Disclaimer: I own. . . wait. . . hold on . . . I'm going to remember eventually . . . umm OH! OH YES! OF COURSE . . . NOTHING
AN: This was one of my first fan fictions, and was published in its original form here on Now, seven years later I have finally found time to revise it. How interesting to see how far I have come.
Goodbye Kikyou
-Kaede-
Standing in front of the gravestone was a young girl. All the jovial nature of youth was gone from her face; replaced with a mar on the right side of her face. Solemly she clutched at the longbow – the only thing she had left to remember her by. At the tender age of seven she was left as the sole miko of her village.
Contempt would have been easy. She could hate her older sister for leaving her alone. But that day she let her resentment go. She tucked it away in the blooms of the bouquet left on the grave. With a respectful bow she turned and walked away.
She didn't say it then. She didn't want to. Some part of her knew it wasn't the end. The instinct of a Miko, perhaps. Today there would be no goodbye to the older sister she had lost.
-Naraku-
Day and night, Naraku's incarnations were never left alone…almost. It was always the same day of the year in which the cycle was broken. On that day all were asked to stay behind as the original went off. It wasn't until Kagura's rebellious nature reached new heights that she dared to see where their master went. She found him there, kneeling at the grave of the dead miko. But it wasn't the same Naraku she saw that day.
The sadistic expression was gone. The hatred in his eyes no more. Instead he knelt by the grave and lovingly fingered the etchings on the cool stone. They formed a name that would never be forgotten. She didn't know why, but she left as if she was saying goodbye to a dear friend. The sense of loss was enough to make her leave her captor alone with his thoughts. Today was for goodbyes, not wrath.
-Kikyou-
As the hot pierce of death stung her once more the undead miko's soul stumbled towards the last place it had ever been at peace. It was an odd thing, to see one's own grave. Though she had brought about her own death, though she was now fused with the soul of the Midoriko, though the pain of the miasma's contamination was gone – it still hurt. Despite all their best efforts she had failed to keep the jewel pure and out of the hands of Naraku.
The stone was cool to the touch she knew and she couldn't help but wish she could feel it herself. It had been long since she had known touch, known emotion. So much of her second life had been consumed by hatred. For a second she willed herself to go on: it wasn't finished yet! Then she realized, it wasn't her task to complete. Her soul had moved on long ago. It was that part of her that would eventually purify the jewel and defeat Naraku. The spirit lay on the soft earth and whispered goodbye.
-Kagome-
The young woman stood where she knew the grave had once been. The stone marker was long gone. All that remained was a dusty mound of dirt in the middle of a metropolitan city park. The future had changed the landscape drastically but she still knew exactly where it stood.
She looked around at the remainders of Inuyasha's forest. Smiling, the raven-haired woman knew it was all okay. The winds of time had blown it all away. The child in her stomach stirred and the woman made her way back home. The goodbye was said and acknowledged without a word being spoken.
-Inuyasha-
As she had died in his arms they'd shared one final kiss. Afterwards he'd gone on a rampage. It was only the serenity in the voice of his future wife that had saved him from the maddening rage. After the anger there had been sorrow, after sorrow relief and after relief there had been guilt. It was the guilt that kept him from coming.
Years of adventures had not been able to take away the pain. He watched his friends flourish. When his own family began to form he knew it could not go on. For the first time in 500 years he stood in front of her grave. He hadn't had the courage to visit it before that moment. His gaze moved adoringly to Kagome, her grey-blue eyes softened at the look. One had shown him how to love. The other had let him feel it.
The seven year old girl watched respectfully as her parents stood at the mound of dirt. It was a yearly tradition, one they had never explained. Lovely as her mother and impatient as her father she grabbed their respective hands. Smiling she led them away from their painful pasts. Finally her father was able to say it. As he walked away with his wife and child in hand he murmured,
"Goodbye Kikyou"
AN: Review.