Disincarnate

She left early in the afternoon. There was little fanfare. Goodbyes were said, of course; tearful and choking ones filled with bittersweet nostalgia for seasons past. Not that he felt it a great deal or took part in the festivities; he sat in a tree and watched her as she departed for the last time. No goodbyes were said between the two of them. Due to this, the last words technically said between the two of them were his refusal of more rice on the previous night. As she prepared to descend down the well once more, she looked at him in his tree, but did not wave. He couldn’t pick up any particular scent from her and he didn’t care to. He had no response to her gaze.

And with that, she left.

~

Inuyasha couldn’t remember the fight that carved that final, vast canyon between them. At least, he couldn’t remember how it began; likely something inconsequential and trite, some battle that had raged since they’d first met several years ago. It continued into more serious territory beyond that, however, eventually leading to the final punctuation mark at the end of their relationship. It was the question. It was always the question. ‘The Question’ is how he thought of it in his mind. Here or there. Then or now.

He was unwilling to compromise. He said that staying in her time was ridiculous, and that all the things the pair needed were in the feudal era. This was only partially true. The reality was that, despite his simplicity, Inuyasha had seriously considered going with her to the future. But after consideration, it wasn’t to be. Love, or rather, an emotion he was unsure of that he described as love, was not enough to mask how out of place he would be. It was a lame way to phrase it, but it was the only way he could think. It was a time he was not part of, and after hundreds of years of life in the feudal era, there was no chance for him to acclimate to an entirely new world. Life for him would perpetually hold confusion, discomfort, and, though he was loathe to admit it, a haunting trace of fear. He couldn’t do it, no matter how hard he’d tried to reconcile it in his mind.

She was similarly unwilling to compromise. She said that he would be perfectly able to adapt to life five hundred years in the future. This was only partially true. The reality was that, despite her complexity, Kagome had seriously considered staying with him in the past. But after consideration, it wasn’t to be. Love, or rather, an emotion that she was sure was love and described as such, was not enough to mask the loneliness she would feel. Loneliness felt like no excuse for her abandonment of him, but it was the only way she could think. Her family was still a crucial part of her life, and though her connection to them had wilted somewhat due to her continued absence, it was still impossible to throw away. Life for her would perpetually hold sadness, loneliness, and, though she was loathe to admit it, a haunting trace of regret. She couldn’t do it, no matter how hard she’d tried to reconcile it in her mind.

And though this argument had occurred between them many times before, something had changed. There was an almost audible crack between them that could be said was the sound of the relationship’s final fracture. The last truss on the bridge collapsing. After that, it simply hadn’t been the same. They continued to go through the motions of it all. They spoke, sparsely and distantly. They ate together, generally in silence. They slept together, back to back, with nothing to say. They even continued to make love for a while, but the immense tension eventually eroded even that, and it eventually halted entirely a few weeks before her final departure. And eventually, it was simply done. It was known by all but said by none.

Actually leaving was substantially more agonizing than she thought. Finally packing up her things, as silly as it may have been, was an exercise in self-torment which took hours to eventually complete. Each item placed in her bag was another stab to the belly, nauseating and sharp. She didn’t cry; she’d done enough of that, running off in secret to sob and thrash at the ground. But the pain was still real even without the outward signs. Eventually, though, the packing was done, and she left after a perfunctory set of goodbyes with her friends.
~

His pining for her started rather quickly after she left. It started as a dull ache, but eventually came to consume his days, turning his mood to a sort of constant, frantic panic. The longing was truly indescribable; with the natural longevity of the demonic lifespan, everything seemed to stretch out before him, turning days to centuries. Her departure had left him infinitely more hollow than he had ever imagined it would. He had no words for it. It was a sort of dementia, really; an impossible to understand purposelessness that left him crippled in nearly all ways.

It was soon after she left that his emotions clarified. He did love her; as far as he knew, what he was feeling was love. The struggles of the modern world seemed to pale in comparison to the haunting pain he suffered at every moment now. It was as though he’d been amputated and Kagome was his phantom limb, just present enough to make his misery that much more severe but unable to interact with her in any way. And so he decided that there was precisely one option that would prevent him from going irrevocably insane.

The wait would be painful, but it would be tolerable if he focused enough on his task. The length of it wouldn’t be an issue, really; he would barely age at all in the five hundred years it would take for him to ‘catch up’ to his beloved in the stream of time. He looked at the wait with a grim determination, seeing it as yet another war to fight before he could finally rest. There as no other choice that he could see; the months of desperate longing could only be absolved by his diligence, as though the sin of his selfishness would be lifted from him. Time was his confessional, and he would suffer for as long as necessary.

And so he waited.

~

The time passed slowly, but it passed. Months became years, and years eventually became centuries. Miroku and Sango bred voraciously, resulting eventually in eight children total. Shippou found a mate. He did not speak to any of them with regularity, but was aware of the vague motions of their lives.

Shippou was killed in a battle with a more powerful youkai. Inuyasha dispassionately avenged this out of obligation more than fury. It was something to do. He did not mourn the kitsune’s passing. His mourning was spent long ago.

Miroku and Sango lived to an old age before passing away within days of each other. Their children had children of their own. They died. Their children died.

And their children died.

And their children died.

And so on.

Through this all, he felt no grief. Such was the doom of man.

~

And so, after ages passed, after each generation after the last was whittled down and finally extinguished, he had arrived at his goal. He approached the shrine slowly, stretching these final few moments of loneliness out achingly; perhaps it was his final act of contrition. The starving man delaying the banquet to please his god. He walked up the steps, savoring the feeling of the ground stone beneath his feet. Every moment of this was to be savored.

And finally, in heart-wrenching ecstasy, he saw her. The image of her in his mind, slowly dulled by the infinite passage of time, snapped back into exquisite detail in a single moment. It was orgasmic death. Half a millennia of suffering was worth it for this moment. It was Her, in all her feminine glory, a surge of saliva filling his mouth as he recognized her fragile hands, the slope of her bust, the gently curling ringlets of her hair, and all the other details he’d poured over in his mind for centuries. All in preparation for the agonizingly delayed gratification of this moment.

She was watering some flowers that surrounded the shrine. Each soft motion was a poem to him. Each step a universe of its own. He stepped towards her.

“Kagome…” his voice cracking and splintering like firewood. A word had not escaped his lips for over half a century now. It was, perhaps, a restored sort of virginity for his one and only.

“Hello, sir. Are you here to tour the shrine?” Her voice was cheerful yet oddly vacant. She smiled; not a lover’s smile, but a smile of duty and obligation.

“Kagome.” His voice was stronger now, and he took yet another step towards her.

“…How do you know my name?” She took a step back. Inuyasha could smell something on her that he’d not smelled in connection to himself in years: fear. He didn’t understand, lifting his hands, palms upward. Give something to me, they said.

“…Kagome?” The name turned to question. He studied her again, and noticed what he’d missed before: the utter lack of recognition in her eyes. It was Kagome, but it was not HIS Kagome. She did not know him at all. Not even a flicker of understanding could be detected.

“Sir? Sir!”

He turned and ran.

~

Kagome forgot about this incident within a week, simply being an unusual curiosity in her duties at the shrine. She did not know the beautiful man who seemed to know her. She ignored it and went on with her days.

~

Inuyasha finally understood, after nearly a full day of horrified thought. It had changed. With her departure, time slipped back into place, quiet as a mouse, without any warning for him. He drowned himself several days later. While inhaling the water, he felt no grief.

~

Kagome did not continue her studies at the shrine, and instead departed for college. Graduating with a degree in art history, she became the curator of a local museum, where she met a handsome man who was visiting her gallery. They went out for coffee soon after meeting. They grew together. They were married. They had several children; two boys, one girl.

Kagome and her husband lived full lives and died. Their children died. Their children’s children died. The next generation died.

And the next died.

And the next died.

And the next died.

And so on.

Such is the doom of man.