InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Forever STrong ❯ Tales for Tabloids ( Chapter 2 )

“You have heard of Inuyasha, yes?”

 

Abigail groaned inwardly and rolled her eyes. She should have known. Ever since that Kitsune from America published his adventures in the Sengoku Jidai eighty years ago the media has been a on the receiving end of millions of absurd claims. Nuraku attacking a small town in Europe, Miroku reborn and looking for his beloved Sango, Kouga sightings in North America; there were so many that there were now tabloids jut for them, nothing but claims of reincarnation and family tales of how their ancestors met Inuyasha's group.

 

That's what the author had called his little band of demon slaying Nuraku hating travelers. Not, “My group” Inuyasha's group. It became Obvious that Inuyasha was the main focus of the stories, and he became as familiar as Mickey Mouse of the nineteen hundreds. The release of the small fairytale-like stories with their cute little illustrations alarmed many, for the story of Nuraku, the evil demon who devastated Japan over seven hundred years ago, had become nothing more than old family legends passed through each generation out of sheer boredom and a lack of good bedtime stories. To have those same stories published and in such a way caused a great bit of commotion.

 

Even Abigail, a small child at the time, became obsessed with Inuyasha. The realization that the stories her grandmother read to her as a child was a real life adventure that happened centuries ago gave her such a wild thrill. It was what originally steered her into journalism. She wanted to write about those kinds of adventures.

 

But she grew up and realized that stories like the Inuyasha tales were meant to stay in the bedroom. Good and evil don't go battling out in the town square and if a youkai attacks you no hansom silver-haired hanyou will rescue you. Life wasn't some fairy tale. The Sengoku Jidai and its worriers are just as far away as the castles and knights of Europe. Reality beaconed and the world needed to move on.

 

“I really have no time for your tales.” Abigail replied as she turned her attention back to her computer, the impatiently blinking cursor a silent reminder of her deadline. “Perhaps someone at the front desk could put you in contact with a tabloid interested in the—”

 

“No, you must be the one to write it. No one else can.” the emptiness in the room grew like a loud silence, unbearable in its intensity. The child rose from the seat, her legs swinging down to the floor just like a little girl who's just been waiting in her mother's office, now ready and excited to go home, but her face held none of the joy of that child. The misty cloak swung around her in such mesmerizing movements that Abigail found it hard to look away from the retreating figure.

 

The childlike demon turned around as she reached the door, grasping the doorknob, and faced Abigail. Suddenly every shiny piece of jewelry caught the last rays of the setting sun, gleaming with such an astonishing brightness that Abigail almost turned away, but it wasn't only the jewelry. Something she hadn't noticed before, woven into the loose gown were millions of tiny shards of glass, no not any glass. Mirror shards!

 

She adjusted her keen dragon eyes, zooming in on the fragments. To her surprise each shard held within it a small reflection. Her heart skipped as the pieces began to reassemble before her, each piece connecting, forming in her mind a solid, unbroken image of herself, sitting at her desk, staring into a mirror.

 

Frightened she pulled back, gasping for breath she stared at the ordinary girl again, outfit and jewelry glittering like stars.

 

“I could have taken your soul then.” The child whispered, an astonished tone hidden beneath the emptiness. As though she hadn't realized her mirror could do that.

 

Suddenly Abigail remembered a character in the tales. A young demon child dressed in white, with no presence or scent, able to take souls into her mystical mirror. The child opened the door and hurried out. Not a panicked stride, but a quick relaxed pace.

 

She gazed down the hall at the small white child until she disappeared behind the elevator doors, wanting to say something, anything! But the realization was just too astounding. Finally one simple word escaped her in a heavy breath.

 

“Kanna.”