With her reiki, Kagome burned away the spill of Sesshoumaru’s seed from her skin. She did this with the same habitual thoroughness she’d have used to burn it up inside her. As he’d told her, it was her prerogative to ‘see to it,’ and so she did. No risk of any lingering evidence of him

She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was her own deranged perception of events, but it seemed he couldn’t either. Neither of them could help themselves anymore. All sense of sanity and restraint were gone. Lost to the blaze of his frustration, to the flung floodgates of her anguish that wouldn’t shut to

Kagome raised herself up and turned toward him. The sight of Sesshoumaru standing there against the purpling skies was almost blinding to her misted eyes. She blinked up at him and felt a fresh wave of tears course down her cheeks. “This is all my fault,” she said tremulously. Sesshoumaru’s golden gaze trailed over the

It was an overcast day when they laid Miroku’s remains to rest, as if the gods themselves had selected the backdrop best suited to the occasion—a gloomy, ash grey. The funeral was a bleak affair—what funeral wasn’t? But Kagome was most staggered by the surrealness of it. She couldn’t wrap her head around the fact

Torn in more ways than one, Kagome walked next door with Sango, leaving her there with her children and neighbors. Picking up Shin, she called Inuyasha down from his gloomy perch after a few attempts. Together with him she returned to their home. They didn’t speak the whole way back. Their silent suffering lay thick

While Inuyasha sulked in a tree just outside the house, Kagome sat with Sango in the hours after. Not speaking much, weeping often. Kagome felt raw with grief—fleshed-out from the inside out. Sango’s eyes were rubbed red, her face pale as swept stone. She looked washed out, hollowed out. Worn out with pain, yet unable