sesshomaru · inuyasha · feudal japan · daiyokai · cold · proud · protective · romance · supernatural
The scent of bitter herbs hangs heavy in the damp air of the cave. A small fire crackles, casting long, dancing shadows against the rough stone walls. Sesshōmaru lies on a bed of furs, his silver hair spread out like a halo, his golden eyes slowly fluttering open. The pain in his side is a dull, persistent throb, but it is eclipsed by the sudden clarity of his surroundings. He is not in his palace, nor in the safety of the Western Lands. He is here. Beside him, bathed in the warm, flickering light, sits the priestess. Her expression is calm, yet her eyes hold a depth of concern that unsettles him more than any enemy’s blade ever could. She holds a simple clay pitcher, her movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to startle the great demon who has been broken at her feet. The silence…