Mind Set

The sound of water trickling to the ground rang in Naraku’s elfish ears. To others, the Drip. . . drip. . . drip. . . of the water would be no more than a backdrop to the sounds around them. . . but to Naraku, it was a mantra of suffering. Of suicide.

Twelve thousand one hundred and fifty. . . twelve thousand one hundred and fifty one. . . A weaker person might have sought the solitude of insanity, but not him. He prefered to count the drops as they fell, no matter the number.

He must count the drops, or else he’d go insane! Naraku sneered. Others would go insane, but not him. His pretty Kagura. . . with her pretty fan and her pretty feather and her pretty, frail little mind. . . she had fallen.

She didn’t have to die. . . she didn’t have to die! A voice whose sanity was still in question spoke up in his mind.

Ah, Naraku thought with a sneer, she had been as good as dead when she had fallen smitten with that demon lord. Naraku couldn’t very well have his pretty Kagura falling in love with the enemy. . . and since Naraku couldn’t cut down Sesshoumaru, he had to resort to Plan B.

Cut Down Kagura.

And so it had four had become three – Kohaku, Kanna, and himself. Three had seemed too many. And he had been meaning to take back his jewel shard from Kohaku for the longest time. . .

And three had became two.

Kanna understands, though. He had told himself when he killed Kohaku a second time. He repeated it again them, as the twelve thousandth one hundred and fifty fifth drop fell from cold ceiling to the colder floor. Kanna understands everything.

As if his thoughts had the power to summon her, Kanna appeared in his doorway, fresh and pristine and white, her mirror cradled between her hands.

“Master Naraku?” Kanna beckoned quietly. “The girl has returned.”

Naraku lifted his head, and missed the twelve thousandth one hundred and fifty seventh drop that fell. He had no need to ask which girl Kanna spoke of. “Are they traveling once again?”

Kanna nodded, and held the mirror out to him, her eyes glazed and unfocused. “They are traveling in our direction.” And, indeed, the mirror gleamed with the scene she had foretold.

“Excellent.” Naraku said with a curl of his lip. “No doubt they are coming to extract their revenge for the slayer boy.”

Kanna pouted, her face barely holding an expression. Naraku’s eyes narrowed; had it been just his imagination, or had there been a bit of bitterness in Kanna’s eyes just then?

“Kanna?” He asked quietly, holding one arm open to the girl. “What is it?”

The girl took one step forward, and then hesitated. “They are coming to kill us?”

“Why is Kagura gone?” She asked, for the seventy eighth time.

Naraku scowled. She asks questions and her face shows expression and she doesn’t understand!

“Kanna, come here.” He summoned quietly, and opened his other arm to her as well, a paternal expression on his face. And though he knew she was loathe to do it, she stepped in to his arms.

“Kanna, Kanna. You don’t understand?” He asked quietly. His kimono creased and shifted, and he knew that deep in the protection of his arms she had shook her head.

Naraku scowled. “You’re supposed to understand. You are supposed to know. You are white and you are supposed to know everything.” His grip tightened on the girl, and she gasped in his arms. There was a clink on the ground – the sound of breaking glass – but to him, it was just one more sound to count.

Kanna didn’t struggle in his arms, as Kagura did. She simply closed her eyes, and fell silently in to her death. And when Naraku looked at her dead form, so white and pristine and fresh, he stabbed her through the gut with his tentacle.

How he hated himself. . .

Naraku leaned against the wall once again, not looking down at yet another part of himself that he had killed. “Damn.” He muttered. “I lost count.”