InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Winter Terminology ❯ Conclude ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Fuyumiko 
She fought to win. But winter still came quietly. [SangoxKikyo]
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 11.27.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 717 | Status: Completed
She fought to win. But winter still came quietly. [SangoxKikyo]
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance / Psychological | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 11.27.2004 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.4K | Visits: 717 | Status: Completed
A/N: Trying something new.
Disclaimer: ‘InuYasha’ is the creation of Rumiko Takahashi and belongs to her and its respectful owners. I have no claims/ownership to it at all; this is a creation of clearly my own fandom.
Warning: This fanfiction contains Yuri (Female/Female)- don’t like it? Shoo!
Winter Terminology
November 27th, 2004
By: Arashi, Fuyumiko
“When love is suppressed hate takes its place,”
-Havelock Ellis
She had been fighting for a very long time.
It was cold outside, she could see her breath be a phantom of white in the air. She flexed her fingers, gripping the strap of her Hirakotsu to help the blood circulate more. Her feet crunched over the hard crusted snow. She was a black figure easily spotted against the white.
Her body was sleek and cat-like, her black youkai exterminator’s outfit helping her figure appear so. She felt the falling snow, crystal white flakes as if feather floating down, only to melt upon her head, dampening her scalp. Here, in this place. A forest that was eternally quite and white. Cold.
The wind dare not whisper through here.
Sango crouched over, legs positioning into a ready stance. Hand, arms positioning the large boomerang into a more capable position. A rustle of clothing was heard up ahead. Her eyes narrowed, heart beating faster in her chest, the misty path cleared only to allow the glowing blue Shindama-chuu to float around.
Then she appeared.
A figure of holy grace. She wore the same outfit as always, hakama red against everything and so bold. Her sins would not be forgiven. The miko sent a single arrow tinted in the purification’s blue light at her. So she moved quickly.
Fast, slanting her body over to the left, creating a furry of snow to leap in her wake, rushing forward and ignoring time’s toll on her, she whipped the Hirakotsu from her back. Arms curving, throwing the weapon to kill. She could still hear nothing in the wood.
The shimmering barrier similar to Naraku’s blocked her weapon and made it still on the ground. Sango swiftly unsheathed the katana at her side; dashing for frontal assault, she raised the blade high. The resounding ‘twack’ of the sword’s blade coming down to cut slightly into the mahogany colored wood told her all.
“Do you seek vengeance?”
Sango hated every single word that came from Kikyo’s mouth. Rage built up inside her, every single pent up form of anger and hate she felt came rushing forth. Words spilled from her mouth, tumbling down faster then the rushing waters that fall.
“IT is your fault,” bitter, she was so bitter. “You hateful disgusting thing, it is your fault they are dead,” tears were rushing down as well. Her grip slacked only slightly on the handle. Yet, quickly enough, a move that would have made any swordsman proud, she quickly recovered; swinging the sword in a circle and slicing into the front of Kikyo’s outfit. The fabric was old, not as old as she. It did tear easily.
“Killing me will not bring them back,”
For it began at a cave.
Still, colder then the forest of death; a comparing copy. Copy. That was what they had called her Kagome. Fury in her movements, every painstaking action she did, swing of her blade. The blood splattered to the snow. Kikyo was always on defense.
He had been defenseless in a burned body, mind an evil thing. She should have killed him. Before all the betrayal.
Black hair, shimmering and mocking the eternal white, she was crying harder now. The images of all of them, dead, blood staining the ground. That wretched Naraku laughing till the last moment he died by the single arrow of purification.
How she had lost.
Her blade was knocked skillfully from her hand, the sharp slap of wood stinging the knuckles. It was flung clear across the quite place and Sango could feel the weariness in her legs at once.
But she did not want to loose again. Ripping through the material, the hidden scythe on the forearm was unleashed. It sliced through the left cheek of Kikyo’s face causing a thing line of blood to trickle down, a red deeper the red.
She was panting, she heard it, and her hands were shaking. Her whole being shivering from anguish and cold. A smooth pale hand cupped her chin, her knees causing her body to fold into the ground.
“You are so warm,”
Sango tried to turn her head, the energy in her body almost entirely drained. The hollow regrets in her soul a burden to her heart. She just felt so alone. A hand cupped her breast, the beat of her heart pounding so hard it could be felt even there.
She slowly stopped crying.
“It is hard to die,” liquid words. Dark ebony hair mixing with the deep brown that was hers. Lips moving over her, the warmth in her limbs, relaxing and tensing of her muscles. Cold snow and fire in the belly, soft cries fluted and pleasured.
Sango had not felt this way in forever. Resentment filled her. She looked up to meet the eyes of her true enemy, “I hate you,” She lied.
Kikyo’s gaze, made her feel bare. Gentle hands cupping her head again, mouth fastening over hers. Lips soft and demanding. This miko’s blood should have been painted, stained on the ground.
Sango folded herself into an embrace with Kikyo.
Her eyes were shimmering, lips swollen, she only wished for one thing now. Arms thrown around the shoulders; in which the skin was a milky white, she weakly raised her self. Back un-arching, straightening.
She felt so old. Her body could barely move. Eternity’s winter silently catching up to her, wanting to swallow her whole, devour her. Sadness filled her again. Here she was vulnerable to the enemy, how many times had this already happened?
A single Shindama-chuu flew creepily past her, only to steadily, almost lazily wrap around her torso to hold her up as Kikyo stepped a few steps back.
The miko’s fingers tangled in her head, “I know,”
The naked trees made eerie patterns on the ground, shadows hiding and fore telling. Fast. The blade sunk in the soft artificial flesh, sad eyes looked down at her. The tears had come again, and she knew this time she would never stop crying. Kikyo fell backward, crimson death and life coating her blade.
“Forgive me,” Sango murmured eyes glassy.
She was lovely in death, that miko, hair fanned out on the pure snow, eyes closed leaving a peaceful serene look with the dark eyelashes on pale soft skin. Kagome had died like that too. Yet she still felt wet warmth on her face, clanging, the sword fell to the ground. On all fours an animal again, she crawled over to say good bye.
Leaning, hovering over the prone form of her lady, Sango bent over to kiss her a final time. Hands gripped fast to the achingly cold snow.
‘Her lips are still warm,’
Wind blew her hair about her face, blocking her vision slightly of something unseen anyway. The wind steadily stopped, halted for the fading dying cry of time. Sango felt relief, at peace. She could hear it again.
‘Everything,’
She felt a sigh escape her.
‘Mata aou ne,’
They stayed against each other, forever frozen in the snow, blood staining the snow.
A single flower; color of a saintly crimson grew in the spring.
/Conclude/
Disclaimer: ‘InuYasha’ is the creation of Rumiko Takahashi and belongs to her and its respectful owners. I have no claims/ownership to it at all; this is a creation of clearly my own fandom.
Warning: This fanfiction contains Yuri (Female/Female)- don’t like it? Shoo!
Winter Terminology
November 27th, 2004
By: Arashi, Fuyumiko
“When love is suppressed hate takes its place,”
-Havelock Ellis
She had been fighting for a very long time.
It was cold outside, she could see her breath be a phantom of white in the air. She flexed her fingers, gripping the strap of her Hirakotsu to help the blood circulate more. Her feet crunched over the hard crusted snow. She was a black figure easily spotted against the white.
Her body was sleek and cat-like, her black youkai exterminator’s outfit helping her figure appear so. She felt the falling snow, crystal white flakes as if feather floating down, only to melt upon her head, dampening her scalp. Here, in this place. A forest that was eternally quite and white. Cold.
The wind dare not whisper through here.
Sango crouched over, legs positioning into a ready stance. Hand, arms positioning the large boomerang into a more capable position. A rustle of clothing was heard up ahead. Her eyes narrowed, heart beating faster in her chest, the misty path cleared only to allow the glowing blue Shindama-chuu to float around.
Then she appeared.
A figure of holy grace. She wore the same outfit as always, hakama red against everything and so bold. Her sins would not be forgiven. The miko sent a single arrow tinted in the purification’s blue light at her. So she moved quickly.
Fast, slanting her body over to the left, creating a furry of snow to leap in her wake, rushing forward and ignoring time’s toll on her, she whipped the Hirakotsu from her back. Arms curving, throwing the weapon to kill. She could still hear nothing in the wood.
The shimmering barrier similar to Naraku’s blocked her weapon and made it still on the ground. Sango swiftly unsheathed the katana at her side; dashing for frontal assault, she raised the blade high. The resounding ‘twack’ of the sword’s blade coming down to cut slightly into the mahogany colored wood told her all.
“Do you seek vengeance?”
Sango hated every single word that came from Kikyo’s mouth. Rage built up inside her, every single pent up form of anger and hate she felt came rushing forth. Words spilled from her mouth, tumbling down faster then the rushing waters that fall.
“IT is your fault,” bitter, she was so bitter. “You hateful disgusting thing, it is your fault they are dead,” tears were rushing down as well. Her grip slacked only slightly on the handle. Yet, quickly enough, a move that would have made any swordsman proud, she quickly recovered; swinging the sword in a circle and slicing into the front of Kikyo’s outfit. The fabric was old, not as old as she. It did tear easily.
“Killing me will not bring them back,”
For it began at a cave.
Still, colder then the forest of death; a comparing copy. Copy. That was what they had called her Kagome. Fury in her movements, every painstaking action she did, swing of her blade. The blood splattered to the snow. Kikyo was always on defense.
He had been defenseless in a burned body, mind an evil thing. She should have killed him. Before all the betrayal.
Black hair, shimmering and mocking the eternal white, she was crying harder now. The images of all of them, dead, blood staining the ground. That wretched Naraku laughing till the last moment he died by the single arrow of purification.
How she had lost.
Her blade was knocked skillfully from her hand, the sharp slap of wood stinging the knuckles. It was flung clear across the quite place and Sango could feel the weariness in her legs at once.
But she did not want to loose again. Ripping through the material, the hidden scythe on the forearm was unleashed. It sliced through the left cheek of Kikyo’s face causing a thing line of blood to trickle down, a red deeper the red.
She was panting, she heard it, and her hands were shaking. Her whole being shivering from anguish and cold. A smooth pale hand cupped her chin, her knees causing her body to fold into the ground.
“You are so warm,”
Sango tried to turn her head, the energy in her body almost entirely drained. The hollow regrets in her soul a burden to her heart. She just felt so alone. A hand cupped her breast, the beat of her heart pounding so hard it could be felt even there.
She slowly stopped crying.
“It is hard to die,” liquid words. Dark ebony hair mixing with the deep brown that was hers. Lips moving over her, the warmth in her limbs, relaxing and tensing of her muscles. Cold snow and fire in the belly, soft cries fluted and pleasured.
Sango had not felt this way in forever. Resentment filled her. She looked up to meet the eyes of her true enemy, “I hate you,” She lied.
Kikyo’s gaze, made her feel bare. Gentle hands cupping her head again, mouth fastening over hers. Lips soft and demanding. This miko’s blood should have been painted, stained on the ground.
Sango folded herself into an embrace with Kikyo.
Her eyes were shimmering, lips swollen, she only wished for one thing now. Arms thrown around the shoulders; in which the skin was a milky white, she weakly raised her self. Back un-arching, straightening.
She felt so old. Her body could barely move. Eternity’s winter silently catching up to her, wanting to swallow her whole, devour her. Sadness filled her again. Here she was vulnerable to the enemy, how many times had this already happened?
A single Shindama-chuu flew creepily past her, only to steadily, almost lazily wrap around her torso to hold her up as Kikyo stepped a few steps back.
The miko’s fingers tangled in her head, “I know,”
The naked trees made eerie patterns on the ground, shadows hiding and fore telling. Fast. The blade sunk in the soft artificial flesh, sad eyes looked down at her. The tears had come again, and she knew this time she would never stop crying. Kikyo fell backward, crimson death and life coating her blade.
“Forgive me,” Sango murmured eyes glassy.
She was lovely in death, that miko, hair fanned out on the pure snow, eyes closed leaving a peaceful serene look with the dark eyelashes on pale soft skin. Kagome had died like that too. Yet she still felt wet warmth on her face, clanging, the sword fell to the ground. On all fours an animal again, she crawled over to say good bye.
Leaning, hovering over the prone form of her lady, Sango bent over to kiss her a final time. Hands gripped fast to the achingly cold snow.
‘Her lips are still warm,’
Wind blew her hair about her face, blocking her vision slightly of something unseen anyway. The wind steadily stopped, halted for the fading dying cry of time. Sango felt relief, at peace. She could hear it again.
‘Everything,’
She felt a sigh escape her.
‘Mata aou ne,’
They stayed against each other, forever frozen in the snow, blood staining the snow.
A single flower; color of a saintly crimson grew in the spring.
/Conclude/