This One Shall Mate Another by Daveio

Sesshomaru

Sesshomaru sits on the bank of the placid lake in his private garden, the same lake he'd once commissioned to be woven into silk with his own hair. It had taken a year to harvest enough of his hair for that kimono without making himself partly bald. The spring breeze ripples through the fabric of his yukata, the light fabric billowing against his other wise bare chest as he looks at the slightly scarred palm of his hand. The wrinkled skin a physical reminder of the night Kagome had left. The night she turned her powers to him for the first time since he had ceased attempting to kill her and the bastard she had traveled with. It had been a few months since that night, but he still could not get the memory of the pain in her eyes, and the state of his quarters once he had been able to bring himself to enter. Knowing he would no longer find her amongst the silks and furs of his futon like he had for years.

Daylight was streaming into the halls of his palace by the time he made his way to their quarters, he attempted to convince himself that she had merely been bluffing. Trying to persuade him not to folow through with his plans to pup a demoness in her stead. That she'd be lying in wait for him to beg for what she wanted in the way she knew he'd never be able to say no too, nor would he want to, as it always meant he got to taste her from the source. The beast prowling and howling in his mind however assured him that wasn't the case. That his intended had left the palace barrier, and erected her own so his beast could no longer scent her. Even without the proper mating mark, his beast and the priestess had been so closely entangled at times it almost seemed he wouldn't need to mark her, that the bond was already fully formed. Not that his beast would have ever let him entertain that thought.

Although now it held no choice. He had pushed his beloved away with such an intensity that she had deigned to go off in a blizzard, far beyond his beasts ability to protect her, rather then remain close to him.

He stood before the doors of his chambers for too long before reaching up his non-injured hand to open them. They were eerily untouched. Jewels, and hair pins, and precious metal chains all remained perfectly organized along side her paints and powders. The wardrobe and chests of clothes were all neatly closed and put away in their places. Not a single piece of fur or thread of fabric disturbed in their futon.

So he became the destruction himself. Closing the door behind him he allowed his beast control to scour the room for any trace of her he could, any hint of where she could have gone, the tiniest scrap of hope to fix the mistake he just made.

Only the things she had brought with her were gone, when all was said and done. Shattered glass, scattered feathers, and splintered wood intermingled with ripped and torn fabric. Not a single gift of his was unaccounted for. Not even the robe embroidered with his hair was gone. Although the way it was the only thing not destroyed by his own hands betrayed just how badly he had hurt her. For he had found it singed and ripped then buried under the logs in their hearth, waiting for him to ignite them so he might ignite the fabric too. For her holy powers had destroyed every last strand of his hair in it. Only patches of darker fabric where the sun hadn't kissed indicating there was ever a design at all.