Guess what? I don't own a single nut. XD XD XD

Nut, referring to the nutty people in Inuyasha. Who, of course, taste like pecans and almonds.

A/N: Wagh. XD This fic has died on me, and was only resurrected by an idea that struck me on the subway. And I'm pretty sure that it's not going to live eternally in heaven. XD

Luxfer: Joke not appreciated. XP

Under the Cherry Trees
By celinae

Chapter 3: Blueblack

Kanna doesn't remember her childhood, so there are no deathbed flashbacks as she dies, impaled by Naraku-dono's miasma.

Only the glint of a mirror.

It was round, and had a ridged, worn edge of pure silver. The glass was perfectly smooth, created by the finest craftsmen in Tokyo, her sister told her, but Kanna liked to think that it was made by magic.

The mirror itself was magic, she remembered.

She had known the magic of the mirror ever since she was born, so it wasn't magic to her, anymore. Just common sense, something that she felt so deeply that it was a part of her.

Maybe it was her soul, except the mirror took souls away, sucked them in and reflected them in blasts of almost invisible light.

She hated looking in other mirrors, although her sister, Kagura, was obsessed with it: if not to patiently apply her eyeliner or fix her hair, then to admire herself. Naraku-dono also liked them, even if he gazed less than Kagura.

She remembers how sometimes she held up her mirror while he curled his hair, his blueblack eyes glancing up occasionally, his sardonic smile.

But now his eyes are bloody, and she can feel her life slipping away as he embraces her. She didn't mind, because she didn't have much to live for.

Naraku-dono will have his Shikon, and I will have… my mirror.

Her forehead furrows briefly as she notices the glint of a mirror, her mirror. Just beyond Naraku-dono's head it hangs, and she reaches out for it.

She can see herself, for the first time, a bloody white figure framed by slimeblack, writhing arms, and even though no one is holding it, she can feel her soul returning.

Or maybe falling out of her: a pain sharper than the hands clutching her still-beating heart, a crack on the perfect plane of glass, shattering…

Kanna looks up into Naraku's eyes, her lips shaping the word she has wished to say for so long, its syllables sweet and pure as they leave her dead mouth.

Nothing.

A/N: How many adjectives can you merge with black? Millionblack. XD