Notes: A big thank-you to everyone who read and reviewed chapter one of this. I expect that this will be in three parts (which means it should be completed soon).

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Part II: Awareness

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When Kagome Higurashi was sixteen she learned how dangerous demons could be.

Life, as they say, goes on. She had hidden the scarf under he pillow, and would occasionally play with it when she was feeling pensive. It had become a comforting habit for her. Without thinking she would run her fingers over the soft silk, kneading it gently, while she did her homework.

When she'd first picked it up it had smelt like him. It was an undeniably masculine scent — one that she was unaccustomed to, and one that made her grin, and sent her heart beating wildly. She still imagined that she could smell it, from time to time, though the scent was long gone from the scarf itself.

She dreamt of him often. Usually just small flashes from her memories, so fleeting that she was unable to process them. Magenta stripes caressing an elegant white wrist, sharp nails hovering ominously near her head. A dark blue crescent moon, the flash of red eyes, then twin pools of liquid gold. She'd often wake suddenly, breathing heavily, trying to remember the fleeting images she'd seen.

She began to keep a dream journal. She locked it, and hid it in her bottom drawer. She had no desire for anyone to know about her encounter with him. She was certain that they wouldn't understand. How could they understand, when she didn't understand herself?

Thumbing through her journal, she found a blank page. She grabbed the pen, releasing it from where she'd trapped it between her teeth. Frantically she began to write.

Magenta stripes. Silver hair. A swishing sound (cloth?). A feeling…

Even in her dreams his presence haunted her. The unmistakable, over-shadowing feeling of raw power. It lurked in the back of her mind, and hung like a dark cloud over her dreams. She doubted that she would ever be free of it. She hadn't decided if she wanted to be.

Her friends began to worry about her. To them, however, Kagome was simply odd. Kagome knew better. Kagome was tainted. She'd broken the golden rule: always avoid demons. None of her friends would have helped a demon, she mused as she watched them happily munch on a bag of crisps that they were sharing. They'd never comforted the devil under the pale moonlight. If none of her classmates had done such a thing, or would even consider doing such a thing, then Kagome was left with only one conclusion: if nothing was wrong with them, then something must be wrong with her.

"What about that guy?" Eri asked her, pointing at a boy in the corner with a salt and vinegar crisp. "He's cute."

Cute. How do you settle for cute, when you've felt the thrill of danger?

"C'mon, you've got to show an interest in this sort of thing," Eri said seriously. Yuka and Ayumi beside her nodded emphatically. "Isn't there anyone who you find attractive?"

Silver hair, golden eyes. That feeling…

She shivered. Wrong. How had everything gone so wrong?

When she was alone she'd start to wonder about the nature of her wickedness. Had she been born this way? Was it fate that had drawn her to him, that led her to help him, and that bound her to him now?

She hadn't expected to ever see him again. But she should have known that anything to do with him was bound to be unexpected.

She had nearly grown accustomed to his state as a persistent fragment of memory in her life when he showed up again. She came stumbling out of the storage shed, covered in dust and wearing her rattiest pair of sweats. It was a small prickling sensation at the back of her neck that alerted her first. A part of her had known what she would find, but that didn't stop her from jumping in surprise when she saw him standing under the Goshinboku. He almost looked as if he'd never moved from the last time she'd seen him.

She stared at him, mouth gaping, not quite able to process the fact that he was actually there. As she watched the wind caught a few tendrils of his long, silver hair and waved them lazily in the breeze. She was overcome with the sudden urge to reach out and touch them.

Again, against her better judgement, she began to move forwards. There was no growling this time, no baring of fangs, and no warnings. There was simply him, and her. Cautiously she reached out and grazed her fingers lightly over the hair at his temple. It was unbelievably soft, and flowed almost like water through her fingers. Still he didn't move, he simply gazed impassively down at her.

Emboldened by his lack of reaction she reached up further and ran her fingers fully through his hair. It was to die for. And, she mused, it's likely that anyone else who tried would die for it. The full significance of that thought passed her by for the moment, but was not lost on the silent demon who, after years of untameable ruthlessness, surrendered himself to the curious and gentle ministrations of one human girl.

Gently she pushed his hair behind his ear, delightedly finding that it was pointed. She ran a finger down the edge of it, tracing its contours. She didn't even notice when his eyes slipped closed in contentment, as she was now fully focused on her explorations. She ran her fingers gently over the markings on his cheekbones, noting that the skin seemed marginally warmer under them than elsewhere. Experimentally she traced the blue crescent moon on his forehead, and noticed that the same was true of that marking.

In a moment of sudden clarity she realised exactly what it was she was doing. With a sharp gasp she pulled her hand away as if his skin had burnt her. She had been touching a demon.

With a languid casualness that belied his true awareness he opened his eyes and focused them on her.

"Are you frightened, girl?" His voice suited him perfectly, rolling like velvet off his tongue. It made her stomach leap with excitement and nervousness.

"Yes," she whispered, licking her suddenly very dry lips.

He scrutinised her again, his eyes flicking across her form rapidly, before settling back on her own eyes. His eyes narrowed fractionally, but he seemed to find what it was he was looking for. With a slight tilt of the head, which she took as a small nod, he brushed past her faster than she could track and was gone. As soon as he'd left she fled back to her room and hid under the covers like a frightened child.

There are many kinds of danger. She had always been taught to fear demons because they could harm her. She had thought, foolishly, that death was all she had to fear from them.

She knew now that she was wrong.

She would never again be completely satisfied. Everything in her life had become menial in comparison to the mere snippets of him that she treasured so secretly. She had withdrawn into herself, preferring to live only on the memory of him, than on what life had to offer.

It was a downwards spiral, and one that she couldn't avoid any more than she could have avoided helping him in the first place. Compassion. It was compassion, in the end, that had brought her here.

Once you've touched such a being you cannot go back.

That was the true danger.

It was a pity that no one had warned her.