Adult-FanFiction.org : Inuyasha / Yashahime

Traditions	By : kittenchild Category: InuYasha > Het - Male/Female Views: 3264 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Inuyasha, nor do I make any profit off of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3:
For so long you have been living with a pain so deep, so cutting, that you know it would leave eternal scars on your soul. No mother should ever outlive her child, and you never even got a chance to say goodbye before they took his little body away and burned it in a mass pyre. Your baby, the one you brought into this world, the one who’s first smile warmed your heart and filled you with hope. If you close your eyes, you can still remember the sweet scent of his skin, so soft and smooth, as he wrapped his chubby little hand around your finger and cooed. You remember that surprisingly strong grip amongst other things. The way his eyes used to light up when you sang to him at night, his first word (dada) and how proud you were of him when he took those first, shaky, steps into your arms. Proud and sad, because your little baby was growing up, and wouldn’t be a baby for much longer.
Or so you thought.
He died, your son, his life cut short by a deadly sickness that swept through the village. There was no saving him, or the man that you loved with such a desperate intensity. You were forced to watch as fever ravaged their bodies, twisted and wasted them, until all that was left was lifeless husks of the people they once were. Your entire world was wiped away in little more than a week. And there was nothing you could do to stop it, nothing you could do to save them. The powers that you inherited, that were your birthright, only prolonged their suffering. You weren’t trained to heal this kind of ill. And how they suffered for it.
Dead.
But there was hope, there was always hope, and even when you were burning with fever, sick yourself, you sent away the only person who was there to help you. The only person left that dared to risk the infection.
“Get Sesshoumaru, Rin. Don’t let them die.” You urged her, and watched as she left with a tearful nod. You knew she would make haste, you only hoped you could hold on long enough to see your son and your husband well again.
Then the fever got worse. You have no idea how much time passed, because fever does strange things to a person’s body, to their perception. The only thing you remember is looking up to find the being you most wanted to see standing in the entry way of your home. Standing tall, proud, his aristocratic face as smooth and unaffected as usual. His eyes, such a similar shade to your husbands, cut daggers through your heart. He had the power to save them. Only he could save them, and in the process save you, from a world of misery.
You begged. You pleaded. The once proud and fiery girl from the future, who was too headstrong and independent to beg for anything….
“There is nothing left to save, Miko. They are gone. Burned.” His words were hard and flat, delivered brutally.
You turn your head to the side, looking for the bodies that were there only yesterday.
Gone. They’re gone.
And then you scream, because if you don’t, if you don’t let out the pain that is bursting in your chest, you will surely explode outward into a million little pieces. You scream because you’ve just lost everything that was ever important to you and then some. You scream because they’re gone, and they’re not coming back, and after everything you’ve done and sacrificed it’s just… not fair.
And then your throat is raw and bloody, and you can’t scream out loud anymore, but you’re still screaming in your head.
You don’t want to live; you want it to take you too. Let it take your whole family, so that you can be reunited in death. But the fates are simply not that kind. A day later the fever ebbs, breaks.
You survive.
You live, if you can call it that. The villagers are apologetic; you can see the relief and fear in their eyes. You have no time for apologies. No time for their words, which fall flat and insincere on your ears. You leave the village, and the memories behind. With nothing but your bow and a quiver of arrows, you venture out into a world that is not your own.
You walk, wander, aimlessly. No direction in mind. Half of you hopes that you will come across a demon that can kill you, or a band of marauders that will slit your throat for the coin they hope you carry in your pocket. For years you wander, a ghost, a shell. Untouched and unfeeling. You’ve shut the doors to your heart, refuse to let emotion in. To do so would be crippling, debilitating. There’s suffering all around you, people and children dying in every village you pass through, and for the first time in your life… you feel nothing.
Not pity. Not compassion. Nothing.
But you don’t walk away when they ask for your help. You purify the demon that is terrorizing the village and razing the fields. You heal the scrapes and broken bones of the children and the elderly. But you do not linger. You do not stay.
You keep walking. Because you no longer have a place in this world. And the more you venture out into it, the more it becomes clear. For years you struggle on, struggle with the pain, the feelings of abandonment and the depression that comes with it. The hopelessness.
And finally, after six years of wandering, your feet carry you back to a place you once called home. You walk through the forest that is your husband’s namesake, and for the first time in a long time you feel something squeeze inside your chest.
Pain.
And then it comes to you. Forget the fates. You tried. You tried so hard. You just can’t do it anymore, cant deal with the pain of losing them. You want to see them again, even if it is in death. You are about to take your destiny into your own hands.
And so you plan to take your own life. It doesn’t take you long to figure out how you’re going to do this. You will be effective, thorough. You search the forest to find the berries and roots that you’re looking for. They’re poisonous, toxic, sure to kill you. You know that by drinking the tea infused with these toxins, you will die a slow and painful death. They will first build fluid in your lungs, attack your respitory system, before systematically moving through your body and attacking your organs. But that’s not enough. The death is too prolonged, and despite the number of toxins in your system, if a skilled healer stumbled across you… there is a chance they could save you.
And you’re not taking chances. Not today. So you wait until it get’s hard to breathe, you settle yourself down at the base of his tree, where this entire story began. In a weird way, it’s like you can still feel him there, like a piece of him is still pinned here. Trapped. And it soothes you, warms you, even as the posion has you shaking and shivering. You draw the blade from your hip, a simple dagger, and close your eyes as you drag it hard across your wrists.
You can feel the blood rushing to the surface, rushing out of your body and onto the ground next to you.
And you don’t care. Because suddenly, for the first time in a long time, the world is a brighter place. There’s hope in your heart. Love. Peace. You will see them soon.
When you fade away, it’s peaceful. Because you know there will be no coming back, that no healer can undo the damage you’ve wrought. You will see you husband and son soon.
But you weren’t planning on him.
One second you’re dead, and in the next you’re breathing again.
You look up to find darkness all around you, but you’re being cradled in strong arms. A waterfall of soft, silky silver hair surrounds you. And eyes that you never thought you’d see again. Golden eyes, the color of toasted honey, stare down at you intently. Watching. Waiting.
“Inu-Inuyasha?”
And the next thing you know fangs are bursting into your neck, the hands gripping your body no longer gentle. This is not the man you love. This is not the one you swore you’d spend eternity with, even if it meant following him into death. This is…
Sesshoumaru.
Tensaiga.
And then you scream. You scream because he’s ruined everything, everything that you worked for. You scream because how is it that the fates could possibly be this cruel, this cold. You scream because the mark on your neck that belonged to your husband…now belongs to another.
And you scream because….you know what that means.

A/N: 2nd person POV. Didnt think I could do it. Not my favorite thing I've ever written but... hey. Challenge accepted. ;)
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Traditions