Chapter Two
The Question of Worth
Her eyebrow twitched a bit off beat with her distress as she heard her name called out for the second time. The voice.. who does it belong to..? A man.. but who… ? So calming and reassuring… even enough to assuage the very fact that she had been in the mist of reliving an old over-abused memory, complementary to a twist. Kitsunu had long forgotten a voice like that… Slowly her eyes eased open, only to meet the palest sliver of light as it beamed from a rectangular window.
One of the things she really hated were her dreams, simply because they consumed her mind and made her even more susceptible.. not only to attackers but to on-looker's pity. After everything around her settled again, she felt another presence looming awfully close, and after tilting her head to see what exactly was there… her expression didn't change from that sheer detached stare. There was so much she hid from the world around her that her actions under the influence of sleep exposed. The extent as to which she could hide had its limitations. Why he was sitting there.. she could have accused him of things, but she decided against it, partly because he had spared her the very ending that was still fresh in her mind. It seemed minutes piled up as no one spoke, and she locked her eyes onto his. It seemed the very gleam that quivered in her ocher spiced optics was the door that sealed so many secrets, stories that had long been forgotten to anyone but the glimmer that strained to hide them still.
Exhaling sharply, she broke the stare as she sat up, her hands poised awkwardly in her lap. As she caught glimpses of her hands, another shimmering in her eyes was established, and as her eyes took in the fact that her robe had slipped… the necklace. In all its spiteful glory it seemed to snicker. She simply readjusted her collar without saying a word, extra sure to tuck the charm under the cross of her yutaka. Trust me…Love me, Kitsunu. I'll fix everything… I'll make you perfection again.
Still there was silence, in which it appeared the houshi craved to break it, but was far too hesitant, or perhaps afraid that any choice word might trigger anything other then the goodness of his intentions. Kitsunu stood speaking as she ambled towards the door.
"I need some fresh air, you should return to sleep, houshi." There was a distance in her voice that seemed to push her out of existence as her form was sealed behind the slide of a door. The atomic need to cancel out all human interaction rung with the sheer emotionless of her voice. Empty… as if she was truly hallow to everything, dead even, to anything that she couldn't feel or think. Maybe that's where that houshi got her, because she could simply feel his presence, his words, over those of any other human. Her mind was echoing the opinions of whether or not that was her weakness and longing for the slightest compassion that didn't promise more death to follow or simply rotting insanity's toll on her consciousness. Maybe I am fading…
That silence…he couldn't have said he was expecting it, but he couldn't deny that it had been their only option. If he had spoken, he would have erred, and she would not have said a word. He felt he should have said something, though…anything at all to break the tension, to prevent the edge in her voice from simply breaking that…understanding they had reached. Miroku wasn't certain that he should think of it as such, though, because he didn't know that he understood anything about Kitsunu. Her eyes certainly mocked that belief and it was scattered, like the shards of a fallen stained-glass window: beautiful, but broken. With Kitsunu, like a butterfly -with pretty stained-glass wings- fluttering out of his grasp every time he thought he'd…found her. But like a child, he would try to recollect the pieces of the stained-glass window and find the butterfly again, because butterflies were always hiding between the flowers -right in front of you- and glass can always be repaired.
Miroku almost smiled at the thought, but he lost the expression somewhere in the confusion -multi-colored, as it was. He rose slowly from where he had been kneeling, his calves aching. …return to sleep, houshi. But she didn't really want that, because…
Because…no one wanted to be lost?
Maybe she does.
Because no one wanted to be alone, with their thoughts?
Maybe she does.
Because no one, not even Kitsunu, could possibly dislike Miroku's presence (or she would have killed him already).
And she certainly wouldn't dislike it anymore than she would have hated his dreams (he blamed her yukata). And Miroku needed answers -that she wouldn't give him, anyway. Perhaps, Kitsunu needed a…friend. The houshi shook his head; that was too much to hope for, but it was near enough what was realistic, because 'friend' could be anyone who wasn't an enemy -in Sengoku Jidai, it always had been, and in Naraku's Sengoku Jidai, it had to be.
So, he opened the sliding doors, and stepped outside. "I hope you don't mind my presence, Kitsunu-sama, but I thought I'd stretch by legs. I won't disturb you." Hopefully. Miroku said cheerily, as though nothing had happened, as though that silence hadn't happened, and that…that…emptiness hadn't happened. But it had, he just didn't know what else to do about it, except...pretend (was he pretending?).
With the absence of acknowledgement, she seemed to be frozen in time again, only for the catalyst of relief was broken by the smoothness of his voice. Kitsunu knew the houshi would follow, as it was in his very character. What his incentives were however, Kitsunu hadn't enough desire to establish a prediction quite yet. She had half the mind to respond, thusly her lips opened, but, just as quickly they sealed again, canceling any words that might have spawned behind them. Again with the timidness…
Cupping her pale chin in her gloved palm she just glued her eyes to a star she had claimed so many years ago as hers. A star that sparkled with an awkward blue color, one that reminded her of a certain yearning she had forgotten, but wished so badly to remember. The atmosphere was quiet, and so far the houshi had kept his words, but Kitsunu's mind felt numb, and too sensitive to that individual set of images and words. Her eyes narrowed for a moment as she refocused on her star, a dusty cloud engulfing it fully. Sighing, the woman knew she was on her own.
"Has.. Naraku done you some ill?" she questioned with such an out-of-the-blue calmness it didn't even register in her mind how spontaneous the question was. Her voice was its usual steady and sharp tone and her syllables were pronounced without ever faltering nor did they ever missing an ice-like comparison. Usually silence was more comfortable then conversation for the woman, but at the moment… Kitsunu wouldn't mind learning maybe a thing or two about this houshi that was trailing her around. Maybe when she learned he was important to someone significant that would trigger some drive to leave him behind- that way his life would be indeed spared. I'm the only one that can control you, Kitsunu… you should love me for it. A subtle frown curved on her full lips at the thought. It was pestering how often those memories were spawning even more of perhaps, a revelation or even just plain motivation to leave this houshi behind.
The houshi sat in silent contemplation of the sky for several moments, simply watching the pretty stars when suddenly, she spoke. He started, Miroku hadn't expected her to approach him with that question, though he had hoped she would say something, simply because he didn't want to believe (and he couldn't believe) that she didn't want, perhaps, deep down, to be found and befriended, so far as the term could go in Naraku's Sengoku Jidai. "You might say so," Miroku began with a thoughtfully contented air. Was it more studied and less natural? Or was that just a figment of an overactive imagination? He wasn't turning, though, his eyes still fixed on the sky, recalling the story to his lips.
"Fifty years ago, my grandfather fought Naraku. They encountered one another several times and each time, Naraku held a different shape. One day, he took the shape of a beautiful woman. That was my grandfather's weakness, so Naraku was able to best him during the battle, and lay a curse on him."
The houshi held out his hand for a moment, and then turned, still looking at his damaged hand. "The curse is hereditary. A kazaana - a tunnel of wind that sucks in everything in its path - it grows larger, very slowly, and eventually I will be consumed by it, unless I defeat Naraku first." Miroku explained. He was quiet for a short time, before turning to her again. "You see, Kitsunu-sama, I'm not really lecherous. I simply want to ensure that I have a child to carry on the family legacy, if I do die." The statement was a sober one, if it were considered, but to the houshi it was almost nothing -- certainly not something to be considered, and with good reason. But Miroku moved on. Temporarily triumphant, he grinned, in a silent, almost smug reiteration of his statement.
He didn't ask her about what Naraku had done to her. Not yet. He didn't expect that she'd ever say, and he'd probably widen the gap. He wondered if she had been trying to do so; a subconscious sabotage, just to ensure…he was probably just over-thinking… but he wasn't willing to forget it just yet, so he made sure to watch for it again. Just in case she thought she wanted to get rid of him or something -he would expect her nightmares to have confused her a bit, perhaps.
"Do you fear death houshi…?" Kitsunu whispered, the wind carrying her question far away from here but their figures was enough of its meaning lingering there for the question to be understood. Her eyelids sunk half-over her eyes as she stared up at the sky, in which his eyes seemed to be also fixated on. It was indeed a moment like this, the rounded corner of the mood peaked every coyly from the clouds and showered her in a milky blanket. Her complexion glowed with a maidenly celestial flush and her eyes seemed to glitter obsessively, as jewels do when placed under the right lighting. She seemed she was in a state of tranquility, resting there with both hands on the railing as she looked up to the sky, whispering somber nothings. The houshi's comment about having his reasons for asking woman to bear his children didn't exactly tap into a heartstring as the houshi fantasized it would, nor did she even consider it for any length of time. Kitsunu was pleased to know he didn't dare pry into her life, it was something, she didn't wish to share. Not only because it pained her, with a past that forever haunted, a past that held far too many dark secrets and unforgivable sins. They will die at your hand. A voice echoed I know but… I… don't want him to go away. Sighing the wind shifted her hair in gentle, lullaby-like movements. For once she appeared to truly be at peace, and her expression was no longer empty, but it simply held a serenity that hadn't been there before.
Miroku considered her question carefully. Perhaps, he had to fear death, as a human. Perhaps, it was a human inclination to fear death, if they did not want to die, and the houshi didn't. But maybe, he had lived with the knowledge of impending death too long to truly fear it; now, perhaps, he just didn't want it. Miroku began to respond, but he paused, remembering a nightmare induced by one of Naraku's schemes. That was fear of death, he supposed, not just fear of his kazaana and the threat it could pose. It had been with him so long, small and ever-present that he no longer recognized it as fear, because he had never questioned himself about the anatomy of his feelings toward his kazaana, and nor had anyone else. Somehow, though, he had expected Kitsunu to ask him about it. He replied thoughtfully, "Sometimes, Kitsunu-sama. But I don't think on it often; I will accept death when it comes, but there are so many women who have not had the privilege of knowing me. Just think, Kitsunu-sama, if I was as afraid of death as the lord of the manor was afraid of his 'ominous presence'; you would never have known me." The houshi said, smiling, as usual. It was hard to believe he ever feared death. But if one thought about the fact that Miroku lived with death and dined with death and played with death (usually games of strategy) and cheated death (sometimes), it was understandable that he couldn't truly fear death, and certainly he couldn't think about his fear, or his life would be naught more than an existence.
Kitsunu looked back at him, a look that didn't bear a much difference from her normal expression, but her eyes simply glowed with an acceptance. "It's really not worth fearing you know…" she whispered keeping eye contact as her voice trailed again and her bangs sifted the moist morning breeze. As her gaze broke his, and return to the sky, she stole a glimpse of her star before it died down under the consuming gray of the morning. "It honestly isn't all it's cracked up to be…" she mumbled, not sure if she wanted him to hear her comment or not.
"If something is to be feared pending on life or death, it's immortality." On that last note she turned, her back now to the pale and dull sunlight she locked eyes with his again, an addiction she was finding more and more difficult to turn away from. They'll di- I know. Shut up. Internal conflict was beginning to nag at her. With a sigh she looked upwards, away from the houshi, catching a drop of dew as it slid gingerly from a shingle on the roof and wilt in a tear shape, glittering and quivering for some more attention from the sun. It seemed the longer she focused attention solely on the houshi the more she felt connected to her human nature.. but even still the more disturbing truths that she wished to bury, rebirthed themselves.
"Immortality is only a frightening prospect, if there is no one to share it with." Miroku mused, after a few moments of quiet. He thought of his hanyou friend, who had found Kikyou, and then Kagome. Immortality should frighten InuYasha, really; because there would be no one there to share it with, unless, well, he had heard there were paths to be taken to immortality. He did not know them himself -he was but a simple houshi; he just knew they existed. Certainly, if Kagome would remain with him forever, InuYasha would embrace eternity; so much as the hanyou embraced anything. But Kitsunu...she was alone, wasn't she? And death was a silent companion, if she had become its entertainment. He wondered..."Do you know death, Kitsunu-sama?" Miroku asked, and the question almost seemed sudden, but only because the thoughts connecting to the question were entirely in his own head. She just seemed so familiar with it; death, to him, was the unknown. Perhaps, more so than with others, because he did not know if his kazaana would lead him on the path to the next life, or if he would be lost in an endless void. Again, Miroku wondered if he really feared death itself, or his kazaana. It was a fleeting question, though. He was afraid of death. It was worth fearing, to him, if only because he enjoyed life so much, and wanted to continue enjoying it. He wanted to discover everything about it. It seemed, the woman beside him had only known life's flaws, embodied in Naraku, and she had lost her will to live -for life's sake- and thereby her fear (vengeance was a cruel, cold bedfellow). He wondered what it was like to be able to feel that life was worthless…and that was why he never would know what it was like.
A certain amount of pink had touched her cheeks at his first response, for never in her life had she thought of it that way. Nor had such a statement – a blend of sincerity and logic- been directed towards her, in such a manner that it left her speechless. For a moment of silence in which his mind seemed to elaborate the topic, she drank in those words… only hearing an echo and admiring the truth she had finally found in someone else's words then Naraku's.
As the next question was spoken, it broke her concentration; Kitsunu had an urge to want to walk away, to escape that question. She knew the answer, and it was clear. Such a resolution… the woman could describe every aspect of it. Death was a fascination of hers, perhaps, the closest thing she had to certain goal or even…a desire. But so often it was in the palms of her hands, only to slip away like water into the very crevices of her cupped hands that she could not fill.
"I don't know death," she murmured a sharpness that could have been icicled and jabbed into someone's ears with ease. A lie. A simple and believable lie. Who was to say that they 'knew death' if they were among the living? No.. the houshi… need not that information. "It's probably best that we go back inside…" she muttered anxiously, her mind was trembling at the fact that Miroku had the audacity and knowledge to speak and ask such peculiar things.
Miroku had turned towards her for her answer and he received it, in all the small things that were not her words - they too were small and placed in curt sentences, to hide the big truths…and lies. She hadn't been prepared for the question, Miroku was quite certain, but she hid it well. The fact that she understood his question at all, though, answered for her. It was a hard truth to tell otherwise.
"Hm…" She would know, of course, that he didn't believe her. Kitsunu was too perceptive to be deceived by the general neutrality of his answer. "You're well-versed on the subject, Kitsunu-sama, forgive me for my presumption." He said thoughtfully, balancing his statement so much as he could, with his obvious bias. He was informing her that he wouldn't ask her again -not directly, at least. "Yes, let's go back inside." Miroku opened the sliding doors and waited for Kitsunu to enter, grinning; it was strange how easily he resumed his cheer. He bowed very slightly to her and gestured for her to enter first. The 'perfect gentleman' (until he was within touching distance of a woman's bottom)…typical Miroku.
Kitsunu offered him a blank look of approval at his answer. There was a mutual understanding on the topic, and perhaps even to such a medium where it wouldn't be brought up again, Kitsunu could only hope for that, regardless. Noting how he was awaiting for her to enter first, she paused for a moment, not sure of what to make of such a gesture. She simply was not familiar with this treatment, and her reaction was a bit off, she could tell… but she did well enough for someone of her caliber and awareness of culture. Walking past him, inside, she didn't offer any thanks, nor respect, only another stare that held subtle but noticeable changes from her previous- more detached- glances. Whether being polite was some sort of strategy of his, or merely his own personality, she had trouble determining. The houshi… she had only known him for a day, but it felt much longer… he felt more familiar then only a day-old acquaintance. Albeit, that changed nothing of the circumstances at hand. The more she developed a want to care for him, the harder it was to actually prevent him from unnecessary death by traveling solo once again… she sighed, she knew it would be harder then that now.
Miroku smiled slightly to see Kitsunu hesitate; it was rare and refreshing and gratifying to know that he could cause her even the least uncertainty when she always seemed so assured and cold and terribly certain of her next action. His smile widened when she met his eyes, because she no longer seemed to be trying to push him (or herself) into oblivion with that gaze. It seemed almost as though she had accepted his presence, or at least grown accustomed to it. Yet, the circumstances that warranted her reaction were such that Miroku had to wonder if she had ever known courtesy. He didn't think she had, because so far, coldness and distance had evidenced her familiarity with something, or those things that were distant and cold...she had been less cold and distant around him, in some respects. The houshi frowned momentarily, adding these thoughts to those that he would have to contemplate...later. Miroku grinned crookedly, always later, it seemed, as he followed Kitsunu inside and slid the door closed behind them. In contrast to the cool, night air, the room was warm and comfortable, though the houshi could sense the lingering tension as well. But Miroku yawned, as though it weren't there, because it would have to leave eventually (especially since he was there -- Miroku had never been particularly close to tension). So, pointedly ignoring the rigid atmosphere, he sat on his futon, and gave Kitsunu one of his stray-puppy looks.
"As there is no chance of gaining your sympathy, I will go to sleep a sad and lonely houshi." Miroku said woefully, as always, having perverted thoughts before sleep (and making one last-ditch effort to gain a woman's interests), rather than thinking of recent subjects. But then, anything carnal was a recent subject for the houshi, pathetically enough (and it was very fortunate for him that no woman had ever seen his thoughts, or he would have absolutely no hope of finding one to 'bear his children'). Although, he was already near enough hopeless, as it were...
Once assured he was laid down and had averted his attention to something other then herself she sat down on her futon, her back to the divider. Kitsunu had difficulty distributing empathy, for in the past it had been rejected or deemed not worthy of comforting the situation. Just as much, the woman had issues receiving commiseration, for it had been such a fragile topic in her life, and so rarely had it been presented. Albeit, she wished not to really displease the houshi, she flicked the comment from her mind. Once clear she sat staring up at the window, her knees bent and pressed to her chest, her forearms draping with a lazy grace from her knees. A strong summer condensation was thick in the morning air, and it muffled her senses, which greatly bothered her. When Kitsunu had a fainter ability to feel presences outside her vision a certain level of paranoia was tapped into. With the lightest sigh her head tilted downward, catching the messy sheets from under her, and of course, her own bosom. Reaching her gloved hand under the cross of her yukata she drew out that sliver chain, with a cautious, but silky moment. The way she held the amulet between the tip of her thumb and the slender point of her index finger seemed almost poetic in a gothic sense. The way the liquid-like contents held inside the jewel appeared to almost swim in elastic crimson, almost bubbly-like patterns, made the article rhythmic; the jewel's own entrancing dances of loathing. Staring at the trinket, her eyes seemed to lose themselves, her mind easing into the simplicity of this object, but the complete dominance it had over her. He saw it.. did he not? Could he understand it? No. There's no way.. its far too ambiguous. Exhaling, she moved the jewel to her clothed palm, where her fingers coiled delicately over it, and formed a solid fist. Her eyelids fell over her eyes as she held that jewel, a bit of the eager redness peaking from the cracks in her grip.
Miroku felt the presence of her pendant, a cold, foreboding feeling that stiffened his spine. His eyes moved to her form, to the carmine orb she held, and he watched. He did not know whether the object or the woman was more entrancing. He could not have said where his attention was more closely focused, but he had already forgotten his lecherous thoughts. The jewel made her vulnerable and he wondered if it had any connection to Naraku. It seemed that the hanyou was the only thing that had that effect on her. He already knew the tiny gem was something to be feared, simply from her reaction. It was a thing born of nightmares and he wondered if its exposure during her tortured sleep had been an accident. Miroku's heart seemed to have stilled entirely, as she closed her fist around the object. Holding onto her nightmares? Her secrets? It seemed to be everything she was hiding; a treasure, a curse, a blackened heart…he couldn't know. She wouldn't let him. Already, he had fallen under an oath of silence. He had a feeling that the jewel she held was death, her own vision of death, because she kept it so close to her. Had Naraku been that close to her? He must have been so spurned by her. "Kitsunu-sama…" He began and, for once, did not know what he had intended to say. "Perhaps, you should get some rest. It grows late." Was it fear that held him back? Fear of his own death? Fear of his kazaana? Or fear… of her?
Her fingers released, all spread in a natural elegance, and subsequently the amulet fell from her grasp. As it was hidden from the houshi's point of view it seemed to slow time and land heavily onto her yukata with a scornful bounce for being handled in such a way. Kitsunu had figured he had gone to sleep long before, but she was mistaken, his form still lingered, catching the keys to her hidden story. Kitsunu wanted nothing more then for the lock to remain, as old, broken, rusted and even busted at the hinges… the woman needed that seal to keep everyone out. The story was written on withered pages, some burned and scarred with age. Dust pilled upon it… it was the very life of Kitsunu, that was so neglected. Thusly, it was recorded on imagery paper that was crumpled and damaged and bound with worn and scaly leather… for no one cared to put effort into making her story valuable. Kitsunu's only addition was the insecure lock she protected so harshly. With every small key the houshi tried to grasp, Kitsunu pulled it further away from him, guarding it fiercer, with a stare that was simply pitiful. Perhaps it wasn't the way she wanted it to be, but it was the way thing HAD to be.
It was her life.
Naraku was indeed a clever bastard; by placing her in such a predicament that she was never truly free… she was never truly a person. Her life was worthless as she lived in the shadows. Kitsunu could only struggle to live all the while protecting the worthlessly bound and locked contents of her chronicle with her distance and awkward personality - the very one Naraku had twisted and birthed in the woman.
She was worthless.
She was not a real person
She did not belong to herself.
Kitsunu's eyebrows knitted as those thoughts occurred. They were the rules. The rules… the very same she had defied. So, why now did her confidence and establishment of self-esteem deteriorate? Biting down on her lip, she returned from the darkest corner of her mind, back to reality… or what she could sometimes call reality. The concept is rather muddled when one can experience different spectrums of true 'realities'. It was factual that in this realm, she could touch and feel, but all the same in the other reaches of her mind, her dreams, her acquaintances with death… It was rather difficult -if not completely impossible- to say anything was truly certain.
"I'm fine… it is you who should obtain more rest." It seemed like she had been silent for so long… silence induced such a strong intoxication on the woman, her mind wandered astray from this reality. Miroku always seemed to bring her back down eventually though, as did Naraku. But the emotions attached to being brought back by the houshi, were far less negative then those that followed any accomplishment from Naraku. Her body felt quite heavy, but her mind was still foggy, which was exactly why she wished not to return to sleep. For more of that poison intoxication would not be a merit, nor any accountable rest. The houshi wouldn't understand really, regardless… her makeup was different, and a few hours was all she needed to supply over a day or two of completely straight traveling. Kitsunu's habits were unhealthy no doubt, but her consideration never fell heavily in the realm of herself… she was worthless right? It didn't even matter if she abused her youkai-abilities to death… not one bit.
The houshi drew his leg loosely to his chest, his arm draped over it, and his intent eyes watching her. Watching, as the pendant slipped from her grasp, like a bleeding heart through unforgiving, white fingers -her heart, through Naraku's fingers?. It seemed to ream the air, leaving it void and empty, like his kazaana. It spoke of Naraku's influence, bringing a cold tremor to the bone and sinew beneath his skin, and he knew that he had failed in his duty to his family and to her by letting it go, even as he closed his hand in a futile attempt to catch it. Expectedly, he missed, touching only the empty, secret-less air. Too late. He had been too late in realizing that Kitsunu had been offering him something to supplement the nothing that she tried to fade into when he wasn't looking. She had deluded him, subtly, by offering him the hardest thing to obtain in such a macabre form. Like Pandora's Box in reverse, the pendant had been dark and foreboding, even though it held something pretty, doubtless something like her innocence, if Naraku were involved. Innocence was always the hanyou's first victim, Miroku felt, his brows furrowing in bitter remembrance. But he was not thinking of himself.
He was thinking of boxes, filled with depression, and pleading for hope that they must, inevitably have. He was thinking, in a way, of Kitsunu and what he might have laid down in exchange for her secrets. He was realizing that he had nothing of his own, but hope, and not enough of it, if he still feared and doubted as he had feared and doubted her, or elements of her person. So, how could he expect for her to tell him anything now that he had rejected her invitation once? Now, when he knew - when they both must know - that he was bereft of anything at all, how could he expect her to answer him?
That was the price of fear and that was why he didn't hold onto it, if he could help it. Miroku smiled sardonically. He should have followed his own, typical advice. But he hadn't, so he would ask, and expect her typical answer. Because that was the way the typical world worked. He hadn't feared her...he had feared change in both of them.
"Kitsunu-sama, might I ask where you gained such an interesting pendant?"
"It was a gift."
I bear a gift that only you, Kitsunu, could possibly use. It may appear only a necklace, but for you, it's freedom. The very salvation you seek. All I ask is that you trust me…love me, Kitsunu. I'll fix everything… I'll make you perfection again. I'll make you what you desire to be…
The woman's whisper was so faint… it seemed unreal, as if it had been created by a mixture of a scornful fairy tale and the over-active imagination of a young child. The softest and most fragile clutter of a falling icicle, perhaps, was the closet comparison, because it expressed how cold and broken the woman's voice really was, the sheer contemptment directed at the terminology used, but still the metaphor missed an over abundance of that timid need to run away and abandon the question. Once again a small crooked key was being unveiled, and Kitsunu was still straining to hide it further, or at least draw away… but this time it seemed her determination to make locating the key impossible was fading. Was her wall being broken down… merely by this houshi?
The thought seemed to pester her, because she knew… she knew that it couldn't ever be like that. Her mind was frustrating her, because she never was very good at coping with emotions, and further still the internal conflict of wants and knowledge was making it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Although, now Kitsunu had no resentment of the houshi's company other then the fact that she couldn't have it. She could never really own it… she was not a person to own things, merely to hold them. And these… gestures in her mind they were not for her, and even if they were, she could simply not accept them. It was her destiny to be alone.
To fight alone.
To suffer alone.
To live alone.
To die alone.
Kitsunu needed not to watch anyone else who cared about her die. The very fact of being alive made her feel more like a bad omen then a being regardless of the 'rules' she remembered so firmly. She was not a real person. Well, even if she was… she might as well be worthless, for she only brought death- never happiness or relief- death, hatred, sorrow. Her whole life bound by tattered seams and stained with macabre words, a waste of ink… a revelation of what a horrible existence hers truly was - for herself to live and for anyone who was so misfortunate to chance upon her- and how the lock needed to stay sealed. No matter what result the ending finally revealed.
She continually eluded him. Her slight evasion was more surprising than a complete dismissal might have been, delivered in a tone that bespoke her contradiction. Miroku wasn't certain if he could or should push. He didn't know how far the lid of this box would open, before it crashed close. But Kitsunu was eternally separating herself from the world, regardless of how much he knew, or didn't know. If he knew something of her, it would be, at least, something for him to lay confidence and hope and faith in, because otherwise he was a danger to her. Otherwise, his confidence was based on a tremulous foundation and his words were only half-truths, and he could have lived with it, if Naraku weren't living to end their lives and achieve supremacy. He had some vague idea that she feared what she would mean to his life and its end, but his life had been foreshortened, and hers was not. She was immunized, to some degree, to Naraku, whereas Miroku was vulnerable and victimized by the hanyou's simplest schemes.
Miroku was more of a danger to her than she was a danger to him, he felt, and so he would speak, so as not to unwillingly betray her. "May I ask from whom?"
Kitsunu was hesitant, so hesitant, in fact, that it almost exceeded hesitation and crossed into an impression of completely ignoring the question. But before the last moment pasted that would have deemed her indeed childish and unsteady for not responding, Kitsunu spoke. Three Japanese syllables that were so familiar on her tongue… deadly venom she had drank and spat and tasted and choked upon. The feeling of the name in her speech -the sting of verbal bile- was always a reminder.
"Naraku."
Abysmal Hell.
The name suited, and the name must have triggered a flag in the houshi's mind, if in fact, he knew Naraku in person… knew the bastard at all really. Kitsunu knew there was no possible way that the houshi knew the hanyou as she did. She doubted anyone really could understand. Nevertheless… she had finally sacrificed one small key, more so a piece of the key, merely a knoch or pretty gothic design on the turning handle. The rusted key to opening the age-encrusted book of her life was a puzzle that seemed not worthy of pursuing. A labyrinth to gather the pieces of the lock, a tedious task to solve the puzzle and open the lock, a mystery to interrupt once opened, a mortal sin to read, a terrible, morbid and meritless sin. It was enough poison to render the mind entirely useless… and though Kitsunu had thrown the slightest silver splinter of the key… she never wished for him to breech through the lock, and to forever and permanently be burdened and mentally scarred with such sin. It was her burden. Her scars. Her life. Her destiny. Miroku simply could not fit in… without dying.