A shrill wind whipped through the city when my father finally returned the next evening. There was an irony; I could feel a storm growing in the air as well as between my parents. I was standing in a doorway, Kirei still in the garden, when he had approached her. She embraced him excitedly then pulled back and asked him how he was.
"I am well, Kirei, although I am tired. I will be retiring early tonight," he told her, his voice poisoned with a guilt ten times more than that I felt.
"Well that's the same thing your son said, yet it seemed that this journey was uneventful. Neither of you have any dazzling stories to tell, so certainly you are exaggerating your 'tiredness'," Kirei said in a nonchalant tone, coyly wrapping one of her platinum tresses around her index finger. "Or is there a dazzling story you wish to tell me?"
My father glared at me, saying nothing, but immediately relaxed his stare, most likely remembering that my mother had an intuition like a sixth sense; able to read others and almost know their intentions before they said anything. He then averted his eyes to my mother, giving her a distressful, sensitive sort of look.
"What is with the sympathetic looks lately, dearest? Ever since you began going to that sea port town, you can't seem to look at me without an air of shamefulness," she cooed with innocence meant to invoke more remorse from my father, then drastically changed her tone to jagged and demanding. "What is it that you are hiding from me? Even if you don't tell me now, my son will, so you may as well come clean." She knew I was watching.
I saw my father sigh, then take one of Kirei's fragile hands in his. "I know you suspect a dishonorable act on my behalf and it is with good reason. I do regret to inform you that I have been...unfaithful. I have fallen in love with a mortal woman...I never meant to hurt you...and before you say a word, understand that there is little one can do when he loves someone, but doesn't understand her. There is little I can do, Kirei. You are too much for me."
"But I understand betrayal," she said her voice surprisingly amiable and cocky. "It is something even the lowliest scum can comprehend. You don't think enough of me to remain loyal, so I should not be surprised that you don't think I understand a concept so simple. But what you forgot to mention is that you care nothing for your son's name and reputation, let alone my own. Now he is burdened by a father who is disgraceful and possibly; God forbid, a half-demon sibling. How utterly selfish of you. You first son Sesshomaru will feel the impacts of your actions for long after your death." Kirei snapped. "And less importantly, you have killed me."
"What are you talking about?" Father asked.
Kirei slowly produced the dagger that she carries in her obi. She gently pushed back from him and held it to her throat, its brilliant steel sharpness resting on her, delicate bare skin. "It is not my hand that holds the handle of this knife, dear. It is not the hand of your devoted mate, the mother of you son, the woman who loves you more than any human possibly could. It is not the hand that soothed you stressed brow or penned numerous speeches for the betterment of you name. It is your own hand, singed by venomous betrayal and eternal degradation. Don't you see it?" My father's eyes remained steadfastly plastered on Kirei's. "This is what dishonesty does, my love; this is the product of weakness." Kirei concluded calmly. My mother looked at me and smiled, then looked back to my stunned father.
"Mother! Stop being so brash!" I called to her, taking a small step in her direction.
Instead of speaking, she shot me a glance, not angry, but it was warning me against interfering.
"Kirei. Listen to your son. For his sake; not mine, don't do this," he said, trying to pacify a woman who was already as serene as a mirror still lake.
She chuckled in response to his comment. "Dear, I am doing nothing. I love you; I always have adored you and my son. Don't you recall what I told you? I'm not holding any knife. Just remember," she said, eerily composed, "That this is not suicide." With that, (and much to my surprise and horror) my mother flicked her wrist, drawing the blade gracefully over the fair, delicate skin of her throat. A trickle of blood seeped out of her neck, then on to her gold-colored kimono, instantly turning the upper half of it a glistening vermillion. Her emerald eyes shone, glazed and appeased by the point she undoubtedly made. My father caught her lifeless body, the quickly glanced over to me. I was mortified; my throat closed up and I could not have spoken even if I had wanted to. Swiftly, I disappeared behind a door, and then slammed it as a light rain began to fall.
Once inside, I fell to my knees, ashamed of my father, but moreover grieving the loss of my only mother. I could hear the rain pound more steadily on the roof and see the dull, flittering light of a candle on the wall; I could smell the wood of the floor and feel the gentle lick of silk on my arms, however all that seemed unimportant in comparison to the tears I tasted on behalf of a fateful treachery.
