InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Under the Monster's Eyes ❯ Disenchantment ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Pretty in Pink 
Her disappointments.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Psychological / Drama | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 09.21.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 630 | Visits: 339 | Status: Completed
Her disappointments.
Anime/Manga: InuYasha Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Supernatural / Psychological / Drama | Type: Crossover | Uploaded On: 09.21.2008 | Pages: 1 | Words: 630 | Visits: 339 | Status: Completed
I don’t own this stuff.
AN/ This idea wouldn’t leave me alone. Don’t think this has ever been done before.
Written to: Aria da Capo from the Hannibal soundtrack.
.
Under the Monster’s Eyes
Disenchantment
.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you, Dr.?”
The question was spoken with ease of familiarity. But there was a bitterness, an underlying animosity that was in no way directed at him. She was never rude.
“Not at all, Kagome. I believe you are always truthful with me.”
He was always so polite. And always honest. But truths aren’t always reality.
“The fox calls the sparrow a meal. The grasshopper calls him a predator. Neither are wrong and both are truthful.” Her somewhat lackluster blue eyes never left the painting of a plump woman and her brood of dark-headed children on the far wall.
“More wisdom from your monk?” His smooth, cultured voice relaxed her as it always did.
She smiled fondly, head lulling back onto the cool leather recliner. “I’d say you know him nearly as well as me now, Dr.” She giggled, a mirthful but wholly empty sound. “Does that make you crazy, too?”
Had she been anyone else, he might have taken it as a personal jab. As it was, though, he’d known Kagome for the entire three years she’d been incarcerated in this psychiatric hospital nestled in a secluded valley in northern Japan. It was a good hiding place.
From their ongoing sessions, he knew she meant no harm. She was a polite girl, a trait shared with all of the Japanese culture. She was sharp, quick-witted, and willingly displayed her every emotion in her unusual cyan eyes. She was a kind soul, generous and openhearted.
Dr. Lecter steered her away from those frivolous thoughts she was so given to. “Tell me about your father, Kagome.” His sharp, pale blue eyes watched her shift into a more comfortable position on the recliner, rearranging her disheveled white cotton robe.
“He died when I was very young,” she answered, with no particular feeling. Perhaps a slight pang of regret.
“Did he hit you, Kagome? Did he touch you inappropriately?”
The young girl eyed him with something akin to reproach. A blush rose in her cheeks. “If he did, I don’t remember.”
“Did you love him?” He prodded.
“Of course!” she answered without forethought. She settled down again, with a sad dimming of her eyes. “I’m sure I did,” she sounded doubtful, the memories of her father distant and fuzzy in her heart. “Aren‘t children supposed to love their fathers?”
“Do you remember his voice? His smell?” He himself had always found scent was the most poignant of memories.
A frown as she struggled with the images of a wiry, young dark-haired man. The memories evaded her, slipped through her fingers like sand. “No, I don’t.”
“Do you feel males have habitually disenchanted you, Kagome?” He always asked such personal questions. Borderline inappropriate.
She was assaulted with images of a silver-haired boy with a stake in his heart. She’d never been able to pull it out, not really. The young girl clutched her own heart with a pale hand.
A malicious joy stirred in Dr. Lecter’s heart.
“Yes,” she whispered.
.
AN/ I’m leaving open ends for a drabble series in case I ever get the time.
AN/ This idea wouldn’t leave me alone. Don’t think this has ever been done before.
Written to: Aria da Capo from the Hannibal soundtrack.
.
Under the Monster’s Eyes
Disenchantment
.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you, Dr.?”
The question was spoken with ease of familiarity. But there was a bitterness, an underlying animosity that was in no way directed at him. She was never rude.
“Not at all, Kagome. I believe you are always truthful with me.”
He was always so polite. And always honest. But truths aren’t always reality.
“The fox calls the sparrow a meal. The grasshopper calls him a predator. Neither are wrong and both are truthful.” Her somewhat lackluster blue eyes never left the painting of a plump woman and her brood of dark-headed children on the far wall.
“More wisdom from your monk?” His smooth, cultured voice relaxed her as it always did.
She smiled fondly, head lulling back onto the cool leather recliner. “I’d say you know him nearly as well as me now, Dr.” She giggled, a mirthful but wholly empty sound. “Does that make you crazy, too?”
Had she been anyone else, he might have taken it as a personal jab. As it was, though, he’d known Kagome for the entire three years she’d been incarcerated in this psychiatric hospital nestled in a secluded valley in northern Japan. It was a good hiding place.
From their ongoing sessions, he knew she meant no harm. She was a polite girl, a trait shared with all of the Japanese culture. She was sharp, quick-witted, and willingly displayed her every emotion in her unusual cyan eyes. She was a kind soul, generous and openhearted.
Dr. Lecter steered her away from those frivolous thoughts she was so given to. “Tell me about your father, Kagome.” His sharp, pale blue eyes watched her shift into a more comfortable position on the recliner, rearranging her disheveled white cotton robe.
“He died when I was very young,” she answered, with no particular feeling. Perhaps a slight pang of regret.
“Did he hit you, Kagome? Did he touch you inappropriately?”
The young girl eyed him with something akin to reproach. A blush rose in her cheeks. “If he did, I don’t remember.”
“Did you love him?” He prodded.
“Of course!” she answered without forethought. She settled down again, with a sad dimming of her eyes. “I’m sure I did,” she sounded doubtful, the memories of her father distant and fuzzy in her heart. “Aren‘t children supposed to love their fathers?”
“Do you remember his voice? His smell?” He himself had always found scent was the most poignant of memories.
A frown as she struggled with the images of a wiry, young dark-haired man. The memories evaded her, slipped through her fingers like sand. “No, I don’t.”
“Do you feel males have habitually disenchanted you, Kagome?” He always asked such personal questions. Borderline inappropriate.
She was assaulted with images of a silver-haired boy with a stake in his heart. She’d never been able to pull it out, not really. The young girl clutched her own heart with a pale hand.
A malicious joy stirred in Dr. Lecter’s heart.
“Yes,” she whispered.
.
AN/ I’m leaving open ends for a drabble series in case I ever get the time.