Disclaimer: Still don't own Inuyasha.
The next morning found Kikyo by the riverside, washing laundry like the other women. Ever dutiful as she was, she frequented the shallow riverbank more often than any other, offering a small smile to any passer by. Today her smile was even more forced than usual.
Kikyo would not have gone so far as to call it a disturbance. The air around her was by no means unusal. The world was perculated by a dew-drenched calm. The hint of even a single youkai was yet to be seen. And yet, something unnatural tugged at the veteran miko's heart. It was sorrow.
It was beyond Kikyo to discover what she was sorrowed about. She contemplated it for a good long while, making polite conversation with the women she secretly envied. Perhaps that envy was the very reason she sorrowed. Normally, Kikyo was so resigned to her miko duties and the lack of the touch of a man that it did not occur to her to mourn it. The disappointment merely hung about her in her unconsciousness, giving her a somber air which other people misjudged for composure and esteemed her for. Perhaps it was even jealousy for her junior Nara, on whom even knelt against the riverbank as she was the plump, swollen abdomen if a growing pregnancy could be seen. Later on, lost amongst the concealing branches of the thick woods Kikyo lay a slim white hand on her own pale belly. It felt so cold and empty.
On thing Kikyo would never admit to others under any circumstances was what she felt was her failure as a woman. Humanity plagued her just as any other and sometimes a faceless lover would infiltrate her dreams, bringing her an emotional completion as she was treated just like an ordinary woman. Her heart and body were longing to be used and this they were time and time again only for her wishes to prove false and her hopes for acceptance filtered away at dawn. It was as if she were a very ugly woman, or perhaps diseased than no one would look at her and stoke her with the fires of lust. Still, her logical mind argued with herself. She had come to an understanding; and thus she accepted her fate with heart-chilled regalness.
Kikyo looked stonily across the spreading dawn. The rolling swish as she tread through the grass soothed her slightly with its commonness. Her red hakama splotted with moisture which, she knew, would dry with the heat of the late morning sun.
It occurred to Kikyo like an afterthought. Veering left, she pressed much deeper into the forest. The boughs of aged trees came to seclude her. They were much broader here than near the village. This reality was forged by practicality; villagers preferred to gain their firewood from sources nearby. It reduced the amount of toil they had to go through and reduced the number of fatalities they suffered from roving demons.
Not that many demons chose to live or travel through here anyway. Kikyo's spiritual energy remained strong, her never having had the opportune to love anyone. Only the strange half-demon had bothered to move in, possibly because he was too weak to find a better territory.
Speaking of half-demons, Kikyo made her way to his corpse now. She stood over it impassively, watching the crows as they took lift with squawks of indignation. For some cause unknown to her, his death trembled her heart more than she thought it should. Perhaps it was because he had been part human?
All these "perhaps." Kikyo shuttered at her blatant weakness. All this doubting of her own heart which shrouded her in a constant veil of misery. Soon, she would become the great miko everyone mistook her to be. Then she would know no doubt. Her heart would cease its endless quavering.
Kikyo turned rapidly away from the corpse which already was decaying. No trace of life remained and so, satisfied with her project, Kikyo ambled away. She found herself touring all her favorite haunts, rather automatically. Ultimately she found her way to the sacred tree known as Goshinoboku.
As guardian priestess to this village, it was Kikyo's responsibility to fold the offerings of paper. Frowning slightly, she nervously fidgeted with slightly tattered rice paper. Soon, she would replace them.
Kikyo bowed neatly to the Goshinoboku. Then she turned sat beneath another tree proximate to it. To sit directly beneath it like a common tree, she thought, would be less than respectful towards it. The tree stared back at her dispassionately.
The calm was almost boring and Kikyo felt her muscles, tense since this morning, start to loosen. Her eyelids lidded and soon she drifted into sleep. The jewel pulsed.
Blood. The sting of claws tearing into her. A deep-settled chill as the warmth of her still-living heart bled out and she became a cold as the air. She swooned and fell into nothingness. So much hurt and betrayal.
Kikyo's eyes snapped open. Her mouth fell wide in a silent scream and she scrambled up, looking at her ceremonial robes. No slick of crimson stained it, no demon lurked about, hungering after her corpse. Kikyo let out a sigh of relief. She then rubbed her eyes and turned for home.
"Perhaps I am touched by some illness." All of these perhaps again.