When another new moon comes, Inuyasha thinks of Kikyou and Kagome, of love and loss, of life and death, of hope and dreams. [Inuyasha/Kagome]
Dedication: rendezvous, who writes the most beautiful prose and imagery.
Brief Candle
She should've died hereafter.
Inuyasha had found that line in one of Kagome's books, and for awhile, he couldn't help but think of what it meant. Perhaps he had wanted to know what it was supposed to mean.
Kikyou inhabited the depths of his thoughts most of the time, and he filed away this small phrase that somehow associated with her.
There were so many could-have-been's, so many what-ifs, and if had she not died, then maybe they could've been happy.
He loved Kikyou—had loved her—if not, at least once upon a time. He had been her equal, and for that he was grateful.
Their time together had been too brief, snuffed out so quickly, so easily, like breath on a flickering candle, and he would not—could not—cling to the fleeting, ephemeral smoke of memory, of love, of loss.
Tomorrow was the dark night of the new moon, and he would change; perhaps it was this that brought on these thoughts. Tomorrow he would brood some more, over why he had to have the Shikon no Tama, over his human mother, over his own humanity. And hatred. And Kagome.
"You should come home with me," Kagome said to him, eyes focused on some insignificant point far away, dark eyes that glittered with intensity.
He didn't reply.
"It's safer," she pointed out, still not looking at him.
In the end, he knew he would go. He was silent, that night, while Kagome chattered away with the rest of them, silent, when she had bid farewell to Kaede, silent, when she finally turned to him.
Night was falling rapidly, and unexpectedly she took his hand. He had not the heart to refuse.
"Hurry," she said, and the shadows hid her face as she urged him forward.
…
They sneaked into her room with considerable ease, and when she shut the door and flooded the room with light, she was startled.
No more so than he. After all, he had yet to be accustomed to her strange contraptions, her strange ways.
"Am I human already?" his voice grated even in his own ear. A glance at the spider web of his now black hair told him yes, as if he hadn't already felt the transformation himself. Kagome gave a weak smile.
She stared at him, almost curiously, and he sighed. "I'm still the same," he pointed out hoarsely.
Her look changed, and she gave a small smile. "I'm glad you know that," she said so seriously, it was almost comical.
He did not reply.
…
He woke very early the next morning; dawn had yet to rise.
He looked at his hands—human hands—and fingered his black hair. He was still human, and he was not the same.
Kikyou would've agreed with him. She understood what it was like to not be completely human. Or demon, for that matter.
He had known her own faults and hopes that rose, smoky from the ashes of dreams; her own frail humanity.
The sound of light breathing caught his attention, and he turned. For a moment, he saw Kikyou's soft lids and pale lips and her long silky strands of straight black hair.
It was only Kagome. Kagome's soft lids and rosy lips and wavy fine hair.
His human hand reached out to stroke her hair, drawn as a moth was to the light, then recoiled just as quickly.
What did he want most in the world? He thought at first, it was the Shikon no Tama, to be demon. To be human. To be fully something.
Wasn't that what Kikyou wanted too? Wasn't that the link between himself and Kikyou?
"Inuyasha?"
She was awake.
"Hmm?" his voice was smooth now, but in a few hours, he would become the half-demon again.
"What time is it? Why are you already up?" her speech was slurred with the drowsiness of sleep. Perhaps, he thought, with the drowsiness of dreams.
The familiar tingle ran through his body.
"I couldn't sleep," he said honestly. A pause, then, "You should sleep."
"Mm," she murmured absently, as though still occupied with something. "You should too." Her eyes closed.
He gave her a tender look, then rose to face the rising dawn and wait for the inevitable.
…
They were heading back when she spoke up. "I wish I could give you what you wanted."
He looked at the back of her black head, a startling contrast to his own white.
What did he want most in the world?
"The Shikon no Tama, you mean," his tone was mockingly sarcastic, sharp like diamonds, something he had not intended.
She gave him a thoughtful look. "I wanted to give you Kikyou at first."
His throat dried at the sound of her name. Kagome did not like to talk about her. Or maybe, she knew that he did not like to hear about her.
"But I think, what you want most, is peace."
He swallowed, tasting bitter and sweet recollections.
"I wish I could give you that, Inuyasha. Both you and Kikyou."
She could give him that if she wanted. To him, Kagome was the dusty smoke that arose from the fire of Kikyou's hopes, like a phoenix almost. Except that Kagome was nothing like Kikyou. Except that Kagome was everything like Kikyou.
"I'm sorry about Kikyou." Her voice lost the dreamy quality and took on a different tone, infinitely sad. "She was wonderful, wasn't she? Wonderful and good and kind."
She was. And Kagome was too. "It didn't matter in the end." His voice was terribly bitter.
She said nothing to that. "You love her anyway. For her kindness."
"Loved," he corrected, then snarled softly at what? —His own stupidity, maybe.
Her eyes were unexpectedly bright; he couldn't look at them, they were too brilliant, too beautiful.
For Kikyou, he would've become human.
His humanity or lack thereof didn't matter to Kagome.
Was he the same? As a demon, half-demon, half-human, human?
It seemed as if the lines between them were more blurred, more indistinct, as time went on.
Would it even matter in the end?
He was jolted back to now, and now was forever.
She took his hand and urged him forward.
…
She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
-Macbeth
Act IV Scene 5
…
Notes:
Err…Bad summary as usual. Heavily, heavily inspired by Inori, negai, by the wonderful and talented tin. So go read if you've never read it. And read rendezvous's fics too.
Yes so, those were the crazy lines that brought about this madness. From Macbeth. What other cynical play could've spawned this monster?
Too short and oh! the corniness! and I had a problem with the word "sneaked." It just sounds bad. Is snuck a word? I tried that, and even though I didn't like it, it was better than sneaked, but the spell check said no, it's not a word. T_T Any suggestions to replace that? Any suggestions of any kind, anyhow? Comments, critism, blah, blah, please? And thank you.
+ + shirayuri