ONE SHOT - Fabricated
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Pretend.
It seemed to be an endless game she played with him. Time after time, she'd become fed up and decide to smack some sense into his brain. Literally. Though, like every game, there comes a time when the participants lose their enthusiasm and, ultimately, tolerance.
Especially when they're engaged.
"I assure you that my comrades and I will not fail to slay the demon that is terrorizing your palace," she watched him repeat the same oath said to every noble, merchant, or peasant with their needed shelter.
Sango eyed the others as she gripped the sling of her hiraikotsu. Shippou rested warmly in Kagome's arms as he slept. She held him gently with a small smile on her face, hoping that it'd hide the tired expression she longed to release. Inuyasha yawned arrogantly, too tired to display the proper etiquette. Sango sighed, feeling guilty for her energy-deprived friends.
Because of her previous injuries, she was left to stay in Kaede's village to recover. At that same time, the others searched for jewel shards and encountered various demons. Sango hated letting her injuries get in the way of assisting the others. The bags under Kagome's eyes became visible and Inuyasha's common scowls were less audible. They were in an inevitable need for rest.
With that thought in mind, Sango despised herself for letting her emotions interfere with the health of her comrades. Yes, she wanted them to regain their energy. Yes, it was fortunate to encounter a palace in need of their services.
But in no way was it okay for Miroku to be eyeing their princess!
Sango watched as Miroku spoke to the maiden before him. The smile on his face made her heart both melt and harden.
"Thank you, Sayako-hime," he said with a bow. "Your hospitality will not be forgotten. I look forward to the adventure of our stay."
The princess let out a girlish giggle. Her painted lips curved upward as she sweetly smiled at the monk. Her elegantly powdered face gazed upon him like the moon in the night. Sango's eyes traveled down to the robes of the princess. The layers and layers of beauty compounded the maiden. Silken and flower patterns decorated the cloth with modesty and innocence.
Sango picked at the hem of her yukata. Her gaze averted towards Miroku. The look in his eyes became legible. He savagely gawked the image of the princess into his brain. Sango's eyebrows became knit.
"Sango?" Kagome's voice entered with hesitance. Sango's eyebrows relaxed as she focused on the raven-haired girl. "Is something the matter?"
Glancing over towards Miroku and the princess, Sango sighed and shook her head.
The group was escorted to their separate rooms by the guards. Sitting outside of her room, Sango looked up at the night sky. It was a pity Kagome and Inuyasha couldn't see this. She also knew that if she woke either of them up to look at something simple as the moon, they'd never forgive her. Sighing, Sango leaned against a wooden pillar.
The moon.
It was as white and pure as the face of the princess. The softness and gentleness of the sky was portrayed on land through Sayako-hime. The clouds that encircled the moon reminded Sango of the robes wrapped around the princess. The lively colors of her clothing balanced with the serene expression on her face.
Sango had never worn such clothing. She never felt the gentle fabric of silk along her skin. She often heard other women complain about the heaviness of their robes and thus shook her head when her father offered to purchase one for her sixteenth birthday. Though, deep inside, she longed to feel the weight. A part of Sango desired a mask of instant beauty. For a moment, even if it were only a few seconds, her heart yearned for a chance to embrace the benefits given by her mother.
But to long for physical beauty was both superficial and shameful. Sango didn't want to paint her lips a vivacious red. She'd run away each time one of her aunt's would attempt to place powder on her face. She didn't need such accessories; she was a taijiya.
Warriors didn't wear makeup. They didn't worry about vibrant robes or irresistible scents. The extra weight would hold back their abilities and the only scents carried with them were gas bombs. A warrior did not need to be physically beautiful. They were beautiful on the battle field because that's where it all mattered.
They acted out beauty without needing to be beautiful.
But still, as she sat alone outside of her room, Sango admired the way the stars stood out in the dark sky. She sat amazed by their efforts and success to be recognized in a sea of darkness.
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While all were asleep, the eyelids of a simple monk were still folded. After finally ending an interminable conversation with the eager princess, he began his retreat to the woman attracting his true desires. However, his hopes were turned down to discover her absence. Although he knew it was a drastic gesture to enter uninvited, he went with his gut feeling. After all, she did accept to his proposal, why wouldn't it be okay?
Staring at her empty bed, a sly grin folded across his lips. Removing his monk robes, Miroku changed into the proper night clothes. After folding his clothing and placing them onto the side with his shakujo, he waited patiently for his fiancé to enter.
Time passed and his eyelids became heavy. Sitting with his back against the wall, he continued to wait for the woman he longed to speak with since their arrival.
Just as his eyes closed, the sound of the sliding door echoed in his ears. Jolting up, Miroku let out a startled gasp. A small yelp was heard from the enterer followed by a small thump.
"Miroku?" the familiar voice he cherished whispered. His heart calmed, embarrassed by his jumpy behavior. "What're you doing here?"
"I came to see you," he whispered back, walking forward. Sango bent down the pick up the fallen object. "What is that?" he asked curiously, squinting to make it out in the darkness.
Swiftly picking it up, Sango quickly placed it onto her bed and covered it with her blanket. Turned to face him, she straightened her white robe.
"It's nothing," she replied, barely hiding back her scowl. "Weren't you given your own room?" she whispered bitterly while walking away. Miroku stood without a reply.
Light entered the room as Sango activated a heat lamp. Miroku watched as her back faced him, obviously not wanting to look him forward.
"Yes, I was," he replied, desperately wanting to break the awkward silence. "But–"
"Then you know it is wrong to disrespect their generosity and vacate their room." Sango interrupted as she turned. "So, please, I don't want Sayako-hime to feel that we are ungrateful."
Perplexed by her resistance, Miroku began to fiddle with the ends of his pony tail. He traced her face, hoping to find some clue as to what was the real problem, but found nothing. Her eyes avoided his, but he was far from giving up the search.
"Sango," he tried smiling. "We're engaged. I'm sure she'll understand."
She was silent.
The quiet reaction terminated his confidence.
"We are engaged," he said slowly, more as a question rather than a statement. "Right?"
Again, she was silent. Miroku ran his hands through his hair. He hand scratched the nape of his neck with frustration.
"So you've reconsidered my proposal?"
Licking her lips, Sango finally looked up at him.
"I have not reconsidered it," she said. Miroku brought his hand down as he calmed. "Though, I may recommend that you do." His eyes widened with shock and confusion.
"Why would I do something that foolish?" Miroku grinned, giving a small chuckle at her question. Waiting for her to reply, the awkward silence returned to the room.
It wasn't like he really wanted her to answer his question.
It was completely rhetorical.
"How many women have you been with, Miroku?" Sango asked suddenly. Miroku's face went red as he began to stammer with his words. Shaking her head, she continued. "I'm sure most of them are the types with elegant silk dresses and enchanting hairpins that dangle."
Stopping his stammering, Miroku raised his eyebrow.
"I've seen the way you look at the noblewomen in the villages we come across," Sango continued, walking towards her bed. As she sat down, she fidgeted with the hem of her blanket. "You stare at them with desire and a passion I've never been given. Not by you. Not by any other man."
"Sango, what're you talking about?" he asked, not wanting to believe that she's actually saying such words.
"Those women!" she exclaimed. "Those women with their layers and layers of elaborate robes. With their scented perfumes and their makeup. Oh Gods, their makeup! Powdered faces and red lips that make men fall to their knees. The ones that portray the same beauty on land that I see every night in the sky. That is what I'm talking about!"
Miroku shook his head, barely understanding her frustration.
"Why?"
As she looked down at her lap, she fiddled with her fingers.
"Because I have never been one of those women," she said shame faced. "My skin has never embraced the beauty that the average maiden so regularly flaunts; let alone the ones you've been with."
The familiar silence flooded the room between the two lovers.
Miroku stood before Sango, repeating her words in his mind over and over again. He sighed, looking for the right words to say to her. Was she honestly comparing herself to other women? It was unlike her.
Was she honestly feeling inferior to women of the robes? The ones who never showed their true faces in public? The ones who could barely lift their arms over their heads because of the weight of their sleeves? The ones that practically bathed in false scents in order to make themselves portray a walking flower? Surely Sango thought of herself better.
He knew she was far, far, better than those women.
"It has come to my attention that the only confidence you have is on the battlefield," Miroku said teasingly as he sat next to her on the sheets. He saw her give a small grin and shake her head. "But, alas, you are a warrior and that is a definite requirement." he cleared his throat.
"Though, I have not forgotten that you are, indeed, a maiden. A very special one at that," he continued. "You're right about not ever being one of those women. I doubt any one of them would ever fight a spider demon with their bare hands," he tapped his chin contemplatively. "Or challenge Inuyasha to a duel; or wield the hiraikotsu; or have the courage to live each day through their own personal suffering." Miroku grinned as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Or have the same dynamic effect on me with a single smile."
Sango felt her cheeks become warm. It was so like Miroku to use his flattery at a time like this.
"I hope to never look at you with desire and passion," he continued. Sango frowned as her heart dropped. She opened her mouth to question, but was halted as Miroku placed a finger to her lips. "That's lust, Sango. And you deserve much, much more than that. You deserve someone to need you because they love you; not the other way around."
With a small squeeze on her shoulder, Miroku stood up and retrieved his robes and shakujo. As he slid open the exit of Sango's room, he turned to her.
"And Sango," he said simply, his blue-violet eyes trailed her distraught facial expression. "A princess wearing a thousand royal robes could never compare to the woman I see everyday in her taijiya uniform and yukata."
With that, he exited and walked to his vacant room. Sango stared at the closed slide in front of her. She listened to the sound of his footsteps until they faded. Gulping, Sango stood and slid open her exit. Her bare feet collided with the wooden floor as she walked out of her room.
Her eyes drifted towards the sky and searched for the moon, but it could not be found. All she saw were clouds encircling a faded figure. Clouds hovered over the figure and shielded its identity. Sango squinted as she continued to search for the bright, ideal moon in the sky.
It was never found.
Sighing, Sango leaned against the wooden pillar and continued to gaze at the night. The moon had vanished. Its desired light disappeared out of no where. She thought it'd be visible forever. The moon always haunted her whenever she was out alone in the night. It constantly smiled down at her on the nights when she felt so alone.
When she received news of her mother's death, she cried under the moon. When the villagers scolded her, she picked flowers in the night. When she discovered what Naraku had done to Kohaku, the moon allowed her to drown in sadness.
But now it was gone.
And all that was left were the stars.
The stars that appeared despite the number of clouds. The stars that shined so brightly that she had come to admire their perseverance. The stars that came in numerous numbers. The stars that brought the same brightness of the moon.
All that was left were the stars.
Walking back into her room, Sango flipped her blanket to reveal the object she had hidden from Miroku. She looked down at the material lying peacefully on her sheets. Her fingers caressed the softness and cool feeling of the cloth. Even under the vague assistance of the heat lamp, the colors of the cloth made her brown eyes dance. Her hand gripped the end of the robe and she held it up.
Sango made a note to return it to Sayako-hime in the morning.
She didn't need it anymore. She didn't need to portray the walking moon. She didn't need to dazzle others with a fabricated layer of beauty.
The moon is constant. It remains the same in all angles. Its importance is never overlooked and scarcely underestimated. Though, because it is constant, it is vulnerable and unable to fight against all substances wanting to shield its power.
Then all that is left are the stars.