Thanks for all the reviews and support guys! Simple, don't worry, Mizoshi won't become pregnant. Actually, that's how I did want the story to end when I first began writing this, but thankfully decided against it a while back. That would definitely seal the evil Mary-Sue persona. So, no pregnancies or deaths. I agree with Laliberte that the death of any character is an "an easy out."
Naraku sighed and let the warm, soothing water relax his muscles. The steam closed in around him in the darkened bathing room like a curtain. Idly, he let the wetness swish between his long fingers. Purposefully, he had prepared his bath when no one else would be around, but imagine Mizoshi's surprise if she wanted to step into the tub to "relax" with the same goal in mind.
Sighing, his tipped his head back; letting his ebony tresses trail into the pool surrounding him. Behind his misty curtain, he should've been plotting. Plotting on whom to attack next for the coveted jewel shards that seemed to be magnetically attracted to his arch-nemesis. Plotting on where to launch this new memorable attack. Yet, all he could think about was his original question. Love. What was it? From what he'd seen so far, he wasn't at all impressed. Still, he was never one to leave a stone unturned.
The deeper reasons for these musings suddenly became clear. Clearer than the liquid below him. It was Mizoshi herself. She was such an oddity. A hanyou, but not a true hanyou. Beautiful, but not an outright beauty. Kind and tender-hearted, but with a blaze within. This trait most likely stemmed from the phoenix demon blood that was reflected in the yellowness of her eyes. Another rarity.
He had no idea want to do with this contradictory being. She no longer feared him. She wasn't cowed by his ominous presence; too petrified to move. Instead, she did exactly what she had to do and say to survive. Mizoshi was indeed more puzzling than the question that had preceded her. Sometimes, it appeared as if she wished to stay in his home for the courses of the seasons, and on other occasions, it seemed that she wanted to bolt through his miasma barrier to the sweet wilderness beyond.
Would Mizoshi be the one fool enough to try to love him? He'd already heard her confession, but that was missing the point.
The scene in the garden tonight was a tease. True, all human women held onto their prized status as girls and maidens for as long as possible, but in truth, he just wanted to state an important example: she did not control him. Let her be alone throughout the chilly, lonely evenings. In fact, let her be alone the entire day. He was doing her a favor actually.
As the beads of water slid down his shoulders and converged on his chest into a single stream, he finally formed another scheme; to see if the chirping bird would grow used to its gilded cage. If that happened, it would never fly away to the blue oblivion beyond. Would Naraku be content then?
In answer, the bathwater softly shone; similar to precious gems.
Mizoshi ate her soup in silence. Naraku hadn't been present at breakfast or at dinner. Quite frankly, she missed their daily encounters. She missed him.
The only good news was that Kagura was no longer griping. In its place, was a depression that disturbed Mizoshi to the core.
Glancing up from her bean soup at the woman in lavender, she dared to ask her question even though she might be harshly rebuked later. "What's wrong?"
The demoness was fidgeting around the room like a dying moth; picking up this item, or moving another. Mizoshi, however, wasn't concerned about her belongings; she was disturbed about Kagura herself.
"My heart is heavy. That is all," she eventually answered. "And you needn't snoop into my problems. I'm sure you're not perfectly content either."
"Not exactly," she replied quietly.
Did the wind sorceress have a lost love as well? Her features and tone of voice were little different than the night they had discussed the youkai in white. Sesshoumaru was his name. Did Kagura care about this youkai? Was she pining for him as she was forced to perform her almost wifely duties for her sinister overlord? If this were the case, they both shared the same affliction, but for starkly opposing reasons.
Abruptly, the demoness swung her glistening red eyes on the table. "I see that you are finished." Passively, she watched as Kagura picked up the empty bowl. When she did, the sleeve of the older woman's obi shifted and Mizoshi saw the lines of scarlet decorating her arm. Can youkai kill themselves? Or did someone else inflict those wounds?
"Those scratches…" Mizoshi blurted.
Instantly, the wind sorceress fixed her with a death glare. "Don't tell anyone, you little wretch!" In a huff, the woman took her leave. Out in the hall, she heard the distinct sound of ceramic breaking.
Mizoshi decided to take cover for the rest of the night.
Out in the garden, she watched summer drift away. The roses were completely nonexistent, the snapdragons had finally succumbed to brown decay, and the sweet pea had rotted. The garden would be dead within two weeks. She looked out over the high wall; hoping to find the sun's position, but her only hint were salmon and orange wisps of clouds floating from the west. There was a gorgeous sunset somewhere, and she didn't even have the natural luxury of witnessing it.
She stood there, pacing the enclosed space to and fro until the frigid stars appeared in the navy heavens. But he didn't come. No one came.
Dejected, she went inside and sat on her bedding. Should she sleep now? There wasn't much else to do. Her painting had waned. There was nothing of inspiration to depict. All the cheerful tints in the world couldn't help her living arrangements.
Where was he? Had he disappeared again?
Disgruntled, she gathered the blankets around her form. Perhaps she would read the book of poems he'd given her. She only wished she could share them with somebody human.
Yet, a surprise entered the room and she nearly shrieked. Naraku's "pet" crawled through the door on its eight legs and stopped directly in front of her bed. It glanced at her with its beady red eyes before moving on. Now curious, she watched the spider explore every corner of her chamber before almost gracefully making its exit. The arachnid was presumably going back to its handler.
Had he sent the spider to her? Was the spider a messenger for him, or a message in itself? Was he sending for her?
Tossing aside her covers, Mizoshi ignored all these questions and chose to follow the arachnid.