Kagome; a twisted fairytale
A strange story of startling similarities and mind boggling differences
You might say that the theory of infinite realities is a myth, pure science fiction. You see the reality around us all and say "this is all that is; nothing else can possibly exist." You would be wrong.
For every action in one reality there is a different action in another reality. The result of which is this; the further away from the reality you are familiar with you get, the stranger the action necessary to create the reality you arrive in. The improbability also increases, until you reach a point in the universe where the impossible is, in fact, quite possible. Welcome to quantum mechanics.
Of course, long before you reach this level you will reach a point were you can no longer exist in a manner you can relate to, as life as a green blob of jelly is just not fun.
There is, however, a point you can go to that will seem the exact mirror of your dimension without losing any of the relative laws of physics for your particular universe. In reality, such as it is, this is more of a halfway point than a true opposite, but after this you would not be capable of comprehending more than the fact that you are now a blob of green jelly.
So, now that the strange endless army of simians with antiquated writing machines has finally come up with a decently worded Shakespearean play, I will tell you this story.
In other words, hang onto your seats, the monkeys' just handed me Macbeth!
Kagome was pissed; we're not talking just a little pissed, we're talking red eyed murderous pissed. The kind of pissed you have to reach before you murder someone by skinning them alive. Which was unusual, because Kagome considered herself to be a fair and level headed person; usually she would only skin them after they were dead.
She kicked up, catching the punk in the head, and then, because the bastard was still standing, she punched him hard, just below the rib cage. There was a whooshing sound as his breath left him and he stumbled back four paces before he sank to the ground in an incoherent lump.
Kagome sneered at his fallen form before glaring at his two buddies, who suddenly decided they had much better things to be doing than molesting young girls in dark alleys, like shitting themselves.
Kagome stalked off and headed for home, leaving the three bullies in the ally. She did not stop at any of her usual haunts. Normally she would be wandering the streets for a few more hours before going home, but those punks just seemed to suck all the fun out of her day. There was just something about the necessity of beating up useless turds like them that really ruined her fun.
She only really enjoyed fighting when her opponent had enough skill to match hers. She wasn't a bully, and so fighting weaker opponents held no appeal to her. Kendo and classical swords training will do that to you. Archery was good too, but it didn't quite compare to the rush of losing yourself into the action of fighting your opponent up close and personal.
Kagome frowned, recalling a time when she had thought differently, a happier time. But then her father had been found dead, killed on his way home from work, and her perfect world had shattered.
Her mother had enrolled her in a kendo dojo, trying to give her daughter the ability to defend herself. Kagome took to it like a bird to the air; it was something she could lose herself in, a place were she could go and not think or feel, but move.
After a few years though, the dreams started to come back, and so she searched for more martial arts, hoping that if she learned enough, the knowledge would crowd the horror from her mind. It hadn't worked.
The belated grieving had marked her, scarring her permanently. She was bitter now, but still she kept fighting, working at swords and archery and hand to hand combat, hoping that maybe someday she would be able to fight the shadows that haunted her.
But the shadows were indefinable, and so she could not fight them; instead she lashed out at anyone around her; her mother, her grandfather, her teachers, there were some days she didn't even bother going to school, and she rarely came home before midnight.
And so it was that her mother was quite surprised when Kagome came through the door, swung her long black coat off, and sat down at the dinner table glaring around with her mascara lined eyes as if daring anyone to ask her why she was home. Her mother gave her a sad look but said nothing, and her grandfather apparently hadn't noticed her at all; he was telling Souta a story about something called the shikon jewel.
Kagome would have normally ignored the story altogether, but something about the tale seemed familiar. It would not have surprised her if her grandfather had told the story before, he often told stories many times, but Kagome was quite certain she had never heard this particular story before.
Kagome frowned slightly, poking at the lemon chicken in front of her with her chopsticks; she hadn't even noticed her mother set it in front of her. Something about the tale of the priestess, the demon lord and the swordswoman who traveled together to restore the sacred jewel to purity seemed familiar, but also wrong somehow. It was as if someone had taken her favorite fairytale and twisted it, so that the sleeping princess didn't fall in love with the prince but killed him instead. It was an odd thought; she didn't even like fairytales, let alone have a favorite one.
She blinked, breaking the spell the story had put over her with a shake of her head. She was being silly; it was just a story, a strangely familiar one, yes, but still a story. She turned to her chicken, eating only half of it before giving up and going to bed.
As she went about her nightly ablutions, she pondered the story; she couldn't seem to get it out of her head. It was just so odd; none of her grandfathers' stories had ever seemed that real; it was as if she could almost see the demon lord glaring at her with a dangerously blank expression, and could almost hear the priestess's melancholy voice.
As she settled into bed, scratching her cat Buyo behind the ears, she got a sudden image of a cat with three tails; it was such a strange image that she decided that she must be unusually tired if she were dreaming before she was even asleep. She promptly rectified the situation, slipping into a deep sleep, dreaming of dogs, cats, and funny pink rocks.
AN/ well here it is, the alternate reality fic I said I might do. I am presenting the first four chapters together as the first arc. Three guesses as to the characters identity.