Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha. If I did, it would probably be ruined ((sob)).
Title: Whispers of Heroes
Rating: T
Categories: Angst/Tragedy
Summary: When the heroes have fallen, all you have left are their whispers on the wind...
Status: Drabble
Word Count: 438
Warnings: Short, depressing, some character deaths, just good ol' angst.
Characters: Kagura, Naraku
Pairings: None
Notes: This whole collection (they are individual drabbles but share the same themes) is dedicated to Whisper and Hero (a.k.a. Fudge 1 and Fudge 2). Recently, my dog had two puppies (born on 17 January 2006). On 18 January, the first born (Whisper) died around 19:00 GMT. The next day, the second born (Hero) also passed away. Both had 'Fading Puppy Syndrome'. Rest In Peace.
WHISPERS OF HEROES
When the heroes have fallen, all you have left are their whispers on the wind saying...
"A heart for a heart..."
Flowerperson
© 2006
R.I.P. WHISPER AND HERO
(17 Jan—18/19 Jan)
"A heart for a heart..."
She clutches it in her hand, and cannot describe the uplifting feeling that rises up from within her—emotion she never thought she could contain. What can she identify it as? A feeling of superiority, of power. For once, she was the master and he was the servant; he was under her command.
His life was in her hands.
Literally.
Her hands caressed Naraku's heart, poking and prodding at it randomly or whenever the feeling took her. Feelings she had long thought that she had lost, or not even owned in the first place. A lack of emotion that he had bribed her with. How ironic, she thought, that it was her that now tightened her grip on the object, clenching it, crushing it, breaking it. For each time that he had punished her with her lost organ, she would cause him pain.
And how pleasing it was to see the look of anguish—of hurt—spread across his face each time that her fist contracted. It was something that could only be defined as satisfaction, another emotion she had once lost.
Kagura's grin widened as she crouched down to his level, lying on the floor. Her red eyes gazed deep into his, full of mirth and amusement. She was mocking him, just as he had. She was taunting him, just as he had. She was punishing him, just as he had.
How does it feel, she questions, to be lower than the dirt? How does it feel to be the rotting scum? How does it feel to be powerless?
A cruel joke, of course. She knows he cannot feel, just like she once couldn't. But now she can, she can feel everything. She can sense freedom reaching for her and she can experience this magnificent high—like flying far above the clouds—deep in her soul, her heart.
Naraku gasps, telling her that she was nothing ("NOTHING!") without him. She was a part of him: his incarnation. When he fell, she would slowly succumb to insanity without him there to guide her, to correct her when she took a wrong route into virtuousness and love. He reminded her of who she was when she thought that she could be good, that she could love.
As her hand constricts further, breaking the thing inside it, Naraku is gone. Dead. Defeaten. To the vacant space he leaves behind and a small pile of violet ashes, she merely whispers: "I am the wind."
What was the saying? An eye for an eye? It seemed that in this scenario, it was a heart for a heart.
A heart for a heart.