GLUTTONY
She isn't really sure where it starts.
Of course, she wants a heart and she wants freedom. Those are nonnegotiable, immediate needs that must be fulfilled. She hungers for them, desperately, knowing that without one she cannot have the other, that both will come at a cost and even if that is her own life she will willingly pay the price.
Yet, somehow, miraculously, she escapes such a fee, and when Kagura does finally find her freedom the elation is short lived.
She has what she's always wanted, soaring through the skies with her heart thundering in her chest and the winds kissing her cheeks. And yet…
It is not enough.
There are only so many days she can dance beneath the moonlight before the stars lose their luster, before the sun becomes oppressive and the rain an irritation that soaks through her robes rather than something a glorious marvel.
It feels like months, wandering the lands without direction, without purpose, until―
She spots the bandits from far off, dirty, unwashed, human men bumbling along without a care in the world, nearly falling off their horses, drunk off whatever it is they've stolen from their last target. Kagura has seen their like before, too many times, but she cannot tear her eyes away from the bags slung across their horse's backs, and it isn't long before her feather dips, inching towards the ground where they've set up their camp.
They're loud, and she can smell them before she's even set foot within the light of their campfire, but drunk as they are they've neglected to admire their own spoils. Kagura has no problem slipping in, silent in the still air, and taking a peak…
Not much, but there are enough trinkets stuffed into their sacks to weigh it down; pilfered temple offerings and tiny golden statues, robes, bits of jewelry and the ornamentation from a family's sword. It isn't much, but the twinkle in the dim light catches Kagura's eye, and as the men drink and laugh and make fools of themselves, she digs her hands deeper, ruffling through the cloth until she's emptied its contents into the dirt.
Its fanatic, the way she paws through the goods without a care, pulling reams of fabric from the depths of sacks and tossing them over her head, hardly looking them over until the trinkets cover the ground around her feet. Even with the noise the men haven't noticed, and it isn't until her fingers close around the neck of a bottle that she slows to take a breath.
She hardly savors the flavor when it hits her tongue and burns down her throat, only feels the weight in her belly as it fills with liquid, sloshing when she turns and realizes that she has an audience.
The men are staring at her, knowing what she is, but Kagura simply raises her bottle to them in a toast, a vibrant silk robe slung around her shoulders as she grins, teeth glimmering in the firelight.
…
She's never shied away from violence, but she begins to understand why Naraku created himself an army rather than throw himself into the fray. It's an exchange, she offers the men protection from whatever law or lord might seek to stop them, and they offer her…
It would be foolish to call it tribute, but the ever growing horde of trinkets of gold and fabrics and armor and drink and sweets certainly look it. Especially when they bring her cushions and the wood to make herself a throne, to oversee her wealth and place tables of offerings at her feet, the sweetest fruit and the most savory spices―her influence drives them to greater and greater lengths to please her, because the more she has the more it is not enough, every fabulous robe is simply another drape for her throne, and every golden statue is simply one more thing that most be polished, but she never reaches her fill, as she reclines into her cushions and swathes herself in silk and jewels and lets the wind fill in the cracks.
She doesn't know how long it goes on, drinking her fill and stuffing herself with offerings from the cooks they've kidnapped for her, surrounded by her horde and the men she's roped into worshipping her, the battles with furious lords dwindling with each new moon as they realize they cannot defeat her and that her empire of gold will only continue to grow. Until―
She hears the screams, the shouting and the twang of bow strings loosed, the sound of a hell cat crashing through the roof of the pagoda she had the men build for her months ago, staring out to the sea and laden with the finest curtains that catch in the breeze oh so nicely.
Kagura doesn't move from where she's laid back, comfortable in the cushions with a cup of sake in her hand and oranges laid out on a table before her―in fact, she hardly looks up, she just takes another long sip from her cup as the boy rushes inside, scythe at the ready and the hellcat at his heels. She almost feels a smile tugging at her cheeks when she hears his feet falter. It is only then that she looks up and meets Kohaku's dumbfounded gaze.
"Good morning," she says with a smile. Its been months, and the boy stares at her as if he's seen a ghost. He swallows, clenches his fist around his weapon, and even the cat looks as if she doesn't know what to do.
"I'd heard there were a group of bandits being controlled by a youkai, but…" he raises a brow, "I didn't think I'd find you."
Kagura grins and takes another sip of her drink. "And have you come to finish me off, demon slayer?"
Kohaku stares at her, and then shakes his head. Kagura's smile turns devilish, and the boy spends a few more minutes watching her carefully. Shifting his weight, he opens his mouth―
"I've told them not to kill anyone if they don't have to, if it makes you feel any better."
He purses his lips. "It doesn't."
Kagura shrugs and reclines back into her pillows, watches him watching her, until the boy finally has enough, his nerves give out and he leaves without another word. Kagura just smiles and continues admiring the jewels wrapped around her wrist as she takes another gulp and thinks that this might just be the finest bottle they've brought her yet.
She reaches for an orange, tears into it with polished nails and lets the juice gush into her palm and down her arm, but even as she slips a wedge onto her tongue, she knows it still isn't enough.
…