A/N: Collecting pennies are fun. Collecting pennies and nickels is even better. But, collecting pennies, nickels, and dimes and placing them in different color-coded containers is the BEST. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: The characters of Inuyasha belong to Rumiko Takahashi, and I don't own any of them. I also do not own Blackwood Farm by Anne Rice, on which this is loosely – extremely loosely – based. (The only real similarities being the whole Doppelganger deal.)
Warnings: People drinking other people's blood. Slightly metallic and coppery tasting, but if they want the blood, they can have it. Also, there are smooches. Of the nice heated variety where there is saliva and bodies pressing against bodies.
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She is tired.
She is weak.
She has fears.
And she is afraid as the darkness curls around her – freezing her – causing beautiful tears to spring to her eyes.
And yet, she smiles, because she knows that it will get better. She knows that she won't be afraid forever.
Because she has strength.
And she knows that her strength will never fail her.
And as he curls around her, burying his head in her shoulder, she can't help but hum in appreciation.
Because he is her strength.
Because he will chase away all of her fears.
Because he is her fear.
And she is his.
But they won't break – they won't bend to each other's wills.
Because they are both strong.
Because they both have strength.
And it makes her happy.
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Everything around her was black.
The air was hot and thick, twisting and curling around her body, making her slick and wet with sweat as she walked through the blackened hallways, seeing but being unable to see at the same time. The smell of smoke and dust wafted through her nostrils, settled bitterly on the tip of her tongue, and distantly, she realized how old the home she lived in truly was.
It was strangely quiet, she noted, and part of her wished that it wasn't. Because whenever there was silence, it reminded her of sleep. It reminded her of the sleep she needed to survive, the way she was becoming weaker and weaker. Too weak to survive.
But for once, she was grateful.
She was grateful because she knew that without the weakness, they would see her, and they would judge.
Deep inside, she knew that it shouldn't have bothered her, they would have loved her all the same, but she was still frightened. She was frightened because she had the stink of tainted blood on her skin, burned into her senses, and it pleased her. Because as soon as everything had taken place, she had craved seeing them writhe in pain – soaking in their blood. Dying.
But it wasn't her.
Because she never wanted to bring pain.
When she was younger, she played with dolls.
When she was younger, she had a family that loved her.
When she was younger, she was pure.
And she was afraid of the swamps, of the alligators, and the dark. She was afraid of the spirits that roamed the house during the early hours. She was afraid of the giant mosquitoes that would bite at her skin if she stayed out past dusk in the sweltering heat, drinking lemonade and playing tag with her brother. She was afraid of the spacious rooms, each of them filled with beautiful oak furniture and brightly painted pictures and people, but always being completely empty. She was afraid of leaving her room, her sanctuary, to go down into the servants quarters by herself just to convince them to let her have an extra cookie after dinner.
But at the same time, she wasn't afraid.
Because when she snuck down into the kitchens, she would always find one of the maids waiting for her, smiling at her. They would always have one giant chocolate chip cookie sitting on the counter, a nice glass of milk sitting next to it, and they would say 'enjoy'. And when she would run to her mother's room in the cold empty darkness, she would be given ribbons, and they would be laced throughout her dark tresses, tickling the back of her neck as her mother wove the delicate strands into tight thick braids. She would be given lotion, to help stop the itching of her mosquito bites, and she would tell her brother ghost stories at night. She would jest, telling him that she was brave enough to wander into the swamp, but she never did. And he never called her on it.
But now – now it didn't matter.
Because she was never around her family.
Because they would notice.
Because she would ache, and her scars would be milky white in the sunlight and they would ask her 'why'.
Because she didn't have an answer, and she was afraid.
She was afraid that maybe, if she had been allowed to see them, that she would crave them. That her love for them would be so completely tarnished by the darkness that flowed through her veins, and all she would be able to see was the thick blue blood flowing through their veins, crackling with their life energy. She was afraid that she would see their pulses beating beneath their darkening skin, and she didn't want to.
She didn't want to be able to feel their skin beneath her roughened fingers, or hear their high-pitched screams piercing through the air, making her enjoy their death even more. She didn't want to see the moonlight reflecting in their eyes, illuminating their fear and confusion. Their disgust for her.
Her curtains were drawn as she entered her room, making it seem more ominous – darker than what she was used to. But in a way – she found it comforting.
She found it comforting because it meant that she wouldn't have to deal with them looking; she didn't have to deal with them seeing the changes. Becoming frightened because she had changed.
She didn't want them to see the many scars dancing across her body, marring her once beautiful skin. She didn't want them to see the way her eyes glowed a deep crimson whenever she got angry or upset – she didn't want them to see the way her nails grew and cut into the flesh of her prey – she didn't want them to see the way she feasted on their lifeblood – their soul and walked away without a guilty conscious. She didn't want them to see any of it.
Because she knew that she was no longer as pure as innocent as she used to be.
And the thought made her hate herself – made the tears spring to her eyes once more.
Slowly, she dragged herself across her room, her wounds slowly closing – energy sizzling down her arms as her blood dripped from her fingertips. She knew that there was likely to be small splatters of blood along the hallways, blending into the thick rich blood red carpets.
Silently, she toed off her shoes, her body protesting greatly as the smoky air curled around her, burning her light pink lacerations.
The weakness of her body was weighing heavily on her mind, causing her limbs to feel numb, and eyelids to droop with sleepiness.
But her bed seemed so far away, the darkness was weighing heavily on her mind, and she could feel the wind nipping at her skin. Teasing her. Whispering in her ear. And it caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end; it caused her fists to clench and her blood to boil.
She could feel the thin, smooth skin scrap across hers, the hot breath against her neck and the cool feel of sweat against the side of her face.
And she could feel the warmth radiating from the body in front of her, hugging her, begging for some sort of forgiveness.
Kagome.
She was angry, but her blood was hot, and her eyes slanted, filled with frosted rage.
"Why?" Kagome asked quietly, staring into apologetic chocolate eyes, wishing that she could be anywhere but in the comfort of her darkened room, "Why do you continue to do this to me?"
"Because," her Mirror responded, pulling away from the seedling quickly, "you owe me."
"I never did anything to you," Kagome replied as she walked over to her bed, pushing back the long velvet curtains, "so why?"
She could feel her Mirror watching her curiously, almost angrily as she dismissed her, pulling down her bed sheets, ready to try and regain some strength.
"Not everything has to have a reason," she responded easily, fingering the long dark tresses that spilled down her shoulders, "not everything needs to make sense. It just is."
Kagome paused, turning to look at her Mirror, her eyes glittering with scorn. With hate.
Because she did.
She hated her Mirror more than anything. She hated her for hurting her, for making her lose everything that she had with her family. For making her forget about everything that was important besides her own health and for making her sleep.
"He was trying to help me," Kagome responded, her knuckles turning white as she gripped her bed sheets, "he was trying to make me strong again."
Her Mirror merely smiled, her eyes dark and haunted.
"No," and her voice was cold like ice, stabbing through the shattered barriers that were slowly, but steadily, being rebuilt around the pit of Kagome's being. "You were trying to get rid of me. You were seeking the help the person you hated most in the world, to get rid of the one that you love."
"Loved," the Seedling replied coolly, her legs feeling weak and her fingers numb, "you were my best friend before it happened. And we used to play together during the summer when it was hot, and you were always trying to tempt me into going into the swamps. You were always there, watching as I played tag with my brother on the patio, wishing that you could at least be like us. Just so you could know what it was like to really hug someone. To really cry, and to feel. But you can't. And that's why you want me weak."
Kagome turned towards her Mirror, her rage flowing through her veins, causing her skin to close and her scars to look oddly bright in the darkened room. Her Mirror watched her for a moment, bitter resentment flowing through her body, curling in the pit of her stomach, before lancing through her body. It was almost as if a blade had been placed against her skin, pushing roughly, yet gently at the same time and she hated it.
Because she knew that Kagome was right.
And it poisoned her mind and made her angry.
And the words were echoing throughout her mind, causing her to feel hollow. Detached. Making her want to hate.
"Yes," the Mirror replied, stepping towards Kagome, her eyes dark and her expression grim, "I want you weak. I want you dead. Because then I can get more strength, and then we really can play tag on the patio and everything will be like it really was supposed to be."
"You want to be human," Kagome responded, her eyes dead and haunted.
Her Mirror looked at her, thankful that she had been able to listen. Glad that, for once, she understood what it meant. That she understood what it felt like to stuck in the cold icy void of solitude, emptiness chilling her bones and making her bitter. She was glad that for once, Kagome was able to wear that same deadened look on her face – she was glad that she was able to see her own feelings of emptiness bleeding from every pore of her body.
"Yes," her Mirror replied, and she was wistful.
Kagome walked towards her, sorrow causing her heart to clench and her throat to ache. She could feel the warmth of her Mirror against her, her body stiff as Kagome wrapped her arms around her, tears flowing down her cheeks, causing her pain.
"You can't be human if you were never alive," Kagome whispered, resting her head against her Mirror's shoulder.
But then she could hear his words, resonating throughout her mind, and for a moment, Kagome was angered by the silent mockery that were causing her bones to ache and her muscles to tighten.
Break her.
And her skin was becoming hot – feverish as she pulled away from her Mirror, shock and dismay written across her face.
Wound her.
It was dancing across her skin, the blue flames of hatred consuming her, leaving blisters and sores on her beautiful ivory skin. Skin that was littered with small thin scars, which made her wistful and sad.
Make her bleed.
And suddenly, she could feel her Mirror's fingers touching the tip of her fingers to her forehead, freezing her skin, making it feel as though she were burning. But her blood was becoming cold and she was becoming weak, and a scream ripped through her throat, loud and piercing and blood curdling.
And yet…
Kagome could feel the wind, nestling around her, attempting to protect her as her soul slowly shattered, attempting to trap her within the icy void of solitude and emptiness. Trying to show her what it really meant to be broken and dead.
And Kagome could see shadows, dancing across the room, her vision bleeding, turning gray as shocks of white blinded her, burning her skin.
She was cold, and it was dark, and as the wind became fiercer and harsher, brushing against her skin in a tantalizing, almost seductive manner, she could still hear herself screaming. She could still feel herself writhing as the shocks of pain rocketed throughout her body, and she could still see her Mirror staring back at her, a mixture of shock, anger, and pleasure reflected in her eyes.
She could see the shadows as they danced. She could feel the wind as it seduced her, and there were feathers that were stained black.
The darkness had never seemed so overwhelming.
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There were yellow ribbons in her hair, and she loved them. She loved the way the sun reflected off of them, making them shimmer a bright golden color, before melting into the bright yellow hue of her sundress. There were white frills at the hem of her dress, and she loved it. The bright yellow brought out the darkness of her smoky blue eyes, big and round, but most of all innocent. Her sandals were small and white, crisscrossing against the thin flesh of her feet, revealing small, tiny toes painted bright pink. Her fingers clutched a doll apprehensively, and her nails were short and jagged, a sign that she had bitten through the hard lengths.
And there was a nervous smile on her face as she stared, uncertain and unsure of what to do next.
Because he was there, standing in front of her, his fingers gliding gently over the creamy yellow ribbon hanging from one of her braids.
He looked almost wistful, his dark eyes regarding her carefully, and she smiled, dropping her doll to the ground only to be swept into him, his arms wrapped tightly around her tiny frail body.
Only she wass not as frail as he first believed, because her fingers were digging into his flesh, and he knew that she would leave bruises.
"Kagome," he whispered, his heart aching as she clutched him, that same small smile tugging at her lips.
"I think I know you," Kagome responded, pulling away from him, and suddenly she was older, her hair cascading down her back, in beautiful long waves, and her eyes were smaller – narrower – as she looked at him, innocence no longer staining her beautiful smoky eyes, but something darker – something that he knew he should understand, but can't.
Her nails were longer, no longer jagged and bitten, but long and thick, curved beautifully. There were ribbons in her hair, but they were no longer yellow, like her dress used to be, but black, causing her dress to look blue, and her skin to look pale.
But her arms were covered in scars.
And it angered him.
Because he was able to remember when she was young and cute and innocent, but she wasn't anymore.
"Tell me about yourself," he said, his dark eyes shining into hers, and she smiled, tilting her head to the side. But her smile was sad and remorseful, and when she was younger, he remembered that it used to be bright, full of life. But now it was tainted with something that he was supposed to understand, but couldn't. Because he knew that he didn't know how she felt. Because he knew that if he asked, she would decline and turn away from him.
" I've grown up," Kagome said, her sorrowful smile fading into nothingness.
"Yes," he replied, brushing his fingers across her beautiful ivory skin, "but not enough."
And he pulled her towards him, hugging her once again, holding her matured body flat against his, hoping against hope that she wouldn't be as tarnished as he thought she was. That she wouldn't look at him, her smoky eyes so completely dead and broken. Her arms circled around his waist, holding him to her tightly, as though afraid to let go of the achingly tender moment, afraid to feel the fading embers of sincerity slipping through her fingers.
"I understand," Kagome replied, tilting her head up to meet his dark and guarded gaze, her eyes brightening for the first time since he saw her. And then Kagome pulled away, smiling gently as a small white feather flitted around them, landing near their sneaker clad feet.
He could feel the embers burning, turning his brightened world into black, spilling fresh thick ink into his open wounds, and for a brief moment, he thought about giving into his pain, but ignored it.
"Will you tell me about yourself?" He asked instead, watching stoically as she turned away from him, the shift in her stance crushing fresh grass beneath her feet.
"I'm growing up," she said, looking back at him, her face void of emotion, "but not fast enough. Never fast enough."
"Do you want to?" He asked, moving to stand next to her, ignoring the questioning look she sent his way.
"Yes," and for a second, she sounded slightly breathless, but he knew that the only way to get her to talk was to be silent, to persuade her with acting indifferent, as though he didn't care. "But I can't."
"And why is that?"
"Because," Kagome responded, wrapping her small slender fingers around his, "time never changes."
He smiled then; watching as another white feather fell in front of them, and he noticed the tip was tinted black, for which he was grateful.
"They aren't there anymore," he replied, and he could tell that Kagome knew what he was talking about. But she simply drew her hand away, her expression guarded and closed, her eyes narrowed as she stared out the long expanse of the darkening sky, lightly dotted with white wispy clouds.
"Who?" Kagome asked curiously, turning towards him after a long moment of silence, wondering at what he was talking about, but knowing that the truth was resonating with her heart, causing a deep, frigid ache to erupt within her.
"Your family," he said quietly, watching her carefully, his violet eyes glimmering with something akin to sorrow.
"No," Kagome said quietly, tugging on the black ribbons in her hair, a small wistful smile curling her lips upwards. "They're gone, but I can't hold onto them forever. I can't pretend that they are there when they really aren't."
He stiffened, frowning slightly as she walked towards him, the black ribbon clutched in her hands, looking dark against her light milky skin. He could remember that she used to be tanned, that her skin was a beautiful olive color from running around in the sun, and that her hair was so black that it looked blue. But that was when she was younger.
Now – now her hair looked plain, boring as it flowed around her, almost as though it had lost whatever beautifully colored life it had within it. Distantly, he knew that it was only because she had given up, that she had forgotten what it meant to live. And she had.
"I see blood," Kagome whispered quietly, as her thin, slender fingers wrapped the black silk ribbons around his wrist.
Her breath hitched as she felt the same electric shock rocketing through her body, and the embers around them grew brighter, warming the cooling air around them. "I see it. I smell it, and I dream about it. It hurts, you know. Knowing that there is a way out of it, but no one is willing to help."
Kagome looked at him, tears staining her eyes, but he was bewildered.
Because he hadn't heard her start to cry. Because he hadn't been able to sense the distress rolling off of her in waves.
Part of him wanted to reach out and wrap his fingers around her neck, to feel her skin burning against his, but he knew better than to do so. Because in that moment, he knew that she hated him more than anything.
"Perhaps," he started, pulling his arm away from hers, watching disinterestedly as the ribbon hung from his wrist half done, "it simply has everything to do with the fact that you do not seek the help you need. Merely hiding in isolation will not help your case in the least."
"The feathers are black," Kagome said, watching him angrily, her hands clenched into fists at her side, "in my dreams, they are always black. And its always when I'm with you. They start out white, but slowly they turn to black, and I can't help but wonder if the same will happen to me. I don't want to crave blood anymore. I don't want that darkness slowly spreading through my heart until there is nothing left but that inane craving. I don't want to see their blood staining my hands. I don't want to see my blood staining her hands."
"Kagome," he started, watching her with a hardened gaze, trying his best not to feel but giving up miserably, " It is all I can give you. I can't give you anything more."
Kagome was silent for a moment her smoky eyes turning and haunted as she watched the quickly fading sun, an unknown emotion running through her body, telling her that it was true, but that it wasn't right.
It never had to be right.
But she wanted more, and inwardly, she knew that he found her selfish. It didn't bother her, though, because she knew that he was selfish as well, and all he wanted to do was feel her skin hot and flushed against his, salty sweat sliding in between their bodies as he lost himself inside of her, stealing her innocence once more. Attempting to make him his.
"No," she said quietly, grabbing the end of the beautiful velvet ribbon, her skin looking even milkier – paler – as it contrasted with the dark hues of the thin fabric. "It's not that you can't," and he hated how she sounded so sure of herself, and yet managed to have that same light air to her voice. For a moment, he wished that she would just cry again, because she was beautiful when she cried, and he loved it. "It's just that you won't."
His skin was hot and feverish, and the ribbon was floating away in the wind, black and dark, and when he turned to her, she was young again, her yellow ribbons bright and golden.
He could feel her innocent eyes on him, watching him in fascination similar to horror.
"Tell me about yourself," he said quietly, sitting down on the grass beneath him, watching out of the corner of his eyes as she clutched her doll tightly to her chest, looking confused and disgruntled at the same time.
"I think I know you," Kagome whispered, dropping her doll to the ground before taking the couple of steps towards him, her small hands wrapping around his wrist. At first, all he was able to feel was the embers within him growing stronger, burning heavier as he wished for the ache of her absence to leave him. Because when she was tainted, he could have her, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and feel his lips against hers, burning into his flesh – stinging him as she fisted her fingers in his dark hair, calling out his name. Curling up as she gave herself to him, her smoky eyes tainted with blue and black.
But then, the strange warmth was replaced with a sharp lancing pain, and he turned to her, her name nothing but a silent puff of breath on his lips, and she was older again, and her hair is dull and she is tainted. And her fingers were digging into the deep wound on his wrist, her nose wrinkled as the energy sparked violently, causing the embers around them to fade into nothingness, just like the sun.
And slowly, Kagome pulled away her fingers, looking at her blood stained nails curiously.
"You told me to you something about myself," Kagome replied, looking at him long and hard, before placing one bloodied finger against her lips, sucking on the tip of it gently. Her face displayed no emotion, other than her darkened eyes, and she repeated the process with each finger, licking his blood away, cleansing herself once more. "I'm raw."
She knew that he understood as his fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, pulling her close. Her breath was hot against his cheek, and the pain was still lancing throughout his body as his energy sparked fiercely between them.
"There's nothing to know," he said, his lips brushing against hers, hot and electric, causing her to seek the warmth of his body by shifting closer. "Because you are just like the rest of them."
He could sense Kagome getting angry, getting ready to pull away from him, but he placed his bloodied fingers against her cheek, and suddenly, she was calm and staring at him with an expectant gaze, waiting for something else to happen. For something else to be said. "Because just like them, you have nothing left to live for."
And his lips burned against hers, hot and molten as their mouths molded together, the electricity between them growing sharper and more painful as their skin remained in contact. But he loved the feel of her against him, straddling his lap. Her fingers curled in his short dark hair, pulling at the band around his ponytail, wanting to see his hair framing his face – to see him in a way that no one else had been able to.
But he had pulled away, turning to look at the blue moon, as it faded away behind a curtain of dark clouds, melting into everything around him. Making him feel the chilly winds whipping around him, and the warmth was dissipating.
When he turned towards her, wanting to wrap his arms around her once more, to make it last, she was young again, and her eyes were watching him, oddly bright as her yellow ribbons slowly turned to black, and her sundress whipped around her, her doll at her feet.
"Tell me about yourself," he said softly, hating the way she took a step towards him, a small smile on her face.
"I think I know you," Kagome answered, her voice young and childish as she placed a small hand against his cheek, wiping away the tears he didn't know he shed, " and I love you."
But it wasn't true.
Because the image of her had shattered, and once again he could hear her screaming. And he reached towards her, wanting to comfort her, wanting to make sure that she was able to feel him near her, but when he reached her, she was covered in blood, darkness settling around her.
His shadows danced violently, jerking around him, almost blinding him, but as he knelt down next to her, she was still young and the darkness was settling around her.
And her brother was next to her, his eyes dull and glassy, and he realized that she was twelve.
Broken.
She was broken, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
"She doesn't want you," said a cold dark voice, however, he didn't care. But his throat was thick with bile, and he wanted nothing more than to feel her eyes on him again, smiling, wanting to touch her lips to his, and he wanted to feel himself inside of her once more.
But she was broken.
And it would be a long time until she was grown enough to do so.
But never grown enough.
Time was endless.
And when it came to her, it was always frozen.
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The stars are glimmering brightly, and she looks at them as she smiles.
She thinks they are beautiful, and she knows that her heart is calm.
In that moment, she wishes for nothing more than to feel her happiness, but she knows that it is nonexistent.
Part of her wants to kiss the blue moon, but she knows that it is useless.
Because she is broken, and no one will help.
Because they look at her and smile, and she is anxious.
She is anxious because she can feel the darkness as it crowds around her, and she wants nothing more than to be in the safety of his arms.
And she can feel his lips as he kisses her temple, but when she turns, it is not him, and she is angry.
But she knows that he will come, and when she does she will be protected.
She has fears, but for now she is weak.
And for once, she faces them, and she knows that eventually he will come to help her.
She knows this because if he doesn't, then she can never be his, and she knows that he wants that more than anything.
The darkness is hot and cold at the same time, but she doesn't mind.
She doesn't mind because it is holding her soul together with it hatred and she knows what hatred is.
She knows what hatred is because she feels it everyday when he comes, and she feels it when he leaves.
And when he leaves, the wind rustles behind him, leaving her cold and empty.
'Tell me about yourself,' the darkness whispers, and she turns to it, falling into its burning crimson eyes and its icy touch.
'I think I know you,' she replies, and suddenly, she is broken, her throat tight with pain as she screams.
'I don't believe you do,' the darkness whispers, and it laughs at her misfortune, ' but I know you. And I want to see you bleed.'
And she does.
But for once, instead of feeling hatred, she feels an overwhelming sadness.
She never wants to bleed.
But she gives into the darkness willingly.
After all, it is always ready to numb her pain.
And for once, the emptiness is comforting.