Pairing: Kanna/Sesshoumaru

Color: Pink

Verb: Crying

Scent: Blood

The milky white moon hung high in the midnight sky and wisps of tainted clouds danced and carried over its bright luminosity. The Western Lord stared up at the solemn orb with a vacant expression but an overflowing mind. The wind disturbed the silvery lengths of his hair and tousled the thick fabric of his clothing yet his thoughts continued to compile.

As of late he chose nights of full moon to allow himself such solitude. Even his toad-like retainer remained scarce and from there it was simple to keep his human ward occupied with other things, specifically sleep.

Though it wasn't things of such that plagued his mind. It was the thick scent of his hanyou enemy with a mingled odor of blood. And passed the whistling wind his sensitive ears heard, but barely, a low whimper and subtle groans. So, now his mind reeled on whether it would be worth his time to see his claimed enemy, or one of his detachments, on the brink of death.

His intimidating amber eyes gave a slight roll as he allowed himself an uncharacteristic indulgence of curiosity getting the best of him...


Sesshoumaru stared down at her with a surveying disgust. At first sight he recognized her, even passed her mangled form, tattered clothing and strained features. Such a contrast to the spotless white, that always dominated her appearance and the blank almost bland expression, that seemed to stone her face.

Yes, he had seen her before but never knew her name, never wanted her name or needed it. Naraku seemed sufficient enough for the whole lot. They all carried the same scent so he noted them all as one.

She laid there, eyes wide with rigid lines of pink eating away at the quivering white that surrounded the listless onyx of her sight. The white tufts of her hair were tangled and matted with the deep crimson of her life's blood and the briny fluid that poured from retched eyes of a bottomless duct. Not far from her deteriorating form lay a shattered mirror, its shards reflecting the moon's somber glow as ethereal wisps of forgotten souls spilled from each piece.

Sesshoumaru's lip threatened to pull up into a sneer as the sickening scent of death wafted its way towards his sensitive muzzle. The swords at his hip pulsed. One craving the bitter taste of another's demise, the other wishing to aid and feed another with life and its many delights. Neither option intrigued him. Both willed mercy and he was quite content with showing none.

Death would work its own cold claws around her at its own pace. He need not interfere.