All's Fair in Love and War
Kikyo and Kagome discuss Inuyasha, and Kikyo tells Kagome what the reincarnate already knows. One-shot. No Character Bashing.
Disclaimer: I don't own Inuyasha.
The look in your eyes is priceless: Surprised and pained.
I wonder what it is about me that you just can't seem to understand, and then I remember smugly it's because I have something you don't. It's the one thing you want from him, the only thing you could ever possibly want from him. The one thing a young girl desperate for someone to hold could ever want from her desire: His love.
"You hate me, don't you?" I ask.
Don't think that I didn't see you wince, and that you brought your arms to your chest to clutch your body tightly. You're barely able to stand, because I'm standing here tall and proud, calm and elegant—and I'm a dead woman in a clay body.
Here you are, in your simple 'school uniform' from your world, and your simple hairstyle that never changes. Here I am, dressed in an ancient robe that priestesses have worn for decades upon centuries. If not different by our simple vanities, our clothing says another thing about us. What makes you think we're so similar? Because people that have known me tell you that you look like me? Hardly! A young girl, looking like a disciplined and honorable woman like me? It's sickening to think that such a small flower like you can be considered my reincarnate.
As I tell you this, I see tears begin to cloud your eyes. You're much too weak for him, I wonder why he even keeps you around. In spite of myself, I resort to childish teasing, and ask you if he keeps you around because you're a living breathing mini version of me? That seems to make you mad more than sad, and you retort that he does love you, words aren't always needed.
Walking towards you, you shut your mouth quickly, and stare at me as though afraid I'll bite your neck and suck your blood. Bringing up my pale hand, I rest it on your pale cheek. You flinch from the contact, and bring a hand up as though to slap my hand away, but you don't.
The soft skin of your cheek is so warm compared to my ever cold body. It's cold, because I am not of this world with a body made of this world. Yet, though the same soul is circulating inside of us, you are warm. I admit, only to myself, that I'm albeit only a little jealous of you for that. But not enough to actually make any indication.
"Though you know he'll never get over me, you still stand by him. Why?" I ask suddenly. Coldly.
You look so surprised and hurt, had I actually cared, I may have apologized for my harsh tone. But I don't care, so I don't. Either way, you avert your gaze and look down at the ground beside us. It's still very dark, and the moon had been covered by thick, dark clouds minutes ago. The stars couldn't even provide enough light to make her tears glisten.
"Because, I still love him. Even if his heart is torn in two!" you answer.
I simply smirk.
"Are you sure his heart is even split? He may care for you, but so many misinterpret love for something less—more nepotistic. (A/N: Nepotism is the favoritism towards relatives.) He could simply care for you as a comrade would, or maybe it's because he knows parts of me are within you, that he stays."
I know my answer hurts you, and it's no use trying to hold back your cries of anguish and hurt. When I tell you so, I watch, albeit a bit sadistically, as you crumble to the ground, your hands are pulling your hair and your whimpers scratching your throat. I know you wish I wasn't being so straightforward, and more like my usual self: Mysterious and talking in riddles. I know you want me to leave, so you can go back to your feeble campsite and fall asleep, hoping to forget our conversation, or think it was all just a dream come morning.
But you won't forget. We both know that. You'll remember every last word, and every last tear you shed from my words. It'll eat you up inside, and you'll feel sick whenever you think about it. Because, sooner or later, you'll realize my words are true, and you're nothing but a weak little girl. He won't ever love you as he has, and still does, love me, so you should just stop. Stop your little charade, because in the end, it will be you who gets hurt.
I utter these words, and I watch you take them in. You stop your crying, and you sit there, staring at the hard ground that is what I'm made of. I watch your eyes, and though I hide it, I'm surprised. You've stopped crying, and your eyes look much older, much more wiser, much more like my own. You stand, and turn around in the direction of your campsite. Your hands are clenched into fists, and I wonder how you've become so in control of yourself when just moments ago you were a sobbing wreck.
Just as you begin to walk off, you stop near the tree line, and glance at me over your shoulder.
"You're wrong Kikyo…" you say, your voice strong but quiet. "You're wrong, because I already know all that."
I don't say anything, because I don't know what to say.
"Yet, I still won't give up, or give him up. I don't care what happened between you two, but I'm not going down without a fight. Like they say, 'All's fair in love and war,' right?" you say, and I see something so odd, it's baffling.
The corners of your lips turn up, ever so slightly, and I see you're smirking. Only long after you've disappeared do I realize why you were smirking. Lifting my hand up to my face, I found my lips parted: My mouth was hanging open. You were able to, for the first time in my life, or at least, the time afterward, make my mouth hang open agape and leave me speechless.
And at my own game, too…
Fin