Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha. And you should thank the Powers That Be for that.
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She worked in clay and he in ore, sister fruits of Mother Earth. What she could not use, he usurped, and what he cast away, she commandeered. They were as opposite parts of the same whole, complimenting one another in their differences, working separately to achieve the same goal: the creation of a masterpiece.
As such, it was inevitable that they would fall in love.
He could still recall the fresh scent of herbs that always clung to her, that heady aroma of wormwood and spikenard that filled his senses every time she was near. They had harvested the earth together, spending long evenings sifting through rock and silt, seeking those perfect elements, finding perfection in one another instead.
How the moon had sparkled in her doe-like eyes! How the cool night wind had ruffled her silky hair! The image of her beauty was forever emblazoned on his mind, always a part of him. Stronger men than he would have fallen to her enchantments, he had realized long ago. He thanked the kami every day that her charms had been reserved for him and him alone. His memory flared to life, recalling the fire behind her touch, the softness of her lips, the taste of her skin... It was enough to drive a man wild with desire, with longing... The heat of the kiln and the smelting fire paled in comparison with their burning ardor.
But their love was never meant to survive. As the brightest stars in the sky must die out the soonest, so was their fierce passion destined to meet its untimely demise. He remembered with perfect clarity the fervid glint that possessed her eyes as she worked, how her long days of craftsmanship had grown longer, more intense. He had no one but himself to blame for the outcome, for he had become nearly as wrapped up in his own creations, had failed to recognize just how far her obsession carried her. What he wouldn't give now to have that precious time back, to convince his beloved that she was beautiful enough, strong enough, that she needed no enhancements, certainly not any such as that cursed jewel offered.
Not that she would have listened, of course. She was strong-willed, independent; her heart had long before turned down the dark path of ambition and glory, while he was content to remain in obscurity, a master in his own right, but never a slave to his work or the fame it could bring. By the time he recognized her addiction, it was too late. He could only watch as she stumbled down the path toward self-destruction, could only enjoy the stolen moments alone with her, knowing how close he was to losing his precious darling forever.
In the end, ironically, her own creation—that which she had labored so strenuously over—brought about her demise. He did not witness the chaos surrounding her death, but those who were present told of her frenzy, her crazed fixation remaining with the very object that thoughtlessly destroyed her.
How very like her, he couldn't help but think on those lonely nights that suddenly seemed so very cold. She always was one to choose her path and never stray. It was one of the qualities he treasured about her, just as he treasured the lilting sound of her voice and the otherworldly beauty of her face.
He still grieved for her, still sometimes found himself wandering to that same spot where she had breathed her last. The smell of spikenard was especially strong there, and the wormwood grew in profusion, always causing a ghostly smile to tilt his lips. So long as he lived, she would live as well, alive in his memory, their passion a burning beacon in his mind.
After all, something so beautiful could never truly die, could it?
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Totosai sighed and gazed longingly down upon the entrance to the cliff-side cavern, the site of his lover's oft-used kiln, and of her demise.
"Urasue." Her name fell from his lips like honeyed wine, drenched in longing. "Sweet Urasue. It's just not the same here without you."
Turning away once again, his hand sought out the short, scruffy mane of Momo, his three-eyed demon-bull, and he rubbed the creature's neck as though finding consolation in that act.
"Sometimes," he mused out loud, "I miss her companionship more than anything. Life seems so lonely these days. No offense," he added quickly as Momo lowed in protest. "Of course I always have you for company, dear Momo."
The bull snorted in affirmation, as if to say, Damn straight.
"But still," Totosai added sadly as they walked into the fading light of a crimson sunset, "I do miss her. Even you have to admit that you don't kiss nearly as well."
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The End
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A/N: I need to learn not to pet the mutant plot bunnies. I offer my profuse apologies to those who actually read this all the way through.
Also, thanks to my little sister for suggesting the perfect title. And to Milton, I'm deeply sorry. I'd promise not to do it again, but I like to keep my options open.