Linger
It didn't happen the way she had heard in all those glorious tales.
The battle was over; she was victorious. It was done. In the stories, she would have died the instant her foe had. Confident in having accomplished her goal, she would have let her spirit leave this world in triumph, heralded in the glory of the moment instead of allowing her grievous injuries to slowly slip her from this world. She would have died the moment the battle was won.
But she didn't.
Sango lingered; it was instinct that drove her to clutch hands already slippery with blood over her gaping wounds, trying in desperate futility to keep her innards from slipping out. The pool of blood she lay in was ever growing, and yet still she lingered.
A growing coldness spread throughout her body, beginning sluggishly in her fingers and toes and yet steadily growing to claim her limbs. And yet still she lingered.
Kikyo left her lying there. The miko had left without a word, though the distant screams made it apparent enough what she was doing. The priestess had taken it upon herself to search the castle and rid it of any errant minions left behind. Eventually the screams became fewer, with longer periods of silence left between, and it became apparent that all followers of Naraku would soon be scourged from the world.
It might have been hours or days later by the time the miko returned to her; Sango really didn't know. She slipped in and out of consciousness too often to keep track of the passing of time. All that she knew was that one moment she was alone, and the next the other woman was standing over her, her dark eyes carefully guarded. The serene priestess frowned slightly, looking confused.
"Why do you linger, taijiya?" she asked finally. "Your wish has been granted; Naraku is dead. His soul is destroyed."
Sango wondered if Kikyo would understand if she explained that every time she closed her eyes, it was to imagine she was once again staring into a pair of beautiful violet ones. She wondered if Kikyo would believe her if she explained how ever time she was certain she was slipping into the nether darkness, gentle, laughter filled voice would always beckon her back. She wondered if the dead woman could believe a poignant desire to merely see a man's right hand bare, uncovered with brace and armguard and rosary beads, was so great that it was worth lingering in agony just for the chance.
A fond, gentle smile curved at the corners of her blood-covered lips, but she decided against saying this.
There was more to it, anyway.
"I will not die for Naraku," she whispered instead, taking great care not to choke on her own blood. "To die simply because he is gone – is to base my death on him. He took my life. Not my death. He cannot have my death."
"Such a warrior – you would fight death itself," Kikyo murmured, her cool expression never faltering. And yet… there seemed to be a certain flicker of understanding in her pale brown eyes.
Before Sango could wonder on it, however, the priestess abruptly leaned down and shoved the half of the Shikon Jewel into her bloody hands. "I have business to attend to," she spoke softly, and then was gone, leaving Sango to her secret musings.