He had known love before.

He had known it and watched it wither.

Sesshoumaru's eyes slipped close. He recalled the sunset the day he had confronted his father about his mistress. The words were long gone, mere background noise against that beautiful sky. Its strength had pulled a viciousness from him in that moment that he had yet to relive, and he struck at his beloved father with words full of hatred tinted the exact shade of that sunset.

He told him to think of his people. He accused him of betraying a courtship long since over. He blamed him for his own inability to stand against the children of the other lords. He had let every ounce of his pain pour forth in an inelegant slew of screams and slashes. He had wounded his father – not greatly, but enough to smell the blood leaving him; enough to marvel at the red-silver-red-silver-grey of the fading day against stained skin.

Then he had left, and he had never seen his sire alive again.

Sesshoumaru stiffened at the slick feel of blood welling from claws pinched into his palms.

Red.

The only thing he hadn't done that day was tell the truth: that he was afraid. That he was inadequate and that those inadequacies had caused great harm and although his father was a strong lord, he was not infallible. He was on the path to making those same mistakes. In the end it had not mattered. The son had driven the father to his death, to his Izayoi in the same way he had driven her to die.

Her name was Midoriko. She was a priestess. She loved him. He convinced her that she could be safe in this world.

She was not.

In the heat of a battle neither of them had wanted, she was taken. He chased after her, following the carnage laid before him. The path to her had stopped abruptly and though he could not see nor hear her, he felt the essence drain from her soul until it was gone. That was what he should have told his father – what his father had needed to hear. That mortals left holes in you no magic or willpower could overcome. That they would leave, and if you had any sense you would let them do this sooner rather than later. That they were easy to love because they were predators, ensnaring your heart with flowers swiftly given way to thorns. They left you broken. They were dangerous. You could not love one and hope to survive. And the lord hadn't.

Sesshoumaru felt barely more than a ghost most days himself. He managed hatred (especially towards those who had human blood thrumming through their veins), and occasionally graciousness, but never since Midoriko had he felt alive.

Understandably, the strange miko's earlier accusations were enough to send him into a rage, yet they did not. There was something about her that had always unsettled him. The smell of so many clung to her – not just on the outside, but within. They stuck to her aura, wafted on her breath, and if he could see it, he imagined they would be there imprinted on her very soul, clawing and claiming. He had no wish to fight those ready to possess the girl's body for their own ends and so her survival was paramount. At least until Midoriko's soul was at rest.

A wind whipped up from the south, blasting his hair into his face, sending chills across his back. He wondered what the miko's soul felt like underneath the others that hid it. A small part of him had always been curious to find out. Another instinct-preserving part of his mind knew the answer to the riddle of the time-travelling priestess already, but was too afraid to share its knowledge.

Loving mortals was a death sentence. Like any other living creature, Sesshoumaru instinctually avoided death.


A/N: I hope there aren't too many mistakes in this chapter. Please hit me up if you find anything that is obviously incorrect. I've been up all night with a sick dog (not the best time to edit).

Love,

Lucy~