Blood Rose Mirror by MissTeak

Blood Rose Mirror

I do not own Inuyasha or any of the characters.

A/N: The best and worst thing about having a hyperactive and quirky muse is how I cannot fight off plot bunnies.

I was thinking of doing a story inspired by Rikayu’s art, and while browsing her Sess/Kag gallery on deviantART (which is an absolutely gorgeous gallery), I came across her picture titled ‘Longing’. It is done in the same style as another picture of hers titled ‘Mirror’, and I just stared at the wine glass in Sesshoumaru’s hand. This is dedicated to you, Rikayu, for being so talented. I am very proud to have a friend like you.

Trying to write in old English is…tough to say the least. I’ve never done so much research for a oneshot before.

Hopefully, this little oneshot can reflect the deep emotion of longing and hopefully, and escape the recent stigma attached to vampire fics.

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~Blood Rose Mirror~

Lightning sliced the inky skies in a brilliant slash of light, illuminating the dimly-lit interior of the great chamber with erratic flashes of eerie blue. Rain roared and battered the glass almost viciously, blurring the view of the outside world. The looming castle, dark and menacing in its Gothic glory, stood unyieldingly in the ferocious storm as the latter raged. Even the grand chandelier, with its heavy wrought iron frame studded with crystals dark as night, remained eerily still.

It was a realm of peace pulsating with sinister, dark energy.

The soft clink of glass against heavy Rhodesian teak wood added an oddly-detached note to the roaring rhythm outside, and a soft, rhythm joined the night when a lethal-looking nail started tapping against the base of the wine glass.

He licked his bottom lip languidly, relishing all lingering traces of the thick, sweet blood.

It was fragrant indeed; nothing beat the taste of young, fresh blood. Any lesser vampire would have hungrily, savagely gulped the entire glass down. But not him; he was above a common vampire. Such uncouth dining etiquettes were revolting.

The indolent tapping ceased, and his fingers once again wrapped around the stem of the glass to bring the rim to his waiting lips. He tilted the glass, and closed his eyes as the metallic sweetness flowed viscously into his mouth, filling it with an invigorating rush of energy that seemed to ignite the every fiber within his being. He swallowed, and placed the glass down on the table again.

Time passed him by the slowest on nights like this, when the rampant storms and winds raged, and he sat alone in his empty chamber. Eternity was not a blessing when one was immortal, and most unfortunately, in solitude. Lips parting to release an inaudible sigh, he regarded the lone mirror hanging on his wall with golden orbs filled with deep longing. A lone rose was placed on the stand in front of the mirror; she had always loved roses, especially the red ones. How ironic; for red to be the color of roses and the color of…blood. She was the rose; and he represented blood which was also his sustenance.

The image of a bloody rose, innocent and perverse in its beauty, came to his mind.

Gently, he breathed the name of the love he lost, and cursed Fate for toying with them the way it did.

Then he heard it; the unmistakable sounds of dress slippers against the timber flooring, before the high-pitched voice of a female engaged in a heated debate with his chief servant grated on his ears. Down in the grand ballroom below, the grand feast hosted by his sire was still going on. He was surprised at how brazen this particular female could get in her attempt to reach him, but then again, he was not too surprised. This was, after all, far from being the first time.

“The young Lord is enjoying his meal and is not to be disturbed.”

He smirked, twirling the glass in a clockwise motion such that the opaque crimson stained the pristine glass with a thin sheen of light red. Poor, long-suffering Jaken…he was almost becoming an expert at fending these random, crazed females off.

“Get out of the way, vermin, before I make you regret the day you became one of the undead.” The voice snapped with viciousness, before the doors to his personal chambers swung open. He could hear the sinister notes of Toccata and Fugue in D minor from the pipe organ, dark and gorgeous, reverberating along the corridors.

“Lord Sesshoumaru…” The vamp purred, practically floating into the room in a flurry of lace, satin and gauze. It was interesting to see how the same voice, dripping with venom earlier, could sound so submissive. Decked in a delicate gray crinoline dress with a lace bertha neckline accentuated by heavy pleats of satin, the female’s face revealed her excitement at finding the fine-looking vampire lord all alone in his chambers.

“To whom do I owe this pleasure,” He drawled in an ice-clipped voice, before turning to regard the female. “Tabitha?”

She ignored his words, and instead, settled for a sultry smile which bared her fangs to him. A flash of incredible speed brought her right in front of him, and the vamp leaned forward such that her generous bosom was practically shoved in his face. He appreciated the rich creaminess of her pale skin, but he settled for a mere smirk as he looked up at her from his sitting position.

“I have received the most unpleasing rumors of how your honorable sire has decided to accept the most unworthy Sarah Ann as your betrothed, and would appreciate verification.”

He tried to avoid the question; he had no idea how these vile rumors came by so often. They brought him nothing but trouble, and he cursed his sire for being so friendly with these young aristocratic females, conveniently giving them false optimism. “Is the banquet in the grand ballroom not to your liking? My sire would definitely be most disenchanted if you did not take pleasure in the events he had so painstakingly planned.”

“Verification, if you please, Lord Sesshoumaru.” She was a persistent one.

“And if this Sesshoumaru answers in the affirmative?” He drawled, clearly displaying no intention of leaving his chair.

“Is that a bluff, or do you mean it for real play?”

From her tone, it was evident this conceited girl would kick up a fuss should he fool her into thinking his betrothal was for real. Unnecessary trouble was the last thing he required.

He pretended to look defeated. “A bluff, and nothing more.”

“Marvelous…” Her voice surrounded him like a warm spell, as nails scraped along his jaw line sultrily. She did not have to spell her intentions out; he knew just what she was going to attempt next. “You have to cease fooling me like that. The last full moon, they said it was Henrietta you were going to marry. The last time I heard, some others insisted it was Gertrude.”

The young vampire lord fought the urge to declare how it had never been his intention to be caught in the middle of such meaningless rumors, and how they had always been fabricated by females the likes of her.

“Come love, and dwell with me.” Tabitha’s green eyes flashed hypnotically in an attempt to draw him into her vortex of mystical seduction. It was a commendable attempt on her part, but it was a shame he did not know how to appreciate emerald green. Deep blue had stolen his soul, not that he literally had one in the first place, and never gave it back.

He smiled lazily, tearing his eyes away from hers to reach for his glass. But slender fingers ending in pointed red tips beat his hand to it, and he watched with the slightest pang of annoyance as cinnabar lips pressed themselves to the glass rim. An elegant sip was taken, while emerald eyes continued flashing themselves at him.

“Insipid.” She commented haughtily before replacing his glass on the table. Leaning in to lick the alabaster skin of his neck while leaving a slick trail of crimson behind, she pulled away to bare her neck to him. Her impressive mane of auburn ringlets fell over her open décolletage. “May I offer you, milord, something…more delightful?”

He could feel displeasure rise like a raging tide within him; it was never easy fighting basal blood lust and the desire to throw her out of his room. Balance, he whispered to his basal nature, hold it in.

He sat unmoving in his seat, and she caught him by surprise when she forcefully cupped his face and pressed her lips to his. The pointed edges of her fangs grazed the interior of his lower lip, drawing a few droplets of blood, which she lapped up in great relish. She moved in to deepen the kiss, wantonly pressing her bosom against his chest while her hands brazenly reached straight for his crotch, raking her nails gently over the linen.

If it was the Sesshoumaru of a hundred years ago, he would have torn through that elaborate arrangement of cotton, flannel, satin, lace…everything, and take the willing female on the spot again and again with no mercy. He would ravage her body without hesitation, and delight in making her blood sing and boil for no one but him, before indulging in the delicacy. But now, it just felt like he was committing a cardinal sin, which was an irony considering how his existence was a cardinal sin in itself.

He simply could not do it; there was no way he could ravage a woman and lose himself in the pleasures of the carnal activities when she was right there in the chamber with him.

The mental image of her angelic face, smiling upon him so sweetly, chose to invade his mind then, and he turned to look at the mirror for a moment before slapping the vamp’s intrusive appendages away from his person. Denied so humiliatingly, the young vampire’s alluring face was instantly distorted by a blend of growing rage and disbelief. She had never been denied; she was the granddaughter of Count Imperia, and there were so many males hankering for her attention. Yet this male dared to deny her when she initiated intimacy…it was making her see red.

The smile lingering on those full cinnabar lips faded, and she spat. “You…how dare you!”

“It is appalling indeed, Tabitha, for someone of your standing to know not your own rectitude of conduct.” He replied coolly.

Her voice lost the saccharine quality it held earlier, and the words spat in fury escaped her lips in the form of a snarl. “I did not come here for you to affront me so grossly!”

“I am not your grand-sire, and it will do you good to remember that.” Sesshoumaru warned with the lightest hint of a growl in his baritone voice, holding the female’s chin between two lethal claws in a swift, fluid move. “He might coddle you and give in to every whim and fancy of yours, but do not make the error of expecting similar treatment here.”

She saw how his eyes darted in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness towards the mirror hanging by the side of room, and another smile spread across her face. It was the last thing he saw before she morphed into a few tendrils of English rose-scented smoke, and then, her wretched claws were trailing themselves along the Rococo frame of the mirror.

Tabitha blew him a sultry kiss. “You hold this mirror in high regard, Lord Sesshoumaru?”

Silence was her answer.

“How…intriguing,” She commented, studying the French margin glass mirror and its elaborate brass rose cresting. “When you do not even possess a soul for it to reflect.”

His voice lowered to a deadly growl as he saw those claws inch closer to his precious mirror. “This Sesshoumaru will not repeat himself.”

“Oh, that’s rich!” The insolent girl laughed mockingly, her eyes flashing with mirth. “Pray tell, milord, what would you dare do to me if I-”

A strangled cry resonated in the quiet chamber when the female vampire found razor-sharp claws closing themselves menacingly around her neck; applying steadily growing pressure. She struggled wildly, her feet dangling off the floor by almost two feet. It wasn’t as if she needed the air, but the discomfort from the claws slicing into her flesh was growing to be unbearable. As if that was not dreadful enough, the dominant aura from him was pushing hers into submission.

“Death, Tabitha.” He whispered agonizingly softly, while his eyes began to flash with blood lust.

She turned her nose up at his words, straining against his vice grip on her. Her emerald green orbs flashed in warning, as if daring him to hurt her further.

“This Sesshoumaru will warrant it.” He intensified the pressure on her neck, breathing every syllable with a threat of certain death. “Don’t ever touch this mirror again if you value your life.”

Narrowing his eyes at her for a few tense seconds, Sesshoumaru unceremoniously released his hold on the female’s neck, allowing her to slump against the wall weakly.

“So, the rumors are true then?” She whispered in a soft, challenging tone, bringing her face mere inches away from his. “They said the great Lord Sesshoumaru has lost his mind. The only thing he now cares about is a mirror, a mirror in which a mere, filthy mortal girl is supposedly trapped for eternity.”

“Discretion is the better part of valor.” He whispered in return, never tearing his intensely flashing eyes off her. “Do not speak further if you know what is good for you.”

‘Sesshoumaru…don’t…don’t do anything you might end up regretting…’ A voice echoed in his mind, and he saw a cloud materialize from within the mirror.

“Threats do not faze me.” Tabitha replied. In a immature bid to prove her point, she raised her razor-sharp claws. Before Sesshoumaru could do anything about it, she had swept them across the surface of the mirror.

A bloodcurdling scream resonated throughout the interior of his chamber, before fading into pained whimpers and feminine sobs, catching the female vampire by surprise as she realized there was indeed, something trapped within the confines of the mirror.

Using his superior reflexes as a higher-ranking vampire, Sesshoumaru managed to fend Tabitha’s hand off before it could drag itself fully across the diagonal length of the mirror. But still, the damage had been done, and the glass at the mirror’s top right corner now sported deep crack lines. The cries of pain still echoed around the room, and every whimper was awakening the dormant fury, pain and frustration within his being.

“Kagome…!!”

Her name escaped his lips in an agonized roar as he gripped the sides of the mirror frame tightly, hoping that could provide her some form of comfort.

He had already failed pathetically in protecting the one he truly loved, and it pained him beyond words to know she was still suffering after Fate had wickedly toyed with them. She did not deserve this, not when she had been nothing but genuinely kind and pure. She was the savior to the monster he was, but yet, she had to suffer for his actions.

The more he saw her sorrowful face in his mind, the more emotional he grew and it was not long before his eyes started bleeding crimson. Fangs elongated and feral snarls escaped him; his aura flared in a fearsome burst of rage that left everything in the chamber shaking violently in their place with the dark forces that swirled above like a thick miasma. The crystals of the black chandelier rattled against each other, and the flames of the deathly black candles within its holders flickered as if in fear.

“Please, Sesshoumaru…stop! Somebody, please…stop Sesshoumaru!” She cried, hoping he could hear her. Her fists hit the unyielding glass of the mirror repeatedly in a bid to get through to him, though she knew it was almost futile. His blood had awakened, and he was out for the blood of another…

A swift blow came into contact with the female vampire’s face, and her slender body hurtled through the air to crash into the wall behind her, effectively destroying an oil painting as she fell unceremoniously to the floor.

His terrifying aura continued to blaze, and it soon grew to suffocating levels which either forced the other vampires in the vicinity to their knees or brought erratic waves of throbbing ache to their heads.

“My grand-sire will have your head…” She threatened in ragged gasps, as a trail of blackened blood trickled down from the corner of her mouth. Sesshoumaru’s dark aura had forced Tabitha into an unsightly sprawl on the floor, and the latter was now fighting to prop herself up on an elbow. It was obvious she was trying to stand and retaliate, but her efforts were in vain. “How insolent, to raise your hand on me…how the mighty have fallen, all for that worthless mirror and the cheap whore!”

His eyes, which had been bleeding red at the rims, were now fully crimson with immeasurable rage upon hearing those words. The vampire lord’s tall, lean frame shook with the rising force of his own power and fury, before throwing his head back with a deafening roar that sent the impudent female covering her head with her arms on the floor. His furniture either rattled violently or rose off the ground, while smaller items had already risen into the path of the lord’s swirling aura, levitating in an arc at the ceiling mural. Snarling with his lethal fangs in full display, he snapped at her viciously, having lost his rational control to his basal nature.

“Milord! Please, you can’t kill her!” Jaken had come crawling in on his knees in the face of his young master’s terrifying wrath, begging lest the latter accidentally killed the girl. She might be impudent, haughty and infuriating, but her status deemed her someone not to be trifled with. Count Imperia would never, ever let the matter rest should he discover his beloved granddaughter dead at the hands of Sesshoumaru. Crawling over to where his lord was, the loyal servant clung onto the former’s legs and shouted, “Run for it, Lady Tabitha! Run while you can!”

Her disheveled auburn head was raised, and emerald green eyes filled with fear took in the sight of the fearsome vampire lord, raging in his blood lust, being held back by his servant. Another servant crawled in as quick as his body could manage, and the young vampire took it as a hint to escape. The vampire lord fought against the hold his servants had on him, snarling ferociously at his intended victim, and it was clear that it would not be long before the servants would be thrown against the wall as well. Picking herself up hastily, Tabitha gathered the heavy ends of her crinoline dress up and stumbled to the doorway, where she ran through without a backward glance.

With another deafening roar, Sesshoumaru thrashed violently, and the two servants at his feet crashed into the walls heavily. Snarling, he roared again, sending chills racing up their spines with the raw viciousness of his voice. “Leave!”

They scrambled to their feet clumsily, noting how their lord’s dark aura had calmed down enough for them to stand, before running for the door in fright.

His chest heaving, Sesshoumaru tried to regain semblances of self-control while fighting against the blood lust that had taken over his being. Every fiber within him was burning like an inferno, furious over how his beloved had suffered at the hands of that insolent, senseless woman. He usually prided himself on having remarkable self-control, being able to reign in his basal nature with little effort, but knowing his precious rose was in pain was more than enough to break whatever restraint his mind had on the monster within him. Her scream ricocheted within his mind, and another unearthly snarl escaped him as he lurched forward to sink his claws into the Rhodesian teak table to hold himself back from causing further destruction.

“Sesshoumaru…look at me…”

He heard her gentle voice, lulling like a beautiful lullaby, beckoning him. Blinking a few times, such that crimson gradually faded into a faint pink, he remembered the scarred mirror on the wall. Extricating his claws from the teak table, sending splinters flying, he staggered to the mirror, gripping its frame comfortingly.

“Kagome...” He rasped, his voice still holding the beastly edge. The cloudy swirls in the mirror gradually materialized into a visage; a visage which haunted his mind every single day. Her clear cerulean eyes, a pert nose, full rose petal lips, all set in a pale porcelain face framed by thick black waves. She was wearing a pale daffodil yellow dress of crepe silk and embroidered muslin, but the simple elegance of her dress was ruined by the blood stains from the open gashes on her arm. A lone rose lay forgotten on the ground as she stumbled forward on her knees to press her hands against the mirror.

Those deep blue eyes, sparkling with lingering tears, seemed to look straight into his soul, and he knew his own were reflecting the same sorrow and longing. He broke the passionate eye contact, studying the wounds she had suffered when that insolent bitch had slashed the mirror with her claws. Pain filled his heart when he saw the blood running down her arm, yet his fangs instinctively elongated at the sight of the thick crimson.

That was the irony of their love; he loved her deeply, but his love could possibly kill her.

“Are you in pain, my love?” He asked softly, calming down upon seeing her beautiful face.

She shook her head sadly. “No, my lord. I am sorry, for bringing you nothing but trouble again. Keeping me around is as good as carrying a burden on your shoulders perpetually…”

“I forbid you to say that. You did not abandon this Sesshoumaru when he was at his most vulnerable, and neither will he abandon you.” He whispered heatedly, reaching out to caress the surface of the mirror. “This Sesshoumaru will find a way, and you, my love, will regain your freedom.”

Kagome nodded sadly, pressing her hand to the mirror so that their palms were together. It should be the solid, masculine strength of his palm that she should be feeling, not the chilly, unyielding surface of the mirror.

It had been so many years since he came into her life, and even though she found herself weeping over their cursed fates, Kagome had never regretted meeting him.

She was born into the middle class to a local tailor, and had grown up doing needlework and learning sewing skills under the strict guidance of her parents. Her life was as normal as it could be, with her most exciting experience being that of sewing a wedding dress, until a certain vampire lord came into her life.

He had practically swooped into her room, true to the legend of vampires and bats, but he had been terribly wounded from a fight with a witch. Bleeding profusely from an open wound in his chest, he was heaving and panting in pain when she cautiously ran to his side. He looked so ethereally beautiful with his chiseled features and long moonlit tresses, but his face was devoid of color as his blood, thick and black as night, flowed onto her floor. She knew he was a vampire almost immediately; no human would possess such lethal fangs.

It was then when Kagome heard the unearthly screech of a female, and she found herself face to face with a vicious witch perched, poised to attack, on her windowsill. She had not known what to do in the face of such a perilous situation, but Kagome had instinctively cradled the wounded vampire into her arms. Recalling the folklore of witches being fearful of sharp pins, and thanking the fact that she was the daughter of a tailor, Kagome had reached out for her pin cushion and thrown the pins at the witch. That had sent the latter fleeing with the vow of revenge.

Then she started on the painstaking task of nursing the wounded vampire back to health, keeping his existence a secret from her family. She had initially been terrified of him, especially when he had been so icy, unreadable and scary. Yet Kagome could not find it within herself to leave him in the lurch, and finally, a mutual understanding was gradually forged. She had tried her best to heal him with herbs, but still, he had showed no signs of recovery. It was then when it dawned upon her that her efforts would amount to nothing if he, being a vampire, did not receive what he needed the most…

…blood.

Selflessly, she had cut her own hand open and fed him with her blood, watching the color return to his cheeks gradually with every hungry sip he took. She should have felt scared, or revolted, but none of those feelings came to her. Instead, all she felt was an odd sense of satisfaction and relief. He trusted her wholeheartedly despite them being of different species, and put himself at her mercy as he received her tender care, listening to her sing soothing songs and appreciating the flower she brought to him everyday.

What happened next was something which neither had expected in the beginning, but yet did not possess the will to fight or deny. Feelings grew from trust to friendship to something else which the bloodthirsty monster was not supposed to understand ever. The angel had taught the devil to love, as absurd as it sounded. Yet when he pulled the petite human female flush to his body and claimed her rose petal lips in a soul searing kiss, he realized, there was nothing wrong with this in the least.

One thing led to another, and it wasn’t before long when he had eagerly pushed her onto her back, making sweet, animalistic love to her while trying to keep his raging blood lust at bay. Sex with this lovely creature was different from all the times it had been in the past; never had Sesshoumaru felt so alive and excited as he loved her as tenderly as a bloodthirsty creature like he could. Her jugular vein sang out to him in its burning lusty spell, and he had to bite his own lower lip to fight off the tempting hunger pangs which beckoned him to suck her dry of her life blood. Throughout the entire time when he pushed himself into her tight, clenching sheath, she had been gripping the flower she brought to him, so hard that the petals came apart in her hand.

A bloodied crimson rose.

It was as beautiful and as tragic as their love.

Yet happiness was never meant for the two individuals, who were as different as day and night. The witch returned one day with a vengeance to punish the vampire lord who had exterminated her clan, but as she was about to trap him into an enchanted mirror, Kagome had thrown herself into his path and pushed him out of the way. Sesshoumaru could only watch with eyes widened in horror and disbelief as the only woman he had truly loved was dragged down the vortex of black magic to be trapped within the glassy confines of the mirror.

Whatever happened after that was merely remembered with a heavy, bleeding heart. He had tried all means to free her; be it by ancient incantations, unorthodox witchcraft methods, or even brute force, until he realized cracking the mirror would only lead to Kagome’s death.

The only thing which could free her was his heart. He would have to seek the assistance of a powerful witch as she performed the magic spell, carve his out of his chest, and place it in front of the mirror in exchange for her freedom. Vampires like him were supposed to be immortal, but the involvement of witchcraft would signify certain death. It was a final resort which he had contemplated turning to on a few occasions, but she had always pleaded and implored him tearfully, saying there was no meaning in having freedom if it meant living without him.

“I have faith in you. I love you.” She whispered tenderly as she watched his head fall in defeat. They knew it was easier said than done, but no one could say for sure. They might find themselves in each other’s arms again, till death do them part.

He nodded silently, and she could see his pained expression before his visage became blurred. It was happening again; why did Fate have to be so cruel?

As the raven-haired beauty slowly faded back into nothingness in the mirror, and all he could see was the destruction of the room reflected on the glass through him, he closed his eyes to etch her visage in his mind. He missed her so much.

The notes of Toccato and Fugue in D minor faded into nothingness as the hands flying across the keys of the pipe organ left.

Silence returned to accompany him.

And in the silence of his chamber, he resumed his lonely journey to eternity.

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The End.

A/N: Ahhh, tragic love. This has got to be the oneshot which took me the longest time to write. I’ve never researched so extensively for a oneshot in terms of culture, language, setting, clothing, music, folklore…everything.

I hope you enjoyed it, and hope you can drop a review to make this authoress’ efforts worth it.