Disclaimer: Oh, yeah. Rumiko Takahashi miraculously learned English overnight. Sure.
In a darkened room in the grand hidden castle, a handsome (if not nearly feminine) man kneeled in front of a pot of flesh, as though sculpting some beautiful piece of pottery with clay. Only the matter bubbling in the pot was not clay, but flesh...
Naraku worked intently, sculpting out of the flesh a form that looked more humanoid with each passing of his pale, spider like hands. After a while the figure was clearly that of a woman. She would be small, and easily underestimated. He gave her pale smooth skin and sensual curves that would be sure to bring envy to the prettiest village girls. After all, his creation had to be beautiful. There was no question in that. Fiery red eyes and a spirit to match (although Naraku would learn that much later, and curse his own carelessness for allowing her to have a soul.) Dainty hands, full mouth, a delicate face.
The minutes slid by like the shadows in the flickering light, and finally, his newest "child" was done.
"Kagura," Naraku spoke in his silky, dark voice to the new being. He had spent some time contemplating a name for this functional artwork, finally concluding that this one would be best.
Immediately the woman's eyes snapped open, alert and dangerous like the predator he had designed her to be; still, however, glazed over with the confusion of awareness of the world around her. Her movements were slightly clumsy as she became accustomed to her limbs and flesh, but Naraku knew that soon she would move with the elegance and grace of the wind itself. She looked down at her own body and was not at all shameful of its bareness, and then those garnet eyes focused on him, immediately filling with a dislike that would quickly bloom into hatred.
"Naraku," she spat his name hoarsely like a curse, instantly knowing his name and his purpose through the connection between master and servant she would loathe one day. Her full red lips curled in disgust at this as it registered in her mind. It was the only thing in her mind that she knew. After finally digesting this information fully, she made her first decision.
No.
She would not ever accept to be a servant; a slave. Naraku smirked—she had spirit and intelligence. Perfect. He would love to break her.
He held out his hand and Kagura looked at it, eyes clearing. Slowly flesh seemed to grow there and pulsate, and he squeezed the half formed heart. Immediately her pale form, still weak from birth, crumpled to the floor. She did not cry out, but her elegant face twisted in agony. After a few moments Naraku stopped his torment on her.
"Kagura," Naraku said again, and though her expression still held defiance (and always would, until her dying day), this time she bowed her head in submission, and spoke for the second time.
"Yes, Naraku," she said, face burning slightly in humiliation and anger.
He gave her a richly embroidered silk kimono and jade earrings, and ordered her to put them on. He noted with dark satisfaction that the garment fit her perfectly. The next gift he would give her would be like an extension of her limbs—the tool with which she would do his bidding.
But a beautiful minion could simply not have a rough or normal weapon like a sword. Something dainty...seemingly fragile and delicate, but capable of efficiently destroying life. Something that would give her the element of surprise. He handed her what would be her lifeline.
Kagura studied the delicate fan. It was crafted from wood and cream colored paper infused with magic, colored with a streak of crimson that matched her eyes and kimono perfectly. Wordlessly, she clutched her new weapon like a life line.
"Kanna." Naraku beckoned at a corner, and a white child stepped out from the shadows, blank eyes gazing downwards toward a mirror in her small hands. The mirror seemed to flicker with life, and showed a picture of a white haired boy clad in scarlet robes, a monk, a woman with a boomerang on her back, and a girl in a ridiculously revealing green and white kimono.
"You are to kill them."
Kagura had recovered quickly. She raised a sculpted brow, scarlet eyes filled with a kind of predatory delight, and for a moment forgot that she was to be a slave. She smiled wickedly. She would kill them, and she would kill him, and she would embrace the blood that poured from the sky like rain because at the moment it was all she knew.
"Yes, Naraku."
A silent agreement had been reached between the two of them, even if they did not know it. He would always try to break her, and she would always fight back to the end.
Kagura walked—slowly, majestically, confidently—then pulled an ornate clip to bind her dark tresses from the kimono she had been given, along with a few white feathers. Her actions came to her as if she had done them millions of times. She tucked all but one into the clip. She held it in one hand, and its size multiplied to become comfortable enough to sit on. She stepped onto it, and spared one last glance at the silhouette called Naraku.
And with that, she flew off, and began.
A/N: This was originally on my other account, "wicked schmoness." I've revised a bit. There are so many fics about Kagura's death that I decided to be contrary and write a fic about her birth. Tell me what you think!