Inuyasha, "Like Rain in Paris" Naraku/Mrs. Higurashi, rated NC-17
Fandom: Inuyasha
Title: Like Rain in Paris
Written For: nelson_bannaba
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Mrs. Higurashi(Ayako)/Naraku(Naru Agasugi)
Genre: Darkfic/Angst/Drama
Warnings: sexual situations, unhappy resolutions
Word Count: 3105
Notes: Thank you to del_kaidin for helping me look over it. Written for iy_flashfic
Note: Gustave Caillebotte’s famous painting - "Paris Street in Rainy Weather," 1877, Impressionism.
Links: Media Miner | AO3
Like Rain in Paris
She knew it was supposed to be a study of spontaneity, to snap a picture of unrelated people that moved about busily on the Paris streets. But the painting always made her uncomfortable despite its austere subject matter.
With closer inspection into herself, she was sure it was the rainy environment of the painting that unnerved her. It was only rain after all, a minor player in the themes that were visible through the artist’s intentions.
Though individually, the inconsequential rain made her feel like she was drowning. And when she was drowning in washed grays and yellows, she had never felt more alone.
“A magnificent attempt at realism, even by an Impressionist, don’t you think?”
A deep, smooth voice behind her brought her attention sputtering and gasping out of the mesmerizing brushstrokes. She blinked, remembering that she was standing in front of Gustave Caillebotte’s famous painting , on show for a few weeks in Tokyo before it returned to its home in Chicago.
“Um…yes but …” she stuttered.
“You really should move back and look at it from a distance. I can’t imagine you’d get the same impact as close as you are.” His breath was as close to her neck as hers was to the painting, and she felt slightly invaded. She turned slowly around, her wide eyes meeting those of her reverie’s intruder.
“I - I can’t look at them from far away,” she answered bluntly. “I can’t feel it unless I’m close.”
Immediately, she felt stupid for rambling out her feelings to a complete stranger. She looked up into deep mahogany eyes, glinting with crimson, and she studied his smooth pristine face framed with violet-black tendrils of hair. She blushed, and looked away nervously as she felt extremely taken by his handsome face.
He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with amusement and underlying desire. He bowed and introduced himself. “I’m sorry for bothering you. My name is Naru Agasugi, and I hope I am not intruding on you.”
“Oh,” she said surprised. “No, not at all. I was just …caught in the moment. You see, I like looking at this painting very much.” She turned her head slowly to the painting to glance at it again, feeling sucked into the illuminating effects of the rain. “Though I don’t know why,” she added in a whisper. She turned slowly back, a quick pensive frown transforming into a plastic smile. She bowed. “Please excuse my rudeness. My name is Ayako Higurashi.”
He bowed again in return, and with a few observations later they were having coffee.
~*~
Ayako Minamori had always believed that people had more than one soul - not real souls, but separate parts of a soul depending upon talents and roles either overlapping or never touching at all. First and foremost, she had always felt that she had an artist’s soul among her woman’s soul. Long ago in her youth, she had crafted her skill in painting, drawing and ink brushing with voracity, and she had intended on becoming a great artist.
However, when she met Seiji Higurashi, she had soon gained a wife’s soul and a mother’s soul that competed with time to bloom with her other souls. Regrettably, her role as a wife had died out, and she had to focus on being a mother much more than woman or an artist. Both were pushed aside and underneath irrevocably to make time for two other dependant people in her life.
Over the years she kept herself busy, singing a mantra that ‘children were wonderful’ and her motivation to ever pick up a paintbrush soon died out.
Her artist’s spirit had retired silently- her sleeping spirit having very few chances to grow, and internally she felt empty because of it.
~*~
“You’re Ayako Minamori, aren’t you?” Naru Agasugi said as she sipped her coffee. He saw her placid smile form into frown, and he realized that was the most emotion he had seen from her since she took her eyes away from that painting.
“I used to be,” she answered him politely, a tinge of regret lacing her voice.
“Wow,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her and filling his eyes with a far away look. “I remember your paintings winning awards back in the late seventies. The critics called you a prodigy artist on the Japanese scene. Your watercolor paintings were just…”
“I don’t paint anymore. I have children to take care of,” she said coldly, and she put her drink down and began to rummage in her purse for money. Ayako didn’t like the way the conversation was going, and she’d rather run off than drudge up old memories.
“Ayako-san,” the stranger said, skipping some formalities and placing a bold hand over hers. She stopped as his silky voice purred in her ears again. She didn’t know why, but she felt fire in his fingers, the same fire she used to feel when she met brush with canvas. “Can’t you be a painter and a mother at the same time?”
She paused, and hesitantly she met his gaze. Those deep mahogany-crimson eyes tracing over her body sent shivers in her bones and electrified her senses. The tug in the muscles of his smile suggested that he felt the same way.
“I - I never thought I’d have the time. My children need so much,” she replied, and then she got a quick flash of her daughter, always leaving for adventure and hardly ever coming home. Her son, always at school or clubs, was hardly home either. In actuality, they hardly needed her at all anymore. They still needed her, but she had plenty more free time for herself than she had realized.
“I never thought about it before,” she stuttered, and Naru watched her intently, studying the changing expressions on her face. He felt her transforming in front of him, and the more he touched her, the more he felt her spirit awaken from a long buried darkness.
Soon, he was sure to completely revive her, that spirit that slept so long and so far below.
“Come to my studio, Ayako-san. Just see for yourself if you want to paint again.”
That was all he needed to say. It was all anyone ever had to say to plead with her spirit, to break down those defenses with such a simple request.
~*~
Months later, Ayako had visited Naru Agasugi’s studio at least four times out of the week. The moment she walked into his flat in downtown Tokyo, she felt engrossed by the scent of oils and paint thinner that permeated in the air. Always he had a canvas prepared for her, stretched raw with a bucket of gesso waiting with a sealed lid. Clean, unused brushes were spread out on the cart table next to the easel.
She never felt so pampered, and even at one time she dared to ask, “Why, why all of this for me?”
“I need to see your spirit soar, Ayako. It’s a crime for an artist’s soul to die.” The words were too perfect and made her blood warmly simmer - shaving off years of mundane motherhood from her life and making her feel like a desirable woman again. And she painted - painted as if she were ready to expose herself to the world again.
Ayako lifted up her brush and felt old muscles scream as they were to be used again, not for dusting curtains or cleaning pots, but to slash hue against the surface. She dipped her large brush into the gesso, and hesitantly, with every time, brought the first brushstroke of white across the raw readied surface. As the bristles gurgled on the paint, she rocked the brush in an up and down fluid motion across the canvas. Gesso splattered onto her cheeks and hand when she became fiercer - more energetic to the task at hand.
Putting the brush down, she sighed and stared at the wet canvas waiting for the gesso to dry.
Naru Agasugi came over and put his hand on her shoulder. “We wait now.”
And waiting was half the excitement.
As he peeled off layers her clothing, she felt herself exposed - free again and squirming out of domestic chains that long imprisoned her. She forgot herself, her children, and in this man’s arms she dispelled all her barriers.
She knew that she was his canvas, and whatever his intentions were she didn’t care. With each touch, each lick of his tongue against her skin, she was painted alive.
With his ravenous lips locked onto hers, he brought her down to the floor over an old pile of dirty, splotched canvases. As he kissed her, he directed her hands over his clothing, shedding off layers of his own. Feeling his cold, silky skin against made her feel wet - wet as a woman who had never been a mother before.
“Please,” she sighed, and she felt his fingers sliding between her legs and pushing into her heat. Her thighs squirmed underneath him as she felt his hardened arousal poking with direct attention over her thigh. He teased her, positioning himself at her entrance and only skimming her from the outside. Her body tensed as he finally yet slowly filled inside her, and she embraced him tightly, raking her fingers across his scarred back and moving herself to take him in deeper.
And then he would always laugh, softly but darkly, as he took her. She knew that he was happy - dominating yet ecstatic to have such control of her, to have such power over the canvas that was his own.
Pumping inside of her, he snarled against her skin and she expelled guttural moans to each one of his thrusts. She felt the slickness created between them, sloppy and audible as he slid so smoothly inside of her - the wetness reminding of her of a painted brush moving across a fluid plane.
Ayako began to peak, gripping the scarred flesh of his back and wrapping herself around him tighter and closer than she could ever manage. He growled with laughter and let himself come inside her, slowing his pace and letting his scent pour over her. She slacked, and he freed himself loose from her and settled next to her, looking at her and touching her moist skin. He caressed circles around her breasts as her chest heaved into his hands while she caught her breath.
“Now, it’s time to paint,” she muttered softly, and he nodded next to her. After a few minutes she got up and began to paint the canvas, her clothes still sprawled around his studio floor.
Naru smiled ominously behind her as her spirit energy heightened, somewhat stifling him as it filtered throughout the room.
~*~
Late one evening, Ayako laid in Naru’s arms, feeling more free and alive than she had in almost two decades. Naru was lying on his stomach, and Ayako had sat up, drawing invisible kanji letters over his scarred back.
He hummed as she moved her light fingers across his skin. That evening they had not engaged in their usual painting rituals. Instead, Naru had collected all her works, and promised to show them to a friend of his in a gallery downtown. Ayako was ecstatic, and showed her appreciation physically.
And of course he didn’t mind. When she was at the height of her life, he was at the height of his game.
With sex lingering in the air among the oils and varnish, the two of them rested, and Ayako happily delayed her return home as the hours bled into the late evening.
“Such a peculiar scar,” she mumbled, and she felt him tense under her fingers. She frowned suddenly, and realized it must have been a painful subject. She traced the kanji letters “beauty” and “healing” over his dark skin. “It’s alright. I’m not going to ask you about it. I just think it’s very strange, but pretty in a way.” She traced her fingers over it, and Naru thought he felt her draw a spider over his scar. Then, she traced more kanji letters and began to giggle.
“Did you just name my scar, you silly woman?” He raised one single brow, and there was amusement in his voice. She laughed again. He turned over on his back and grabbed her into his arms, and she squealed in surprise and excitement.
“What’s with all those kanji prayers you wrote in my back as well? Don’t tell me the talented Ayako Minamori is also a shrine maiden.”
She awarded him a genuine smile accompanied with a blush. She nodded. “I used to be that as well.”
He groaned low in his through. “Oh, Ayako-chan, what’s with all the used-to’s? Aren’t you a painter? Aren’t you a mother? Aren’t you a woman?” She nodded, grinning. Then, he added, “Aren’t you a miko?” Hesitantly, she nodded slowly and blushed again.
“And wouldn’t you love to be a wife again?” She paused, and she looked directly into his eyes. She saw no deception, no frivolity, only true intentions that stared at her so expectantly.
She nodded again.
~*~
Wearily, Kagome Higurashi, who had been fighting in the Feudal Era for several months, came crawling home, exhausted and half alive. Someone else’s blood had been smeared on her uniform, and she stumbled in pain as her broken arm throbbed and her head pulsated from agonizing memory.
In her hand she clutched tightly the completed Shikon no Tama, her only way to get through the well and her only measure to further protect it from the enemy’s hands.
Her grandfather and brother came running for her, and she fell into their arms, crying and pleading.
“Please, Inuyasha and Miroku are badly wounded. I need to go back and bring them medicine.”
Finally, her mother came, lightly tearing her daughter away from their arms and carrying her into the house.
“Oh, Kagome. You can’t go anywhere, not like this. You need to rest, and then you can help your friends.”
“No, mom, please! They’re dying! I’m their only hope! Please!”
Ayako smoothed back her daughter’s wet bloodied hair from her face. “Shhh…it’s alright. You completed the mission, right? You won.”
“No... No, he got away. Naraku got away. We may have the jewel, but Naraku is still alive! I have to go back.”
“Shhhh…it’ll be alright; just rest for now.”
Her mother’s sweet voice and warm arms began to calm Kagome. She looked at her mom with the same nurturing and caring smile on her face. But she noticed her eyes, and Kagome felt odd - her mother’s eyes had never been so hollow before.
Maybe it was her head, maybe she was delirious, but something didn’t seem right. Her mother pried the jewel out of her daughter’s hand and set her down on her bed, tucking her in the soft clean covers.
Kagome whined as the jewel was taken away from her, but soon sleep overcame her and her mother gave her one more backward glance as she shut the door. The jewel beamed in her hand, and she felt a strange tickle on her soul as she held it - resonating with the glitter of her new diamond ring.
~*~
Ayako stood in front of the old creepy well house. She felt her heart swell. Finally her baby daughter was home with her responsibilities met. Ayako had a future again - as a mother, a woman, and even as a wife.
She looked down at the effervescent jewel in her hand and realized she could fill all those roles again fully, including the role as a miko.
“I’m sorry, Kagome,” she said, and she felt slightly less pure when she said it.
The sky crackled above her, and she realized it was going to rain. Quickly, she opened the buckets of black paint in front of the well house, dipping in the brush. In a quick systematic motion, Ayako began painting the entire well house with powerful seals, distinct to her power. The sky crackled again, and she felt herself crying but her arm refused to stop. It was this time her mother-soul was put to rest and buried beneath, and a different soul emerged - the soul of a woman, deluded and wired into the intentions of a man.
And when the seals were complete, she dropped to her knees sobbing. Everything was complete. Nothing, not even the past could come through and disrupt her family - disrupt her new life that she was going to have with Naru Agasugi.
“Mom, what are you doing?” she turned around surprised, to see Kagome awake and reading the seals with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry, Kagome. It’s over. You never have to go back there.”
Kagome gasped, and she sprinted on her exhausted legs to the well house, only to be propelled backward from her mother’s barrier. She tried again, and again, and again, but she could not get through.
After the last attempt she fell onto her backside and looked up at her mother pleadingly.
“Why?”
Ayako didn’t have the words to convince her, so she said nothing. She clutched the Shikon no Tama in her hands tightly, looking away from Kagome’s judgmental eyes.
Behind her, Naru Agasugi came from the shadows and put a comforting hand on Ayako’s shoulder. She turned to him, and she smiled benevolently into his crimson eyes and grinning face. It was much easier looking into his gaze than her own daughter’s. It was better because Naru wouldn’t judge her - only support her as he did the day he stepped into her life. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her head under his chin.
Kagome’s eyes fell onto the man who clutched her mother in his dominant grasp. She met his eyes, so hauntingly familiar it took her heart only two quick beats to make the connection - to recognize who he really was. Her mother’s betrayal stung at her eyes, and Kagome saw victory glow in the man’s hellish smile.
Her mother’s shaky voice pulled her out of her frozen hell and said, “Don’t you see, Kagome? Now, we can be a family.”
But that wasn’t it at all, and Ayako hated to think she was deluding herself. But only in Naru’s arms did she feel like her own self or anything at all.
Kagome stared in horror as her eyes settled on the glitter of her mom’s new ring. Then, as her mother dropped the completed Shikon no Tama into the stranger’s hand, she felt her world reeling, drowning into a tumbling yellow and gray.
Then, the sky opened up and poured.
The End
Title: Like Rain in Paris
Written For: nelson_bannaba
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Mrs. Higurashi(Ayako)/Naraku(Naru Agasugi)
Genre: Darkfic/Angst/Drama
Warnings: sexual situations, unhappy resolutions
Word Count: 3105
Notes: Thank you to del_kaidin for helping me look over it. Written for iy_flashfic
Note: Gustave Caillebotte’s famous painting - "Paris Street in Rainy Weather," 1877, Impressionism.
Links: Media Miner | AO3
Like Rain in Paris
She knew it was supposed to be a study of spontaneity, to snap a picture of unrelated people that moved about busily on the Paris streets. But the painting always made her uncomfortable despite its austere subject matter.
With closer inspection into herself, she was sure it was the rainy environment of the painting that unnerved her. It was only rain after all, a minor player in the themes that were visible through the artist’s intentions.
Though individually, the inconsequential rain made her feel like she was drowning. And when she was drowning in washed grays and yellows, she had never felt more alone.
“A magnificent attempt at realism, even by an Impressionist, don’t you think?”
A deep, smooth voice behind her brought her attention sputtering and gasping out of the mesmerizing brushstrokes. She blinked, remembering that she was standing in front of Gustave Caillebotte’s famous painting , on show for a few weeks in Tokyo before it returned to its home in Chicago.
“Um…yes but …” she stuttered.
“You really should move back and look at it from a distance. I can’t imagine you’d get the same impact as close as you are.” His breath was as close to her neck as hers was to the painting, and she felt slightly invaded. She turned slowly around, her wide eyes meeting those of her reverie’s intruder.
“I - I can’t look at them from far away,” she answered bluntly. “I can’t feel it unless I’m close.”
Immediately, she felt stupid for rambling out her feelings to a complete stranger. She looked up into deep mahogany eyes, glinting with crimson, and she studied his smooth pristine face framed with violet-black tendrils of hair. She blushed, and looked away nervously as she felt extremely taken by his handsome face.
He smiled at her, his eyes gleaming with amusement and underlying desire. He bowed and introduced himself. “I’m sorry for bothering you. My name is Naru Agasugi, and I hope I am not intruding on you.”
“Oh,” she said surprised. “No, not at all. I was just …caught in the moment. You see, I like looking at this painting very much.” She turned her head slowly to the painting to glance at it again, feeling sucked into the illuminating effects of the rain. “Though I don’t know why,” she added in a whisper. She turned slowly back, a quick pensive frown transforming into a plastic smile. She bowed. “Please excuse my rudeness. My name is Ayako Higurashi.”
He bowed again in return, and with a few observations later they were having coffee.
~*~
Ayako Minamori had always believed that people had more than one soul - not real souls, but separate parts of a soul depending upon talents and roles either overlapping or never touching at all. First and foremost, she had always felt that she had an artist’s soul among her woman’s soul. Long ago in her youth, she had crafted her skill in painting, drawing and ink brushing with voracity, and she had intended on becoming a great artist.
However, when she met Seiji Higurashi, she had soon gained a wife’s soul and a mother’s soul that competed with time to bloom with her other souls. Regrettably, her role as a wife had died out, and she had to focus on being a mother much more than woman or an artist. Both were pushed aside and underneath irrevocably to make time for two other dependant people in her life.
Over the years she kept herself busy, singing a mantra that ‘children were wonderful’ and her motivation to ever pick up a paintbrush soon died out.
Her artist’s spirit had retired silently- her sleeping spirit having very few chances to grow, and internally she felt empty because of it.
~*~
“You’re Ayako Minamori, aren’t you?” Naru Agasugi said as she sipped her coffee. He saw her placid smile form into frown, and he realized that was the most emotion he had seen from her since she took her eyes away from that painting.
“I used to be,” she answered him politely, a tinge of regret lacing her voice.
“Wow,” he said, tearing his gaze away from her and filling his eyes with a far away look. “I remember your paintings winning awards back in the late seventies. The critics called you a prodigy artist on the Japanese scene. Your watercolor paintings were just…”
“I don’t paint anymore. I have children to take care of,” she said coldly, and she put her drink down and began to rummage in her purse for money. Ayako didn’t like the way the conversation was going, and she’d rather run off than drudge up old memories.
“Ayako-san,” the stranger said, skipping some formalities and placing a bold hand over hers. She stopped as his silky voice purred in her ears again. She didn’t know why, but she felt fire in his fingers, the same fire she used to feel when she met brush with canvas. “Can’t you be a painter and a mother at the same time?”
She paused, and hesitantly she met his gaze. Those deep mahogany-crimson eyes tracing over her body sent shivers in her bones and electrified her senses. The tug in the muscles of his smile suggested that he felt the same way.
“I - I never thought I’d have the time. My children need so much,” she replied, and then she got a quick flash of her daughter, always leaving for adventure and hardly ever coming home. Her son, always at school or clubs, was hardly home either. In actuality, they hardly needed her at all anymore. They still needed her, but she had plenty more free time for herself than she had realized.
“I never thought about it before,” she stuttered, and Naru watched her intently, studying the changing expressions on her face. He felt her transforming in front of him, and the more he touched her, the more he felt her spirit awaken from a long buried darkness.
Soon, he was sure to completely revive her, that spirit that slept so long and so far below.
“Come to my studio, Ayako-san. Just see for yourself if you want to paint again.”
That was all he needed to say. It was all anyone ever had to say to plead with her spirit, to break down those defenses with such a simple request.
~*~
Months later, Ayako had visited Naru Agasugi’s studio at least four times out of the week. The moment she walked into his flat in downtown Tokyo, she felt engrossed by the scent of oils and paint thinner that permeated in the air. Always he had a canvas prepared for her, stretched raw with a bucket of gesso waiting with a sealed lid. Clean, unused brushes were spread out on the cart table next to the easel.
She never felt so pampered, and even at one time she dared to ask, “Why, why all of this for me?”
“I need to see your spirit soar, Ayako. It’s a crime for an artist’s soul to die.” The words were too perfect and made her blood warmly simmer - shaving off years of mundane motherhood from her life and making her feel like a desirable woman again. And she painted - painted as if she were ready to expose herself to the world again.
Ayako lifted up her brush and felt old muscles scream as they were to be used again, not for dusting curtains or cleaning pots, but to slash hue against the surface. She dipped her large brush into the gesso, and hesitantly, with every time, brought the first brushstroke of white across the raw readied surface. As the bristles gurgled on the paint, she rocked the brush in an up and down fluid motion across the canvas. Gesso splattered onto her cheeks and hand when she became fiercer - more energetic to the task at hand.
Putting the brush down, she sighed and stared at the wet canvas waiting for the gesso to dry.
Naru Agasugi came over and put his hand on her shoulder. “We wait now.”
And waiting was half the excitement.
As he peeled off layers her clothing, she felt herself exposed - free again and squirming out of domestic chains that long imprisoned her. She forgot herself, her children, and in this man’s arms she dispelled all her barriers.
She knew that she was his canvas, and whatever his intentions were she didn’t care. With each touch, each lick of his tongue against her skin, she was painted alive.
With his ravenous lips locked onto hers, he brought her down to the floor over an old pile of dirty, splotched canvases. As he kissed her, he directed her hands over his clothing, shedding off layers of his own. Feeling his cold, silky skin against made her feel wet - wet as a woman who had never been a mother before.
“Please,” she sighed, and she felt his fingers sliding between her legs and pushing into her heat. Her thighs squirmed underneath him as she felt his hardened arousal poking with direct attention over her thigh. He teased her, positioning himself at her entrance and only skimming her from the outside. Her body tensed as he finally yet slowly filled inside her, and she embraced him tightly, raking her fingers across his scarred back and moving herself to take him in deeper.
And then he would always laugh, softly but darkly, as he took her. She knew that he was happy - dominating yet ecstatic to have such control of her, to have such power over the canvas that was his own.
Pumping inside of her, he snarled against her skin and she expelled guttural moans to each one of his thrusts. She felt the slickness created between them, sloppy and audible as he slid so smoothly inside of her - the wetness reminding of her of a painted brush moving across a fluid plane.
Ayako began to peak, gripping the scarred flesh of his back and wrapping herself around him tighter and closer than she could ever manage. He growled with laughter and let himself come inside her, slowing his pace and letting his scent pour over her. She slacked, and he freed himself loose from her and settled next to her, looking at her and touching her moist skin. He caressed circles around her breasts as her chest heaved into his hands while she caught her breath.
“Now, it’s time to paint,” she muttered softly, and he nodded next to her. After a few minutes she got up and began to paint the canvas, her clothes still sprawled around his studio floor.
Naru smiled ominously behind her as her spirit energy heightened, somewhat stifling him as it filtered throughout the room.
~*~
Late one evening, Ayako laid in Naru’s arms, feeling more free and alive than she had in almost two decades. Naru was lying on his stomach, and Ayako had sat up, drawing invisible kanji letters over his scarred back.
He hummed as she moved her light fingers across his skin. That evening they had not engaged in their usual painting rituals. Instead, Naru had collected all her works, and promised to show them to a friend of his in a gallery downtown. Ayako was ecstatic, and showed her appreciation physically.
And of course he didn’t mind. When she was at the height of her life, he was at the height of his game.
With sex lingering in the air among the oils and varnish, the two of them rested, and Ayako happily delayed her return home as the hours bled into the late evening.
“Such a peculiar scar,” she mumbled, and she felt him tense under her fingers. She frowned suddenly, and realized it must have been a painful subject. She traced the kanji letters “beauty” and “healing” over his dark skin. “It’s alright. I’m not going to ask you about it. I just think it’s very strange, but pretty in a way.” She traced her fingers over it, and Naru thought he felt her draw a spider over his scar. Then, she traced more kanji letters and began to giggle.
“Did you just name my scar, you silly woman?” He raised one single brow, and there was amusement in his voice. She laughed again. He turned over on his back and grabbed her into his arms, and she squealed in surprise and excitement.
“What’s with all those kanji prayers you wrote in my back as well? Don’t tell me the talented Ayako Minamori is also a shrine maiden.”
She awarded him a genuine smile accompanied with a blush. She nodded. “I used to be that as well.”
He groaned low in his through. “Oh, Ayako-chan, what’s with all the used-to’s? Aren’t you a painter? Aren’t you a mother? Aren’t you a woman?” She nodded, grinning. Then, he added, “Aren’t you a miko?” Hesitantly, she nodded slowly and blushed again.
“And wouldn’t you love to be a wife again?” She paused, and she looked directly into his eyes. She saw no deception, no frivolity, only true intentions that stared at her so expectantly.
She nodded again.
~*~
Wearily, Kagome Higurashi, who had been fighting in the Feudal Era for several months, came crawling home, exhausted and half alive. Someone else’s blood had been smeared on her uniform, and she stumbled in pain as her broken arm throbbed and her head pulsated from agonizing memory.
In her hand she clutched tightly the completed Shikon no Tama, her only way to get through the well and her only measure to further protect it from the enemy’s hands.
Her grandfather and brother came running for her, and she fell into their arms, crying and pleading.
“Please, Inuyasha and Miroku are badly wounded. I need to go back and bring them medicine.”
Finally, her mother came, lightly tearing her daughter away from their arms and carrying her into the house.
“Oh, Kagome. You can’t go anywhere, not like this. You need to rest, and then you can help your friends.”
“No, mom, please! They’re dying! I’m their only hope! Please!”
Ayako smoothed back her daughter’s wet bloodied hair from her face. “Shhh…it’s alright. You completed the mission, right? You won.”
“No... No, he got away. Naraku got away. We may have the jewel, but Naraku is still alive! I have to go back.”
“Shhhh…it’ll be alright; just rest for now.”
Her mother’s sweet voice and warm arms began to calm Kagome. She looked at her mom with the same nurturing and caring smile on her face. But she noticed her eyes, and Kagome felt odd - her mother’s eyes had never been so hollow before.
Maybe it was her head, maybe she was delirious, but something didn’t seem right. Her mother pried the jewel out of her daughter’s hand and set her down on her bed, tucking her in the soft clean covers.
Kagome whined as the jewel was taken away from her, but soon sleep overcame her and her mother gave her one more backward glance as she shut the door. The jewel beamed in her hand, and she felt a strange tickle on her soul as she held it - resonating with the glitter of her new diamond ring.
~*~
Ayako stood in front of the old creepy well house. She felt her heart swell. Finally her baby daughter was home with her responsibilities met. Ayako had a future again - as a mother, a woman, and even as a wife.
She looked down at the effervescent jewel in her hand and realized she could fill all those roles again fully, including the role as a miko.
“I’m sorry, Kagome,” she said, and she felt slightly less pure when she said it.
The sky crackled above her, and she realized it was going to rain. Quickly, she opened the buckets of black paint in front of the well house, dipping in the brush. In a quick systematic motion, Ayako began painting the entire well house with powerful seals, distinct to her power. The sky crackled again, and she felt herself crying but her arm refused to stop. It was this time her mother-soul was put to rest and buried beneath, and a different soul emerged - the soul of a woman, deluded and wired into the intentions of a man.
And when the seals were complete, she dropped to her knees sobbing. Everything was complete. Nothing, not even the past could come through and disrupt her family - disrupt her new life that she was going to have with Naru Agasugi.
“Mom, what are you doing?” she turned around surprised, to see Kagome awake and reading the seals with wide eyes.
“I’m sorry, Kagome. It’s over. You never have to go back there.”
Kagome gasped, and she sprinted on her exhausted legs to the well house, only to be propelled backward from her mother’s barrier. She tried again, and again, and again, but she could not get through.
After the last attempt she fell onto her backside and looked up at her mother pleadingly.
“Why?”
Ayako didn’t have the words to convince her, so she said nothing. She clutched the Shikon no Tama in her hands tightly, looking away from Kagome’s judgmental eyes.
Behind her, Naru Agasugi came from the shadows and put a comforting hand on Ayako’s shoulder. She turned to him, and she smiled benevolently into his crimson eyes and grinning face. It was much easier looking into his gaze than her own daughter’s. It was better because Naru wouldn’t judge her - only support her as he did the day he stepped into her life. She closed her eyes and nuzzled her head under his chin.
Kagome’s eyes fell onto the man who clutched her mother in his dominant grasp. She met his eyes, so hauntingly familiar it took her heart only two quick beats to make the connection - to recognize who he really was. Her mother’s betrayal stung at her eyes, and Kagome saw victory glow in the man’s hellish smile.
Her mother’s shaky voice pulled her out of her frozen hell and said, “Don’t you see, Kagome? Now, we can be a family.”
But that wasn’t it at all, and Ayako hated to think she was deluding herself. But only in Naru’s arms did she feel like her own self or anything at all.
Kagome stared in horror as her eyes settled on the glitter of her mom’s new ring. Then, as her mother dropped the completed Shikon no Tama into the stranger’s hand, she felt her world reeling, drowning into a tumbling yellow and gray.
Then, the sky opened up and poured.
The End