Arrow
It felt so welcoming and reassuring. To have something so simple, yet so deadly cradled in your pale, innocent fingers. So many have used it for war, but priestesses have used it to protect. Was there truly a difference?
The winds felt just right. They whisper, provoking her to nock an arrow.
"Please. Just one," they beg, "No one has to know."
She sniffles. Darkness looms.
That voice—Naraku—a shadowy masquerade.
"Inu—yasha," she strains and tugs at the arrow, pulling back the bowstring.
He turns; a dying glimpse of red.
Ping.
Slow motion...
"NOOOOOOO!" A scream that falls upon deaf ears.
The bow slips from her rickety grasp.
Correction.
There was a difference.