I don't own Inuyasha… even though I really, really want him…
This is the second version of this story – much better by far I admit, and it's only the first chapter! Woot!
---
Kira
I didn't utter a word, didn't make a sound, didn't even breath too loudly for fear of being remembered. They were here. In this hell hole I've been thrown in. The demons and imps had woken up and had come in here, crowding my quarters, blocking my sight, already blinded in the darkness, from seeing the faint outline of the hall light beneath the door and making me unbearably claustrophobic. I needed that faint light, it let me know I wasn't alone, wasn't locked in a black abyss of nothingness – wasn't in hell. My mind laughed at me as I struggled not to panic in the dark. Who was I kidding? This was hell. Bile rose in my throat, chest constricting, but I didn't dare move. I knew if I stayed very still then they would forget me and let me have my corner to myself. They grappled and shouted and skirmished amongst themselves and sweat dripped down my back. They were too loud – much too loud. They would get me in trouble if they didn't shut up. But I didn't dare tell them. I kneeled in my corner and waited patiently. They would go away soon. They always did eventually, then I could breathe all I wanted without fear of their vicious sickle claws and corpse eyes that pussed and blistered under the clear membrane of their lids. Then I could stretch out my legs and press my face to the space under the door without fear of them. But for now I kneeled in my corner all alone and talked to my mother in my head. She never said much, but it made it easier to think that she remembered me and I could still remember her – all things considered. The pain in my ankles and knees was growing to a crescendo - I don't know how long I had sat there, and in my head I cried. But my face remained carefully neutral even as black blood bubbled from my various cuts and pooled beneath my shins, mocking my thirst. They never gave me water here, I was always so thirsty. My own blood – thick with dehydration it might be – was beginning to make my mouth water. I would do anything for a drop of moisture on my tongue. I could not help but let my eyes gaze greedily at the puddle as the solid dirt floor sucked it up. Oh, how I hated it for stealing the water! The water could have saved me. I would go crazy if I had to withstand the thirst any longer! My leather tongue swept over cracked lips hopelessly. Big mistake. Sensing movement, the goblins turned as one to glare at me, wanting to punish, wanting to hurt. They advanced on my trembling form and my shaking only seemed to incite them further. A tiny little demon, bloated from the grave attacked my face with little claws like razors. I fought him off and scrambled into my corner further, desperately remaining mute. The little demon scampered back into the ranks of his fellow, cackling madly and licking the blood from his talons. They glared and taunted, hissing and cursing me like one giant unit making my spine run cold and sickly adrenaline pump into my otherwise empty gut. Sweat broke out anew over my face and burned the cuts on my neck and chest. I stifled a whimper, trying not to look at the decaying figures closing in on my 'me' space. Their noise was that of an angry mob, I would have been less afraid if they had their torches. One of the larger ones separated himself from the crowd and bared teeth like moldy loaves of bread, sharp and broken as shattered glass. He advanced on me until I could almost feel his poisonous spittle raining on my exposed and torn skin.
"You dare move?" he thundered, voice raspy in a way that terrified, like a boulder falling down a mountain in the way it echoed around the stone walls, "Who told you you could move?!" And he lifted an arm, grotesque and twisted, flesh hanging in rotting strips as putrid as his breath, preparing to strike. The others roared their approval, clammy corpse eyes filling with blood in their excitement. Some of the smaller ones leapt onto the walls, scampering to cling to the ceiling above me like disfigured geckoes, dripping their foul fluids onto my head and reaching down to pull my hair. A scream boiled up in my throat, apologies flying to my lips as the huge demon seemed to expand in size, becoming more threatening, more foul and his hand came flying at me with the force of a wrecking ball. I curled myself into a ball and screamed with everything I had left. Screamed until I felt my throat break and bleed and blood stain my teeth. The keening pitch exploded around the tiny room, nearly drowning out the sounds of the beastie's battle calls and vicious screeches, their claws grappling and scratching the stone walls. I screamed until oxygen left me and I had nothing more and then I continued screaming mute – nothing coming out but a dry rasp. And the room tilted and I remembered no more.