"I am an empty temple where all worship is vain."
— Marie Nizet
Glaring eyes, they flickered like flared wildfire as she met his gaze. She cracked her head back violently once the courtesan at her side had nestled into her neck with a stumble. Drunken breath expelled upon the oiran's skin behind a whisper of laughter.
Perfume crushed from sweet olives decorated the summer air, and the cicadas broke apart their wings as the sun commenced to cascade down the sky. It flushed with scarlet, meeting a gradient of blue, then finally melted above the skyline where pleated roofs met.
Images beginning to blur and rebound, her face focused from a spectacle of color into one with fine details as his eyes creased. The rouge upon the oiran was untouched, crimson delicately stroked into her brows and over her round lips. They were thicker than most, and parted in a momentary show of intrigue before she smashed them together once more. He noticed her tongue in that moment, wet as a berry with flesh that glistened ripe.
The ornaments in the woman's hair repeatedly clinked together when the wind rose. Each was embellished with a misshaped pearl at every end as the dangling, delicate, copper rods reared above her back. Her shoulders bore nothing, and the fabric that draped below them displayed a single stroke of white paint swallowing up her spine, only to reveal an alluring glimpse of the flesh that surrounded the cloth.
Sesshōmaru was engrossed, his expression faltering as he studied her pursed mouth with stirring passion, her eyes that spun with gold, hatred, and terror of the long night. Hidden behind were sharp irises that captured and caged light in a shimmering trance. She was inhuman, a demoness it seemed.
He was not one to venture astray from the trees, the riverbeds, the verdant forests of solitude with curtains of pale moonlight. Sesshōmaru avoided common beasts naturally, but took care to pass the scent that humans carried in particular. They were foul creatures to him, and their being churned thoughts of animosity that bled poison from the demon's fingertips.
Yet, an exception had followed Sesshōmaru as of late. Rin was a marvel of a girl, but altogether human nonetheless. Despite the trauma she endured, the child's curiosity remained. She had accumulated much of that from living in an isolated village. Lanternlight enticed her as the day had broken beyond the horizon, beckoning her to desert Jaken when the bickering imp fell weary with exhaustion aside a stump in the undergrowth. The lowly demon was left to the mercy of his master once Sesshōmaru had returned to find Rin absent from sight.
It was a matter of retrieving the child that Sesshōmaru found tedious. Yet as noticeable as he was, the utter incompetency of his servant gave Sesshōmaru reason enough to commit the task himself. It would not have astonished him if Jaken's stubby legs were chopped and boiled for broth had the imp ventured into the company of humans without his direction.
The village, paces away from the twisted trail of the woodlands, clamored with voices and bells as dusk drew near. Prostitutes littered the gravel roads, pins haphazardly fastened in black hair, fabric swathed loosely across their bodies. They called out to travelers, sashes of cotton swaying at their stomach. Willing to attend to both common farmers and the occasional samurai, they lacked an ordinary courtesan's ability to choose.
An oiran, however, was the most well known figure of the pleasure district. She was not unlike a courtesan, but sold her body on a more infrequent basis. She held the highest ranking among them, as well as the finest acclaim, and was referred to as the lady of her brothel. Her figure carried layers upon layers of kimono tailored with silk and embroidery, inspiration that would take to the court of noblewomen. Her toes were visible even in winter months, feet stacked upon towering geta with three, wooden legs. Her utter devotion to the art of music, conversation, and tea ceremony was made only available to the feudal warlords across Japan.
However, the oiran standing before Sesshōmaru was not a human, and subsequently, was unusual. Her tresses had been brushed through with a hot comb, strands twirling rebelliously from her forehead, then plastered to the nape of her neck as his vision cast down. The same shade of lovelorn, burnt amber glowed in her eyes, which were now sweltering as Sesshōmaru veered towards her arched frame. The oiran saw this. It was adrenaline that possessed her to act brazenly. She clutched the arm of the other woman at her breast immediately, and wrenched away from his path.
The kanzashi pieces of tortoiseshell and sea coral impaled across her topknot pinged alongside the dribbling pearls. A rosy luster flickered between them as she glanced back inquisitively, her eyes akin to candle flames then.
Sesshōmaru snorted in contempt, finding the abrupt turn of the oiran an annoyance as he allowed her to elude him. He felt no desire to chase a mistress of the night, no matter her singularity. It was below him. After all, he did not seek her for the carnal pleasure, and forbade any thought of the oiran beyond a passing theory.
He examined her stride closely, her careful steps taken with the heel of her foot, ankle turned out. The pebbles below her sandals glided as elegantly as her gait, and amidst the overturned gray and ebony stones rested a pink gloss that scarcely captured the light of the setting sun.
Sesshōmaru surmised that a fragment from the copper in her hair fell to the ground. Perhaps it was a discolored keshi pearl, for it was merely the size of a sunflower seed. Nevertheless, his interest was earned, and he wondered what the demoness left in her wake. His feet crunched against the gravel as he trailed the direction of the glittering object. His sharp nails clutched the chip between his fingers, and he brought it to his face, flaxen irises against a faint blush.
Unlike lesser demons, Sesshōmaru did not need or wish for any claim to the Shikon Jewel, and deemed those who did as incompetent, cowardly. He was a powerful demon, full-blooded, and proud for it. Even as a cripple, he was bored with the thought of possessing such a garish gem. A jewel that enhanced his true form was unnecessary by all regards.
Still, the oiran that held his gaze so boldly seemed to think otherwise, having adorned her ornaments with a particularly large shard from the Shikon Jewel. It had disconnected when she reared back to watch the white-haired daiyōkai in fervor.
Haughty, Sesshōmaru nearly flung the fragment away, disinterested by another frivolous seeker of the Shikon Jewel. He gripped it against his palm as he extended his reach, and between it, noticed a wisp of a girl with chestnut hair and eyes. Initially he mistook the child to be Rin, a toothy grin befalling her face as she spun.
The oiran and the courtesan shuffled past the girl with consideration, despite the courtesan's incapability in doing so with any ounce of grace. Now familiar, copper rods shook as the oiran dropped her face towards the child. The demoness mimicked a subdued expression of shock, smiling and light.
It was an insignificant event to witness if not only for the gesture she inadvertently produced. Her slim fingers bestowed a note to the girl in secrecy. It was unnoticeable in passing, an innocent glance that ushered the child away, but it was there nonetheless. The women parted from the child, disappearing into a drove of passersby. Sesshōmaru craned his neck curiously, withdrawing his sleeve.
Courtesans often indoctrinated young girls into their service, training them until they came of age. For now, the children would perform errands, dashing about the expanse of the town to deliver and retrieve coin. It would not be unusual if Rin was somehow picked up by a courtesan. Sesshōmaru considered this, and surmised his best choice was to follow the child. She was delivering a message after all.
He overturned the chipped shard twice between his fingertips in thought. The oiran was gone, but the young girl teetered towards a square hut rimmed with muddy green walls. Thick, ivory wax drooled atop the wooden rails, fire frisking softly in pools of molten oil. The candle wicks were alive during such an hour of slumber, and what stood in the forefront of the pleasure district completed the narrative that Sesshōmaru sought to understand.
An unassuming teahouse stayed perched in the center of the village, illuminated under the sickle-shaped moon.
‡
It was bold to enter a teahouse within the sole company of humans when as willfully ignorant as he. Determining that he could simply slaughter out a blood-colored path if cornered, Sesshōmaru entered the modest structure with disinclination. The interior was dimly lit, greasy candles sparsely decorating the room.
Customers were heard deep across the floorboards in nothing more than hushed whispers. The voices reached Sesshōmaru as he stood behind the paper door. Men were hounding the waitresses. There was talk of payments, talk of a demoness hidden somewhere in between. Sesshōmaru sloped against the doorway, pointed ear on the thin barrier.
Tender footsteps beat across the floor almost immediately. Sesshōmaru leaned back. A brown-haired waitress slung open the entrance, the sleeve of her kimono dancing with the abrupt motion. Her head faced the other direction, attention lingering on another waitress behind her. She laughed gleefully. Sesshōmaru glowered, boring his eyes into the side of her face. She continued to smile wide and wider still, teeth slightly yellow, chin protruding out.
The mixed chatter from the other women subsided as their eyes looked past the brunette's shoulder, disquiet replacing what was a merry atmosphere. Sesshōmaru was almost inclined to smile. Delight began to overcome him as he watched the waitress in front of his chest shrivel in terror, retracting into a small and weak-minded roach that he wished to squash underfoot. She began to stutter incoherently. He stepped in between her feet and her eyes shot to the floor.
"I am seeking a woman." Sesshōmaru's voice was crystallized, clear and commanding. That alarmed the teahouse workers profoundly, and they began to visibly flail, trembling, unsure of any true direction to drag their legs towards.
A massacre of women was ever famous in the city of Osaka due to the sudden absence of the royal family. A rumor circulated that the younger princess warded off attacks from demons. Those who did not live in the inner city claimed she was a priestess. Yet, those who did claimed that she was of ill breed herself. They shared that she performed such bouts of vigilante acts in order to sedate her own agenda, and for nothing more. In either case, demons had stayed away from Osaka until the royal family collapsed.
It was evident that these women thought such a massacre was about to begin.
"Please, don't ... " The waitress gasped, her breath visibly quivering as she attempted to move, the smell of sweat pulsating into Sesshōmaru's nostrils when she did. An odor like stagnant, filthy water hit his temple as Sesshōmaru grimaced. He clutched her neck tightly, coiling his finger around her throat, his insincerity dissolved.
His arm lifted the woman from the floorboards. Yet, he slackened his grip around her airways, allowing her the privilege to speak. Sesshōmaru pictured the vibrant colors of a sunset in the back of his mind once again. Blood flowing like watercolor enraptured his mind.
"Where is the oiran?" He spoke the title like a spell. Perhaps he was under one himself, for Sesshōmaru recalled her lovely face, features soft and youthful concealed by the sun's overcast as she had turned to face him. Sesshōmaru's eyes flashed to the side, and at once he grimaced.
The waitress in his clutch was losing breath exponentially fast, especially now that the white-haired demon was becoming restless, foolhardy. His fingers tensed. The woman brought her hands to his in an act of final desperation.
"She's in the back!" A shrill voice sprung forth clearly from the rear of the other side. Sesshōmaru rolled his eyes, his fangs gritting along the bottom edge of his mouth. He lowered his arm, slackening his grip as the waitress inched closer to the ground. Then he flung her to it with a mere jerk of his wrist. Her brown tresses came undone with the impact. She clung to her neck, wheezing and coughing through a fit of shock. No one moved. Their horrified gazes jerked to her.
"Are you decrepit? Bring her here." Sesshōmaru jeered. The women still did not stir, their faces awash with a sickly pale visage. The same one spoke, quieter, and less forthcoming.
"She is not permitted to meet her clients. Th — This is one of her rules." She muttered above the soft whimpers of the woman on the floor. The demon scoffed, his demeanor becoming unpleasant. His mouth twisted harshly.
"Rules." He spat. His eyes narrowed into beads. "Do you think me to be a fool? What rules?" The woman bowed in an effort to shade herself from his cruel glare.
"This is custom for any oiran, but she in particular does not bend. She is prideful. Even if one were to fetch her, they would only come back empty-handed." Her voice rattled as she spoke and Sesshōmaru could hear her heartbeat flutter as the teahouse fell silent.
For a moment there, he considered that what she described was true. What possible ruse could a handful of waitresses construct? Even so, what kind of aid could they possibly receive? A rugged innkeeper with a foolish wit? A mercenary with a misplaced sword? No, nothing could overtake him.
Sesshōmaru said not a word more and flicked his eyes to the corridor where noise most resonated through the paper walls. He did not long to waste his time with humans when he could be in the demoness's company. He remembered her orange mane, citrus eyes, and painted face. A full-blooded demon such as himself was difficult to come by, and he wondered what manner she was, what species could she possibly be?
Questions like this arose in his mind as he trailed the woman into the teahouse, which Sesshōmaru now understood to be a brothel of sorts. As he walked, sounds of muffled groans reached his ears. They were so distilled that any human would be unable to distinguish anything unusual.
They walked for some time until the waitress paused at the very end of the hallway. She curled her lip, hand hesitant on the rim of a door with a double panel. Sesshōmaru was impatient. He moved at her reluctancy, then shoved his palm across her shoulder. His fingernails dug into the rutted wood and the waitress cringed at the motion. He pulled the door apart swiftly — and met the attention of many heads turned to face his direction.
Resting on the tatami were nine, young women. Most brandished pins atop their heads in stiff styles. Then there were some with hair held in loose buns, threadlike strands framing their faces quite tactically, or a quarter of it down. One in particular had tresses the color of hazelnut, a shade that Sesshōmaru did not see but once in a decade or two. Then there was one that had frighteningly gorgeous eyes. Flecks of umber decorated her irises. One after another was differentiated by a unique trait, all of their faces powdered white.
It was evident that these girls were higher paid courtesans. They did not need to prance around the main road like in the district before. Their rates were, in any case, more costly for prospecting clients. This meant that they were more valuable, simply because they had the reputation of serving as few men as possible.
Sesshōmaru stepped forward, his eyes trailing their expressions for any form of deviancy. They were unsurprisingly alarmed, and too petrified to lift a finger. He decided to check the face of the one with hazelnut hair first. Perhaps the light of the setting sun had disguised the oiran's true color. Perhaps it was hazelnut, and not orange he saw. Sesshōmaru tugged at a lock as the girl craned her neck back in terror. No, it did not seem so.
He moved further back into the room when he saw a girl with a tortoiseshell kanzashi to his right. He plucked it out of her hair, then held her cheek with a mixture of disgust and intrigue. The white patch of skin underneath dotted with a ring of blood around his fingernail. He dug into it lightly, prodding her skin as he moved her head from side to side. She was trembling under his grasp, eyes dilated, mouth scowling. He smeared the droplet down her cheek, and it appeared that the wound began to draw up more.
He reared back, examining every inch of her, but the crimson that painted her face remained along with the scratch that continued to produce trace amounts of blood. No, it was not her. After all, such a small wound would seal in an instant for a demon.
He continued further with a gaze swinging like a pendulum towards the rest of the women on the mat. Each was as unconvincing as the last. Yet, there was a cluster of candles in the back of the room, and they seemed to almost surround a girl with hair thrown to the floor. His eyes met with another's then, black as a dead star.
Sesshōmaru did not know where her irises ended and where her pupils began. Her eyes simply appeared lifeless, cold, and ruinous. Her tresses were loose, all brushing against her skin, nearing her breasts. They were dark, the color of obsidian. Although, he would have compared them to chips of coal. Her lips were thick, too heavy for the frame of her face, and uneven nonetheless.
Altogether, Sesshōmaru thought her to be a bit unappealing. She was a normal human with dull eyes that had no color. There was no mystery behind that. The courtesans that surrounded her were far more interesting despite their pale faces. Instead, she displayed her skin proudly, rosy tones blossoming in her face.
Her colorful kimono laid out before her, its layers a warm palette of yellow and green. It was loose around her shoulders, rising up between her thighs. One piece next to her ankle taunted Sesshōmaru.
The woman held a stout cup, bringing it a few inches from her lips when she finally cared to acknowledge Sesshōmaru's intrusion. Her reaction was suspiciously delayed, and she brought her face from the rim of the cup after he began his dissection of her demeanor. Not only was she plain, but she was audacious where she could not afford to be. Sesshōmaru was unimpressed. Her lashes fluttered in a cold manner.
"Yes?" She uttered in a flat tone. That was the first response he had heard into the night. It sounded jarring in spite of her soft voice. She swiveled the cup of saké and took another long sip, her pitch-black eyes staring into Sesshōmaru's soul.
He frowned of course, being addressed like a simple creature and gaped at by the eyes of an ugly vulture. It was indignant. In some form or another, every woman in that room wanted to slip away from Sesshōmaru's grasp except for the one before him. Her hair shone like a starless sky. It dipped between her cleavage as she shifted to pour another drink.
"Stand up." He said, but he wished to bark the command at her. She did not stir, instead, she placed her weight onto one hand and jutted out her thigh. The position was meant to challenge Sesshōmaru. Supposedly, the courtesan even meant to mock him. What would he do? It was a question of this nature that prompted the woman to act accordingly. She was not clever to insult the demon, for he promptly placed his hand on the pommel of Tokijin. There, in that moment only, she raised a brow of concern.
"I won't repeat myself." Sesshōmaru growled. The women surrounding them made pitiful sounds of anguish, pleading for the demon to relinquish his hold on the sword. Yet, he did not falter, intent on bringing the one before him to complete humiliation. The demoness no longer weighed heavily on his mind. In her stead, was a woman who rose like an empress.
The girl before Sesshōmaru switched her footing, legs sweeping to the other side. She ascended to meet Sesshōmaru's regard with daggers shooting from her eyes. An inch away from his chin, she placed her hands on his chest.
"What shall you do, oh powerful one? Shall you split me in half? One such as me?" The woman's kimono draped even lower off her body. Her sash had been tethered beneath her breasts, easily accessible to Sesshōmaru if he desired to see her, this imprudent woman. Her hands settled on his flaxen-colored sash. A finger toyed with one side of its ribbon. She smiled, but it never quite reached her eyes.
"Leave." She whispered, brows furrowing in sudden hostility. Swiftly, she secured his sash with a tight jerk, then shoved his abdomen with what little strength she possessed. Sesshōmaru did not budge. She hated his effect on her, trepidation swallowing her alive, absolutely terror-stricken by the demon.
Like the courtesans among her, her fear was no different, and yet she persisted in the face of it. He could slice her jugular with one claw and she continued to glower like she had even a fraction of dominion over him. Those simple eyes of hers aroused something in Sesshōmaru that changed the course of his direction.
He brushed his fingers over her sleeves. She looked to his movements. Abruptly, he clamped down over both her wrists, jerking them apart. Her face twisted with confusion and he tipped into her nape. She shuddered at the unanticipated warmth of his breath as he sucked in her smell. Condensed perfume still lingered on her neck.
The scent of candied olives was recognized by Sesshōmaru immediately. The aroma was so faint that if he had not captured her in his arms, he would have been unable to distinguish it from the smell of the room in its totality. There it was, a trace of the scent that Sesshōmaru detested so.
It appeared that Sesshōmaru had been mistaken, for the woman before him was not a full demon, but half-blooded in nature like his brother.
"I found you, demoness." He leaned into her. She froze, her pupils retracting, her throat clenched. Sesshōmaru would not release his hold. He knelt his weight into her, suffocating her, crushing her under his body as he forced her spine to curl.
Sesshōmaru was not oblivious to the condition that half-demons such as Inuyasha faced under a new moon. This woman in particular had a form not unlike each brother. Perhaps that was why she was so alarmed when her eyes met his in the village. She had known her transformation would be soon, and she did not desire a full-blooded demon to trail her. She would be at her weakest, most vulnerable.
"Depart from the room." She said to the courtesans, her breath extracted from her. The women glanced at one another worriedly, but obeyed the demoness as instructed and picked up their drapery, feet battering the floor as they disappeared behind the wooden frame.
The demoness finally pushed against Sesshōmaru once they had all left from viewing. He allowed this, of course, because he would simply strike her down if she dared raise a hand to his generosity. After all, he allowed the other women their lives despite taking witness.
"What is it you want, to come here ill-mannered with no grievance against me?" She stopped herself before she spoke again, but it seemed as though she had already expressed most of her feelings against her better judgement. She inspired another breath, then waited for the silence to force Sesshōmaru to articulate himself. His senses were becoming muddled by her smell.
"You will serve me as a customer." He declared. She blinked, processing his demand.
She turned her head to the ceramic bottle of saké on the floor, harvesting both it and the cup, and brought them close to her chest. She acted deftly. She traveled to a corner of the room and knelt beside it, only to unfasten a surface in the wall that revealed an expanse with a bundle of cushions and bottles.
She picked two pillows and traced her finger on a few ornate bottles, scanning the row until she found one she must have liked. Clutching it, along with two matching cups, she returned to the demon and situated a pair of saffron cushions on the tatami from under her arm.
"Please seat yourself." She muttered, low, but lucid enough. Sesshōmaru did so without qualms. He watched as she elegantly fell to her knees, and thought to himself how he could not call to mind when he had observed a human collapse before him with such grace as she. Never, he surmised, and so he returned to seeking a drink.
She planted the small cups in front of him, then poured a generous amount in his and little in her own. He noticed this naturally, but did not question her intentions, for he could not imagine that he could become intoxicated by watered down saké when he brought it up to his nose. She frowned and picked up her own cup.
"What is your name?" He asked, eyes remaining on her puckered lips. She swallowed.
"Chimaki." She said quickly. She tried to force a smile. He looked past it.
"Ill-fitting." He drank another sip, nails caressing the outer edge of the porcelain. Her cheeks dropped at that. He was nothing like the other patrons. She huffed with derision, readying her words for a snide remark, then swung her arm away. The saké swished and almost splashed down onto the floor as a result.
"What is it that I may call you then, honorable guest?" She jeered, throwing her head back. He noticed that she could not keep her composure for long under the circumstance.
"I am Lord Sesshōmaru." He said. She stopped her wrist as it moved to her mouth. Then she glanced up, examining his face.
"A lord? Truly? I wonder of which lands? I did not know any demons were granted such titles." She trailed off in contemplation despite her sure tone. Sesshōmaru scoffed.
"What would you know, woman? You work in a brothel." She stiffened before a sudden grin overtook her features.
"A fine point, my lord." She said. She was a bit too eager. She poured herself another cup while Sesshōmaru watched. He chose to ignore her enthusiasm for more, and did not chide her for her lack of manners. Instead, he didn't care for her response.
"Hold that mocking tone of yours. Only corpses possess such a voice." He warned. She grabbed the bottle.
"Another fine point. Here, allow me to pour you another cup." She crawled to him, breasts in full view, bottle tight in hand. She instead dumped its contents onto Sesshōmaru's lap, and he instinctively seized her wrist, winding it back like a lever. She dropped the bottle and saw it thud against the mat unceremoniously. The smell of saké soaked into the fabric of his trousers.
"You are testing my patience." He snarled. If he had possession of his other arm, he would have gladly ripped into her face. She genuinely bared her teeth this time, beaming at the reaction she produced through her impulsivity.
"Am I? Then why is it that you sit here of your own volition?" She snapped her hand out of his grip. Her face contorted with anger.
"What are you?" He asked.
"Do you truly not know?" She asked, dark eyes looming over his chest.
"I am not inquiring about the quality of your blood." Sesshōmaru scoffed. "Why do you possess fragments of the Shikon Jewel?"
She did not answer, instead choosing to acquaint her eyes with the floor.
"I require what you have." Sesshōmaru said at once.
"Oh, do you?" She laughed at that, teeth sharp and frightening. "I think not. Perhaps you should venture to whatever lands you possess, Lord Sesshōmaru. For certainly, you will not obtain anything of mine."
"Your cheek and tongue will have you bloodied, half-breed." He was losing his temper. How long had it been since he encountered a woman like her? Perhaps it was centuries, but he could not recall. She was every bit of vanity and pride. There was spirit rising within Sesshōmaru that he had thought long dissipated. Truly, he would not have allowed anyone to insult him so brazenly if not for Rin. Yet, the woman stared at him as though she had been struck by his hand. It was she who felt the most slighted.
"Half-breed. You seem to utter that vile word with such appetite — and really I am in no mood for threats." She was about to leave and risk her chances with his claws. She would not relinquish hold over a single piece of the jewel. The brutish demon before her could never know what it meant to her, and she intended to keep that knowledge to herself.
"Where is the child?" He asked.
"What chi — "
"The little girl." He clarified. She hesitated for a moment, trying to recollect her thoughts, slumping her weight to one side. She had thought he came to extract what little she had of the jewel as nothing more than a common bandit. The way he had burrowed his eyes into her at the center of the village suggested that he was chasing her, intent on possessing something. She felt relief, but that relief was soon displaced by another fear.
"What is it that you intend to do with her?" She looked to him with distrust. Her tone was soft.
"That is none of your concern." He replied.
"Then why would I lead someone like yourself to a human child?"
"I have this." Sesshōmaru pulled out a fragment from under his sleeve, the tips of his nails resting on the gem. It flickered under candlelight. It was pink, and it blushed against the flames that surrounded the two. The oiran jerked forward.
"That is not yours to take." She snapped.
"Show me where she is and I will return it."
"What will you undertake, dog? Will you devour her?" She raised her voice to a frantic hiss. She took his silence as an answer alone, and leaned into his body. He sat tall and still, intaking the smell of olives and sweat as she drew herself close, their faces inches apart.
"Find another little girl. I will not bloody my hands."
"Yet, I want this particular one." Sesshōmaru would have cupped her cheeks then if his hand was not occupied. He wished to sweep his fingers across her face. Whether to crush or caress it, he did not know. She thought for a moment on whether the child would come to harm, and speculated that his words were telling. If he wanted to simply eat her, he would not go through all the trouble. She was certain on this manner.
"You do not desire the shard?"
"Please. I would not bring myself so low." He stood. His glare was met with one of hesitance, but she relented.
"Is that all?" She rose once more. She seemed contented, but Sesshōmaru would not allow her even that. As she moved towards the doorway, kimono dragging between her feet, Sesshōmaru curled his fingers around her shoulder. He towered above her, causing her skin to prick with a chill. His lips brushed against her ear.
"If you try anything, I will split your spine in two." He whispered hauntingly.
She did not intend to find out whether he was capable. She inhaled, loudly from within her chest, as ferocious as she could manage. Then the oiran twisted her neck, eyes shooting up to his in defiance.
"Do not presume to touch me so freely." She retorted, and treaded past the frame of the door. He followed on her heels. They said not a word to one another as they swept through halls side by side. She looked onward, and Sesshōmaru could not know what weighed within her mind. He did not attempt to hide his glances as they moved, keeping a curious but keen eye on her profile. It was strange, but he found her pleasing in that form, immensely rather. Her eyes were no longer merely black stones. She had kept her hair at an elegant length, and he cared not to step on it as they progressed. Perhaps her courage charmed Sesshōmaru, for his judgements had shifted.
They came to the back doorway eventually. She was suspiciously quiet there. Naturally, there was no room for her tart mouth as he shadowed her body. She brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear and slid the door open. There before them was a small courtyard and a stone table with a wisp of a girl. Rin peered out from her seat, mouth full of rice and pickled plums. Sesshōmaru raised a brow at the sight, and she immediately noticed the white-haired demon. Rin gasped and jolted onto her feet like a soldier.
"Lord Sesshōmaru!" She nearly knocked her plate over as she rushed to greet him, stopping in front of the oiran with a bright grin. Just as the woman was about to step forward, Sesshōmaru wrapped his hand around her waist from behind, warning her not to edge closer.
"How did you find him, Lady Sakura?" Rin blurted. The woman flinched at the sound of her name, nearly feeling Sesshōmaru's smile etch into the back of her head. He was amused that she would conjure such a trivial lie — as though he wanted anything to do with her after this.
"It would seem he found you." She moved her hand off the doorframe and hovered over Sesshōmaru's grip. Unsure if touching him was a sensible choice, she gazed back at him in annoyance. He had quickly disregarded her earlier command, so she decided that she should conspire against him if he pushed any further. However, he merely took the opportunity to slip the shard into her palm then, keeping his eyes trained on Rin as he shoved past the oiran.
"I saw her wandering through the village. She was asking the vendors for food. They're quite mean-spirited, you know." She cleared her throat matter-of-factly.
"Come along now, Rin. It is late, and Jaken is waiting." He continued his stride. Rin looked to him in awe, pivoting to meet the oiran's troubled face. Rin managed to compose herself for a polite bow, but rushed to reunite with Sesshōmaru again as the ring around the moon showered the demoness in light.
"Sesshomaru?" She called out uncertainly. He did not stop.
"I need to find the Shikon Jewel." She dared to lift her voice, paralyzed, and burdened with great fear. She was afraid, indeed so very afraid of the future as it was. She was no ordinary power seeker, no ignorant fool either, and she certainly did not care for wealth. Rather, she did not need the shards, isolated from the rest in their single form. She was desperate for the entirety of the jewel. She needed it compact. It was the only way that she could restore what she had lost not long ago.
"Why does that concern me, half-demon?" He halted. Perhaps he just wanted to hear her beg, but an explanation was due anyway. Her heart thudded against her chest like a stone. She tightened her fingers around the jewel shard, allowing its rugged edges to break her skin, her breath rattling with panic and apprehension.
"If you allow me to travel with you, I will grant you land. I will give you a castle. I will make you a true lord." She exhaled.
"And how do you propose to do that?" He turned his head slightly. She could see the outline of his magnificent jaw, his eyes still concealed from sight.
"The young princess from Osaka, her name is Sakura. She — I can fulfill your aspiration." The capital resided in Osaka, it was true. The emperor was a strong demon. He had two daughters, and the youngest was rumored to be just like Inuyasha. Sesshōmaru almost scoffed at the realization. Even an emperor of Japan had succumbed to the wiles of human women. How pathetic. Sesshōmaru paused.
"You know nothing of my aspiration, half-demon. Depart from my sight." He continued moving. Rin held an uncomfortable stare on the daiyōkai.
"Do you not believe me?" She called out.
"I believe you." He said. She stood defeated at that, her kimono shifting at her shoulder, eyes dejected and narrow.
Sakura watched as the two figures disappeared into the dawn. Collapsed on the wooden edges of the teahouse, she brought her hand to her forehead. Her skull was beating. The morning sun came not long after. As it peaked over the horizon, it bathed her in an ocean of warm light. She had fallen asleep there with ease, leaning against a pillar, heat awakening her as it touched her face. Her nails, now long and sharp, dug into the wooden post. Her hair had lifted with the sun's colors.
She looked to the forest, a cluster of branches on a distant tree capturing her attention. Sakura parted her lips sadly at the sight.
"Oh, sister. I will come find you in the land of the dead."