Episode Three – Consumed
And I lose myself in the pleasure he offers, feeling a bit of the coldness that has taken over my heart trickling away in melted rivers as his warmth seeps in. These feelings that he invokes in me, these desires for things I have never cared for, and this pleasure that until now was not something I craved… I don’t know what to do with them. They are steadily building until I feel as if I am about to burst.
I restlessly pace the ground as I ponder on my situation, the one I have inadvertently gotten into. I think of how I lost my heart, the one I didn’t care to have, to a perverted monk with violet eyes and wandering hands.
I want him to be mine, solely mine so that I no longer have to sneak around. I am a Lord, and more than that, the most powerful demon in this land. Yet, the one thing that I desire, the one thing that I am beginning to crave with an intensity, this one thing… it eludes me. The monk… Miroku is mine, wholly and completely. And still, he disappears every morning to rejoin my brother and his band of fools. He scurries back to the demon slayer, and she rejects his every advance.
There is a part of me that hates him, the part that is reviled at what I have become. That side of my soul, my lineage, my youkai demands that I respect only other demons. It says I am poisoning myself, tainting my very being with his touch. It tells me that ningens are fodder… humans are nothing more than a scourge on the land with their short lives and weak bodies. Above all things I respect power. Yet, these creatures, these /humans/ have none of it.
And still I desire Miroku.
That is the other part of me, the part that I do not understand where it is inside or where it comes from. For Inuyasha, it is simple. His sympathy comes from his tainted blood, from his mother’s genes, and history that flows through his veins. Some piece of him will always side with the humans. Even when he is in his fully demon form, there is a part of him that knows of his love for humans.
For myself, I cannot say where this compassion has stemmed from. I do not dare admit to myself that it comes from father. In my mind, he is still absolute, despite his weakness for humans. In my heart, that locked organ buried deep within, he is still the most powerful, the great Inutaisho (1). I still find myself angry at Inuyasha for taking him from me, though I know truly that there was nothing my half-brother had done. It is not his fault that my father was willing to die for his human wife and unborn son, but it is gives me something to blame my anger on. It gives me some reason to hate a creature that is slowly and tenaciously claiming my admiration.
However, I am rambling on topics that have no precedence. I find myself sitting in thought more and more lately as I consider what I am to about my situation. The problem which has much to do with why I am standing on a plateau, watching my brother and his ningen friends battle a small band of Hebi, snake demons.
The youkai themselves are not altogether strong, merely possessing a venomous bite and an almost sinuous way of movement, but they are fast and quite annoying. I do not interfere, finding that if these demons defeat my half-brother, he is nowhere near as strong as I have found him to be. The ningens are holding up quite well themselves.
The girl with the bow, wielding it with little skill, not quite like her predecessor, is clinging to my brother’s side as she often does when they fight. The twit considers herself in love with Inuyasha, a foolish notion considering what happened to him fifty years prior. Still, fools will be fools, and there is nothing that can be said. If he doesn’t choose to learn from past mistakes, I cannot do anything for him.
I know he returns her affections, though it is not quite so public. Why he chose to engage his heart with someone who requires his constant protection and sacrifice is beyond my understanding. Perhaps this is why I prefer Miroku over many humans. I know that he is skilled and can fend for himself. I already have two annoying companions to protect. I do not need another.
The demon slayer, Sango if I remember correctly, is skilled within her own right as well. She tends to ride on the back of the fire cat, swinging her Hiraikotsu with a strength not found in most human women. To say that I admired her even partially would be a betrayal to my intense dislike of her, but I do not lie. Perhaps that is why Miroku is endeared to her as well as myself. She is strong-willed and determined.
And then, the one who truly draws my attention, it is he who has caught this inuyoukai’s eye. In the small enclosure surrounded by thickly grown trees and heavy underbrush, he is reluctant to use the powerful wind tunnel. Yet, he is still holding back the Hebi with swings of his sharpened staff and tosses of the ofuda.
The battle appears to be going well, my brother’s group easily defeating the weak Hebi until one darts out of an overhanging tree and latches on to Miroku’s back. I narrow my eyes in anger but make no move to save him. That is not my place. He would not fall to such a creature, not one as weak as that. I can see his face twist into irritation as he pulls out another ofuda, but before he has a chance to slap the paper onto the demon’s face, it sinks its fangs into his shoulder. Miroku’s expression changes from anger to pain as he grits his teeth and elbows the youkai with one arm as he presses the ofuda to its oily, scaly face with the other.
The creature howls in pain as it falls to the ground, writhing and twisting under the sealing spell of the holy paper. I watch, my own expression impassive as Miroku slumps to the ground, his uninjured arm clutching at his bleeding shoulder. Blood stains the beads covering his kazaana. The damned youkai has sunk its fangs in a spot that I know very well. It is the very same one where I had bitten Miroku earlier in the week. It had almost healed over completely, but the very fact that the demon had defiled what is mine makes me angry.
My body stiffens as I observed what came next. I know that the creature’s venom is probably flowing through Miroku’s veins at this very moment, but I am also aware that the flea, Myouga is clinging to my brother’s haori. The monk is in no danger of dying. Even as I know this, I can feel Tenseiga pulsing at my side. Sometimes, I can tell that the sword is trying to tell me something, as if my father’s voice was speaking from somewhere beyond. It is a strange weapon, at times acting of its own accord and other times encouraging me to respond to its will.
Yet, what caused my body to become like a board, my eyes to narrow even further, and my jaw to clench, was the sight of the demon slayer, immediately rushing to Miroku’s side. He looks up at her, managing a slight smile as her face twists with worry. I can hear what they are saying well enough, my enhanced hearing working as well as my ability to read lips, but I do not care to repeat it. Human words of care and consideration, drivel in my opinion. He is reassuring her. She repeats words of worry.
It is an endless cycle.
That is until she begins to remove his robe, only enough to see the wound. His eyes widen in surprise. He tries to pull away, perhaps remembering that I had bitten him there, but she is persistent. As her hands pass over his body, wiping away the blood and aiding Myouga in removing the poison before wrapping the wound, I find a new feeling has entered into my heart.
No, new is the wrong word… or perhaps it is correct. Truly a paradox. I will not admit to myself that I was jealous of Inuyasha, so new will be the term I use. I find that jealousy is filling me to the brim… that she should touch him so openly, speak to him without shadows and lies.
That she should lay her hands on him at all is something that I do not wish to tolerate.
He has taken my heart, that monk, taken something that I did not want to give, and what do I have in return? Fickle attention due to the presence of that female, that human! As long as she exists, he will always return to her, leaving behind this inuyoukai.
I turn my back on the scene in disgust, no longer wishing to view the moment of human compassion or hear her sugary words… or his returned pleas and expressions of devotion. She knows it is drivel as much as I. Yet, to her, it means more. I am momentarily surprised to find that Jaken stands behind me, one hand on his staff, my staff, a strange look on his face.
I had been so caught up in my internal musings that I had neither heard him approaching nor sensed his youkai. Miroku has affected me on a level that both irritates me yet leaves me feeling oddly free.
I calmly regard my servant with a cool sneer, waiting for him to speak as I know he has some comment to make. His lizard-like eyes take in my appearance, but what he is searching for I cannot say. Sometimes, Jaken surprises me, seeming completely ignorant. Yet, other times, there is intelligence within his miniscule brain that I had never deigned to notice before.
“Sesshoumaru-sama,” he begins, that same irritating tone to his voice. I make no change to my expression, remaining impassive as always. It is a silent gesture for him to continue, strangely curious as to what my servant would brave my wrath to say.
“My lord, it is far from me to say such things, but there is none but me with the courage,” he said. At my irritated deep breath, he blanches yet keeps going strong. “I would serve you until my dying day. However, obsession, and that for a ningen especially, can be dangerous emotion.” He hastily adds, “Not that you aren’t strong. I do not want to see your lands fall due to a ningen that doesn’t belong to you.”
The entire time he speaks, I could feel my insides clench and my anger rising steadily. I know he is right of course, but to hear him say it is something that I will not bear. He waits with bated breath for my response. Yet, I give him nothing other than a disdainfully strike across the top of his head as I swiftly move past him.
Rin and Ah-Un are nearby, and I know that she is probably hungry. I have neglected her needs much this past week for the sake of this hunger for Miroku. First, I will tend to the child, and then, I will take the time to ponder what I shall do about the monk and the demon slayer.
– – -This time, I come to him in the dead of the night. Though he has distanced himself from his friends, sitting upon the side of a moonlight river and appearing to be in deep concentration, it is still I that appears first. I simply stand behind him, saying nothing. He sits with his legs crossed, arms pressed together in front of him with his head bowed and his eyes closed. However, I know that he is aware of my presence. His youkai senses are powerful indeed.
“Still here after a week,” he comments, his voice soft yet with a hint of teasing. Violet eyes open as his hands move to his knees. “I’m surprised.”
I do not respond, only giving him the same glare that Jaken was subjected to earlier. It is true that I never stick around for long periods of time. Though I seek him out frequently, it is never with a dogged persistence as I have this past week. Why am I so reluctant to walk away? Why can’t I leave?
He chuckles at my lack of response, as if he had already expected it. He half turns, twisting about in his seat to look up at me. I can see the bits of the white bandage that cover his wound peeking out from under the dark fabric of his robes. Yet, he does not seem to be in much pain.
“Have I tamed the great inuyoukai, then?” he questions, his tone is most assuredly teasing this time. I narrow my eyes at him, invoking one of my most ruthless glares. It is designed to make blood run cold and bodies to freeze with terror.
“Your dalliance with the demon slayer will end,” I inform him. This is the conclusion that I have come to. “You are mine.”
I am Lord. I expect to be obeyed. If he is going to infect me with this feeling, this beating of my heart and coursing of blood through my veins as my groin begins to stiffen just being in his very presence, then I will have him as mine alone. I will not share.
He raises a brow as he slowly climbs to his feet, turning around completely to face me. Miroku is at ease in my presence, no alarm in the way he carries himself, no quick glance to the staff that leans against a nearby stream. He does not fear my power or my presence. I do not know if that fact is something that should fill me with pride or irritate me. Should it bother me so much… this acceptance by a human?
“I wasn’t aware that this was defined,” he answers, waving a hand vaguely to indicate the small space that stands between us.
I lower my gaze at him, staring directly into those oddly-colored eyes that have charmed me from the beginning. “It is now.” My tone is final as I fully expect to be obeyed.
Instead of nodding and accepting my words for what they are, he smiles and laughs lightly, leaning towards me with a glint in his eyes. “Since when have you been the one in control?” he questions, his tone half-teasing and half-serious. This angers me, the irritation completely taking over.
I snarl angrily, my hand rising of its own accord to grasp him about the neck, putting pressure but not necessarily squeezing. “Make no mistake, monk. I could kill you before you draw your next breath. The control has always been in my hands.” I am even more bothered by the fact that he does not look alarmed, merely gazing with eyes steady.
“I no longer fear you,” he comments. “Your bark has no bite, so to speak.”
I am beginning to wonder if there was ever a moment when he did fear me, or has he always thought that I would not hurt him? Has my complete discounting of the humans every time I fight with my brother for the Tetsusaiga endeared them to my presence? Do they truly believe that I would not bring them harm? I wonder, has my stance, my reputation fallen so low?
“Besides,” he adds, while I digest this new information. “If you killed me, who would fuck you the way you want?” His voice drops in volume, turning into that sensual purr that always sends shivers up my spine and sets my heart to racing, just as it is doing now. I curse myself for the faint tremble in my arm as I still hold his fragile neck between my claws. It would be so simple, so easy to take his life.
“Even now, your body craves my touch. I can tell just by looking into your beautiful eyes. Tell me, Sesshoumaru, would you do me the honor of bearing my children?” The same slick tone, compliments heaped upon a sugared tongue as he speaks the words he asks every beautiful woman.
And he mocks me as well, calling my name without my proper title. Yet, something inside holds me back from closing my fingers, from cutting off his air supply and watching as he suffocates from my youkai strength. I don’t understand this. I can’t explain these feelings!
I close my eyes, feeling an irritated growl bubbling up within my throat. It is both at myself for these conflicting and raging emotions, emotions that should not exist to begin with, and with him… for inspiring my turmoil.
“You mock me and overstep your bounds,” I intone, my face still an expressionless mask. “Implying that I need or desire the attentions of a human.”
There is a rustling of fabric before I can feel one of his hands pressed against my chest, trailing down until it reaches my clothed groin and touching it with teasing motions. It is a fault of mine that I have become so obsessed that every time the sun falls I remove all of my armor, leaving it wherever I have made Jaken, Rin, and Ah-Un camp for the night. I have taken to keeping my swords on me, however, not so overly pathetic that I would leave without weapons.
It is with this touch that I have the uncomfortable feeling that I have lost control of myself. Somewhere along the line, little by little and piece by piece, I have given up my restraint and my desire to remain the one with power. Somehow, it has been given to Miroku. A sound develops in the back of my throat, a sound that to my horror is not unlike the purr of a feline. My clawed fingers slowly begin to unravel from around his throat as he smirks at me.
“I meant no disrespect,” he claims, still in that soothing sensual voice that makes blood shoot straight to my groin, which swells into his touch, and he obligingly strokes. “I’m sure you could live without my touch, but the question is… do you want to?” The last is said with a purr as he leans forward, directly speaking into my ear as his tongue darts out and licks the shell before dragging the wet appendage around and tracing the lines of my markings.
I shudder before I even realize I am doing it as my hand falls slack from around his neck, tugging impatiently at the ties to his robes. My eyelids slide shut as he grabs the back of my head with his free hand, bringing us together for a deep and almost possessive kiss. I realize a bit belatedly that I have not responded to his earlier comment, but as his hand snakes between the folds of my clothing and grasps onto my hardening shaft, I no longer care so long as he keeps up those touches.
I push my aching arousal into his skilled touch as his robes pool around his feet thanks to my quick and efficient movements. I immediately notice the bandages on his shoulder, covering up the wound he received in the earlier battle. I am filled with anger at what the puny demon had dared to do… mark what was mine. I make plans to remedy that with a mark of my own, a reclamation of sorts.
And then, my thoughts flutter out of my head as quickly as they come. He makes short work of my own clothing, both of his hands tearing off the coverings as his mouth pushes insistently at mine. Teeth nibble at my lips. Tongues share the same space, and the smell of his own arousal washes over me, hot with a hint of a spice that I don’t quite recognize.
My desires for the monk and the feelings he invokes in me begin to supersede any other thought as I give in to the stroking of his nimble fingers, and his mouth insistently presses against my own. My loins began to ache with the terrible pleasure of his hand upon mine, and my clothes fall from my body only to crumple around my feet.
His mouth leaves my lips, only to create a trail of wet kisses as he licks and nips to my sensitive neck, thick appendage tracing along the hollow of my throat. I can feel his teeth grazing along my skin, sending a fire racing through my veins and causing my skin to shiver. A low, growling purr develops in my throat as my hand tangles in the silken, midnight strands of his hair.
He latches onto my throat with his lips and teeth, pulling hard on the flesh with the suction of his mouth, a slight flare of pain coursing along the same line as the pleasure that shoots through me. His bare hand reaches around behind me, trailing down my spine with a light touch before his fingers trace the crease of my cheeks and dipping between the pale globes of flesh to press teasingly at the pinkish entrance. I moan lightly at the touch, bucking backwards into it without thought.
I wonder only briefly how it has come to this. I am moaning like a wanton whore in the arms of a human, begging without words to be taken, as if I were submissive… as I if I were the one with less power. It is degrading; it is stripping me of all my pride. It is untoward behavior for a Lord. To make matters worse, to taint my youkai even further, I have allowed this act with someone who does not belong to me, who leads on this inuyoukai for the affections of a demon slayer female.
And yet, it is also one of the few times I find I am free. I cannot deny that there is a part of me that desires to be taken, a part that wants to for once give up control to someone else, losing a tiny piece of my restraint. There is a piece of me that knows and wants the fulfillment of being on the receiving end of such pleasure.
Until the monk’s cursed hand grabs onto my shaft once more, slick and smooth beads sliding along my flesh and bringing me to greater heights of arousal. He trails his bare hand up my back, tangling the fingers in long, moonlight strands of hair before grabbing my hips with both hands and turning me around. He jerks my body against his own so quickly that I cannot even react.
I am taller than him, but the feeling of his dripping arousal pressing into my back, asking… no, demanding entrance into my body is almost more than I can take. I bite my lips to hold back another wanton moan as I narrow my eyes in a desperate attempt to regain some sort of control. As his tongue curls around my ear from behind and his hands trace patterns across my body, consistently roaming over bared and sweat-slicked flesh, I manage to keep my voice firm, not wavering in the slightest.
“What are you doing, monk?” I question, fully expecting an answer.
I cannot see him, but I know he is smirking. “Why, my lord,” he begins, his tone mocking and teasing both, “have you no trust in me? Do you not think this monk can bring you pleasure?” Miroku questions, enunciating his words with a tweak to one of my hardened nipples and a stroke to my aching shaft. His hand snakes down between our bodies and squeezes my pale flesh as he chuckles. “Sorry… I couldn’t help myself.”
He begins to slowly guide our bodies to the ground without really answering my question. I give in to the movements as his hand is pleasuring my aching erection as his mouth nibbles on the shell of my ear. I am lost in the feelings he invokes in me until we are kneeling on the ground. He carefully, and somewhat cautiously I might add, leans me forward until my weight is propped up on the one arm bent at the elbow. It is then that I am aware of his purpose.
I briefly remark on how fitting our posture is, but the thought flitters out of my mind as quickly as it entered the moment he presses his hot lips to my back and kisses his way down towards my bare buttocks. His hands trace languid paths along my naked flesh, causing the hair to rise and my body to shiver of its own accord. He kneels between my slightly parted legs, causing my thoughts to wonder as to how I must look.
Kneeling upon the forest floor, my bare buttocks raised to the air like a wanton human as I shiver and bite my lip under the effects of his touch. If another demon were to see me as such, the lord of the western lands on his knees, they would remark on how far I had fallen… on how low I had degraded my very being. Yet, then, his wet tongue slides along the core of me, along the puckered flesh, and I forget my pride as low moans escape me, unconsciously pushing back against that questing mouth.
He chuckles lightly as his hands knead at my flesh, the hard beads sliding along my skin and pressing deep against me. It is a feeling I rather enjoy.
“I find I like you in this position, my lord,” he speaks quietly before sliding his tongue along my entrance once more.
I grit my teeth, unwilling to make yet another sound and prove myself to be the brazen whore that my body is tempting me to become. “You dare much to tease a demon,” I comment in a hissed voice. “Perhaps you are allowed more liberty than is necessary.”
One hand slips beneath my body, giving a light stroke to my dripping hardness as he slides his tongue over and around the puckered ring, slipping inside to tease as he stretches me without use of his fingers. A moan escapes my lips unintentionally as I again move back towards the tongue, which sends pleasure dancing upon my spine, tingles of warmth and hotness enveloping my being.
My muscles loosen at his skilled touch, and I nearly whimper but manage to contain the sound when he pulls back, wet tongue being replaced and a pre-cum slicked arousal pressing insistently at my stretched entrance. He chuckles as he teases me, sliding the tip of his weeping shaft along the cleft of my cheeks.
“It is a pleasure to serve you,” he comments before pushing into me quickly, not bothering to take things slowly. I accept the pain as easily as I take the pleasure, groaning slightly as he pants, fingers clutching at my hips. He pauses for just a moment, embracing the feeling of being deep within my warmth, before he pulls out almost completely, only to thrust swiftly back inside. He sets a driving rhythm, and there is nothing slow and romantic about the pace, not that I would have preferred it otherwise.
I moan lightly, pushing back to meet each steady thrust as his thickness slides along my prostrate, sending a fire shooting up my back. My hair trails along the side of my face, half lying on the ground in a fall of silver. I take in all these little details, along with the feeling of my lips being pulled between my teeth, fangs digging into the soft flesh. From this position, I cannot see him, dig my claws into his skin, or put my lips onto his flesh. I feel strangely detached from it all, even as the pleasure builds inside of me, stretching towards that aching crescendo.
His hands slide along my back, blunt nails scraping along my skin and scratching lightly. He draws no blood, however, and I hear him swiftly take a breath. I arch back into his touch, consumed by the pleasure that burns at me from the inside. It takes away my pride, my reason. It strips away my icy shell until I am left only desiring him: this one human monk with violet eyes and a cursed hand. This love has grown beyond my control, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
Miroku mutters something beneath his breath, something which I do not understand before he pulls out of me and grips my hips in one motion, quickly flipping my body over. He grabs my legs, hefts them around his body and dives back within my entrance all in the same motion, leaning over to share his lips as he continues the driving pace. I can only assume that our previous position was not as satisfactory as he had hoped. He pulls back from the kiss and ferociously attacks my neck with his lips and teeth, murmuring the same sweet nothings as always: words of praise and moans of endearment, flowery sentiments that inflate my ego.
My own mouth seeks his flesh, finding the unbandaged shoulder beneath my lips. My fangs graze along his skin before I bite down, restaking my claim that the unworthy Hebi had ruined (2). His blood washes over my lips, spilling into my mouth and filling my senses with coppery flavor that is undoubtedly human.
He moans, returning the favor with his less sharp, human teeth. The pain only further ignites my arousal. Perhaps it is because I am a youkai raised in battle, but I find that pain comes along with pleasure, sometimes stoking the fires. His hand slips between our bodies, grabbing onto my arousal and stroking me firmly. It is enough to push me over the edge.
I wrap my arm around his neck, grabbing his head with my hand and almost pushing his face into my neck as my entire form bucks beneath him, spilling my essence into his hand. My body shivers with the force of my orgasm as I clamp down on his arousal. He growls at the feeling, a more canine-like sound than my own embarrassing whimper as he empties himself inside of me. I can feel the warmth of him filling me with the last of his thrusts.
One last gasp… and Miroku falls forward on top of me, his heaving chest pressed to mind. Even as he pants, a bold chuckle manages to escape him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were developing a taste for my blood,” he comments, the warmth of his breath puffing lightly against the shallow bite he made in my neck.
I growl but say nothing, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I am enjoying his weight upon me. Yet, even with it comes the realization that soon he will be leaving my side as always, returning to the waiting demon slayer. My eyes narrow of their own accord, reminding me that he had diverted my attention earlier.
“You avoided my demand, monk,” I respond, shifting out from under his weight as he slides off to the side, a smirk present on his face. “You will end the farce with the demon slayer.”
He raises a brow at me. “Jealousy does not become a youkai of your station.”
I gaze back at him placidly. I can feel an anger rising within me as he continues to deny this one request. This Sango continues to rise in my thoughts, invoking my fury and my jealousy for something that belongs to me. No /human/ should come between us. Who is he to turn me away for a ningen?
“She is a human,” I reply simply. I feel that requires no further explanation.
He stretches mildly before rolling over and reaching for the pile of clothing a short distance away. He chuckles again, seemingly full of a cheerful spirit tonight for having escaped a brush with a poisonous death earlier.
“So am I, or have you been ignoring that fact?” He eyes me curiously as he begins to dress, oddly enough planning not to stay for the night. “That must be it. The great inuyoukai pretends that he is not aware his lover is a human so that he can keep his pride.”
Did I detect something akin to hurt in his voice?
“I do not share.”
He rises to his feet, looking down at me as I do not move from my position, half reclining on the ground with a blank expression on my face. “Everyday, I look into the face of my death, a gaping hole, which could swallow me at any moment.” His violet eyes gaze into mine as he ties his robes around his body. “I am not a possession.”
It is his unspoken words that affect me more, belying the truth in why he will not refuse the demon slayer: children. Inheritance in case he should fail, that is his desire. It is the same circle of arguments that I have encountered within my own mind time and time again, but I have already come up with a solution for that.
I do not care that he has a woman to bear his children. There are more than enough concubines to serve that purpose. No, it is the demon slayer herself that is causing the trouble. I know in his heart, he oscillates between she and I. He manages an air of nonchalance, a mask that rivals my own, but I know that within he desires that which I offer and her as well. So long as she exists, he will never be fully mine. He will never make the decision to belong only to me.
When I say nothing, he bends down slightly, gripping my chin with his cursed hand and passionately kissing my lips, He pulls the soft flesh into his mouth, nibbling gently. The scent of him overwhelms my senses, and I give in to the mollifying touch. I am not sure whether he means to soothe me or assure himself. Either way, I know that I can no longer teeter on the edge of confusion. My decision must be made.
“Til we meet again,” he murmurs as he pulls away. With that said, he turns and walks into the forest, grabbing his staff as he passes. I can hear the jingle of the metal, my face drawing into a thoughtful expression.
His very being has consumed me, even such a simple touch. Given any other situation, I would have taken his head for taking such liberties with my person, but Miroku has invaded me. He has stolen my heart, my senses, done away with my pride, and changed the very core of what I am. I refuse to be without that passion. I refuse to give up the feelings he invokes in me. With what pride that remains, what grace, I will make him mine.
There’s no longer a choice left to me. I cannot kill Miroku; that is beyond my reach. But to make him mine, the demon slayer cannot be a part of his life.
Sango must die.
Pandora's Box 