Author Notes: … –runs and hides–

disclaimer: nope. nada. –pouts–

warnings/notes: NarKag, general twisted-ness, more dangerous introspective and foreshadowing… yay.

Many thanks to ZippyRox for beta-ing this long-awaited chapter. Hope you enjoy!

And without further ado…

Thy Soul of Sin
by scelerus animus

Chapter Eight
In this Mock of Perfection

Silently it sat upon one of the higher shelves, perhaps to ward off dust that would dare to mar the beauty it was able to keep motionless and wordless, as if perpetually stuck in a time where it would be forever lovely and pristine and valuable. Indeed, the porcelain doll seemed to gaze down at Kagome with an eerily solemn air.

Like its equally flawless china skin covered by a delicate, immaculate silk kimono and elegantly manufactured china face lightly airbrushed with pink to give it an endearing blush and pouty painted red lips almost hauntingly fixed somewhere in between a knowing smile and a jeer—yes, those glassy, painted eyes of the deepest jeweled blue stared, even taunted Kagome as if they saw, they knew.

Saw truth. Knew fate. Kagome's fate.

Kagome's fate as a beautiful doll, as refined and as fragile as porcelain and just as wretchedly cold, unfeeling. Emotionless. Helplessly trapped to her inevitable fate, never to love (except for life, because a mocking kiss to the lips is just that, nothing more, nothing less, right?), never to feel (and those clawed fingers tangled in her raven hair meant nothing, right?), only allowed to hate and desperately seek solace in revenge with that same pained smirk upon her inhumanly beautiful face, never to fault because that wasn't an option.

Like secret whispers that she could no longer hear, those dreams and slips of memories (if those in fact had ever truly been real… were they?) that had plagued her continuously the first couple of weeks after she had awaken without an identity no longer beleaguered her in hazy, painful flashes of sounds and colors, screams and blood (though they were splattered upon the edges of mind like a bloody mural).

She wasn't sure why, but they undoubtedly had ceased. Or perhaps she was merely immune to them now.

After all, a person with no soul of her own can't be touched (a stroke, a kiss, nothing, nothing).

All she had left to which to cling was her hate and her revenge, and a fathomless hollowness, a gaping hole in her heart, in which to drown.

Nevertheless… as she had told Naraku, there was still hope in this oxymoronic world, even if it was unreachable to her. Thus, if solely by mere ingrained habit, she always would wistfully chase her slowly disappearing happiness in the distance. Because something not entirely automatic, mechanized, mindless—something not entirely doll-like—still resided in her: this hope.

Although, certainly, it all was a hopeless cause in the end. Those painted blue eyes knew.

After all, those eyes were soulless, and they looked upon the soulless.

Kagome saw her reflection in those pretty, empty glass eyes, and she saw her future.

(absently she wondered, if one day her beloved hope would drown in the infinite void, the gaping hole, that was her heart)

"I think… I would like to buy that doll."

Reddish-brown—plump dewdrops of scarlet red swimming in mud—eyes shamelessly examined Kagome with faint curiosity, if not mocking amusement, flickering in ever changing, devious depths. "Was it not your purpose to purchase necessities for Izumi-san, not to buy material items? After all, for what does a miko need a porcelain doll?"

"And purchased the things for Izumi-san, I have," retorted Kagome curtly, gesturing to the items in her arms. "Besides, I thought to give the doll to you since you seemed to be quite obsessed with them, Naraku-sama," Kagome added, not without the slightest bit of sarcasm acerbically dripping from her lips like poisoned honey (so thick, sticky that for those who became caught in it escape was impossible).

"Oh, but I already have one, miko," Naraku silkily assured her, casually twirling a stray lock of raven hair loose from Kagome's messy bun around a clawed finger. "And I am rather fond of this doll."

"That can be dangerous, Naraku-sama," Kagome warned in a disdainfully saccharine voice, a pained but taunting smile curving her sweets lips, a painted smile that jarringly resembled the doll's. "After all, what happens when that doll, by your own hands or other means, breaks and you are left all alone, no longer having your little toy to play with? Honestly, isn't that a mistake humans make: to attach themselves so foolishly to something so that when it is gone, they feel the loss?"

Unsurprisingly, Naraku's eyes narrowed, precariously flashing a sharp, lethal crimson as they appraised Kagome as if with the ability to see into one's soul. Kagome didn't even flinch.

Even if Naraku had the ability to look into one's soul, which he came close to being able to do but not entirely, Kagome wasn't sure if she had enough of a soul left anyway.

"Oh, but miko, if ever my pretty little doll ever breaks, I have the ability to fix her," Naraku replied with a not-so-gentle tug on raven locks.

"Not everything can be fixed, Naraku-sama." For a moment, Kagome's perfected smile wavered and acquired something that could be compared to a sneer, venomous and scornful (and still somehow hauntingly beautiful). "Or didn't you learn that the first time around?"

"And what about you, Kagome?" hissed Naraku. "Do you enjoy repeating your mistakes over and over again, always to the same fate?"

A nonchalant shrug. "I'm human. Humans are doomed to repeat their mistakes over and over again. It's our way of life."

"How pathetic."

"Then why do you do the same? And why do you put up with me and my foolish human mistakes?"

"I'm not as foolish as to throw away a doll that still has use, miko," Naraku replied coolly, words still a fatal poison that could not be detected. "Or do you wish to be a forgotten toy once again? I had thought you'd be rather tired of that by now."

And in her mind—a mind with jagged, potentially harmful fragments of memories that she could not trust—the lovely image of the soulless doll inevitably cracked and shattered.

Cracked and shattered like the strange woman's—no, no that's not right—her mother's China doll she had dropped when she had tried to get it down from the high shelf in the living room when she had been ten. But, certainly, that image—memory?—couldn't be real… could it?

(a bloody mural, crimson handprints of her past smeared grotesquely on the walls, echoes of the dying)

For a moment, Kagome numbly swayed, colors a vigorous whirlpool of psychedelic dimensions around her, and she was in an alternate era that seemed almost familiar, a faraway dream that she could never grasp no matter how much she ran. Voices and images and emotions that she almost recognized but not quite, like looking at another world through a paper screen.

Perhaps she was not as immune as she had thought.

Abruptly, Kagome became aware of the warmth that supported her, the steady breath against her skin, and the silken lips, which she knew to be curved in a demonic smirk, that ghosted against her ear in a noiseless laugh.

As if a wave had just brutally crashed down around her, Kagome harshly jerked herself back into the reality of now. The reality in which Naraku infinitely resided. A heartless reality that didn't have a place for broken human dolls.

Clawed fingers still tangled in her hair, a darkly silken voice murmured seductively, "Then you will make your own place in this world, Kagome."

And such a tempting offer that was. Possibly even more enticing than thought of having her memories returned to her.

With rigid, forced movements and a stiff spine, Kagome brusquely turned and wordlessly exited the small keep while bloody eyes of scarlet and glassy eyes of deep jeweled blue surveyed her, both mocking, both knowing.

(so would her hope drown in the gaping hole of her heart or in addictive pools of devious scarlet?)

Allowing her dark tresses to slip easily from his claws, Naraku unperturbedly watched her leave. As she disappeared from sight (but never from his awareness), he allowed his presently scarlet eyes to flicker lazily over the porcelain doll with which Kagome had been so wholly transfixed.

Indeed, it was an elegantly crafted doll, an inanimate but indisputably beautiful object eternally caught in the hourglass of time, fixed in its place. And perhaps the jagged crack that now marred its painted porcelain features, harshly piercing one unseeing, jeweled sapphire eye, only enhanced the doll's beguiling allure.

With another soft, darkly pleased chuckle and flash of fanged teeth, Naraku also exited the small shop into the noisy bustle of the crowded market—a common mortal's version of choas.

As he moved through the flurry and buzz of ignorance and mortality, Naraku apathetically noted that the aura of oncoming chaos was now far closer.

Idly, if not with a touch of malice, he mused as to what his miko, who did not yet even realize the power she inertly possessed, would do.

Surely, it would be intriguing to watch.

.
. ... .
.

(time slowed, a single brilliantly scarlet bead of blood wavered precariously, finally fell, splattered, vivid, vivacious, and a life was so plainly, effortlessly destroyed)

Whirling billows of dust brutally whipped against Kagome's pale face, grains like deadly needles, easily tearing the delicate flesh, but Kagome only resisted more determinedly and pushed back against the fierce wind with more force as she strung another arrow.

In a proximity far too close for comfort, an inhuman roar sounded through the whistling wind, already overflowing with chaos—panicked screams of terror, helpless cries of the villagers.

Massive and monstrous, the demon emitted another horrendous roar, slimy and screeching, like the sound of skulls crunched between bloody fingers, and took another earth-shaking step farther into the mountain village bathed in crimson flames.

Where did that demon come from? Kagome irately wondered, wincing at another biting gust of wind as she steadied her bow, aimed, and unleashed an arrow in a vivid streak of pink.

As the local miko in the region, she had encountered demons many times before but never one with such a magnitude as this, especially one that had attacked the village directly. This reeked of suspicion.

As she raised her arm in an attempt to shield her eyes from another flurry of spiky, pin-like dust, Kagome's brow furrowed in further irritation. Perhaps an arranged confrontation?

A vibrant burst of pink briefly blazed through the hazy smoke and hungry crimson flames where the arrow struck the horned demon on his spiked shoulder, but the demon merely staggered for a moment and continued his relentless obliteration of the petrified village.

Silently cursing, Kagome desperately tried again to hurry through narrow, crowded, crimson-inflamed market streets and find a closer position where she could attack that demon the best.

Heat from the raging flames ruthlessly scourged her skin while ash and smoke blackened her clothes and clogged her throat.

"Run to the mountain caves and hide!" she shouted to the terrified villagers still trying to navigate the burning streets. Screams and pleas pitifully filled her ears, her mind, the wretched cries of the dying, but, honestly, the only chance of saving these people was to destroy the demon, so she pushed on.

Stumbling over debris from a demolished stand, Kagome roughly fell to the oddly cool dirt, splinters from stray wood digging forcefully into her palms like the crushed broken bones of those already dead, and barely escaped a heavy wooden beam that had suddenly collapsed and would have indisputably smashed her head open.

Coughing harshly, Kagome obstinately, if only a tad shakily, stood and continued toward a cliff edge that would surely give her a better aim at the demon.

Once there, Kagome instantly strung another arrow and took careful aim.

The demon roared. Crimson flames raged. Sapphire eyes narrowed. Kagome released her arrow.

With a vivacious surge of glittering pink amongst fiery crimson, her arrow struck true. In another wave of swirling smoke and crumbing dirt, the howling demon gracelessly tumbled over.

Consequently, the earth immediately quaked beneath her feet, crudely splitting and rupturing, jagged chunks rising in the air as Kagome lost her footing and plunged over the edge of the disintegrating cliff.

Oddly, Kagome didn't scream—though with her sore throat so copiously clogged with dust and smoke and ash, like a clawed hand covering her mouth, intent on smothering her, it was uncertain whether she had the ability anyway—but she muttered hazily, "I wonder where that damned hanyou is… Naraku…"

And then instead of a bone-shattering collision—like a budding drop of blood bursting, splattering, life ending, mind numbing into a fading oblivion—as she expected, Kagome landed with a rough, abrupt jerk on a strangely pleasant, soft, warm bulk.

The abhorrently heavy smell of smoke and ash was welcomingly permeated and masked by the musty smell of earth and animal fur. In her dazed state, Kagome felt the sudden, irrational urge to giggle.

But really, she mused abstractly, the fur—it tickles. And the aura... The aura is fierce, but not… not menacing. How unusual… the aura of a demon—not menacing. All the demons that I've met so far, their auras are always dark, menacing… wicked… Like Naraku. Naraku who—Naraku—Naraku—

With silent gasp of pain, glittering ruby bloody slickly trickling down her chin, Kagome jerked up, lily-white porcelain hands marred, dirty and bleeding, fiercely clutching clumps of pale yellow fur.

—Naraku who is probably laughing at me for my inattentiveness—and this whole situation in general. Naraku—bastard—

Presently, an authoritative but uniquely feminine voice disrupted the beginning of Kagome's vindictive wordless rampage: "I'm so glad I caught you, miko-sama. I almost thought I wouldn't make it when I first saw you fall."

Silently cursing her restrictive injuries and her resulting carelessness, Kagome promptly cleared her mind and assessed the situation. Wind bit harshly at her face, more like cruel icicles, however, and not the relentless whirlwinds of dust and debris, like thousands of minuscule teeth maliciously tearing at her skin.

Currently, she was riding high in the chilly skies above the fiery mayhem, on the back of a rather large cat demon. With a jolt that surprisingly pained her more than her actual injuries, Kagome distinguished the horned demon amongst the unrelenting flames and the tortuous screams that came along with it.

Resolution once again firm, Kagome turned her head to examine quickly the supposed owner, or companion, of the flying feline.

Before her sat a young dark-haired woman garbed in the distinctive outfit of a demon exterminator.

(who are you? who am I? can you please tell me?)

.
. ... .
.

Shock rippling through her body, like some type of instant-spreading, sense-numbing medicine, Sango stared indubitably into the face of Kagome Higurashi and knew in that precise moment, somehow, that this young girl—woman—before her was inexplicably not the same Kagome Higurashi Sango had known when she'd gone missing.

This fact was only further proved to be truth when Sango continued to stare, voice caught in her throat as if swollen with sticky spider webs, in Kagome's exclusively unique sapphire eyes and could not perceive any recognition swimming amidst their infinite depths.

Certainly, Kagome's appearance had changed… drastically. Sango herself had not recognized Kagome when she had first spotted the priestess fearlessly firing arrows at the errant demon. Nor even when Kirara had caught Kagome in the nick of time had Sango recognized her.

Dressed in apparent miko garb far more elegant and finer than Sango had ever seen: light blue hakama, swirling silvery-white patterns of Sakura blossoms on the sleeves of a brilliant white haori, despite the grime and smoke and ash residue that coated it… and Kagome's hair, still lustrous and black as ravens' feathers, but longer, wilder, secured in a striking tumble of knots and twists by silver chopsticks that gleamed equally radiant in the light…

Yet despite all of that, there was something deeper about this Kagome— endlessly deeper, that had altered…

Fear now viciously surged forth, despite Sango's aversion to it, especially when it surfaced because of… Kagome, who had been Sango's best friend for as long as she'd known her.

Nonetheless, it did, like a beast released from its cage, and it was because of Kagome… because Sango, who always had been able to read Kagome easily and know what was on her mind, could not discern a single thought or emotion in those sharp sapphire eyes…

Abnormally sharp sapphire eyes that shined with such a mystifying, almost haunted aura beneath the initial darkly severe determination…

Indeed, Sango was stunned. Perhaps, part of her was even appalled…

What had happened to Kagome?

"I apologize for my rudeness, but I need you to take me closer to the demon!" Kagome snapped, tersely breaking Sango's trance as she uncovered these horrifying truths.

Still, for a moment longer, Sango noticed, almost tentatively, listlessly, that Kagome's attention had fully returned to the crisis at hand, sparing no further inspection of Sango herself. No surprise. No recognition.

Only the cold, commanding, if not forever respectful, acknowledgement that an aid to a miko—Kagome, that was what she was now; Kagome, the icily powerful, beautifully dangerous miko—should receive.

Perhaps, it was the mere effect of the shock Sango experienced at the moment; nevertheless, in that same disjointed way, Sango then noticed the garish, vivid crimson blood that liberally tainted Kagome's eerily pale, almost ethereal-looking skin.

Hideously, it surged down Kagome's form in lively streams of shimmering red, seeping profusely, vilely into the shimmering cloth of one particular sleeve of Kagome's haori, staining, then dripping from her blistered fingers, plump bloody beads of life, onto Kirara's fur or the abyss below. Even so, as if numb to everything else, Kagome simply strung another arrow with adroitness that Sango had never seen.

Dark eyes wide etched with fear, horror, Sango stuttered, "Ka–Kago—"

"We need to go higher so I can get better aim!" Kagome interrupted heatedly, bleeding and beautiful and someone who was utterly unknown, inexplicably foreign to Sango; a priceless figure to be observed and praised but never touched. "Now!"

What had happened to her Kagome?

"Damn it!"—Sango noticeably flinched at the word, sounding so alien and severe on Kagome's tongue—"Are you listening to me? There are people dying!"

Those words, fierce and passionate and wholly selfless, struck a distant chord in Sango's mystified mind, the echoing reminisce of an idealistic fifteen-year-old girl from another era who Sango had known and loved dearly. Like her own flesh and blood. Like… a sister.

Undeniably, those words were the bitter echo of another loved one Sango had lost, but they also were a needed, albeit fading, symbol of hope, and Sango clung to that vanishing, wispy notion desperately.

"Kirara, higher!"

Thus higher and higher they soared.

And wider and wider did Sango's eyes rapidly become as fear, misery, sorrow—all unseen beasts that eternally haunted Sango's heart, ravenously scraping at the throbbing muscle, shredding it to fleshy irreparable pieces—overwhelmingly converged in dark, anguished brown depths like a glass teetering on the edge.

With these horrified eyes Sango was forced to face reality, to watch Kagome—who was this miko, so frightening and tauntingly exotic drenched in scarlet?—as she deftly aimed her pulsating arrow, fearlessly released her purifying storm, and screamed in all her self-righteous fury.

"Die, you bastards, die!"

Then Sango's own frantic hollers (for Kagome, for Miroku, or for any kind of savior) echoed louder and louder when Kagome's bow abruptly slipped from her pale, limp grasp as she fainted, glimmering scarlet waves of blood teeming liberally over her slumped form like some kind of twisted, elegant kimono—indeed, a beautiful doll dressed for perfection.

(some loved her, some hated her, but no one knew her except for one—she was his flawless china doll after all)

End Notes: So I can't apologize enough for the agonizingly long wait, but I am eternally grateful to all the reviewers and readers who have encouraged me and supported me. This chapter was undoubtedly different like how all the rest of them are, even if slightly, because my moods and styles are ever-changing. A little rough in my opinion but ah well. Hopefully you stillenjoyed it and want more!

Updates should be faster because usually I have more time to write during the summer, so perhaps now I won't get so many threats concerning my lack of updating. –smiles– Just kidding, I truly do appreciate all the reviews I've gotten. I'm so amazed at the support! Squee! I love guys!

Seriously though, updates will be more frequent.

Reviews are greatly appreciated and constructive criticism is always considered. Both are loved foods for the starving authoress! Thanks.

And till next time…

Ja ne!

– scelerus animus o.O