InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Pinkie Swear ❯ Nightmare ( Chapter 17 )

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=#= Nightmare =#=

 

He had no dreams. Ambitions, yes, but not the illusive folly of the mind called dreams. Truth came in no soft shades of grey for him and there were no ifs or maybes ever considered as he gauged the world around him. The twinges of emotion that might have been the dying throes of his heart had no bearing on his logically executed actions.

 

She, by stark contrast, was blind to all but the way her surroundings made her feel. Flowers were picked because they were beautiful, butterflies chased because they danced by her, sunshine enjoyed because it warmed her.

 

He, even in his most subconscious intentions, only revived her in order to try and understand her. He assigned value to the merit of studying her and sought enlightenment so that when he faced the kind of enemies who let their emotions rule them, he would have the advantage in battle.

 

He did not comprehend that there was weakness in understanding and strength in ignorance. Yet if he had been told that truth at the time he chose to go back and wield Tensaiga for her sake, he would have scoffed at such nonsense. He was an inu taiyoukai, untouchable and invincible. The knowledge of gaining greater insight into her species would have out weighted what he never once considered a risk.

 

That was before Rin planted the seed of uncertainty inside him.

 

Her very existence became the wedge driven into his view of the world until he faltered, no longer sure of his way. Why did he fight to preserve her life when her very mortality was the reason he'd acquired her in the first place? Dying a meaningless death was as much a part of her humanity as her simple, silly joy in living her short life.

 

Yet, not only did he prevent nature from taking its natural course where she was concerned, he sought to force his way of life upon her. The fact that he could not defy her eventual death became a source of anxiety as acute as his grudge against his father for failing to live up to his, Sesshoumaru's, expectations.

 

During the day, when the obvious signs of her vitality and health could not be ignored, the tension eased and other more important things successfully occupied his thoughts. Only at night, with nothing but the sullen glow of embers from the campfire for diversion, could he not escape the grip of dread that slithered stealthily into his musings.

 

His periods of letting his body rest as his active mind continued to work gradually slipped into something closer to true sleep as morbid whimsies of “what if” preyed upon his usually organized contemplations. Delusion, as his mother had once called his father's odd fascination with humans, seemed to be the legacy he inherited as the vivacity and duration of his subconscious terrors' manifestation increased.

 

It wasn't until he actually nodded off, and then came wide awake with a silent gasp of gripping, breath stealing panic that he finally realized his own fallibility. In arrogant folly, he'd set out to learn what it was to be like his enemy. With the cold, sick burn of adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he realized success.

 

Only a little girl, no higher than his knee, could teach him what it was to feel fear.

 

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