Title: A Sinister Fairytale
Genre: Romance / Parody / Supernatural
Rating: M-eventually
Pairing: Sesshomaru x Kagome
Spoilers: N/A
Summary: And lo the Beast looked upon the face of Beauty, and Beauty stayed his hand. And from that day forward, he was as if one dead.
Word Count: 950
Warnings: NaNo Competitor. Beauty and the Beast retelling

Disclaimer: Inuyasha: A Feudal Fairytale is not mine. Summary is a quote from Peter Jackson's King Kong.

A/N: I recently started rereading Inuyasha in anticipation for the sequel and this idea has been screaming at me for a billion years.

PROLOGUE: MUSES BRIGHT, AND MUSES PALE

"Muses bright, and muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see, and let me write
Of the day, and of the night –
Both together: - let me slake
All my thirst for sweet heartache!
Let my bower be of yew."
(A Song of Opposites, John Milton)

It was cold. Breath misted in front of blue-tinged lips, teeth chattered, hands shivered. It was so cold that the villagers hurried from doorway to doorway, scurrying like rats from the warmth of one hearth to the next. Winter came to the West swiftly and silently; one moment it was autumn and the next the ground was covered in a layer of snow and frost.

The nearest village was a small town, set in the outskirts of the Western province, fifty miles from the nearest large city. It was so close to the border that at many times it had come under dispute with the Northern lord for ownership. But they had all the amenities needed to make their lives run smoothly: wells and sturdy houses, there was even a salt mine in the nearby mountains. It took months to send or receive letters because the mountain paths were so treacherous. Families with extra money to burn had barns separate from their homes, but most roomed above their livestock to stay warm. But life was rough out in the country and there were still those who remained out in the snow, those who had nowhere to go, no homes, no families. And those who could not afford to miss a day's work simply to keep from the chill. The villagers here weren't as poor as some, but they were not wealthy. Yes, they had burning lanterns and candles, but it was cheaper to set your hours based on the sun. Some had carts, but it was easier walk. They plowed their own fields, grew their own food, raised their own meat. They had a school and a midwife and a brothel and a blacksmith and a market. They had the important things.

But what it lacked in luxuries, it made up for in charm. The town was quaint, simple, rustic. There was no pollution littering the streets. People left their doors unlocked at night. Everyone knew their neighbor, no matter how far apart they lived. Children ran wild without fear or risk of harm. Food was local and homegrown. In the spring and summer the smell of wildflowers was cloying and powerful. Though a half a day's walk away, the castle of their lord was not as far as it was from others, so they lived without risk or fear of demon attacks.

In winter though, the hardships reared their ugly heads. Snow drifts several feet deep filled the streets – they only lowered when people shoveled the snow themselves. But though the streets were frigid and chilled, the sturdily made home and buildings, coupled with both livestock and roaring country fireplaces, were warm and welcoming.

A tall, beautiful man, noticeably a demon from the delicate markings on his cheeks and forehead, warm in tailor-made clothing, feet clad in supple leather boots, watched the frenzied dance of people trying to stay warm. His eyes, as golden as the sun, remained fastened on a young demon woman. Blonde and beautiful – a waif whose true looks and station were hidden behind the poverty she had fallen into recently. When her general father fell out of favor, so, too, did their family fall from court and fall into ruin. Her hands, once soft and supple, were raw from lye and soap, her eyes were bright and defiant, but tired. Her clothes were still colorful – a remnant of the life she left behind; her lack act of defiance to refuse to sell them. She still had the beautiful face she remembered, the sloe eyes, the arched cheeks. As if feeling his gaze, she glanced up, and, smiling luminously, beckoned him forward eagerly.

The steam from her laundering made the air between them hazy and thick, made them seem portioned off in their own tiny corner of the world, made it seem magic. She threw down the rags in her hand with apparent relish, tossing it into the steaming bucket with a splash. When her hands were empty, she reached out with her own two hands, stretching out into the space between them for his own hands. The quiet, pregnant pause when he noticeably did not reach out for her made it easier to hear the demon's statement, spoken bluntly into the cool winter air.

"I am through with you."

Her hands freeze in place – still outstretched between them, but now trembling slightly. A gasp, a startled blink, and her mouth fell open in shock. Her cheeks, demonically pale, grow even paler. "What?"

"I am through with you," he repeats, though he loathes having to do so. "You and I," he gestured between the two of them with a graceful, nonchalant gesture, "It was merely a passing dalliance, but it will not continue." A hard, flat stare. "I have no need of you anymore."

"What… what are you saying to me right now?"

His answer is blunt in the winter air, his breath steaming in the space between them. "You are merely a commoner now. Therefore, you are worthless to this Sesshomaru."

There was a pause, a moment so quiet you could hear ice creaking underfoot, hear water dripping, hear breath misting in the air and then –

– then the woman screamed, a high, thin, panicked sound, full of rage and wrath. It startles him into momentary inaction, so he is standing still when her hands, claws unsheathed, reach for his face.