InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Pieces ❯ Pieces ( One-Shot )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: ladygriddlebone 
Sango reflects on a choice.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Hentai | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 09.16.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 786 | Visits: 833 | Status: Completed
Sango reflects on a choice.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Hentai | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 09.16.2009 | Pages: 1 | Words: 786 | Visits: 833 | Status: Completed
Sango peered out into the early morning hours of the day, paused for only a moment, and slipped out into the eerie, still dark. It would be a while yet before the sun would rise. In the dark and solitude, she felt her mind grow clear.
Her feet made soft sounds against the earth as she padded down the path. Lights glinted in the sky, providing enough light to see the way. She walked serenely through the moment.
Her movements were smooth and purposeful.
Did she look any different on the outside, she wondered, or did this change extend no farther than the heart within her?
She stopped beside the stream. For a moment she thought to look for her reflection to see the truth of it, but it was too early yet for such foolishness.
With shaking fingers, she untied her robe; she left the garment folded on the bank, and slipped into the water. It was cold around her ankles, and shallow this close to shore, but there was enough for her purposes.
She washed herself, chill water soothing heated skin and sweeping away grime as much as fear and uncertainty. In the early morning solitude, she could take her time. For one such as her, this was a rare luxury.
She traced the lines of breast and hip, so recently caressed by other hands, and blushed at the onslaught of memory that came with the touch. Memories of words and flesh and desire, of the need to be made whole… and of perhaps finding what she sought in the arms of the unlikeliest of men.
For better or worse, there was more to her life now than mere revenge. There was more than the quest to avenge her family, to find her lost brother. There was…
The monk.
For all his womanizing bluster, ribald joking, and cocky self-assurance, he understood her in a way that the rest of their companions could not. He had suffered as much loss as she had, and more. He knew the pain of losing all ties, of fighting a hopeless battle against an unreachable, undefeatable foe.
He knew, and that was what mattered. It was what had drawn her to him, the reason why he had become her closest confidant. And it was why she had gone to his room, unbidden, seeking… something. Meaning, perhaps, or more likely solace.
She could smell him on her hands, could smell the mingling of their scents over her body, and knew that she would fight for him, too. She would not allow this man to be taken from her.
Not while she lived.
A sound from behind startled her before she recognized it; she knew the jingling of those metal rings anywhere. She turned to look anyway.
It was the monk. He nodded when he caught her gaze. She might have known he would come after her. For a moment she wondered if he thought to join her, or if he had come to watch, or ask forgiveness, or…
"Sango."
"Houshi-sama." The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them, before she could think he might find such a respectful term offensive. If it bothered him, he gave no sign. Instead, he held up the bundle of her clothes.
"We're leaving soon."
"Ah," she said. She studied him in the early light: the mostly hidden planes and contours of his body, the subtle expressions of his face, the beauty that was this man. There was understanding in his eyes and, she thought, a quiet sense of longing. They never had the time to enjoy happiness, even when they could find it.
Realizing that she had not even thought to cover herself in his presence, but not missing his soft smile and appreciative, reassuring look, she glanced back at the water.
The woman looking back at her was herself, but not. Different. Less hollow, more strong. A person she might be, one day.
Little by little, Naraku had been chipping away at her, stealing one part of her here, another part there, until all that was left was this... shell of a warrior, a fragment of a woman. This... which was so unlike that. She scowled one last time at the dawn-lit reflection in the water, then turned and splashed ashore.
It was about time she took a piece back.
Her feet made soft sounds against the earth as she padded down the path. Lights glinted in the sky, providing enough light to see the way. She walked serenely through the moment.
Her movements were smooth and purposeful.
Did she look any different on the outside, she wondered, or did this change extend no farther than the heart within her?
She stopped beside the stream. For a moment she thought to look for her reflection to see the truth of it, but it was too early yet for such foolishness.
With shaking fingers, she untied her robe; she left the garment folded on the bank, and slipped into the water. It was cold around her ankles, and shallow this close to shore, but there was enough for her purposes.
She washed herself, chill water soothing heated skin and sweeping away grime as much as fear and uncertainty. In the early morning solitude, she could take her time. For one such as her, this was a rare luxury.
She traced the lines of breast and hip, so recently caressed by other hands, and blushed at the onslaught of memory that came with the touch. Memories of words and flesh and desire, of the need to be made whole… and of perhaps finding what she sought in the arms of the unlikeliest of men.
For better or worse, there was more to her life now than mere revenge. There was more than the quest to avenge her family, to find her lost brother. There was…
The monk.
For all his womanizing bluster, ribald joking, and cocky self-assurance, he understood her in a way that the rest of their companions could not. He had suffered as much loss as she had, and more. He knew the pain of losing all ties, of fighting a hopeless battle against an unreachable, undefeatable foe.
He knew, and that was what mattered. It was what had drawn her to him, the reason why he had become her closest confidant. And it was why she had gone to his room, unbidden, seeking… something. Meaning, perhaps, or more likely solace.
She could smell him on her hands, could smell the mingling of their scents over her body, and knew that she would fight for him, too. She would not allow this man to be taken from her.
Not while she lived.
A sound from behind startled her before she recognized it; she knew the jingling of those metal rings anywhere. She turned to look anyway.
It was the monk. He nodded when he caught her gaze. She might have known he would come after her. For a moment she wondered if he thought to join her, or if he had come to watch, or ask forgiveness, or…
"Sango."
"Houshi-sama." The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them, before she could think he might find such a respectful term offensive. If it bothered him, he gave no sign. Instead, he held up the bundle of her clothes.
"We're leaving soon."
"Ah," she said. She studied him in the early light: the mostly hidden planes and contours of his body, the subtle expressions of his face, the beauty that was this man. There was understanding in his eyes and, she thought, a quiet sense of longing. They never had the time to enjoy happiness, even when they could find it.
Realizing that she had not even thought to cover herself in his presence, but not missing his soft smile and appreciative, reassuring look, she glanced back at the water.
The woman looking back at her was herself, but not. Different. Less hollow, more strong. A person she might be, one day.
Little by little, Naraku had been chipping away at her, stealing one part of her here, another part there, until all that was left was this... shell of a warrior, a fragment of a woman. This... which was so unlike that. She scowled one last time at the dawn-lit reflection in the water, then turned and splashed ashore.
It was about time she took a piece back.