Categories > Anime/Manga > Saiyuki

And she said...

by fey_puck 0 reviews

I scratch your back, you stab mine. A Mom POV. Mom/Jien, Sanzo/Gojyo, mild Doku/Kou. There's incest in this one, my dears, though nothing that isn't canon and nothing graphic. Still, if that squ...

Category: Saiyuki - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Drama - Characters: Dokugakuji, Genjyo Sanzo, Kougaiji, Sha Gojyo - Warnings: [!!!] [R] [V] - Published: 2005-08-14 - Updated: 2005-08-15 - 952 words - Complete

When it happened, it had felt like an itch on her back. Just a minor annoyance in the grand scheme of things, easily ignored when she had that thing cowering in front of her. Within her reach. And she did reach, with every ounce of strength she had, but it wasn't enough.

She remembers, still, the blood. Remembers it still, though she can no longer recall what the pain that followed had felt like. She thinks she can remember it so much because it was red, and in the end everything came down to that horrible color. Red eyes, red hair, red blood, red lust, red anger, red death, red everything, /red red red/.

She was always more of a blue person, really, when she was still alive.

Jien had had blue eyes. Lovely blue eyes, as she recalls, like ice chips lined with fire. And the marks on his face, mark of his purity and strength and perfection, had been blue. Blue on tanned skin that had been warm to touch, beneath her clawed hands and too-thin lips.

She had enjoyed looking into those eyes- ice blue, not red never red- when she straddled him, while he was buried inside of her; trying so hard to get back to her womb because he loved her. Truly loved her.

She could she it in his eyes.

And when he came, he cried with sorrow-joy and she cried with angry need- or was it the other way around? Perhaps that was it. Her memories have become mixed up over time, and things fade away or twist into something new unless she reminds herself of the truth.

He had always had blue eyes.

He had always loved her.

And sometimes he whispered "Mom" in such a soft soft voice, making her regret so much until she heard noises of that thing shifting through the shadows of their house. Then red would stain her precious son, because while he loved her, he loved it as well.

But Jien, her dear sweet Jien, had rid her of that forever. He had always taken care of his mother, after all.

That's why she can forgive him for leaving her body with that filthy thing. She had watched, of course. Had seen the ax- Jien had always had sure it was sharp for firewood- that had cut her down. Saw Jien's horror and tears. Had wanted to reach out again so he could crawl his way in, put she couldn't no matter how hard she tried.

Then he had run away.

From her.

From /it/.

Left the bastard child to cover her with dirty sheets and dig a grave in rocky soil. And she had watched that too. She was glad of the marks that marred its face, knew they would serve as a constant reminder of what it had caused. But those childish hands had gently pushed the hair back from her body's face; red eyes had been alive with fear and confusion and love-hate.

It had been, for a moment, beautiful.

Then it had run away too.

She still watches them, even now. Years later, how many she doesn't know. The dead do not change, after all, and have only the markings of a world that is no longer theirs to mark the change of seasons. It was easier being dead than being alive, she decided quickly, and she would have preferred it altogether except she could no longer touch.

So she watches.

Watches her son become a handsome man, a true demon, proud. That he serves a prince makes her only happier, a powerful prince. A force to be reckoned with. He isn't tainted by humans, doesn't hide from them or serve them. Doesn't give in to them, as his father did.

And her fists still clench at the thought of that man, just as they do when Jien looks at that woman with too much fondness, or at his /red/-haired prince with too much-

Well, she reminds herself every time, such a thing is to be expected. Mother is gone after all, and her boy now has a prince to care for. And that is far better than hacing to care for that thing. If anything, she should be pleased.

But she can't watch them too long. Not when she can't speak or touch or remind.

So, sometimes, she watches it instead.

It has grown, she admits, to be beautiful to those that don't know any better. Moths to a flame, their own destruction. Not right away, not always, oh no. But she knows that with each touch or kiss or caress, with every moan it hears- /moredeepharderohGojyomore/- it leaves behind its sickness, its curse, its filth.

She doesn't know how the green-eyed one can stand to love it. She knows he does. Doesn't know how any of them can stand so stay so close to it for so long. Can't understand why none of them seem to see the monster, the creature that had made her break.

She realized at some point, with much gratification, that the monk understood. A clever human, obviously a priest of good reason. He yelled and hit and shot and brought that creature down to the dirt. Dominates, bites, and possesses. He pushes in, not with care like her Jien did, not with love but with raw greed.

And it is willing, offering, caught up. Trapped. Where it belongs, with no way out no matter how long it lasts. Pushed back into a corner, unsure whether it wants to stay or flee and so, is merely stuck.

A human. How fitting. And she gets to watch it all unfurl.

Dead, she decided, is a wonderful state of being.
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