Chapter 8
In a violent motion, the only one he allowed to betray any feeling on the matter, simultaneously melted the declaration of war and threw it out the window.
One of his vassals had defected, taking his clan and all of their connections with him, and was now calling himself the Lord of the Eastern Lands. Sesshoumaru could've lived with that if the said vassal hadn't decreed that the Western Lands were also to be his. Like hell they were, thought the lord.
By holy decree, he said, that he was the 'Chosen' to rule all under the sun.
Sesshoumaru felt his muscles clench, shoulders tensing and hunching; it'd been a trait his mother had hated, that at the first sign of danger he began to "prepare for the worst." At this she'd toss her hair, grin, and pick him up to swing around.
"Live a little!" She'd exclaim as she spun and then set him down, pinching his cheeks and brushing his nose with her hair to make him squeal in delight.
Then Father would come and look from his wife to his son, shake his head in disappointment, and head back inside. He never did -could- accept how life-loving or how human his wife was, but when she was gone, it was all he could do but to go and fall for a human woman. Bitterly, Sesshoumaru remembered how his mother's shoulders would slump as his father turned away, and how she longed for his unconditional approval.
He shivered into customary state of utter compose, then tossed his hair over his shoulder, and as economically as he could, drew up his war plans.
Never would he be caught unawares.
Emma woke one morning, the sun slanting through high windows onto a pitcher of water then tossing up rippling reflections onto the bare walls. She was in an unfamiliar place, on an unfamiliar bed, and she /i/stank/i/ to high heavens. The ceiling stared back as she lay awake and unblinking, trying to assimilate her surroundings.
A small toad scuttled into the room, precariously balancing a large platter two times it size on its' head while surreptitiously sneaking glances to her prone form. Watching it, she realized that it wanted to get away; that it /i/feared/i/ her and only something that it feared more compelled it to do this. She stretched and the toad cringed away from her, deposited its' burden within reach of the bed and-tripping over its' own feet-ran from the room.
Her hands locked together over her head and Emma arched her back; she would be late for class one, but Annette could cover for her-providing that the students could understand that crazy accent... She paused, staring at her hands; there was something wrong. They were her hands, but too...too angular, too pale, too skinny. She flipped them over, studied her palm, then flipped them back over to study trace the bruisy-looking lace of vein. Too strange.
The idea stirred a gusty whirlwind of emotion and suddenly she was living a dream; or was she but a dream? Some waking figment of this dreamer who was she-but-not-she. The body was her own, but it felt stretched out. She felt stretched out; wan and transparent and...insubstantial as a ghost.
It was an Olympic feat of will to swing her legs over the side of the bed and she winced as the sheets peeled away from her skin, glued to her with sweat and- she stiffened- urine. Emma tried not to shriek with disgust, instead stripping the bed and tossing the lot into the hearth at the end of the room.
This done, she grabbed a pitcher and basin and scrubbed her hands raw. Hissing, slowly filling with a righteous rage, she stalked to the door and tugged.
It was locked.
Emma let loose a scream, "DAMMIT! MOTHER FUCKER, OPEN!" The door remained obstinately closed and she glared wholeheartedly.
A long moment passed and she took a deep breath; what was with her? She was a sensible young woman with a sensible job, who wore sensible clothes, led a sensible life. There was nothing to warrant this reaction; she may not know where she was, but there was no doubt a reasonable sensible explanation for everything. What the hell was she doing to lose her head like that?
Emma breathed, inhaling and exhaling slowly, then opened her eyes and smiled an easy smile. First things first, she thought, putting a finger to her lips pensively.
She returned to the basin and wriggled out of her clothes. Her body was rank, but she worked, scraping with her fingers and cleanest bit of cloth on her nightdress, until she was pink underneath the grime. Wrinkling her nose at the thought of putting the soiled gown back on, she scoured the room until she located a folded sheet in the single dresser.
Better than going naked, she supposed morosely and wrapped the sheet around her form and rolled it down till it was snug it a shoulderless, floor-length dress.
Maru-kun would be worried out of his mi- her vision swum and for a moment the world jumped. Figures in white coats loomed over her and her surroundings shivered. Then the world popped back into focus.
She wrapped her arms around herself and-
Sun motes spun and she traced their dances gleefully. They spiraled away from her touch, eddies carrying them out the ajar door. She followed them, growing increasingly frustrated as they leaped away from her outstretched fingers at every turn.
-and fell back into her skin. The landing hurt with the cobblestones hard underneath her butt, yet she was in a corridor.
The sight of the hallway stretching infinitesimally into the shadows struck like a physical blow. Emma drew her feet up under her chin and began to cry.
The nothing-woman found herself later in that position, half-waking and with a pulse pounding insistently in her neck that wouldn't go away.
That annoyed her and she raised a hand to stop it. It pushed against her fingers, and for a blinding moment she swayed. Nothing was real anymore; shapes blurred and grew shapeless tentacles that reached out and bridged, creating wraith-like shadows that jerked and twisted with faux life. Puppets.
Puppets! She loved puppets; so very beautiful, so unresisting...It was her hobby and passion to collect them. She lined her house with staring eyes and little lost souls; oh yes, how she loved them! Clean wood (clay? the thought came with disjointed clarity,) paint, and creativity (a little piece of soul with each!)To make the perfect marionette.
Mournful, she reflected on her own attempts; all shabby and grotesque- some with no eyes and lots of mirrors, some in traditional kimonos clutching fans and knives, all those crimson eyes on the verge of fluttering closed. All dead.
Soulless, she shrugged away the thought. She just couldn't give them the soul that she wanted to. More's the pity.
She dusted herself off and leaned into a crouch, then levered herself up. The hallway stretched out, but the late evening sun's slanting rays slipped through the narrow archers' nooks that ran along the upper wall. It was wholly unfamiliar territory and she ached to explore it, wondering only passively how she'd gotten there in the first place. She turned and knocked lightly on the door to her right, it opened into a gaping maw of tangible darkness. Poking at the stuff, it writhed, falling back onto itself to escape and she laughed gleefully. She shut the door with a sigh; I'll be back to play later, she promised.
This continued for some time, her opening doors and peering inside before regretfully shutting them. She came then upon a door that would not open, no matter how many times she knocked lightly and twisted the knob. Bitterly she scraped her nails across the surface, ignoring the pinpricks of pain that came as splinters were driven into her nailbeds.
"Woman, what are you doing?" Irritably, she turned to face the lord of the castle. He raised a brow at her petulant pull of the mouth, and watched as she shifted from foot to foot.
She raised a hand and the middle finger was half extended when a gust ripped down the corridor When he'd turned back, all childishness was gone and in its place, stood a shade of a brilliant woman.
Blinking, she whispered something to herself and the lord couldn't help but watch her pale fingers as they wrapped and twined themselves into complex knots. Her hair, matted and disgusting as it was, was worn as a veil that underneath, he could glimpse who she used to be.
In another time, under different circumstances, in a different world, and if fate had been kinder, she would've been striking, yet now she was more than a little too pale, too wild, too strange to be more than acceptable. "What is your name?"
"Emma." She said it as if she weren't too sure herself.
"Emma," Exotic, surely, he nodded as he rolled the sounds around on his tongue. But not displeasing, he assured himself.
He wouldn't expend the energy to ask if she was the one he'd spoken with earlier, not when he already knew the answer.
He frowned and she interpreted it as an effort to assimilate the two images.
"I'd like a bath," She paused. It was too surreal, too weird to be in this pile of stacked stones talking to this man- this being. She gazed at him through under lowered lashes; such a very beautiful man.
Beautiful, she almost immediately rejected the word. He wasn't beautiful, she merely was infatuated; though whether it was his obviously kingliness or the way he wore his power like a tangible thing. He wasn't beautiful, as everything he was was given to excess from his liquidating gaze to his- she couldn't put her finger on the singular attribute which made his so very magnetic, so very unresistably /i/magnetic/i/.
"Sesshoumaru-sama," He supplied, gracefully covering up her fumble.
"Gomen-nasai," She accepted, bowing. "Hai, I'd like a bath if it pl-"
In a movement quicker than the eye could see, she was thrown up against the wall with the lord's body pressed flush to hers.
"Stay!" It was a hissed whisper and he pushed her into a crouch, then left.
A long, agonized scream reverberated down the corridor and she pressed her face into the wall. Gods!
In a white flurry, she was scooped up and tossed over the lord's shoulder. The hall was just a blur, much too much like being in a car -without a comfort in confining walls- for her peace of mind. She hastily quashed the notion that perhaps she should check for a seat belt in that pelt of his...
Review Corner:
Buyo: But of course I did, koi! Pretty good, huh? Is that diplomatic lawyer-speak for 'it sux, but I'm too attached to my head to lose it to my girlfriend over such a dinky thing as to whether I like her story or not...' JK! Love you.
Yavi: Here's your relapse, dearest. lol- my fluff is making me unhappy, or perhaps I should say, the distinct lack of it. Oi, I was sooooo disappointed that I fell back on the 'throwing over shoulder' bit. -sigh- I thought I was better than that, but I thought it flowed, ne? Tell me what you think!
Ashley: BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, you've caught on! No, she's not a demon, but I want to see if I can allude to it enough that people can guess by themselves. Here's a hint though, it has to do with Kagome. But yes, it's a Rin/Sesshy story. Hope you aren't disappointed... Thank you for the review, I always treasure them!
Anyone else: I'm so sorry if I didn't mention you, or if you PMd me and I lost track of you. I love every word that you give me!