entity
by Bethany Ten

"Who are you?" I'd ask her with a smile, and she'd knot her tiny hands in her skirt, the pleated fabric all rumpled and smiling indecently at me. She was the prettiest girl in gray I had ever laid eyes upon. I'd think, Sango, oh, Sango, nobody has ever loved anybody like I love you, and do you ever get the feeling something's changed? and it'd rain. And these were the apples of my eyes if apples had angel wings, and sunlight had never felt so cold.

She'd fidget and twitch, and for a split-second she'd think of hiding beneath something and drying her wings herself, but she'd always scrabble for the small of her back. Human arms don't bend that way, so she'd claw at the skin there 'till dead skin curled beneath her fingernails and the scratches were like whip lashes, raw and cradled with blood. She'd whimper, and I'd think, Kagome, oh, Kagome, nobody has ever loved anybody like I love you, and do you ever get the feeling something's changed?

"I don't know," she'd say, because she hadn't known, and in the end, I didn't think she ever would have found out.

With nothing else to occupy my time aside for the threat of danger like a pinch and a hush in the back of my mind, I would fold the blankets beneath her sides, because not even earth deserved to mar that silken skin. "I don't know," she'd say again. She'd be like a lost child, uncomfortable from time to time, and I'd feel like an old pedophile when she'd fist her hands in her quilts. "I thought I knew. I really, really did. I thought I knew. I…" She'd do this over and over until she lulled herself to sleep.

She'd gotten that piece of her soul back, the one Kikyou borrowed. She was as whole as the jewel, and was thrice as dangerous and opaque and perfect.

I'd lean over to smell her hair, and she'd murmur, half-asleep, "Who are you?"

And I'd pull back, so stunned and scared, and I'd fold my hands in my robes, wring them, and massage the hand that betrayed me in the end. "I am many things," I'd say, just as quietly, like a father telling a bedtime story to a child, his greatest treasure, already asleep, "and not who you think I am."

The next day, I'd look at Inu Yasha, and he'd look back, because he could smell Kagome on me, and I could smell Kagome on me as well, and he'd upturn his nose.

Then he'd reappear somewhere at the back of our traveling troupe, having slowed down so imperceptibly that I wouldn't notice he was no longer in front of me, grumping and growling. He'd say, loudly enough for me to hear, "Who are you?"

Sango would grunt slightly when he would poke her in the ribs, and she'd turn to the side, slightly, her fingers contracting on the band on her boomerang. I'd turn my head to the side, slightly, and I would feel a flare of anger and possessiveness as I watched the hanyou's nostrils contract at the sweet copper scent of her, and beneath my robes Kagome would briefly squeeze my hand in camaraderie.

"Sango," Sango would say immediately, as if it was the stupidest question in the world. No uncertainty in her tone, only solemnity and resignation, like she was etching a new name-rune on her death warrant every day. "Moron." Then she'd hesitate, and ask, "What about you?"

He'd laugh.

And, god, but he had a dangerous laugh. It was like…he was stealing back everything I'd ever stolen from him.

Wiping the mirth from his eyes, he'd say, "I'm myself. Who the hell else?"

(He'd rest his hand on her shoulder.

I never got the chance to tell him how angry that made me; the only thing I got the chance to tell him was that "something's changed," and the way he'd look at me like I was a stranger would be his only reply and the only reply I would ever need.)