A/N: Sorry that the prologue was so short, but it WAS a prologue, and a
bit spur of the moment. I did try to make it longer, but I finally decided
that I liked it that way. No worries, though- from now on, we'll have
decent-sized chapters.
"Sango's Name"
It had not started out as such a bad day, Miroku recalled ruefully. They had won another Shikon shard off a nasty kitsune after a brief but fierce battle, and therefore even Inu-Yasha was in rather high spirits, which meant 'not whining like an infant for once despite a large number of very painful-looking and possibly mortal wounds.'
That overall duckiness had lasted until it had started raining quite suddenly and promptly soaked everyone to the bone. No, not literally, because that would've only been possible had their skin been hanging off in clumps. So the partially mauled Inu-Yasha got literally soaked to the bone and the others were only figuratively soaked to the bone. But enough word games.
The rain hadn't been so bad, and Miroku was sure that it wouldn't have been a problem at all, if not for the fact that it had brought along its friends Thunder and Lightning and eventually became hail. Which, obviously, was a sucky development- especially when the group managed to get separated amidst all the mess.
That part had been bearable, though, because he was alone with Sango as they made their way to the nearby city. Or perhaps it was worse; Miroku wasn't really sure. He couldn't always be sure when he was thinking about Sango. It had been nice to shield her from the rain, because that meant he got to hold her very tightly and not get hit. It had hurt, though, in a strangely distant way. A kind of lonely ache in his stomach, like the one he got when he thought about what little he remembered of his mother.
He shook off the memory and attempted to sit up, then remembered with a mild sort of surprise that he was dead.
Then he realized how much pain he was in and decided that he probably wasn't actually dead, just very, verrry close to it.
Miroku glanced around, wincing as his head screamed in protest. Pond. Sky. Grass. No people. No familiar landmarks. He buried his head in his lap and moaned under his breath. Then he shot bolt upright again, ignoring the stars exploding across his vision and staring at the delicate, beautifully patterned silk wrapped around his body.
Except it wasn't HIS body.
He stared down at the slender arms, the mile-long legs, the elaborate kimono covering milky white skin and impossibly long ebony hair falling over slight, narrow shoulders . . . or more accurately, SHE stared.
He was a woman.
Miroku screamed, partially out of being terribly freaked out and partially because he was hoping it would wake him up from this nightmare. Since he was actually awake, it didn't work.
"Notgoodnotgoodnotgood . . ." the monk chanted under 'her' breath, becoming slightly hysterical.
He jumped to his feet, swaying slightly as another spike of pain split his skull, and stumbled over towards the pond, falling to his knees before it and peering into it. The reflection was murky but undeniable. A beautiful young woman not a day older than Kagome stared back at him, her violet eyes wide with horror.
"Oh my," he said weakly, voice cracking slightly as he stood up again, half- consciously inspecting his newfound curves, which were quite respectable (but that wasn't the point). Though this body did have a very nice ass . . .
Miroku closed his eyes, suddenly calm, and forced himself to think. Briefly, he recalled glimpsing this girl whose face he was wearing in the city and chasing her down to try the usual spiel on. To his surprise, she had found him amusing and led him away.
Away from Sango.
He should've known better- such a beautiful woman, traveling alone and wearing such a fine kimono? Not a chance in all seven of the hells. But women were his weakness. They always had been, and they had been his father's weakness as well, and his father's before him; the very same reason that the power of the Air Rip "graced" his right hand.
She had been so beautiful though. And when she had kissed him, he'd forgotten about everything but her. No thoughts of his curse, of the Shikon Jewel or even of Naraku. Nothing about his companions, and nothing at all about Madame Exterminator's so-lovely smile.
Though he hadn't been aware of it at the time, he had deepened the kiss out of a subconscious yearning to forget things he didn't even remember knowing. He had honestly wanted to forget the others- especially Sango, who was so very confusing. He really should've noticed the lack of memory. But all he could see . . . all he could think of . . . had been that girl in yellow silk with the seductive smile and blue eyes.
Miroku inwardly cursed, glaring at his own purple-eyed reflection in a very unladylike way. But he knew that he deserved this for his stupidity- he had no recollection of what had passed after that kiss, but whatever it was, his body had been transformed by it.
Then he froze in utter panic as his stressed-out brain finally put the pieces together. He had been such an idiot to miss it.
That girl had stolen his form and left him with hers.
And if she had been able to do such a thing, then it was very, very unlikely that she was just a girl. A body-snatching youkai was running around with his face on. Worse, with the Shikon shards wrapped up in his robes. The others would never know . . .
"Sango," he whispered in horror.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
For the first time in his life, Miroku was afraid to be traveling alone, but he honestly didn't know what to do but try and make his way back to Kaede and the village. The others would head there eventually, after all. But it was going to be more than difficult. He was at least two weeks from the village, assuming that damned youkai hadn't carried him further off- and that was only if he figured out the way.
Miroku gave a slight moan of exhaustion, slipping to his knees by a convenient tree after less than an hour of stumbling along the road, cursing the tight wrap of the kimono and the sandals. He was not used to shoes, much less such awkward ones, and this body was not only as weak as a kitten but far from used to such harsh travel. Forget two weeks; this could take a month.
The monk growled in annoyance as his sleeve caught on a branch. He was never going to get there at this rate. He would be kidnapped; killed or worse- this body was far too attractive for him to expect to get to the village in one piece. Hell, even if it had been an ugly body, he wouldn't have a chance.
"I'm going to die," he said aloud, internally bristling at the change in his voice. But saying it aloud calmed him. Miroku was well acquainted with the concept of his impending death, and felt almost relieved to know how and when it would arrive.
How ironic that he was free of the Air Rip but going to die all the sooner. He stared at the delicate right hand of his new body, its palm smooth and unblemished and beautiful, if he did not think of it as his. Had that youkai (how, HOW had he missed her aura?) known of his curse? Did she- or was it a he?- did IT know how his body was going to die?
A distant sound of many footsteps marching in unison suddenly reached Miroku's ears and distracted him from that line of thought. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of far-off armor, pennants, and horses through the trees. A battalion of soldiers was coming. For a moment, he considered running, or at least trying to hide.
But the kimono was bright yellow and embroidered with gold threads- there was no way to hide, and running would be just as difficult with all those layers of clothing anyway; maybe even more so.
So inspiration struck, and Miroku did the best thing that he could think of. He walked out into the center of the road, composed himself, and kneeled right there, closing his eyes.
He vaguely heard the sound of the soldiers' voices, loud and raucous. Not a very strict regiment then, nor one that had recently seen action. A few minutes passed, and he felt the ground trembling underneath him. The voices died, one by one, but he still didn't look.
Miroku sensed movement in front of him, and a slightly suspicious voice asked: "What are you doing in such a place, my lady?"
"Waiting for you," he replied sweetly, annoyed again at the sound of his own voice.
Cool, sharp steel brushed up against his pretty new throat and he smiled very slightly, letting his eyes fall open and giving the general who stood above him a serene look.
"Please," he said in an amused tone full of false offense and princess-y pronouns. "We are but a lost lamb."
"Are you?" the general asked coldly. "Or are you a youkai? What woman would travel alone in such fine clothes, or alone at all?"
Miroku hid his face behind his sleeve, faking a mournful tone. "Oh, kind sir, you misinterpret our situation. We were traveling with our bodyguards, but our noble personage was attacked and we fear that they have been killed. There is no trace of them."
The sword was lowered, but not put away, though the general extended a hand in offering to help him to his feet. "Your name, my lady?" he inquired politely.
He gave the man the only one he could think of. "We are Sango," he said regally, taking the hand and rising to his feet in his best imitation of the graceful exterminator, smoothing his kimono. "We must find the priestess Kaede; it is a matter most dire. Will you take us to her?"
The general glanced back at his troops, his expression pensive. Finally, he nodded. "Very well, Lady Sango. We will do what we can for you."
Miroku smiled as gratefully as he could at the man and silently wished that Sango were still with him. He always felt so much stronger when she was around.
* tbc . . . *
"Sango's Name"
It had not started out as such a bad day, Miroku recalled ruefully. They had won another Shikon shard off a nasty kitsune after a brief but fierce battle, and therefore even Inu-Yasha was in rather high spirits, which meant 'not whining like an infant for once despite a large number of very painful-looking and possibly mortal wounds.'
That overall duckiness had lasted until it had started raining quite suddenly and promptly soaked everyone to the bone. No, not literally, because that would've only been possible had their skin been hanging off in clumps. So the partially mauled Inu-Yasha got literally soaked to the bone and the others were only figuratively soaked to the bone. But enough word games.
The rain hadn't been so bad, and Miroku was sure that it wouldn't have been a problem at all, if not for the fact that it had brought along its friends Thunder and Lightning and eventually became hail. Which, obviously, was a sucky development- especially when the group managed to get separated amidst all the mess.
That part had been bearable, though, because he was alone with Sango as they made their way to the nearby city. Or perhaps it was worse; Miroku wasn't really sure. He couldn't always be sure when he was thinking about Sango. It had been nice to shield her from the rain, because that meant he got to hold her very tightly and not get hit. It had hurt, though, in a strangely distant way. A kind of lonely ache in his stomach, like the one he got when he thought about what little he remembered of his mother.
He shook off the memory and attempted to sit up, then remembered with a mild sort of surprise that he was dead.
Then he realized how much pain he was in and decided that he probably wasn't actually dead, just very, verrry close to it.
Miroku glanced around, wincing as his head screamed in protest. Pond. Sky. Grass. No people. No familiar landmarks. He buried his head in his lap and moaned under his breath. Then he shot bolt upright again, ignoring the stars exploding across his vision and staring at the delicate, beautifully patterned silk wrapped around his body.
Except it wasn't HIS body.
He stared down at the slender arms, the mile-long legs, the elaborate kimono covering milky white skin and impossibly long ebony hair falling over slight, narrow shoulders . . . or more accurately, SHE stared.
He was a woman.
Miroku screamed, partially out of being terribly freaked out and partially because he was hoping it would wake him up from this nightmare. Since he was actually awake, it didn't work.
"Notgoodnotgoodnotgood . . ." the monk chanted under 'her' breath, becoming slightly hysterical.
He jumped to his feet, swaying slightly as another spike of pain split his skull, and stumbled over towards the pond, falling to his knees before it and peering into it. The reflection was murky but undeniable. A beautiful young woman not a day older than Kagome stared back at him, her violet eyes wide with horror.
"Oh my," he said weakly, voice cracking slightly as he stood up again, half- consciously inspecting his newfound curves, which were quite respectable (but that wasn't the point). Though this body did have a very nice ass . . .
Miroku closed his eyes, suddenly calm, and forced himself to think. Briefly, he recalled glimpsing this girl whose face he was wearing in the city and chasing her down to try the usual spiel on. To his surprise, she had found him amusing and led him away.
Away from Sango.
He should've known better- such a beautiful woman, traveling alone and wearing such a fine kimono? Not a chance in all seven of the hells. But women were his weakness. They always had been, and they had been his father's weakness as well, and his father's before him; the very same reason that the power of the Air Rip "graced" his right hand.
She had been so beautiful though. And when she had kissed him, he'd forgotten about everything but her. No thoughts of his curse, of the Shikon Jewel or even of Naraku. Nothing about his companions, and nothing at all about Madame Exterminator's so-lovely smile.
Though he hadn't been aware of it at the time, he had deepened the kiss out of a subconscious yearning to forget things he didn't even remember knowing. He had honestly wanted to forget the others- especially Sango, who was so very confusing. He really should've noticed the lack of memory. But all he could see . . . all he could think of . . . had been that girl in yellow silk with the seductive smile and blue eyes.
Miroku inwardly cursed, glaring at his own purple-eyed reflection in a very unladylike way. But he knew that he deserved this for his stupidity- he had no recollection of what had passed after that kiss, but whatever it was, his body had been transformed by it.
Then he froze in utter panic as his stressed-out brain finally put the pieces together. He had been such an idiot to miss it.
That girl had stolen his form and left him with hers.
And if she had been able to do such a thing, then it was very, very unlikely that she was just a girl. A body-snatching youkai was running around with his face on. Worse, with the Shikon shards wrapped up in his robes. The others would never know . . .
"Sango," he whispered in horror.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
For the first time in his life, Miroku was afraid to be traveling alone, but he honestly didn't know what to do but try and make his way back to Kaede and the village. The others would head there eventually, after all. But it was going to be more than difficult. He was at least two weeks from the village, assuming that damned youkai hadn't carried him further off- and that was only if he figured out the way.
Miroku gave a slight moan of exhaustion, slipping to his knees by a convenient tree after less than an hour of stumbling along the road, cursing the tight wrap of the kimono and the sandals. He was not used to shoes, much less such awkward ones, and this body was not only as weak as a kitten but far from used to such harsh travel. Forget two weeks; this could take a month.
The monk growled in annoyance as his sleeve caught on a branch. He was never going to get there at this rate. He would be kidnapped; killed or worse- this body was far too attractive for him to expect to get to the village in one piece. Hell, even if it had been an ugly body, he wouldn't have a chance.
"I'm going to die," he said aloud, internally bristling at the change in his voice. But saying it aloud calmed him. Miroku was well acquainted with the concept of his impending death, and felt almost relieved to know how and when it would arrive.
How ironic that he was free of the Air Rip but going to die all the sooner. He stared at the delicate right hand of his new body, its palm smooth and unblemished and beautiful, if he did not think of it as his. Had that youkai (how, HOW had he missed her aura?) known of his curse? Did she- or was it a he?- did IT know how his body was going to die?
A distant sound of many footsteps marching in unison suddenly reached Miroku's ears and distracted him from that line of thought. He glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of far-off armor, pennants, and horses through the trees. A battalion of soldiers was coming. For a moment, he considered running, or at least trying to hide.
But the kimono was bright yellow and embroidered with gold threads- there was no way to hide, and running would be just as difficult with all those layers of clothing anyway; maybe even more so.
So inspiration struck, and Miroku did the best thing that he could think of. He walked out into the center of the road, composed himself, and kneeled right there, closing his eyes.
He vaguely heard the sound of the soldiers' voices, loud and raucous. Not a very strict regiment then, nor one that had recently seen action. A few minutes passed, and he felt the ground trembling underneath him. The voices died, one by one, but he still didn't look.
Miroku sensed movement in front of him, and a slightly suspicious voice asked: "What are you doing in such a place, my lady?"
"Waiting for you," he replied sweetly, annoyed again at the sound of his own voice.
Cool, sharp steel brushed up against his pretty new throat and he smiled very slightly, letting his eyes fall open and giving the general who stood above him a serene look.
"Please," he said in an amused tone full of false offense and princess-y pronouns. "We are but a lost lamb."
"Are you?" the general asked coldly. "Or are you a youkai? What woman would travel alone in such fine clothes, or alone at all?"
Miroku hid his face behind his sleeve, faking a mournful tone. "Oh, kind sir, you misinterpret our situation. We were traveling with our bodyguards, but our noble personage was attacked and we fear that they have been killed. There is no trace of them."
The sword was lowered, but not put away, though the general extended a hand in offering to help him to his feet. "Your name, my lady?" he inquired politely.
He gave the man the only one he could think of. "We are Sango," he said regally, taking the hand and rising to his feet in his best imitation of the graceful exterminator, smoothing his kimono. "We must find the priestess Kaede; it is a matter most dire. Will you take us to her?"
The general glanced back at his troops, his expression pensive. Finally, he nodded. "Very well, Lady Sango. We will do what we can for you."
Miroku smiled as gratefully as he could at the man and silently wished that Sango were still with him. He always felt so much stronger when she was around.
* tbc . . . *