Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha or the word "ficlet." I shamelessly borrowed them (permanently) from Rumiko Takahashi and Aejavu, respectively.
Kikyou
Kikyou swayed in her spot dangerously, but she didn't care. Inuyasha…
…he's dead…
She wondered vaguely why she wasn't happy. After all, wasn't she alive simply to drag his soul down to hell with her? Maybe it was because she hadn't been the one to grant him passageway.
No, her soul was trembling with the same emotions it had that fateful day fifty years ago.
Anger, sorrow, longing; they filled her and left just enough room for one thought.
He left me. He doesn't love me.
Then she realized—his death wasn't what she had wanted. Not death, only love.