Summary: Life's a costume ball; Sango plays her part.
Sometimes, Sango feels like a fool.
Juggling, juggling forever. Kill the demons, protect Kohaku, smile for Kagome.
Watch Sango dance; dance around the black holes in her memory and the strange people hiding inside her, foreign and unwanted. Where did they come from?
She sits with Miroku in the shade, and pretendsthat she's not painting freckles on his face in her minds eye. At dusk she bathes with Kagome, and giggles, trying to ignore the silhouetted figures, pierced with arrows, waltzing on the horizon.
Destroy Naraku, calm Inuyasha, laugh with Shippou. Her heart is so full; she can feel it pull at the seams. It's still broken, and the strain just makes it burn.
"Kohaku," she whispers one night, worn and tired and breaking, "what do you want from me?"
"I'm not sure," he says, and his voice mirrors hers. Shyly, he slides his arms around her, and buries his face into her shoulder. She can feel his hair tickle her skin; under her fingers, he's so full of life that he trembles.
She smiles, and feels so light.
"This is what I want," he says.
The masks and facades fall to the floor at her feet, and her hands are empty.
This is who I am.