Time is cruel.

I sit on that large tree, the one that Inuyasha had claimed his all those years ago, and for the first time in many days do I actually have the time to simper down and ponder the recent quirks of life.

The sun is beginning to set, riding down on its chariot of beautiful magenta, pink, violet streaks, and the village men hurry back to their homes in clusters of three or four. Their beautiful, strong children rush out from behind their mother's skirts to greet their hardworking fathers and tug on their brother's hands in a silent plea for them to join them in play. The dogs lazily lift their heads, sniffing twice, and jump up to their paws, tongues lolling and ears perking as they pad steadily over to the happy family, hoping to share some of their abundant love.

And this common, daily sight suddenly worms its way under my skin as I realize that I used to have something like that. I used to bother Shuichi to play checkers with us after a long, boring day and he would snap angrily at me, and I would cry. Mother would come over and rebuke Shuichi and take out the set of checkers and play with me until it was time for dinner. And father would sit down on his bed, in the corner next to Akiyo and Akinobu's "boy nest", and clean off his sword. Chibi, the black dog, would nestle in my lap on my bed until Akiyo complained that I was "hogging" Chibi and Mother would make her sleep on the floor.

And thinking about my past, I get this nasty pang in my chest, the same feeling I get when I run for a long time, and the corners of my eyes begin to sting. Crying. I haven't cried in so long, why must I cry now, during a perfectly normal day? And I wipe my eyes with a callused hand. My tears are salty.

I wonder how my Lord is doing. He continues to send gifts, beautiful elaborate kimonos and lovely pearl combs, yet, something seems wrong. I cannot fit into the silken clothes he brings me, and instead I give them the Sango's twins, Mitsuki and Mitsuko. The combs lay unused beside my bed, and the jewelry have been sold to pay for my arrows. Has he no idea who I am, now? The only thing that seems somewhat "right" is the dagger, more of a work of art than a defense mechanism. The blade is etched so carefully that the tiny inscriptions can hardly be read. The leather hilt is stiff and new, soft and hard, beautiful and deadly. The blade is wicked sharp, a crescent moon carved in on both sides gleaming underneath the light, a reminder that it was a gift of the Western lands.

And I keep this exquisite dagger underneath my haori sleeve. I still have yet to use it, to contaminate it with the filthy blood of weak demons. I swing my legs, fingering the dagger through the cloth of my haori sleeve, and sit contentedly for a while.

Soon, my thoughts drift over towards my Lord. I wonder how he is. Is he living in his father's castle, with beautiful servants that will tend to his every need? Does he still think about me, working in the fields, callusing my hands with the rough handle of a hoe or the hard edge of a bow? And when the truth dawns on me that he doesn't, a black shadow flits over my heart, digging a cavity deeper and deeper, until I suddenly don't feel the caring, benignant Saint that Kaede insists I am.

I wonder if this bitterness is hate.

And then I wonder what Hate is.

I am broken from my train of thought by a shrill shriek from the village, when I see a little girl, around five or six season cycles, dawdle a bit too close to a fire pit. She is alright, though her mother keeps screaming as though she truly has caught fire. I see Kaede walk over to the crowd and part them, her old age showing stubbornly in her stiff, hesitant steps.

Lady Kaede handles the crowd with ease. They listen to her, like children to mother, and in less than a minute everything is back on track. The men bow their heads to her and the women silent their chittering as she speaks. The babies and children stare in awe whenever she is around, as if expecting the miko to suddenly perform a trick of magic. Their strange expressions gives them a permanently surprised look. She hobbles away, using her large priestess bow as a support, and as if on cue, the village returns to life.

The little girl is ushered back to her home, where her mother chastises her for being so reckless. The pair walks right past me, staring intently at their home. I suppose they didn't catch my greeting.

This annoys me a little bit. It niggles in my brain and in desperation to stop it, I jump off the tree branch.

I call to Kaede, who has made it almost to the top of the hill, and wave at her. She hears me, I know. I know that she hears me by the way she stiffens her back and tilts her head. Yet, she does not look at me. Not even an accidental glance before she walks into the hut and yanks shut the curtain.

And it's then, when reality comes crashing down on me.

She doesn't care.

Nobody does.

That's why I'm in this village. A passerby, as one would say, a lonely girl with no family. And Kaede took pity on my all those years ago when my Lord decided he didn't want me anymore; that's why I can stay. They think I have nobody, no friends or family and they took me in for the fleeting kindness in their hearts that melted away soon after.

But I do have family. It's just that they're not here anymore. And I don't know where they are.

Have you noticed that just moments after you realize something, it suddenly appears everywhere?

The villager's arched backs, turned heads, whispers. It's quite unnerving. I used to think it was merely because of their stressed state, busy with the worrying of family and harvest, that they cannot return my small nod of greeting or simple smile. And when I offer to help, to carry a load, to harvest the rice, they gawk and shove me away, saying that the miko is looking for me and a lady like I should never work in the fields. I do anyways.

And after a couple years, even Kaede will shove me away. After all, I'm under a spell of the evil demon, and Kaede is my helper.

And then the villagers begin to alienate us, Kaede and me. We are bewitched, according to them.

I suppose Kaede is getting sick of it all. That's why she's ignoring me. Right?

Even my Lord has forgotten me now. He has his lands, his affairs, which are one hundred thousand times more important than a mere human child. After all, he also has one hundred thousand children living on his lands, probably more intelligent, more beautiful, more strong and more loved than I ever will be; there is no need to worry over a pathetic creature like me.

And so I realize this, with a sickening pang in my heart that appears to multiply with every intake of breath. It feels as if this hurt of it all is pressing against my heart, pressuring it to feel bitterness, to hate. And I refuse to do that.

I want to mean something to somebody. Even if it is just a child, or a beggar, or … There's still a chance that I can change that utter disgust into oceans of respect, change those upturned noses into awe-bent offerings, change that pretended care into frantic worry, and turn those forced, awkward smiles into bouts of uncontrollable, snot-trailed laughter. And maybe on the day that my body is to be dumped into the earth like the millions before me, I will have a friend that cares about me, a friend that will miss me, and a friend that will never forget me.

After all, there's a new year in which much can be changed. A new day, even. A new hour.

A new page for me to begin scrawling down the legend of my life.

A new beginning

for me to make my life meaningful.