In love—

What a question.

Sesshoumaru’s eyes slanted down. Back against the wall he sat and watched her, as he often did. The slight furl of her outstretched hand brushed against the trailing edge of his fur. His lashes lowered as he studied her sleeping face, unguarded and untroubled, smooth and softly pale as a moon-lily petal, and felt himself transported.

The urge to reach for her was near insurmountable, yet he resisted. Too soon, he reminded himself. Even his most disparate and savage instincts listened, and were subdued.

Ingrained in him was the desire to protect her, surpassing all others. Still, he felt the need to distance himself from her, to remove himself from the temptation she presented. Suspended in this limbo of push and pull, he was trapped, restless. And so he rose and stole away from her in a shimmer of amber light.

Away and above he traveled, beyond the boundaries of the mortal realm. When his feet touched down at the edge of the clearing, he was surprised at himself. Charred earth crunched like dragon glass beneath his boots, as he stepped forward against his own reservations.

It was the memory of that night which had brought him here—the image of moon-lilies, and of Kagome amongst them. But the flowers were gone now, blasted away. Though the ground was black and barren, the air stirred with phantom fragrance. Even now, this enchanted place struggled to acquiesce to his unspoken demands.

Standing in the center of this wasteland, Sesshoumaru was chastened. His claws cracked as they curled. His eyes lifted to the sky. A moonless night, a premonition.

A warning to himself—of himself.

Kneeling down, he let the ashes sift through his claws, and remembered. A part of him longed for Kagome to remember—or perhaps, for her to remember in part. Had he made the right decisions? His recollections of that night were clouded at best, red-fogged and jagged with regret.

The last of the ashes drifted from his hand. Following their downward course, Sesshoumaru willed the burned meadow to blossom once again. Faintly it sighed against him, in cloying defeat.

Hirokin would sneer at such sentimentality, were he here to witness it. Yet for all his keen perception, the cutting edge of his insight dulled considerably when turned upon himself.

Sesshoumaru had thought he alone was immune to it, this burden of sentiment. Or perhaps it was the leaden pangs of failure which plagued him. Whatever it was, he carried the feeling with him just the same. Bowed beneath it now, he both cursed and thanked his father.

The Western Lord’s gaze flicked heavenward as he stood, brushing the soot from his fur. Dark skies and a field full of ashes—and he had scolded Kagome for languishing in her despair.

Scoffing at himself, Sesshoumaru took flight and returned to the mortal sphere—but not to her. Not yet…

Drawn by an echoing scent, he stalked instead toward the girl who ventured forth to meet him. Dead grass crackled beneath her timid footsteps. Sesshoumaru’s eyes flashed to hers. His lip curled as he advanced on her with aura aflame.

…Not yet.

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Inuyasha © Rumiko Takahashi

Revised 7/13/23