Seeing is believing, and Sango knows this, knows and recognises this. It sinks in like a needle, the realisation of what she sees. It’s deep and painful, but leaves little to no mark. Her knuckles whiten dangerously as her hands clutch and maul her exquisite clothes, her throat so tight for she has forgotten to breathe. His name freezes on her tongue.
She wants to believe her eyes are lying, that maybe the familiar face that stares back at her for only a moment, before losing contact, is just an apparition, but when he’s only a stretch away, within arm’s length, even Sango cannot resist. She wants to believe her eyes are lying; she also wants to believe the impossible. Her heart may know what it wants, but it doesn’t want to pick.
It’s drowning, suffocating in confliction.
Show me the truth, she says to herself as her eyes devour the sight of the man passing by, and all the while she’s cringing at the expensive threads she’s been forced to wear for years. Who are you?The man disappears into the crowd
( ... )
Sango speaks, but it’s a mindless mumble, and she can’t be certain it isn’t all in her head. Rest in peace, she whispers.
-
And now the sky is in turmoil, and Sango feels the prickle of eyes upon her, peeling off her kimono in layers. The festival is crowded and the night games have started, so Sango cannot even begin to pinpoint where that gaze is coming from.
Sango looks for him everywhere. She never finds him.
Thunder booms, and jagged claw marks of lightning illuminate the sky. But as Sango looks around like a scared animal - though she hides it so, so well - it seems that no one else is perturbed by the weather that threatens to ruin the festival goings-on. As it’s not the first time she’s imagined such things, Sango struggles to brush it off.
For the remainder of the night she participates and fakes her glee, but secretly she’s aching to pull the sticks from her intricately styled hair and shake it free, to shrug out of those stifling, itchy robes and slip back into her old skins.
Each time she runs this routine through her head, the scene grows in nastiness. Her runaway imagination almost shocks her with its pseudo-cruelty, but she always defends herself in the end.
It’s all a delusion; she was there when the other was killed. Seeing is believing, after all.
Still, Sango has hopes that no matter what, her sanity can be salvaged…
…so long as his eyes stay the right color.
-Now even in the halls of Takeda’s castle Sango feels like she’s constantly under watch. Unfamiliar guards pass by when no one’s on duty, and she can barely resist the urge to turn around and smack them for staring at her from behind
( ... )
All she gathers are her old clothes and her sword. Nothing else is left.
When they stalk quietly through the castle, Sango can’t help but notice the little things. His posture, his attitude, his nature, even which shoulder he’s thrown most of his hair over. How he’s walking behind her instead of-
But Sango immediately stops that train of thought. That route is a dangerous one, and she knows it. When under stress, people don’t always act like themselves. Sango knows this from experience.
She’ll just have to keep from letting her guard down.
-Once outside Sango begins walking down the path he points out to her, clutching her things tightly to her chest. It takes a few moments to realise the crunching of leaves beneath her feet should be much louder, much more signifying that two are trudging along instead of
( ... )
Comments 8
Seeing is believing, and Sango knows this, knows and recognises this. It sinks in like a needle, the realisation of what she sees. It’s deep and painful, but leaves little to no mark. Her knuckles whiten dangerously as her hands clutch and maul her exquisite clothes, her throat so tight for she has forgotten to breathe. His name freezes on her tongue.
She wants to believe her eyes are lying, that maybe the familiar face that stares back at her for only a moment, before losing contact, is just an apparition, but when he’s only a stretch away, within arm’s length, even Sango cannot resist. She wants to believe her eyes are lying; she also wants to believe the impossible. Her heart may know what it wants, but it doesn’t want to pick.
It’s drowning, suffocating in confliction.
Show me the truth, she says to herself as her eyes devour the sight of the man passing by, and all the while she’s cringing at the expensive threads she’s been forced to wear for years. Who are you?The man disappears into the crowd ( ... )
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And now the sky is in turmoil, and Sango feels the prickle of eyes upon her, peeling off her kimono in layers. The festival is crowded and the night games have started, so Sango cannot even begin to pinpoint where that gaze is coming from.
Sango looks for him everywhere. She never finds him.
Thunder booms, and jagged claw marks of lightning illuminate the sky. But as Sango looks around like a scared animal - though she hides it so, so well - it seems that no one else is perturbed by the weather that threatens to ruin the festival goings-on. As it’s not the first time she’s imagined such things, Sango struggles to brush it off.
For the remainder of the night she participates and fakes her glee, but secretly she’s aching to pull the sticks from her intricately styled hair and shake it free, to shrug out of those stifling, itchy robes and slip back into her old skins.
-“Cut your hair,” Sango demands, not for ( ... )
Reply
It’s all a delusion; she was there when the other was killed. Seeing is believing, after all.
Still, Sango has hopes that no matter what, her sanity can be salvaged…
…so long as his eyes stay the right color.
-Now even in the halls of Takeda’s castle Sango feels like she’s constantly under watch. Unfamiliar guards pass by when no one’s on duty, and she can barely resist the urge to turn around and smack them for staring at her from behind ( ... )
Reply
Reply
When they stalk quietly through the castle, Sango can’t help but notice the little things. His posture, his attitude, his nature, even which shoulder he’s thrown most of his hair over. How he’s walking behind her instead of-
But Sango immediately stops that train of thought. That route is a dangerous one, and she knows it. When under stress, people don’t always act like themselves. Sango knows this from experience.
She’ll just have to keep from letting her guard down.
-Once outside Sango begins walking down the path he points out to her, clutching her things tightly to her chest. It takes a few moments to realise the crunching of leaves beneath her feet should be much louder, much more signifying that two are trudging along instead of ( ... )
Reply
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