This morning, Sesshomaru decided he wanted Kagome out of her clothes. It seemed ridiculous to have her parade around in anything other than a Miko's garb, so he requested the services of the kingdom's best tailor.

In a chair, and in one of his many private chambers, Sesshomaru glanced at the folding shoji screen across the room, where a silhouette with six arms moved behind it.

He turned over a page in his book.

"I wonder," began a delicate voice, "if it's sacrilege to don a priestess in demon silk."

Parchment crinkling, Sesshomaru continued to read.

Kagome was entranced on the other side of the screen. With her carnation yellow hair, her pink, felt-like antennae, the moth youkai had a fairy's likeness.

"A few threads here, a few there—and done! Oh, how lucky you are to wear my clothing. You must be special, quite special. I'm the best you know. I made the young lord's fit and—"

"Kimochi." Sesshomaru's spirit was impatient, and once the moth started it was near impossible to get her to stop.

"There I go again." It took a moment for Kagome to realize that what sounded like a grass-whistle was Kimochi's laughter.

"Are you a slave too?" Kagome's whisper may as well been a shout.

"A slave?" The moth's large eyes—more pupil than iris—grew wide. "Is that what you are? Curious and curious. The generals themselves do not wear my silk. The fondness your master must have—"

"Kimochi."

"Best of luck to you," she said quickly. "There are worse fates." The moth ushered Kagome from out behind the screen and under Sesshomaru's scrutiny.

He gestured for her to spin around, and like a boar on a spit Kagome had done so. Red hakama divided at the legs and long, ivory sleeves, she looked like a Miko.

Her praise delayed for reasons unknown, Kimochi said: "If I may recommend an appropriate hairstyle for a priestess of her rank…. " And when Sesshomaru asked without words: "Yes, I know some things. I know all things fashion and I know her hair should be unbound."

He had listened carefully, discovered he did not know much about Miko as Kagome's hair came down her shoulders in a wave of ripples.

Kimochi heard a sigh and saw a hint of princely displeasure on a pale face. "My lord?"

Sesshomaru inspected his fare from the ankle up. "It's not at all what I had imagined."

Antennae drooped. "But traditional is what you told me, and this is the way the garments behave." In the growing silence, Kimochi stood by her work, set a motherly hand on it. "Share with me your vision. The first that leaps out at you is it. No matter how vague I will bring it to reality because I am the best!"

It was then Kagome tore from the lamp and at Sesshomaru. She looked upon him with a dull expression. Nothing unusual in being objectified by him and nothing she could do about it. On the bright side, pants were liberating. She might be able to mount A-un and escort her master to novel forms of rage.

Kimochi reminded Sesshomaru of her bid.

Such clutter in his mind.

"The sleeves should be longer, the waist tighter"—seemed to be thinking—"tight enough to arch her back."

The moth's brows drew together. "Her back?"

"Her back," said Sesshomaru in his deep and slow voice. He ignored Kagome starting into attention. "I want the illusion of easy grace, the slightest movement... as if a shiver."

"Ah," gasped Kimochi. "Ah, I understand completely."

Multiple arms worked quickly to lengthen Kagome's sleeves to her fingertips. And seeing that Sesshomaru was pleased with this, Kimochi gathered her behind the screen to make adjustments. The moth made a claw, and careful of Kagome's underlayers sliced down her outermost.

It seemed to be one of those inexplicable things. A movement too quick, a burst of youki, silken strands manifesting from nothing—Kagome yelling as if ranting about something.

Their shadows were separate enough that Sesshomaru could make out the shapely contours of her body. He forced himself not to stare—his heart would thunder—but after reading the same sentence for the third time he shut his book.

"Bring it in," the moth told her, drawing the threads.

But there was nothing for Kagome to bring. " I swear to you…."

"Oh, sweetheart," Kimochi tittered, a puppeteer with her marionette, "your master's pretty face—swear to him and not me. Now, hold on, don't fall and Suck. It. In."

"Wait a minute—" Air rushed out Kagome's lungs, and she swore her ribs were touching. "Okay, okay. It's tight enough!"

Watching this, Sesshomaru's breathing became more pronounced. He blinked from the noisy spectacle, and with his eyes roamed about the chamber. Mere curiosity,—what he told himself—and since it had been satisfied he decided that they weren't there, that the great table across the room was as good as any to stare at.

Kimochi offered her sympathy. "I know it is unpleasant, but give the silk a moment. It will mold to you as if a second skin. Will cool you when you're hot and warm you when you're cold." And when Kagome seemed to struggle: "And stain resistant too. Important for your line of work."

Now the moth held her head high as she presented Sesshomaru with her alterations. For she knew by the set of his shoulders that she captured the vision of his ego and that the result was vastly satisfactory.

"You've outdone yourself, Kimochi."

"I've told you," she said, gathering her things and slipping towards the door, "I'm the best!"

And gone.

Admiring herself in the mirror, Kagome had to admit, the clothes felt as good as they looked. She recognized herself this way. Free and loose. The fit around her waist was merely an illusion.

She heard rustling behind her.

"Come here," Sesshomaru said as he stood.

Slowly, she moved to him, dark hair swaying, shivering as if hit by a cool breeze. At first, he thought it was a delusion but knew it wasn't the right interpretation.

Truly, the moth was the best.

He reached for her, and Kagome submitted to the situation with the confidence of one just washed. He inspected Kimochi's careful work, touching the collar slightly open and the silk of her neck with reverent almost reluctant claw-tips.

But something passed between them.

An exhilaration took hold of him, growing and intensifying.

Deepening unease nagged Kagome. This gaze was felt like the hand at her throat. Alarm went through her. Never in all her years had she been threatened with reverie quite like this.

She stiffened and pulled away from him. "Is personal space a concept demons struggle with?"

"You, and your insolence"—odd toss of voice. He didn't sound like himself. "Gratitude would have sufficed."

Kagome turned to the mirror again and muttered something to herself.

"Who are they?" Sesshomaru asked.

More curiosities coming from him.

"Nobody," she answered.

He turned horribly serious suddenly. "Keeping secrets?"

"Nothing like that," she said, waving him down, "just none of your business."

"Know that was not a request."

Kagome stared up at him and let out a dry laugh. "I could lie. Then what? Are you going to beat it out of me?"

He looked up from her waist. It was the way the light hit the shining threads. "What a beating it would be."

"Will the beatings continue until I tell you?"

"Until morale improves at least."

Such regal sounding depravity. She stared for a long moment. "Beat me happy! Figures you'd have a dark sense of humor."

Sesshomaru tilt to one side; a dog hearing something new. "Is that what you think it is?"

She honestly didn't care. "Can we go out now? I want to see A-un."

"Certainly not," Sesshomaru said with decision. No, he did not have the finesse for patience right now. He wanted answers. "How have you managed in your previous life? A young girl amongst thieves would have to sleep with a dagger in each hand and with her back against a wall."

"I've been through plenty, even cut a bastard or two, but you're the closest anyone's got to taking my dignity." She saw him stiffen, the lamplight in his eyes. "Really? You own me, you know."

"A circumstance you've brought upon yourself." A slight movement of comprehension from her, then bitter silence. "You twist that small mouth of yours, damning me—claimed I've robbed you of your dignity. One should only be so ignorant." He paused, thinking. "There's dignity in obeying your master."

The last was almost proudly asserted.

Kagome folded her arms.

"Says the one who can do anything. Snap your fingers and it's done." Her tone was simple. These were facts. "What will I be tomorrow? How will you dress me?"

Sesshomaru felt an odd self-consciousness, a feeling distinctly new and unusual. Flooded with the power he had over her, her awareness of it, it heightened the air between them. "This," he started to say, low and monotonous, "was done for your benefit."

A touching thing to say. Yet Kagome's spirit told her Sesshomaru was lying. If not that then a half-truth. Some measure of satisfaction was behind those words.

"How have you managed being what you are?"

Not right at all.

"I won't answer," she said.

Sesshomaru pressed on. "Were you born of them? When I speak to you do not avert your eyes."

"I hate this." So gentle, so polite, her mild little voice. "You can beat me now."

Alarm behind his ears, waiting for the uplifting of darkly shaded eyes.

"Where do you come from?" A sigh fell from her lips. She turned into profile, and he ventured up and down the soft splendor of her hair. "Answer."

"No."

Sesshomaru moved a little closer; could tell the individual strands of that dark-shining hair. "You want me to beat you," he said, more rhetorical than threat. Kagome remained adamant. There wasn't a trace of wavering or fear or the scents they can produce. Scanning small, delicate features, his tongue pushed at the back of his teeth, at his fangs. She may bow, may even go tensely into surrender, but she will never scrape to him.

However, though she had none for him, she was loyal to whomever "they" were. Admirable, he admitted in the privacy of his mind.

"Ask me a thousand times. You'll get the same answer." Kagome was about to say something when the words died in her throat. There was a curious gleam in his eyes, a worrying thing to see under the thin veneer of humanity. It had been easy to find humanity in him while living in absence of it. Ignoring slit, golden eyes, fangs and claws made it a simple thing to do.

Now she realized how obscene that was of her.

But so long as it wasn't the other look, the one strangely tender and fierce and to all intents possessive. For what reason she did not know, wasn't sure if she wanted to. She hadn't seen it since that day in her bedchamber and was inconsolably grateful for that.

Kagome had more sense than she let on. She had observed him and knew Sesshomaru was exactly what she had perceived him to be—though at the same time, something else. She did know his type. She also knew the ego can become a fragile thing when not tended to. Neglect a lord's all but once and his day is surely ruined.

But plain flattery wouldn't do. Not for a demon such as him.

She had an idea.

"Thank you." The sudden sweetness of her voice made him relapse into a pensive silence. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Have I pleased you, m'lord?"

Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes down at her. That condescending tone, that accent—a decent attempt if not for what rode the end of it.

Kagome could do him one better.

"Not at all it looks like," she went on. "Mayhaps I'm standing too tall. Groveling on my hands and knees then?"

Composed, articulate, yet still completely rude and patronizing. Sesshomaru was confused behind his mask, and not at all comfortable with the feeling.

She smiled the smile he didn't trust. He fell for the hallucination anyway. "Do you like this, my lord? Sechi taught me. Such a funny word, 'mayhaps—'"

"You," he said, and turned from her. Then he turned right back. "You—" He honestly had no idea. He glanced about the room, at the door, back to Kagome again.

Seeing him mute, pondering above her, it took everything she had to not laugh at him.

He finally managed to say something. "Sechi was it?"

The pain of holding it in. Her throat ached.

"As you commanded," Kagome gently reminded.

"Yes, of course." As if Sesshomaru needed reminding. "You never needed lessons, did you?"

"Funny," she said, "Sechi asked me that too. I think she took pity on me, kept it a secret."

Standing in strung-up attention, he had but one question. "Who are you?"

"Your Miko slave," Kagome said slowly. She raised one arm in a graceful arch, her sleeves folding in illustration as she bowed. She could carry herself in any fashion, the intricate patterns and the silk's sheen would add elegance to it all.

Sesshomaru might let this illusion pursue him in his dreams. If he touched the fabric would be smooth and cool.

Staring at her, he realized he was gripping the linings of his sleeves.

"You've teased enough so spare me your games."

Kagome dipped her head to one side, a girl imitating a dog. "Is that what you think this is?"

He had limits that were swiftly nearing, and though his face had darkened, he spoke evenly. "I don't care much for mockery either."