A/N: This is quite an angsty fic, but it comes at a price: Botan knows what she's talking about here. I'm quite proud of her for writing it the way she did; it probably took a lot of guts to do it. Just remember that if it all happens again, I'll be happy to come over and read King Lear to you, anytime.

Witty Disclaimer: We don't own Inuyasha; however we are capable of stealing hairs and making Shikigami counterparts, complete with fun-noodle swords.

Frustrated

I'm dying.

I think the others tend to forget this. Sometimes I forget too.

But the pain keeps me up at night. A kazaana hurts, even when you're not incapacitating yourself with saimyoushou.

People say I'm a poor excuse for a houshi—lying and stealing, drinking sake and groping women and, according to them, taking life so lightly.

Yes, I'm having a wonderful time.

There is something large and evil and toxic growing inside of me. And it's going to kill me. And there's not a thing I can do about it.

And it's all so tragically, stereotypically, laughably unfair.