by all—including herself.

But she was not hated. She was loved. She could not understand how Kikyou felt. She was influenced by her feelings, but she lived in harmony with them. She did not have to fight them. She was not bound.

Bound...

It was unjust to blame 'Kagome' for what had happened to her, but was it not unjust to blame Kikyou either? She had never asked for the bandit Onigumo to lust after her, for the Shikon no Tama-the Jewel of Four Souls-to be put in her care. She had never done anything to deserve what happened to her, but it had happened nevertheless.

Kikyou knew her soul existed, bound somewhere in the pits of Hell. Bound, just as she was. Bound by crimes she never committed. Bound, where she did not belong. Bound to her own resurrected corpse, doomed to drift for eternity.

Drifting...

Kikyou knew that she had to keep drifting, that she could never let herself get attached to anything. For if she let herself fall in love, if she let herself care, she would just end up getting hurt again.

So she had to keep drifting, had to keep up the act. Had to be evil, no matter how her heart wept against it. No matter how much it hurt. No matter how much she hated herself for it.

Hatred...

She felt it in her veins like tar. She felt the bitterness and fury that had led her to Hell, a place where no miko should ever be. It bound her to this clay sculpture, made of bones and sacred soil. She had to live on the souls of young girls without guidance, because the hatred in her had repulsed her true soul. And every fortnight she had to gain new souls; because once the souls she used knew where to go in their afterlife, her conscience would not let her keep them bound.

And that girl, that false miko, who had everything she had worked so hard for…she had her soul. She was not bound by resentment to a clay sculpture. She was not hated by everybody for something which was not her fault. She was lovable and loving and loved.

And Kikyou…she was nothing. She was just an empty shell. She wandered about aimlessly, except for her occasional stays at villages. One of her soul skimmers descended lazily, running the entire length of its translucent body beneath her fingertips like an affectionate house pet. Kikyou stroked the milky, eel-like creature absently as it glided past, and a single word fell from her rosy lips like a sigh:

"Why?"

Why?

A non-existent question to one whom asks no question nor gives no answer. A question far too puzzling to put into words, a question only the helpless asks.

Sesshoumaru believed this thoroughly, yet it was a question he had posed to himself many times. Beliefs had to mercy, not even to the believers.

Mercy?

What a word! Something he had believed he would never show or require, something he believed he was above. Yet he caught himself feeling it, when Rin was involved.

That strange little girl…causing him to do such things. He wasn't quite sure how she did it either. He would think about it until his head ached. He glanced at the young girl, hopping brightly, chattering to an obviously uninterested Jaken, unaware of the chill or the shadows.

Shadows...

There were far too many. He hated them, for in the shadowy swirls of the deceptively delicate-seeming clouds he could make out figures he never wanted to see. Figures…those he despised.

There was his half-brother Inuyasha, that hanyou disgrace. There was his miko wench, the human Kagome. There was that houshi with the accursed hand, Miroku. And all those other unfortunate bastards.

Unfortunate…

Perhaps he was the unfortunate one. He was the lord of the Western Lands, yet to his dismay was given a phony sword, only used to heal. He was not one to heal! If hadn't had it, he wouldn't show mercy because of a child. But it was his own fault. He was the one who had healed her. It was unfair.

Why did Inuyasha obtain his father's legacy, when he, the great Sesshoumaru, was not even able to touch it without the aid of Naraku? He never asked many questions for not much perplexed him, but this, however, was too much. It was most likely for the love of that…that…human. How could he have gone so low, to taint the purity of his line?

Purity…

Untainted blood, the cleanest and highest orders of it; and there were no existing ties stronger than blood. And he was the blood-son of the strongest youkai for thousands and thousands of years, and nothing could ever change that. But that didn't matter, did it? Not anymore. Inuyasha had been granted the Tetsusaiga, while Sesshoumaru was left with the Tenseiga.

The sword of heaven's healing, given to the destroyer of the circle of life. If his father had wanted to instill shame into his eldest son after his death, he could not have found a more effective way.

He stiffened suddenly.

There was a sacred but sinister aura around this place, something which made him want to retch. Jaken had recoiled and hidden behind Sesshoumaru's wide silk pant leg, and Rin had an expression of fear and amazement. He himself wanted to turn around and run like crazy, but he found himself rooted to the spot.

"There is something mysterious in this forest," murmured Sesshoumaru, not certain whether to himself or them. "Something powerful. I must see the spirit that inhabits this forest for myself, with its powers that I myself can hardly fathom."

He stepped forward tentatively, and immediately his senses went on full alert. The demon in him screeched. Jaken was blubbering, and Rin had stepped forward with the same hesitance. "Silence," he snarled, forcing himself to take another step forward.

"Yes, Lord Sesshoumaru-sama," Jaken replied quietly.

Jaken was still sniffling in fear, and Rin was trembling with a mixture of excitement and terror. Sesshoumaru narrowed his beautiful, frigid eyes calculatingly. "Rin, stay behind. Jaken, you too. Keep watch on Rin and the horses."

"Yes, Lord Sesshoumaru-sama!" Jaken and Rin chimed in unison. Jake seemed thrilled and relieved, Rin was bright and happy again. Sesshoumaru nodded curtly and continued into the forest.

The branches thickened, and all his senses begged him to turn back. But he continued, sensing that the great energy was near. He smelled something, a human's scent—the fragrance of spicy trees and tantalizing, dewy blossoms. As well, there was an herbal aroma, and the fragrance of incense. But under that was the scent of blood, and graveyard soil. He had never before smelled such a mixture.

His muscles rippled, his body tensing. He knew it was coming. Then he saw them—the supple, shining beings he had heard of only in myths. They were said to bring the lost souls of young maidens to a legendary goddess/priestess. If that goddess was there, it would explain his apprehension. But that was impossible.

Then he saw, lying in the branches, the lovely form of the sleeping miko.