#shoraiko

she almost laughs .       FORBIDDEN .       how she has come to loathe that word .       it was a word that seemed to follow her across lifetimes ,   an ever - tightening rope around a pretty porcelain neck .

❛     an  ache  in  the  heart ,   sure ,     ❜       she hums ,    delicate digits curling against upturned lips ,       ❛     but  also  an  unbridled  rage ,   occasionally .     ❜       the words are spoken in jest ,   partially .       simply because it’s never expected from her     ---------    the    rage   ;   she’s done a well enough job bottling up that part of her .       she forces the softest of giggles ,   a melody ending in the softest of smiles that doesn’t quite reach her eyes ,       ❛     i  think  we’re  well  past  anyone  telling  us  what  is    forbidden    to  us ,   don’t  you  ?     ❜

" why? "

despite the attempt at a nonhalant inquire ( and perhaps because her wounded chest filled with nothing at all still aches, and cuts her breathing in deep intervals ) there is still genuine curiosity in her voice. and as she grips onto the edges of her ripped kimono that expose the gash across her left breast, Kagura glances up from the ground at the young woman before her.

why would you care? she wants to hiss, yet no sound comes out.

the notion is foreign to her, born from Naraku's hatred and greed, she knows only what he feels and has felt in his lifetime. there was never space for mercy in his heart, and thus, none within her hollow insides. and even then, even though the way the miko speaks as if she cares makes her guts churn and turn, Kagura still feels a glimpse of grattitude creeping within her chest.

she does not know what to make of it. she does not know how to feel these things at all.