A/N: I should be writing my English essay, I really should. But I was talking to Crimson Demon [user id: 395748] on yahoo, and she told me to write an M/K story, so I decided to get writing on this. So you should thank Crimson for telling me to do so, otherwise, I would have stuck to writing that strange, completely twisted Sesshoumaru/Naraku story that sorta just jumped out of thin air… so yes, thank her. And give her kisses.
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: Bad language, but I'm sure that no one cares about that. And… other stuff… violent stuff… insane stuff… angsty stuff… whatever is written in this chapter is a warning to all of you. If you end up being catatonic, or homicidal… it ain't my fault.
Etcetera: I'm skipping the present tense dream in the beginning and the end, but this also has more words than the last chapter, so I'm not skimping off too much. And, for the sake of the story, Souta will only be one year younger than Kagome. Thank you, and have a nice read.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
"You have got to be kidding!"
The sun was sinking low behind the horizon, the sky a beautiful mural of pinks and oranges, soft white clouds dotting the sky. The air was warm – soothing in its own right – as bugs buzzed around them, the smoky scent of the earth causing her to feel slightly lethargic, despite how energetic she truly was. Her skin was moist and slick – she had been running earlier that day, playing with her younger brother, and just enjoying what it was truly like to be a child – not having to deal with nightmares – horribly nauseating nightmares, her mind screamed at her – or listen to orders that truly meant nothing.
"No," Kagome grinned, watching as her brother's jaw opened and closed repeatedly, "I'm not joking."
"I-I'm not going in there!"
Kagome only managed to grin wider, her fingers nimbly undoing the top two buttons of her pink sundress. She watched in a smug satisfaction as her brother stared at the opening of the swamp, his eyes wide – filled with fear, she noted somewhat dismally – waiting for her to turn around and say that it was nothing more than a big joke, that she was simply pulling his strings to get a rise out of him. But then she took a step forward, leaning against the bark of one of the large trees that surrounded the swamp, a small smile flitting across her face.
"Oh no, don't tell me! You're scared aren't you?" Kagome teased with a quiet laugh, loving the way her brother shot her a nasty look.
"Of course I'm not scared! I'm eleven, I would have to be nuts to be scared of something like… like…"
"Water?" Kagome asked slyly as Souta trailed off uncertainly.
"Yes, water," Souta sniffed, crossing his arms over his chest, " besides, I'm only eleven. Do you know how dangerous swamps could be? Especially with all of the animals and snakes and alligators and stuff… do swamps even have alligators? Because if they don't –"
"Do you ever see the Lights at night?" Kagome asked, as she gazed into the swamps longingly, almost wistfully as she sank down to her knees to stare at the inky darkness that was hidden beyond the trees, "I wonder if what the servants say is true. Are the Lights really there? Is it really haunted?"
Souta looked mildly disgruntled at the fact that he had been interrupted, but for a brief moment, it felt as though his sister wasn't even talking to him. That when she looked at him, she looked past him, and to someone else. Like he wasn't even there. But then, she smiled at him, and held out her hand encouragingly. So he was there, sitting next to her, staring into the inky blackness that was hidden under the masses of trees, and vines. In the thick, smelly water that could tangle him up in weeds and drown him if he wasn't careful.
"Mama says that it's not real," Kagome explained, looking exceedingly uncomfortable, "but then if it's not real then why…" she trailed off suddenly, turning towards her younger brother, watching him watch her through a darkened expression.
"Dad told me that it was only real if I believed in it," Souta explained, "he said that the only reason he bought the land here was because it was peaceful and quiet. I don't think he would buy a home that was haunted."
"So you don't believe in it, you mean?" Kagome asked quietly, her eyes staring intently into the darkness, almost as though she expected to see Lights suddenly dancing across the darkness, blinding her and yet informing her that, yes, the swamps around her home were haunted, and that yes, everything was real. Including her nightmares… nightmares of him coming to her, asking her – no, forcing me, she thought angrily – to take something that she had no right to take.
"Why?" Souta asked incredulously, "do you?"
"Yes. No. Not especially. I think some of it is real. Not all of it, but some of it."
"Mama will have a right fit if she heard you talking like that, Kagome." Souta snickered. "So you really believe that the house was built over an ancient Indian burial ground, and there are ghosts and vampires and werewolves out for our blood?"
Kagome whirled on him, her eyes dark, and her mood shifting dangerously.
"I didn't say anything about werewolves and vampires, Souta. Those, I know, do not exist. But yes, I do believe that there is more than that. More than any mortal like you would understand."
Souta looked at her for a brief moment, his brown eyes narrowing indignantly at his sister mood swings. At the way she spoke so easily of ghosts and spirits. Of living on top of the dead. He knew that once his mother heard of her outburst, that Kagome would get into trouble. He knew how strongly his mother hated hearing of such things – for whatever the reason, he truly didn't know – but he did know that if any one of the servants knew about their conversations, that they both would be punished. It wasn't so bad that their grandpa continued to encourage the thoughts, the fact that, yes, there were ghosts that lived in the very swamp, and the house was built on Indian burial grounds – however much he truly doubted it – and his mother was against the entire thing.
"Kagome –"
"Don't you dare and go tell Mama, either," Kagome growled dangerously, "or I'll tell her that you were involved too."
And then, almost as if time had slowed down, her eyes flickered from smoky blue to crimson, and there was blood pounding loudly in his ears, his eyes wide as he watched with a horrified fascination as she leaned forward, her nails extending – growing longer – and gripping onto his wrist, digging into his skin, causing him to bleed. And there was energy, blue and soft, but painful, crackling between them, causing him to feel weak and tired and aching.
But then, time sped up again, and Kagome was staring at him with wide eyes, filled with horror and humiliation – terror that was dark and tainted, burning – and it slowly slipped away from his mind as he shook slightly, one horrified thought on his mind.
"You – you – you're one of them, aren't you?" He asked shakily.
Kagome winced, as if she was in pain, before leaping towards him, her hands – which he had once thought to be weak, fragile – wrapping around his arms tightly, holding him in place. Fear, it was spiky and hot, as it danced around him, his eyes widening as he opened his mouth to scream, to do something to bring someone to help him… to keep her away from him. But then – then – tears were streaming down her face, blurring her vision, and he froze, immediately wanting to comfort his older sister… to say something to her to keep her calm, and cool, and collected.
"Please," she whispered harshly, breathlessly, "please don't tell Mama."
"Kagome," Souta whimpered, pulling out of his sisters grasp, "Kagome, Kagome, Kagome."
"Don't," she whispered into the achingly buzzing silence, "don't say my name like that! Like you – you're condemning me to being some sort of monster! I didn't ask for this! I didn't want this!"
But before Souta could stop himself, the words were tumbling out of his mouth, and his body shaking with fear – with sorrow – as he watched his sister fall to her knees and whisper frantically.
"But – but you are."
And in that instant time was frozen.
Because her eyes were simply so dark, filled with so much animosity, anger– hate –undisguised burning fury, he couldn't be help but be frozen to the spot. Because he knew what he had said was wrong. She was his sister – his sister whom loved him more than anything and would never hurt him – but it had been too late, the words had been said and the damage was done. And slowly, her eyes were turning crimson, filled with anger, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his blood sliding over her hands… to hear him scream in pain and agony.
But her mind kept screaming no. Telling her that it she was allowing the hurt and pain overrule her common sense. That she was being unnaturally violent.
"You need to feed…"
"Feed…?"
"Kill…"
"I… I… I am not a monster," Kagome whispered dangerously, as she stood up, watching in a sadistic satisfaction as her brother backed away from her, ready to sprint – to run – because he could see the joy of the hunt dancing in her eyes –her smiling, red eyes –ready and willingly to hunt. To enjoy the hunt.
Then suddenly, the wind was howling, and pain was shooting through his body, and his side was achingly cold and wet, as he scrambled away from her in fear, trying his best just to get something between them.
"I'm sorry, Souta, I'm so sorry. Please don't tell Mama. Please don't get her mad at me."
Souta didn't know who struck first.
Blood.
There was blood. And it was thick and hot and sticky, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to get it to stop – how to get her to stop bleeding, to stop writhing in pain, and screaming as though her body was on fire – as though she were in pain. Because the sound haunted him in a way that he never knew it could. It pierced through his soul, overtaking him. Making him feel weak and useless and broken.
But no matter how he felt, she just continued to lie there, hot, sweaty – screaming – as her sheets tangled around her legs, her body, keeping her bound. Restricted. Part of him knew – understood – exactly what was happening. Because he couldn't forget that simple moment in time. Where it seemed frozen, daunting. Where it simply stood still and allowed shock to spill through his curtain of barriers, breaking his heart – his mind – and letting him know just how much of a failure he had been.
A failure.
Had he always been that way? Had he always let down the people that mattered most? The person that was supposed to matter the most to him?
He had chosen her, hadn't he? Because he saw the potential, the gift that she had, and he knew that if it was possible, he wanted her to be the one leading his line. Teaching others what it meant to have the powers of Light… the power to take the lives of those undeserving. And he had chosen her hadn't he? Because he needed her, he needed someone strong. He was drawn to her, just as the others had been. But he – he had protected her from them, hadn't he? He had been the one to mark her, to mark the territory of his feeding – her swamp, it was her swamp, he remembered painfully – as he watched her writhe, her chest heaving up and down, her lips dry and cracked and bleeding.
Just like the rest of her.
A failure.
Because he hadn't protected her.
Because it was supposed to work – the joining of their souls, the joining that would have truly had made her his – and it hadn't worked. Laughing bitterly, he slumped down in his chair, listening as the wind and shadows danced around his prone figure lightly, as though teasing him, as though reminding him of everything that had happened. But he didn't care.
It never worked.
No matter what he did, no matter how hard he had tried, she had never become his. Of course, she was his Seedling, his apprentice, but nothing – absolutely nothing – more. Had it been because he had manipulated her into thinking he could help? That he could change what had happened and protect her? Because if so… if so…
There were so many what ifs. There were always so many dancing around in his mind, making him feel so indecisive and angry. Making him doubt his power, his essence, whenever it came to her.
"I hate you!"
But does she really, he asked himself, hoping against hope that, no, she never meant it, that she was just confused and hurting. That she was trying to find a way to express her feelings – emotions that had been trapped within her own protective barriers for too long. Barriers which were now crumbling, which were now being broken.
Barriers that he couldn't fix.
A failure.
Was he always going to fail her? Was he always going to hurt her the way that he did before? The way he did when she was ten – the day he had first laid eyes on her, and tasted the sweet scent of innocence dancing around her. Or when she was eleven, and had watched her as she walked around town with her family, hoping – just hoping – that he would be the first one to taste her innocence. To know that she had been his. And then, he had bumped into her, he remembered. He remembered her walking straight into him, looking up at him with those beautiful smoky blue eyes and smiling. Apologizing. But then he had told her. He had told her that he wanted her, and that her Light was beautiful. And she had looked at him strangely, confused, as though he were speaking about something that she didn't understand. And he said that he would make her his, and he did.
When she was twelve.
That was when he had hurt her the most. That was when he had lost her completely. And then…
And then…
She whimpered, her long slender fingers gripping the sheets around her tightly, her mouth opening slightly as perspiration rolled down the side of her face, making her look oddly pale. White.
Lifeless.
He hadn't protected her from her Mirror like he was supposed to.
He had been selfish, he had tried to make her his. He had tried and he had failed.
Because her Mirror – her Mirror had saw it for what it was. Because, despite everything, his Seedling – Kagome – was still young and naïve, and trusted too easily.
Even those that she hated. Those that had brought her pain.
"Inuyasha."
He looked up then, frowning slightly at the other two people in the room, wondering why they were there. Why they weren't letting him watch over his charge. The person he cared most for.
"What the fuck do you want Sango?" Inuyasha asked gruffly, feeling tired – oh so tired – as he listened to his Seedling let out a sharp cry of pain. Watching as more blood spilled from her slowly closing wounds.
Bleeding.
She was bleeding because of him. Hurting because of him.
A failure. He was nothing more than a failure.
"It's your fault," she said quietly, watching as his golden eyes darkened angrily, frosting over with fury. "It's your fault that she's like this."
"I – you – keh – fuck! I know! I fucking know all right!" Inuyasha growled with unsuppressed rage, the claws on his fingers lengthening slightly, his silver hair shaking gently behind him as the shadows danced around his figure. Forcing him to calm down. Trying to make him weak.
"I know that you know," Sango said, turning towards her comrade and arching and eyebrow, almost as though asking permission to keep speaking, "I know, but it's your fault that it hurts so much. She was so young -"
"Stop telling me shit I already know about, Sango," Inuyasha whispered dangerously, as though ready to attack. "Remember, you are nothing more than a witch, a mortal, and if you piss me off enough, I won't hesitate to kill you."
Sango smirked slightly, nodding as though it wasn't news to her before turning towards her partner once again, watching him as he watched Inuyasha intently.
"We did not come here to badger you Inuyasha," he said calmly, soothingly, "and you know just as well as I do that she is yours. However –"
"No," Inuyasha said, shaking his head angrily, trying to dispel the truth," Don't say, don't fucking say it."
"How old was she Inuyasha?" he asked, ignoring the fact that he was interrupted, "how old was she when you tainted the innocence that was her soul? Took the purity away from her and caused her to hurt those she loved the most."
"Fuck you," he snapped, clenching his hands into fists. He didn't need to hear it. He didn't need to be reminded of it. Because every single time he looked at her, he was always reminded that she was so young, so innocent, and she never had the chance to make a choice. She never had the chance to decide that she wanted to be human. Mortal.
Because it had been so long ago, so many years ago, but for her…
For her it was like yesterday.
"How old was she Inuyasha?" He asked, his voice deadly and quiet like venom.
"I don't –"
"How. Old. Was. She?"
"Twelve. Twelve. She was fucking twelve-years-old! And that's when I made her mine! That's when I chose her. I fucking chose her!" Inuyasha yelled, his eyes burning red with rage – anger, hate, regret – because for her it was like yesterday. Because for her, everything was in black and white, and for her, she wasn't wanted anymore. And she didn't understand. She didn't understand what it truly meant to be her, the woman – no, Shadow – that was supposed to belong to him. Only, she didn't.
And she never will, part of him screamed out in pain and agony. Hurt. Because it was simply so bitter to admit that to himself. Especially after all that he had done. All that he had tried to do to make her understand how much she truly meant to him. But she had asked him, she demanded of him to leave her be. To give her space. Time to heal.
But that hadn't been the reason. It never was the reason.
He knew, as painful as it was to admit it, that her Mirror had been the one to suggest it. She had been the one to ask her to tell him – to demand of him – to leave her be. That she could hunt on her own. That she didn't need him around. That she didn't want to be around someone who had caused her to spill the blood of those who did not deserve it.
And Wind – Wind knew that.
And he thrived on it.
"Loss, especially the loss of those you love most, is always painful," Wind explained uncaringly, "It will hurt, as loss usually does, but only for a little while."
Inuyasha nodded solemnly, achingly, as thoughts raced across his mind. Painful thoughts. Agonizing thoughts.
Why was he losing her? What did he do to deserve this?
I failed, he thought angrily, indignantly, as Wind sat on the edge of Kagome's bed and pressed a delicate hand to her forehead, but what if? What if I hadn't? What if I hadn't taken her and filled her with so much… so much anger?
"Then someone else would have," Wind answered, watching Inuyasha intently.
"Wind –" Inuyasha started, freezing as the dark-haired man held up a hand, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Inuyasha, not all people have the strength that you do. Please remember that. Kagome is special – different, if you will. And despite you being one of the strongest Shadows in existence, " Wind paused for a moment, the cocky, unsaid phrase of 'apart from me' hanging in the air, before glancing towards Kagome once more, " you are not strong enough."
"Are you?" Inuyasha, and Wind gave him an odd glance.
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean," Wind said airily, giving Sango a significant glance.
"I think you do, Miro-"
Sango cleared her throat purposely, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Fine," Inuyasha grumbled, giving Sango a sharp glare, "do you think you're strong enough? To protect her? To care for her? To love –"
"Inuyasha, you know as well as I do that this has nothing to do with love. You have lost her, and now she is empty… she has no source of direction. As her Mentor, you were meant to guide her and yet you did not. Because of that, she is breaking inside. Slowly, but surely, she is breaking. There is no way to protect her from that. To protect her from herself."
From her memories.
Sango glanced between the two men, a small line forming between her brows as she frowned, understanding, but not truly understanding.
"How is she special?" Sango asked then, causing the two Shadows to look away from each other and to her.
Inuyasha scowled. Wind smiled.
"I'm afraid that is not of your concern at the moment. Please, if you will Sango, do something for me," Wind asked as he moved away from the bed, from the sobbing and bleeding Kagome to take Sango's hand in his. "If you would please, I need you to find someone for me."
Sango merely huffed in annoyance, before nodding her consent. "If you wanted me to leave," she started stiffly, "you could have just asked me."
She smiled at the amused glance that Wind sent her, before bowing her head cordially at Inuyasha. "I'll see you around."
Inuyasha snorted, rolling his eyes as smoke danced around her, swallowing her whole, before she was visible no more.
And then, silence had descended upon both of them, drowning them, stifling them – and for a moment, Inuyasha wanted nothing more than to be out of her bedroom – beyond the walls of her home, and the memories, all of the painful haunting memories that she always managed to cause him whenever he looked at her. Whenever he gazed into those beautiful smoky blue-grey eyes and saw all of her emotions dancing behind them.
Perhaps it was for the best, losing her the way he did. Because then perhaps – perhaps – he wouldn't have to remember, and he wouldn't have to live with seeing her coated in blood every night, that weary resignation dancing across her beautiful, pale features. Her skin that was littered with tiny, almost invisible scars, scars that her Mirror – her own fucking Mirror, he thought with disgust – had caused. Had formed.
She had loved her Mirror hadn't she? And hadn't her Mirror loved her in return? They had meant something to each other. They were friends. Family. And now – now – because of him… because of him… Inuyasha chuckled bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest.
All my fault, it was always all my fault.
"Yes," Wind murmured almost inaudibly as he gazed at Kagome as she writhed on her bed, "yes I am."
"Yeah," Inuyasha replied, his heart heavy and his body weak, "with her, you'll have to be."
And through the solemn icy darkness, Inuyasha missed the sorrowful, sympathetic look that Wind – his master, his Mentor, his superior – sent him, begging him for forgiveness.
"Kagome?"
"I do-don't," she whispered as though in agony, tears streaming down her face, burning her skin. Causing her to tremble in terror, "I don't want to remember. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please Mama, please forgive me."
But everyone was silent, including her mother, as she looked at her daughter – her young, beautiful twelve-year-old daughter – shaking in terror. Knowing what she had done and simply being sorry for it.
"You're sorry?" Her mother asked, and her voice was oddly stilted. Cold. Haunted. "You're sorry?"
And then she was laughing, a cold, hollow, bitter laugh, as tears started to roll down her face, as the hurt and pain started surging through her heart. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't supposed to be happening this way. But life – no matter what she wanted – was cruel and wicked, and didn't care what her life was supposed to be like. What her dreams were or what she wanted.
"Mama… Mama, oh Mama, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to. Oh, Mama, please, Mama, I didn't mean to. I didn't mean it." Kagome whispered, sinking to her knees in terror, in sorrow, and in shock.
But her mother continued to cry, empty dry sobs, sounding bitter even through the pain. Sounding angry, disbelieving. As though she was hoping it wasn't true. As though hoping that her daughter wasn't sitting before her, covered in blood – covered in thick sticky blood that belonged to another whom she loved more dearly than anything. It simply. Wasn't. True. It couldn't be.
It couldn't afford to be.
"Kagome?"
Her voice was still cold, still bitter – as though asking for the worst, asking if she had enjoyed every minute of it. Wondering where she went wrong. How it happened.
"Tell me anything but the truth Kagome, please, tell me anything but the truth."
But Kagome continued to sob, and she was still covered in blood, shaking and trembling, knowing what had happened, and wanting to change it all.
"I'm sorry, Mama, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."
And her heart was plunging, sinking in her chest, as she heard her daughter whisper those pleas, those helpless pleas that made her want to sink to her knees in front of her, to bring her into her arms although she was covering in crusting, drying blood. Blood that wasn't hers. Blood that was never supposed to have been spilled.
"Oh God, Kagome. He was your brother. He was your brother. How could you? How could you do something like that?"
"I'm sorry Mama, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Please don't be mad, Mama. Please don't be mad. Please, I'm so sorry Mama."
But Mrs. Higurashi simply looked at her daughter, horror and disgust – despair, pain, sorrow – etched into her features. Not knowing what to do. Feeling torn. Helpless. It wasn't supposed to be that way. She was supposed to have both of them, both of her beautiful, gorgeous children, each of them waiting for their father to return back home. Back from the war, and they were supposed to be happy. Happy and peaceful and none of this was supposed to happen.
But she had seen her. She had seen Kagome sitting over her brother, screaming in pain. Terror. Shock at what had happened. And her screams were blood-curdling as it ripped through the air, slicing through her, burning her soul, and causing it to shatter. There was blood, and it was thick and red, seeping through her pink sundress, staining her beautiful white sandals, dripping from her long ebony locks. And there were tears. Tears of pain… terror, sorrow. It was all there.
Mrs. Higurashi could only stare in horror, hoping upon hope that she wasn't seeing her baby boy, lying there, his sweet chocolate eyes turned glassy, unseeing, as Kagome continued to scream, blood trickling from opened wounds. She had sunk to her knees, she remembered, watching as Kagome paused screaming, only for a brief moment, to lean down as kiss her brothers forehead, whispering to him, repeating one nauseating phrase over and over again.
'Please, don't tell Mama. Please, oh please, don't tell Mama.'
"Kagome?"
And her daughter snapped her gaze towards her mother; her red – red, Mrs. Higurashi's mind screamed at her, my baby's eyes aren't supposed to be red –eyes slowing dimming to smoky blue once more. And then she had scrambled away from her brother, whimpering, crying, begging her over and over to forgive her. Telling her that she didn't mean it. But then, then a servant had come in, one she hadn't recognized with beautiful shoulder length black hair tied into a ponytail, and he looked at Souta, then to Kagome, and then to Mrs. Higurashi before smiling sympathetically and walking over to Kagome, picking her up as she whispered her mantra over and over again.
And he turned to her, or so it seemed, and whispered harsh, accusing words at her before smiling gently at her, and helping her to stand. Helping her get her bearings.
But the words – oh his words – they haunted her, even as she stared at her youngest daughter, weeping. Even as she went up to her room without a word, ordering her servants – her handsome servant with the short black hair, to call the police, and to take care of Kagome. To keep her safe.
Because she wasn't sure that she could anymore.
But even as she laid down in her bed, to go to sleep, the image of her daughter – Kagome – sitting over her sons body, weeping and screaming, telling him not to tell on her, was etched in her mind. Haunting her.
Just as the voice of the man she didn't know, whispering those same, harsh and accusing words at her. Words that she was sure she would never forget.
"Remember what happens when you taint an innocent."
"Remember what happens when you taint an innocent…"
They were like distant memories, etching into her mind. Burning into her soul. And she could feel them sneaking up on her. She could feel them winding throughout her body, tying themselves to her, forcing her to relive them again. Forcing her to try to remember. To try to understand.
And she wanted to. So desperately, she wanted to wrap her fingers around the strange, chilling memories and understand what they had meant to her. Understand why they were dancing around her mind, dancing around the darkness that was only meant for her. That was only supposed to be hers.
Because it calmed her in a way that it could calm no one else, that she knew. It made her feel something that she had never felt before, that she wanted to feel, through the simplicity of it all. That she had wanted to feel for her entire life.
Nothing.
It made her feel nothing.
She should have been able to feel something in the darkness. Icy. Cold. Despair. Sorrow.
But she didn't.
Instead, she was merely there, feeling nothing, no pain, no sorrow, no loss…
A loss that she wanted to understand, that she wanted to be part of her.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me, Mama, I'm so sorry…"
But she couldn't. She couldn't understand because she didn't know why it was happening. She didn't know why she felt so much pain in the nothingness, stretching throughout her body, wrapping around her nerves and pinching and pulling and causing her to ache. Because – because distantly, she remembered seeing her Mirror, her Mirror watching her wistfully and asking her to let her live. Asking her to have mercy and give her the chance that she never had to walk around the Earth and be seen by someone that wasn't her.
To be normal. To be loved.
She had been loved once hadn't she? She had been wrapped in someone's arms, feeling their warmth permeating through her skin, touching her. Kissing her. Bringing her to release. Making her his.
Yes, it had happened once. But those memories… they hadn't happened before.
They hadn't touched her the way that someone – he, the one that she craved more than anything – had. They hadn't reached inside of her, and made her promises, however empty they may have been, and made her feel loved. No. These memories, these fragments of time, had not given her anything. Had not given her answers, or made her ask questions. Instead they hurt, and they made her ache. And she wanted so badly for them to simply go away, to stop torturing her and making her feel as though she were worthless, as though she had done something wrong.
She had never done anything wrong. Nothing that she could remember.
"Kagome, Gods, oh Gods, Kagome what happened to you…?"
The darkness was soothing. Comforting. Beautiful. And she wanted to drown in it. She wanted it to swallow her whole, and make her feel nothing, and everything at the same time. She wanted it to make her understand, understand why she was remembering things that weren't part of her… memories that weren't hers, but memories that had seemed so completely real. As though she had lived it once. As though she had lived through it once.
Because it couldn't be true.
Because her family… her family was home, sleeping in their beds while she was out at night. Hunting. Being taught how to hunt. Being taught how to survive by her Mentor. The man whom she remembered had the long, silky white hair and the beautiful amber eyes. The one that she had thought she liked, whom she thought she could like, but had betrayed her and caused her pain.
She was only twelve.
And she trusted too easily.
And yet…
"Why? He was your brother, how could you? How could you…?"
They were too cold. Too harsh. She wanted to be separated from them, she didn't want to have to live through them. To see the false memories. The false darkness that had trapped her and made her believe. Because – because it was just too painful. And it couldn't – it simply couldn't – be true.
She had loved them hadn't she?
She had loved her family with all of her heart, despite being so young, and she had needed them more than anything. She needed to feel their warmth, and their comfort, and she needed to love them and feel their love in a way that no one else could.
She cared for them more than anything.
More than herself.
So she couldn't…. she simply couldn't.
But, the darkness seemed to smile, curling around her and inserting more of the horrible images into her mind, you did. You tasted your brother's blood. You drove your mother into catatonia. You caused your father to leave you both, thinking you were insane. And then – then you killed your own mother. You tasted her blood, and you loved it. You enjoyed it. You always did. You always did.
"Kagome…"
"No," Kagome whimpered, writhing in the darkness, trying to push it away, "no, I never – I would never ever hurt them. I love them too much. You're lying. You're lying. You're lying!"
But of course, the darkness quivered as though excited, as though happy to be bringing her so much pain, and hurt – as though enjoying the fact that her heart was clenching in her chest painfully, her tongue swelling and her throat tightening in pain. In fear. Of course you would think that I was lying. The truth… you never enjoyed hearing the truth, did you Kagome? You could never handle it no matter how simple it was. You were simply too weak, to useless to acknowledge the truth that was dancing in front of your eyes. So why would you listen to the truth now? Why would you try to listen to me when all I want for you is to know the truth?
"Please, please stop. Please stop. I don't want to hear this. I don't need to hear, please just make it stop," Kagome whimpered, curling into a tiny ball, trying to block the voice from her mind, trying to keep herself warm in the chilling darkness. Trying to block his words…
The truth. You continue to hide from the truth.
"No," Kagome whispered, tears streaming from her eyes, "your lies. Your lies. I can't handle your lies."
"Kagome…"
What lies would those be, Child? The truth is simple, straightforward. It was always meant to hurt, to bring pain. Why won't you accept it? Why won't you grasp it? Your mother's blood, you enjoyed tasting it. You enjoyed bathing in it. She deserved it, you know, after she abandoned you like that. After she caused you so much pain… and your brother. You had apologized for it, hadn't you? You hadn't meant to hurt him, but your mother, she didn't believe you. She thought that you were nothing more than a monster. Your brother did too. As did your father. They never loved you the way you loved them. You took everything away from them – their lives, each other – and you did them a favor. Accept it, Kagome. Accept the fact that you killed them, that you bathed in their blood and that you loved it. Accept the fact that you're a monster.
"No," Kagome breathed, shaking her head furiously, "NO! I'm not – I have never been a monster! I'm not a monster! I didn't kill them! I didn't do it!"
"Kagome…"
"I didn't I swear I didn't!" She screamed, ignoring the frantic touches on her face, the warmth, the heat that had suddenly permeated through the chilling darkness. " I DIDN'T KILL THEM!"
"KAGOME!"
Time froze, and the darkness melted away, and suddenly she was staring up at the canopy of her bed, her eyes wide, sweat dripping down her body as she breathed short, but hard shallow breaths. As she tried to make sense of everything. As she smelled the coppery scent of blood mixed with smoke and rain and earth.
And there were blue eyes looking into hers, smiling gently, calming her.
And only one word managed to escape her lips, as he watched her gently – intently. Because warmth was flooding through her, warmth that she never knew existed as she fell into his arms, burying her head into his chest, and sobbed uncontrollably.
"Miroku…"
Please, oh please let this be more than a dream. Please, please let this be real.
Time drifted by slowly, freezing, wrapping around them both. Trying to comfort her.
She was the only one, he realized in that moment, the only one who was pure enough for time to stop for her. For time to tick by slowly, one minute stretching out to become a day, making her feel younger – always younger – and keeping her innocent. Naïve. Uncertain. But allowing her to feel emotions, allowing her to feel pain.
It caused her pain, he knew. It always caused her pain whenever it slowed down, becoming endless, becoming frozen. But she would have to live with it. She would have to live with knowing that it had been so long since they'd been gone. Since they had left her alone – everyone except for him, except for Inuyasha – and she had twisted time to her will. She had made time make her forget.
But she would have to remember.
Eventually, she would. Otherwise, otherwise…
"Kagome," he murmured, pulling away from her, forcing himself to smile, "Kagome what does she look like?"
Kagome blinked up at him, wiping away her tears, before glancing towards Inuyasha, giving him a small sad smile.
"What do you mean? I don't understand."
Miroku sighed, rubbing his hand against his brow, knowing that she knew, it would be preposterous for her not to know, and wondered why she made it so difficult.
"Kagome," Miroku started slowly, watching her intently, "your Mirror, what does she look like?"
"Oh. Oh! She looks, well, she looks like me of course. The word Mirror implies a reflection, doesn't it? Like a doppelganger?"
"Yeah," Inuyasha snorted from across the room, "and Wind should know that, he's not a fucking idiot."
Kagome shot Inuyasha sour look, before turning back to Miroku – Wind? Why must the underlings always call him by that ridiculous name? Kagome thought incredulously – her eyebrow arched in question.
"Is there anything different about her? Or does she look exactly like you?"
Kagome started to shake her head, before freezing, her eyes going wide as though in shock – in realization.
"Well, yeah, we pretty much look the same. I think I'm a bit softer maybe, and her eyes – oh gods her eyes – they are so dark, like chocolate, and so cold. But mine, mine are blue, and hers aren't. Hers are dark, like thick puddles of melted chocolate," Kagome mused aloud, thinking about her Mirror, her reflection.
"And what's her name Kagome?"
"Her name?" Kagome asked, playing with a lose thread on her sheet, "why do you want to her name? You aren't going to kill her are you?"
Miroku laughed gently at her, curling a lock of her ebony hair around his finger affectionately.
"Of course not, Kagome. It has not been, or never will be my intention to kill her. I would simply like to talk to her. So would you please give me her name?"
Kagome seemed hesitant at first, doubting his intentions, but she knew – she simply knew – that if she were to lie to him, if she were to make him angry, and she would pay. That she would be force to live without the warmth that he brought into her cold life, and knew that it would cause her more pain than she was used to. More pain than what was needed. Curling the red thread around her fingers, she sighed, glancing towards Inuyasha who was watching her with narrowed eyes. Who was daring her not to tell Miroku what her Mirrors name was. Who was begging her to disobey their master so that they – he – could touch her. So he could discipline her.
Frowning slightly, she glared at Inuyasha, before turning towards Miroku with a serious expression on her face. She would not give Inuyasha the pleasure of touching her. Of feeling her burning hatred, but instead, the cool icy fury that surged through her body.
'I have already Chosen…'
She simply wouldn't do it.
"Promise me," she demanded of both Miroku and Inuyasha, "promise me you won't kill her."
"I promise," Miroku answered automatically, and at once, she knew that it wasn't true.
Just like in my dreams… always like in my dreams.
But she smiled gently, and turned away from his beautiful, yet dark icy blue eyes, hoping that he couldn't see her fear. Hoping that he wouldn't know just how much she truly cared for her Mirror.
"Kikyou," Kagome whispered," her name is Kikyou."
Time seemed frozen, wrapped around her as both Miroku and Inuyasha stood silently, watching her with darkening expressions. Watching her as though she were about to disappear. As though she were about to change and melt into the shadows around them.
"Fucking shit! Kikyou? Of all the bitches… why the fuck did it have to be Kikyou?" Inuyasha growled angrily, before banging his head against the wall. "Fucking – Daughter – Darkness – Kikyou – Kagome – bitch – keh – must kill."
"Inuyasha…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Inuyasha growled, ignoring Miroku's warning tone, "wherever there's Kikyou, Naraku ain't far behind."
"Precisely, so if you would, go and get Kagura and –"
"Naraku?"
Both Inuyasha and Miroku turned to Kagome, watching as her skin drained of color, as she become drenched in sweat and as time slowed down around her, stifling her, causing her chest to rise and fall as she took quick, hard and shallow breaths.
And as though time were mocking them, it sped up once again, and the darkness around them slowly shifted into day, pouring in through her windows – begging them, beckoning them to leave. To go to safety.
But it was too late.
Because time was dancing around them too quickly, because they could feel it, under their skin, causing them to grow older, to feel more pain – more agony.
And before they could do anything to stop it, Kagome's body lurched, her eyes rolled up in her head, and she screamed.
The room erupted in flames.