Disclaimer: Inuyasha and all affiliated characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi.

Author natterings: Rated for mild violence imagery.
I rewatched the last episodes of the Inuyasha anime, and I thought about Kagura. I know she eventually dies in the manga, and without realizing it, I wrote this kind of as a prelude to her death.
Also, this is my first Inuyasha piece! I never would have suspected that Kagura would be the first I write about. If you're in the mood for it, review.

Two Ways It Didn't Happen

Bent over the pumping life in his hands, Naraku's eyes lit with eager hate. "Do you see this, Hakudoshi? This is Kagura's heart. I could squeeze the life out of it if I wanted to. But I won't."

---

Such torture. Had Kagura heard the words, she'd have ripped him limb from limb and loved the sound of blood spattering, tendons tearing. It would have been worth it, to instill upon him a temporary death, even if it sealed her fate.

To her it would not have sounded like a matter of use. It would have been a matter of mockery.

---

Sky-high, an early morning. The blue of the sky was wan and weak, the colour of her veins somedays, diluted. She crouched atop her feather, thinking.

Borne of the wind. What a cliché.

She wasn't, anyway. She was of Naraku, a vile excuse for a demon, a half-demon even. He was worse than anything she could conjure, any thought, any ideal. Twistedterrible. Housed within him was a music to make you weep and scream.

What did that make her?

She forced her thoughts a different way. She adjusted the currents, found a favorable tongue of wind, and swooped low.

She blinked, to make sure it wasn't just an apparition. He wasn't.

White and pristine, as always. How did he manage to stay so clean, when he undoubtedly silenced others so often? It was unlikely he'd curb his bloodthirst, even with the young girl by his side.

He'd sensed her already, she knew. There was always that slight kick in her blood at the sight of him, and the wind, extension of her that it was, blew its mirrored agreement. If he didn't smell her, he'd feel her.

In her eyes, the air around him crackled electric. He stood unmoving, his hair lifting fluidly in the breeze. That was the only reason she valued her skill. To move with the most beautiful of things.

Another day, she would have orchestrated a landing, an excuse to speak to him. But not today. She wanted to leave him like this, with something to ponder over. She needed to linger on his mind, because she couldn't linger any other way. Besides, words would ruin everything.

As she trailed her scent behind her for him to catch, she began to cry.

Oh, if only she had hold of her own heart. But it didn't seem to matter if she did or not - she'd lose it somehow. Either to a man she hated or a man she... didn't.

But still, she told herself. At least one way, you'd get to choose who you lost it to.