Kagome in wonderland
It was a humid, sweltering day that made Kagome sweat in the uncomfortably ornate kimono and respective layers of cloth, the first layers of pale white cloth that was smothered by two more and then the decorative kimono sticking to her skin and sliding uneasily whenever she tried to shift and subtly peel the cloth off before it started to fuse. Her bangs stuck to her forehead, and her legs were falling asleep from the kneeling position she had adopted beside her father in an attempt for her to appear subdued and modestly beautiful, as well as quiet and respectful.
Considering she was none of these things, Kagome thought that her father's thought process was almost tangible, sailing past her eyes in bolded kanji. It said, If I can marry off Kagome, he doesn't have to know about her personality, right? The unsuspecting victim was sitting comfortably in front of the low table, on their best and most comfortable mat, accompanied by a towering woman, all sharp angles and flat planes with a white, sardonic line that slashed through her face in a parody of a mouth, and she bared her teeth in a jab at a polite and friendly smile, but came across as a wild beast when it's space is invaded.
Said unsuspecting victim was a baby-faced, blank-eyed boy named Hojo. The only thing Kagome could say of him nicely was that he was a twit. A nice, kind twit, but a twit nonetheless. After some subtle movements that she attempted, she gave up on detaching the cloth from sticky skin now; whenever she got close to doing it, Hojo's old – what was it again? Aunt? Great-Aunt? Ah, mother. Hojo's old mother would swivel a malevolent stare onto her, and then Hojo would smile at her with all the horrible puppy charm of a small child latching onto your leg and refusing to let go.
So while her father and Hojo's mother negotiated, Hojo offered pathetically hopeful looks towards her, and she felt the slight desperation of those caught under the affections of small, dirty children. Kagome was startled out of her thoughtful trance when her father nudged her lightly on the shoulder, and rumbled benevolently: "Maybe you and Hojo-san would like to inspect our garden?" Kagome's mood blackened, but she put on a sunny smile and stood, ignoring the cracks of her knees as they straightened, making a graceful turn towards the shoji screen that led outside to the extravagant gardens that the Higurashi family had nurtured since the first seedling. A plan formed in her mind, and her smile became less strained.
Contrary to popular belief, Kagome's mother – now deceased – had been the only one to tend to it, with her army of handpicked servants that she instructed individually every morning. She'd gotten the idea that anyone not picked and almost raised under her wing was a useless person in the grand scheme of the garden, and so had gathered her virtual mob of devoted and plant-wise servants. This idea had actually worked superbly, and even after her death, the same miniature army tended to the gardens and taught their children the species of plants and weeds, preparing the next generation for the gardening. In the end, the garden had ended up like a jungle maze – made to be a curious puzzle to be solved, but bursting with life.
Kagome led Hojo into the thick of it, and vanished around a corner hidden by a large species of bush. She'd been raised here, and knew it like the back of her hand. For a while, she wandered through it, recalling bittersweet memories of blitzing through the paths and avoiding bodyguards and father alike. And her mother, headstrong and stark in her memories like paprika on the tongue, would always be by her side, laughing and showing her all the secret alcoves and niches that she could hide in.
And then there was a flash of red around a corner in her peripheral vision that made her jerk, and turn around as she soaked in the small, cool fountain that resided in the center of the gardens. Banging her elbow on the cold marble of the rim, Kagome clambered out of the fountain clumsily in a spray of droplets, having shed the constricting outer layers of her kimono, and ran after the flash of red, curious. She saw the flash again turn after turn, and followed it, curiosity piqued and now determined to find what it was.
It was too fast to be a butterfly, Kagome concluded, sprinting by a confused Hojo who yelped and then tried to process this new development, attempted to follow her, and furthered himself getting lost. Kagome frowned at the Red Streak, as she'd dubbed it, turned a corner, and watched it vanish down a hole at the dead end. She felt a sense of slight foreboding, but shook it off as she inspected the sheer hugeness of the thing – it was large enough for her to climb into, no problem, but the fact that the bottom was black worried her somewhat. Throwing a pebble into the hole listlessly, she decided it safe to go in. No flames or anything, right…?
Putting a cautious foot in, she slid in with care, feet first and hands holding onto the grass so she wouldn't fall. Bits of grass tore, though, and she felt emptiness sliding into her hands, and then she hit her head on the edge of the hole and everything went dark except for a blue light that shone from behind her eyelids like fire without the pain – stupid, Kagome, stupid -- and then she began to dream.