InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Heng Xi ❯ Yuki ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Fuyumiko 
As the eternity of seasons taste the wine of forbidden fruit, memories are revived. [SesshoumaruxInuyasha]
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Romance / Angst | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 11.12.2004 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.7K | Visits: 1.1K | Status: Completed
As the eternity of seasons taste the wine of forbidden fruit, memories are revived. [SesshoumaruxInuyasha]
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Psychological / Romance / Angst | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 11.12.2004 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.7K | Visits: 1.1K | Status: Completed
A/N: Took me forever to write this (and it is so short >.<), I have wanted to do a fic relating to the relations ship between Izayoi and the rest of the dog youkai family we know of and hold dearly. And this fanfic is a result of what I was partally trying to accomplish. I warn there are slight bits of Shonen-ai and incest, considering the pairing of the fanfic in SesshoumarxInuYasha, which I did not emphasize too greatly.
Disclaimer: InuYasha and co; belong only to Rumiko Takahashi and its respected owners. I have no rights to it whatsoever and the characters are only used as a result of my evil fandomness.
Heng Xi
November 12, 2004
By: Arashi, Fuyumiko
It was forever engraved in his memory.
That single moment; before his blood boiled, before he felt the thirst of blood, the joy of killing, he knew the gift of sanity.
He knew control.
Now it was gone. Completely torn away. Leaving him bare and vulnerable to the ever judging eyes of the world. It was then he knew that Goshinki must die. His youkai blood had taken over then, eyes had turned a brilliant scarlet; a royal blue pupil in the center, upon his face dark purple markings appeared.
The wind almost at once shifted. Causing turmoil in the trees and air; he knew nothing of his companions behind him. Nor did he care.
Only then did it matter when the dismember parts of Goshinki were spewed upon the ground. Blood and shattered bone, spewed organs and full reeking scent of its death did the sound of reason seep into him; poring from the recesses of his normal functioning brain did he remember.
Goshinki was dead.
And that was fine; his blood still almost an intense murdering heat.
Goshinki saw what he should not have seen.
Reading one’s mind was a terrible gift, either to the one reading minds or the people having their minds read.
He would not stand for this beast, this abomination of… of Naraku who was basically the scum of the earth, to dare touch his memories. And dreams.
So he had not.
And the desires and memories he had in all his lifetime blurred into one.
It was right before he blacked out, the force of the incantation that made the rosary glow and heat up against his skin. That last thought.
Sesshoumaru…
She was laughing again.
That soft fluted sound that reminded him of spring. And it was spring, soft and fresh, beautiful in the death of winter.
Sakura petals leaked down, falling like snow. It contrasted to her long flowing dark hair, a beautiful silky mass. She was wearing a layered kimono today, creamy lavender, embroidered with vines and tiny yellow flowers. There was fragile beauty there. In her movements, the soft assign of her hand on her cheek, the sigh from her lips, that simple nonchalant shift of her legs from beneath all the soft white layers of silk she wore.
A silent breeze came through, the branches of the trees rustling again without remorse. Only bliss. There was no indifference in the scent of the world today, but the still peace of something that could be easily broken. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of purple, they shown and bridged each other, a decked shading; very much at home to shadows. Her eyes showed sorrow and amusement.
The scent drifted to his nose pleasantly, the scent of sakura, and that unrecognizable scent that was too serene to come from anything but her. It made him think of rushing water, cold snow beneath your feet when you’re so hot and exhausted from running, seeing twilight, and tasting heaven; it was like that very much.
Dutifully he hated her as the son should, who was he to love such a thing and betray, no digraces them all? Taint the bloodline that had been so secure for through the centuries?
Yet he knew already.
The Inu no Taisho did as he pleased.
And there was nothing a youkai such as Sesshoumaru could do about it, but to watch her. Watch her beneath the trees who did murmur and sigh belatedly at his actions. The wind saw through him, and he remained quite still.
He did not want to understand.
It was frozen in his memory.
The soft smile she had, the gentleness of her fluttering white dove soft hands. And most of all her voice, a voice so perfect to his ears, he thought it to be merely the complications of music unraveled.
‘Okaa-san,’
The hut was dim; his claws were still stained with fury’s blood. The scent of night still made him not want to move. Not want to a acknowledge the presence of Kagome, the girl who had painstakingly wound all the salve covered bandages around his scarring wounds. The wounds were inside and outside.
It was dark in here, the whispered voices of the others he could hear outside of the hut. A tall structure of dark rotting wood and straw. The moon was full tonight, mocking him and the clarity of his blood, the straw mat did little to shield’s its daunting light from his view.
He felt horrible. His white hair matted and dirtied with blood and mud, wounds covered him and the bandage accompanying it like a sneaky lover. The salve rubbed and stuck disgustingly against his skin, but more so was his blood.
For since forever of his existence he had wondered. The blood that was his, half human, half demon, one and not the other.
It was profoundly complex and on the edge of his reason it tired him more then anything else. In the night his eyes were of molten amber, his form shivering in more distaste of his existence then cold.
Many years ago, did he not come to terms with this abnormal blood of his? Promise himself to a shrine maiden, and deemed to make himself one or the other? Finally kill that undeniable fact that he was shameful for not just being black, or not just being white, for not just being one and not the other? For what was wrong for being both?
The slight clink of the monk’s shakujo brought him from his musings. Long ago he had saw one leaning against the fortune teller’s hut.
“You must be silent,” Izayoi said, brushing a leaf of autumn from her son’s hair, brushing a twitching snowy ear. The hanyou nodded solemnly and she couldn’t help wonder with slight distress what usual mischief he was going to cause once she left.
Setting him aside, he sat on the small bench to Suzuki’s hut. Suzuki was the middle-aged woman who had taken kindness to her after she fled from the latest village because of the abnormality of her son. Her heart grieved always and Suzuki knew that, thus she planned this very day to look into her future and aid her for what to come.
Rustling silk of the old pink kimono was the sign she went in, leaving a bewildered InuYasha peer curiously at the weather beaten brass of the holy staff leaning against the splintering wood. Curiosity had always been the undoing of him and his mother often scolded him gently on the consequences of such.
Now was no different.
The monk had come after him yelling up a storm.
A quirk set to his lips at the memory. He smiled bitterly.
For he was cursed.
She was dancing.
Dancing, twirling rapidly, layers furling around her like a typhoon of multi-colored waters. A graceful figure, slender and more delicate then glass. Footsteps causing a small imprint in the snow, swaying folds of fabric whisking across it, creating circular flowers.
It was cold and her breath came out in small puffs of foggy clouds. The world seemed to break. She stayed like that for what seemed like forever.
Her kimono was now warmly layered, a deja vu of light blue with midnight blue cranes threaded into it, creating a pattern of their flight.
In all her immortal-like beauty she was not. She was human, a fragile thing that he could easily crush and break, soft flesh and bones far easier to snap then twigs. A restless creature he was and sulkily, yet smoothly, her joined her. Carefully took her hand, smooth and warm- in his own, a long slender striped deadly thing.
She had paused in shock, but once seeing him in full light her stalker, blue crescent moon on his forehead, white robes, and long white hair as the snow was. She seemed to relax. And across the snow both moved beautifully; she fluid water and swift moving figure against him, as he was only a leaf being carried along.
Yet still he did not want to understand, not in this place an eternal cold quite place. Where the only music was made by her.
And it was such a sad desperate song.
It was lost in his memory.
She would sing to him at night.
How lovely her voice was, reminding him that the world was what it was ugly and beautiful. Head on her lap, he would listen to the tales unfold colorfully with every note she made flow. Often then he could smile some, she would smile back too. Red painted lips curling in pleasure at his little happiness; yes she did have red lips. It was her favorite color.
He remembered that.
The paint came from such a small thing, a tiny locket made of two shells of the ocean. It was there plastered as if. He had watched her once. Take out the dark brush, handle glossy ebony, wet the tip in a small clay cup of water, and dab it at the red substance in the shell’s inside. Carefully she would, color her lips. Always it seemed in front of a mirror that never stared back.
He fumbled with a loose thread on his red haori. She would always tell him how handsome he looked in it, he of course would always nod dutifully, for the best and only compliments came from his beloved Okaa-san. She liked to try and smooth out the never-ending wrinkles and brush off the persistent dirt that seemed to always be on little boys as it should. Her hands were unlike those he ever saw. While his was clawed and slightly blistered from climbing trees, as other women and men he had seen looked ragged and wrinkled, of callused from wielding any form of weapon, his mother’s were about entirely smooth.
If he had not checked as he slept beside her he would have thought his mother’s hands had not fingerprints at all.
“InuYasha,”
His named came at him, his nose twitched, the smell of cooked food he was familiar with occupied him. Kagome kneeling besides him handed him a bowl of beef ramen, fish cakes and other necessities intact.
So he took the bowl and partook. All the while noticing how her hands were slightly calloused from the bow work she did. He tried not to be disappointed.
It seemed like his life was on rewind.
Every instance he saw her, he felt a memory reliving in him. Though most times he knew not which ones. It was raining. Pouring in strong spurts, the trees protected him fine though, amazingly their tough branches and leaves blocking the foliage. Still he could see her, made out her form in the heavy assault of wind and water; today it was a dark green kimono with little white and red koi fish designing its surface.
She was sitting rather calmly on the low branch of one of the sakura trees, swinging her feet backward , the abundance of fabric following; tabi socks and black wood zogi sandals peeking through sometimes. A long bamboo wood heavily waxed paper umbrella perched on her shoulder, shielding her well. With that serene look on her face, lips quirked up slightly, looking tasteful.
It was then he knew she was waiting for him.
Something curling and reckless inside him was enraged at this though he did not know why. More so added to his anger, for he could not smell her; today the scent of tranquility could not calm him.
So going and being as if he were, Sesshoumaru left as the oncoming storm came.
The sound of bells was heard in the distance.
It was burned into his memory.
This and that of this feeling. An instinct to run. And so did so often, he forgot what it was like not too, the defying leaps he often took, feet skimming and thumping against the ground in a harsh defying way, only having moments of no gravity not so often.
It seemed like gravity would be against him quite of not late.
He was running now, ears perked to listen to night.
Red outfit darting through the woods, briefly Kikyo came to mind. The rushing of her figure after him, a sacred untouchable miko shooting purifying arrows the color of dying blue after his un-nerving speed. Sometimes he longed for the rush again, adrenaline back in his veins. The sound of arrows hitting with a satisfying thud against the wood or earth. she would catch him sometimes.
That thought did not come often though. Running to him was as if breathing to any living thing. He needed it. It was what had kept his life and still did. For what would have happened if he had not ran ever?
It wouldn’t matter, he would still be lonely.
So he kept running.
She had a fan with her.
Across it painted in a bold deep crimson were the elegant characters of her name. Carefully faded in the back ground a pink lily floating on a pond made of different hues of blue.
He was careful not to move of make himself known. The heat today was that he had never known. Scorching, and thirst-drenching he was surprised the girl could take it. She was once again beneath the shading branches of the old sakura tree. A dead breeze came through. He reflectively took a sniff of it. It seemed autumn would be late again.
She had her hair up though, the long flowing ebony locks held up in a complicated design, silver ordinates looking mainly of silver combs with welded handles in the shape of lilies. The kimono matching with only pink petals that seemed to dance with it every time she moved.
His mouth was actually dry.
Her lashes were quite dark and long, sweat beaded at her brow and glided across her white skin. Where were her ladies? Why was she out here in the heat with the sun beating down on her?
He knew already.
She was still waiting.
It was he who slid down the harsh bark and collapsed on the ground.
So when he came to it was surprisingly in a cool darker place. Shifting slightly he noticed he had been placed on something like that of a futon. Slowly he opened his eyes, amber silently met purple. The expression on his face was nearly that of a man having a stroke, but that was truly not what he felt, kneeled by the head of were he lay there she was.
Smiling kindly down at him, white hands dabbing a cool damp cloth at his forehead. Why was he here? His heart and voice was entrapped in a cage.
“I convinced them to let you in, and no quite looking at me like that,” her eyebrows were now drawn together in a comical expression. She set the cloth down back into the wooden bucket full of water.
He was entranced. She had taken up a lock of his hair, hers back lay down. As he shifted his eyes he absently noted how theirs mingled. Contrasting each other to show their differences and likeliness.
“You know, Sesshoumaru-sama” his heart skipped a beat at the sound of her melodic voice saying his name, “lying down as such, with your hair fanned about you like that,” her head titled slightly as she said this. Fingers feeling the silky appendage in between her fingers.
“You look quite like your father,”
The pail was thrown aside, he had backed himself against the nearest wall, water making the ink run on the shoji screen. He only could glare at her with merciless cold eyes, claws biting into the wood. The blanket was thrown from him; the shock on her face clearer then melted ice in his mind.
“Leave him,”
The words came out half a snarl half a plead. It had no effect, for she only shook her head.
“Why?” he was getting more upset, he could feel it in his chest, the sweet scent of her driving him crazy. “Then what spell have you cast on him?” ‘On me?’
Her eyes were kind at first, but reverted back to the usual sadness, and transfixed on her response he watched. She touched he left cheek, silk sleeves sliding down and leaving her left forearm bear to his gaze.
“There is no spell,” the words came out slowly and whispered, “I only love him,”
He fled then, the red in his vision would not go away.
And oddly the autumn had come early.
It would never leave his memory.
Tonight, just tonight.
He was not himself and he was himself. He was human. Round ears on the side of his head, long black more silky then ‘furry’ hair, no claws, or super natural powers, nor fangs.
And his eyes were purple tonight weren’t they?
The stars seemed to have left with the moon as well. He was in the wood alone again as he should be. He had never wanted anyone to see him like this, with this vulnerability. It un-nerved him, how the others could stand it and accept it.
He shifted from his position against the trunk of the tree, the grass padding his earthly seat. Eyes blinking and shadows to everything, he looked up into the sky. A shooting star flew across it brilliantly, shedding little light for those who now searched for him.
Savoring it he shut his eyes, a faint memory of what the schoolgirl had told him of shooting stars coming to mind. Peace washed over him and hopefully he wished, legs pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, chin to his knees.
It would be alright.
Warm-lips touched his own.
Tessaiga lay a few feet away from him, old and new all at the same time.
He was by him only briefly.
‘InuYasha,’
The thought a hollow thing in his head, that was until he saw the ebony hair blacker then the abyss of nothing. For once he was alone, and a silent predator in the night as he could be, he made his way toward his half sibling.
He wished he could see her eyes. Or at least his, this InuYasha who looked so delicious under the darkness of the night with no moon. And so he decided, heart beat in his ears defiantly, clawed hands holding up a simple lock of inky hair, he leaned forward and gentle pressed his lips to an old memory.
She was wearing red today, layers of it in shades of crimson, only with a simple black obi tie around her thin waist. Eyes shimmering with unshed tears, he watched a feeling that felt as if a knife was stabbing into his heart repeatedly, hands; the claws biting into the flesh of his palms.
There armored a high ponytail holding his white hair up, jagged purple stripes gracing his face and drawing out the gentle expression in his eyes was he look at his Hime was more then Sesshoumaru could comprehend or stand. And lovingly so, with his arms around her, embraced they were, he kissed her raw passion, the young demon lord had to shift his eyes from.
The world was so cold.
Gripping the hanyou to him Sesshoumaru, found his way to the ties of the boy’s clothing, and desperately when every single memory of Izayoi came in a flood, the current demon lord of the west, searched to kill this need with in him. The loneliness.
He took him roughly and softly in the night with no moon. Allowing him to take solace and pleasure in the black hair, and witness the evident look of release on InuYasha’s face. And it seemed as if it would always be, this night, he wanted to last forever- for it felt right. As InuYasha softly fell asleep besides him only one closing thought came to mind.
‘Sayonara, Izayoi-Hime,’
He felt it did not matter anymore. The feeling of her son’s warmth against his was enough. And at last he felt at peace.
//Owari//
Disclaimer: InuYasha and co; belong only to Rumiko Takahashi and its respected owners. I have no rights to it whatsoever and the characters are only used as a result of my evil fandomness.
Heng Xi
November 12, 2004
By: Arashi, Fuyumiko
It was forever engraved in his memory.
That single moment; before his blood boiled, before he felt the thirst of blood, the joy of killing, he knew the gift of sanity.
He knew control.
Now it was gone. Completely torn away. Leaving him bare and vulnerable to the ever judging eyes of the world. It was then he knew that Goshinki must die. His youkai blood had taken over then, eyes had turned a brilliant scarlet; a royal blue pupil in the center, upon his face dark purple markings appeared.
The wind almost at once shifted. Causing turmoil in the trees and air; he knew nothing of his companions behind him. Nor did he care.
Only then did it matter when the dismember parts of Goshinki were spewed upon the ground. Blood and shattered bone, spewed organs and full reeking scent of its death did the sound of reason seep into him; poring from the recesses of his normal functioning brain did he remember.
Goshinki was dead.
And that was fine; his blood still almost an intense murdering heat.
Goshinki saw what he should not have seen.
Reading one’s mind was a terrible gift, either to the one reading minds or the people having their minds read.
He would not stand for this beast, this abomination of… of Naraku who was basically the scum of the earth, to dare touch his memories. And dreams.
So he had not.
And the desires and memories he had in all his lifetime blurred into one.
It was right before he blacked out, the force of the incantation that made the rosary glow and heat up against his skin. That last thought.
Sesshoumaru…
She was laughing again.
That soft fluted sound that reminded him of spring. And it was spring, soft and fresh, beautiful in the death of winter.
Sakura petals leaked down, falling like snow. It contrasted to her long flowing dark hair, a beautiful silky mass. She was wearing a layered kimono today, creamy lavender, embroidered with vines and tiny yellow flowers. There was fragile beauty there. In her movements, the soft assign of her hand on her cheek, the sigh from her lips, that simple nonchalant shift of her legs from beneath all the soft white layers of silk she wore.
A silent breeze came through, the branches of the trees rustling again without remorse. Only bliss. There was no indifference in the scent of the world today, but the still peace of something that could be easily broken. Her eyes were a beautiful shade of purple, they shown and bridged each other, a decked shading; very much at home to shadows. Her eyes showed sorrow and amusement.
The scent drifted to his nose pleasantly, the scent of sakura, and that unrecognizable scent that was too serene to come from anything but her. It made him think of rushing water, cold snow beneath your feet when you’re so hot and exhausted from running, seeing twilight, and tasting heaven; it was like that very much.
Dutifully he hated her as the son should, who was he to love such a thing and betray, no digraces them all? Taint the bloodline that had been so secure for through the centuries?
Yet he knew already.
The Inu no Taisho did as he pleased.
And there was nothing a youkai such as Sesshoumaru could do about it, but to watch her. Watch her beneath the trees who did murmur and sigh belatedly at his actions. The wind saw through him, and he remained quite still.
He did not want to understand.
It was frozen in his memory.
The soft smile she had, the gentleness of her fluttering white dove soft hands. And most of all her voice, a voice so perfect to his ears, he thought it to be merely the complications of music unraveled.
‘Okaa-san,’
The hut was dim; his claws were still stained with fury’s blood. The scent of night still made him not want to move. Not want to a acknowledge the presence of Kagome, the girl who had painstakingly wound all the salve covered bandages around his scarring wounds. The wounds were inside and outside.
It was dark in here, the whispered voices of the others he could hear outside of the hut. A tall structure of dark rotting wood and straw. The moon was full tonight, mocking him and the clarity of his blood, the straw mat did little to shield’s its daunting light from his view.
He felt horrible. His white hair matted and dirtied with blood and mud, wounds covered him and the bandage accompanying it like a sneaky lover. The salve rubbed and stuck disgustingly against his skin, but more so was his blood.
For since forever of his existence he had wondered. The blood that was his, half human, half demon, one and not the other.
It was profoundly complex and on the edge of his reason it tired him more then anything else. In the night his eyes were of molten amber, his form shivering in more distaste of his existence then cold.
Many years ago, did he not come to terms with this abnormal blood of his? Promise himself to a shrine maiden, and deemed to make himself one or the other? Finally kill that undeniable fact that he was shameful for not just being black, or not just being white, for not just being one and not the other? For what was wrong for being both?
The slight clink of the monk’s shakujo brought him from his musings. Long ago he had saw one leaning against the fortune teller’s hut.
“You must be silent,” Izayoi said, brushing a leaf of autumn from her son’s hair, brushing a twitching snowy ear. The hanyou nodded solemnly and she couldn’t help wonder with slight distress what usual mischief he was going to cause once she left.
Setting him aside, he sat on the small bench to Suzuki’s hut. Suzuki was the middle-aged woman who had taken kindness to her after she fled from the latest village because of the abnormality of her son. Her heart grieved always and Suzuki knew that, thus she planned this very day to look into her future and aid her for what to come.
Rustling silk of the old pink kimono was the sign she went in, leaving a bewildered InuYasha peer curiously at the weather beaten brass of the holy staff leaning against the splintering wood. Curiosity had always been the undoing of him and his mother often scolded him gently on the consequences of such.
Now was no different.
The monk had come after him yelling up a storm.
A quirk set to his lips at the memory. He smiled bitterly.
For he was cursed.
She was dancing.
Dancing, twirling rapidly, layers furling around her like a typhoon of multi-colored waters. A graceful figure, slender and more delicate then glass. Footsteps causing a small imprint in the snow, swaying folds of fabric whisking across it, creating circular flowers.
It was cold and her breath came out in small puffs of foggy clouds. The world seemed to break. She stayed like that for what seemed like forever.
Her kimono was now warmly layered, a deja vu of light blue with midnight blue cranes threaded into it, creating a pattern of their flight.
In all her immortal-like beauty she was not. She was human, a fragile thing that he could easily crush and break, soft flesh and bones far easier to snap then twigs. A restless creature he was and sulkily, yet smoothly, her joined her. Carefully took her hand, smooth and warm- in his own, a long slender striped deadly thing.
She had paused in shock, but once seeing him in full light her stalker, blue crescent moon on his forehead, white robes, and long white hair as the snow was. She seemed to relax. And across the snow both moved beautifully; she fluid water and swift moving figure against him, as he was only a leaf being carried along.
Yet still he did not want to understand, not in this place an eternal cold quite place. Where the only music was made by her.
And it was such a sad desperate song.
It was lost in his memory.
She would sing to him at night.
How lovely her voice was, reminding him that the world was what it was ugly and beautiful. Head on her lap, he would listen to the tales unfold colorfully with every note she made flow. Often then he could smile some, she would smile back too. Red painted lips curling in pleasure at his little happiness; yes she did have red lips. It was her favorite color.
He remembered that.
The paint came from such a small thing, a tiny locket made of two shells of the ocean. It was there plastered as if. He had watched her once. Take out the dark brush, handle glossy ebony, wet the tip in a small clay cup of water, and dab it at the red substance in the shell’s inside. Carefully she would, color her lips. Always it seemed in front of a mirror that never stared back.
He fumbled with a loose thread on his red haori. She would always tell him how handsome he looked in it, he of course would always nod dutifully, for the best and only compliments came from his beloved Okaa-san. She liked to try and smooth out the never-ending wrinkles and brush off the persistent dirt that seemed to always be on little boys as it should. Her hands were unlike those he ever saw. While his was clawed and slightly blistered from climbing trees, as other women and men he had seen looked ragged and wrinkled, of callused from wielding any form of weapon, his mother’s were about entirely smooth.
If he had not checked as he slept beside her he would have thought his mother’s hands had not fingerprints at all.
“InuYasha,”
His named came at him, his nose twitched, the smell of cooked food he was familiar with occupied him. Kagome kneeling besides him handed him a bowl of beef ramen, fish cakes and other necessities intact.
So he took the bowl and partook. All the while noticing how her hands were slightly calloused from the bow work she did. He tried not to be disappointed.
It seemed like his life was on rewind.
Every instance he saw her, he felt a memory reliving in him. Though most times he knew not which ones. It was raining. Pouring in strong spurts, the trees protected him fine though, amazingly their tough branches and leaves blocking the foliage. Still he could see her, made out her form in the heavy assault of wind and water; today it was a dark green kimono with little white and red koi fish designing its surface.
She was sitting rather calmly on the low branch of one of the sakura trees, swinging her feet backward , the abundance of fabric following; tabi socks and black wood zogi sandals peeking through sometimes. A long bamboo wood heavily waxed paper umbrella perched on her shoulder, shielding her well. With that serene look on her face, lips quirked up slightly, looking tasteful.
It was then he knew she was waiting for him.
Something curling and reckless inside him was enraged at this though he did not know why. More so added to his anger, for he could not smell her; today the scent of tranquility could not calm him.
So going and being as if he were, Sesshoumaru left as the oncoming storm came.
The sound of bells was heard in the distance.
It was burned into his memory.
This and that of this feeling. An instinct to run. And so did so often, he forgot what it was like not too, the defying leaps he often took, feet skimming and thumping against the ground in a harsh defying way, only having moments of no gravity not so often.
It seemed like gravity would be against him quite of not late.
He was running now, ears perked to listen to night.
Red outfit darting through the woods, briefly Kikyo came to mind. The rushing of her figure after him, a sacred untouchable miko shooting purifying arrows the color of dying blue after his un-nerving speed. Sometimes he longed for the rush again, adrenaline back in his veins. The sound of arrows hitting with a satisfying thud against the wood or earth. she would catch him sometimes.
That thought did not come often though. Running to him was as if breathing to any living thing. He needed it. It was what had kept his life and still did. For what would have happened if he had not ran ever?
It wouldn’t matter, he would still be lonely.
So he kept running.
She had a fan with her.
Across it painted in a bold deep crimson were the elegant characters of her name. Carefully faded in the back ground a pink lily floating on a pond made of different hues of blue.
He was careful not to move of make himself known. The heat today was that he had never known. Scorching, and thirst-drenching he was surprised the girl could take it. She was once again beneath the shading branches of the old sakura tree. A dead breeze came through. He reflectively took a sniff of it. It seemed autumn would be late again.
She had her hair up though, the long flowing ebony locks held up in a complicated design, silver ordinates looking mainly of silver combs with welded handles in the shape of lilies. The kimono matching with only pink petals that seemed to dance with it every time she moved.
His mouth was actually dry.
Her lashes were quite dark and long, sweat beaded at her brow and glided across her white skin. Where were her ladies? Why was she out here in the heat with the sun beating down on her?
He knew already.
She was still waiting.
It was he who slid down the harsh bark and collapsed on the ground.
So when he came to it was surprisingly in a cool darker place. Shifting slightly he noticed he had been placed on something like that of a futon. Slowly he opened his eyes, amber silently met purple. The expression on his face was nearly that of a man having a stroke, but that was truly not what he felt, kneeled by the head of were he lay there she was.
Smiling kindly down at him, white hands dabbing a cool damp cloth at his forehead. Why was he here? His heart and voice was entrapped in a cage.
“I convinced them to let you in, and no quite looking at me like that,” her eyebrows were now drawn together in a comical expression. She set the cloth down back into the wooden bucket full of water.
He was entranced. She had taken up a lock of his hair, hers back lay down. As he shifted his eyes he absently noted how theirs mingled. Contrasting each other to show their differences and likeliness.
“You know, Sesshoumaru-sama” his heart skipped a beat at the sound of her melodic voice saying his name, “lying down as such, with your hair fanned about you like that,” her head titled slightly as she said this. Fingers feeling the silky appendage in between her fingers.
“You look quite like your father,”
The pail was thrown aside, he had backed himself against the nearest wall, water making the ink run on the shoji screen. He only could glare at her with merciless cold eyes, claws biting into the wood. The blanket was thrown from him; the shock on her face clearer then melted ice in his mind.
“Leave him,”
The words came out half a snarl half a plead. It had no effect, for she only shook her head.
“Why?” he was getting more upset, he could feel it in his chest, the sweet scent of her driving him crazy. “Then what spell have you cast on him?” ‘On me?’
Her eyes were kind at first, but reverted back to the usual sadness, and transfixed on her response he watched. She touched he left cheek, silk sleeves sliding down and leaving her left forearm bear to his gaze.
“There is no spell,” the words came out slowly and whispered, “I only love him,”
He fled then, the red in his vision would not go away.
And oddly the autumn had come early.
It would never leave his memory.
Tonight, just tonight.
He was not himself and he was himself. He was human. Round ears on the side of his head, long black more silky then ‘furry’ hair, no claws, or super natural powers, nor fangs.
And his eyes were purple tonight weren’t they?
The stars seemed to have left with the moon as well. He was in the wood alone again as he should be. He had never wanted anyone to see him like this, with this vulnerability. It un-nerved him, how the others could stand it and accept it.
He shifted from his position against the trunk of the tree, the grass padding his earthly seat. Eyes blinking and shadows to everything, he looked up into the sky. A shooting star flew across it brilliantly, shedding little light for those who now searched for him.
Savoring it he shut his eyes, a faint memory of what the schoolgirl had told him of shooting stars coming to mind. Peace washed over him and hopefully he wished, legs pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, chin to his knees.
It would be alright.
Warm-lips touched his own.
Tessaiga lay a few feet away from him, old and new all at the same time.
He was by him only briefly.
‘InuYasha,’
The thought a hollow thing in his head, that was until he saw the ebony hair blacker then the abyss of nothing. For once he was alone, and a silent predator in the night as he could be, he made his way toward his half sibling.
He wished he could see her eyes. Or at least his, this InuYasha who looked so delicious under the darkness of the night with no moon. And so he decided, heart beat in his ears defiantly, clawed hands holding up a simple lock of inky hair, he leaned forward and gentle pressed his lips to an old memory.
She was wearing red today, layers of it in shades of crimson, only with a simple black obi tie around her thin waist. Eyes shimmering with unshed tears, he watched a feeling that felt as if a knife was stabbing into his heart repeatedly, hands; the claws biting into the flesh of his palms.
There armored a high ponytail holding his white hair up, jagged purple stripes gracing his face and drawing out the gentle expression in his eyes was he look at his Hime was more then Sesshoumaru could comprehend or stand. And lovingly so, with his arms around her, embraced they were, he kissed her raw passion, the young demon lord had to shift his eyes from.
The world was so cold.
Gripping the hanyou to him Sesshoumaru, found his way to the ties of the boy’s clothing, and desperately when every single memory of Izayoi came in a flood, the current demon lord of the west, searched to kill this need with in him. The loneliness.
He took him roughly and softly in the night with no moon. Allowing him to take solace and pleasure in the black hair, and witness the evident look of release on InuYasha’s face. And it seemed as if it would always be, this night, he wanted to last forever- for it felt right. As InuYasha softly fell asleep besides him only one closing thought came to mind.
‘Sayonara, Izayoi-Hime,’
He felt it did not matter anymore. The feeling of her son’s warmth against his was enough. And at last he felt at peace.
//Owari//