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Destiny, Fate, and Divine Decree by Aurora Antheia Raine

Prologue: Signing on the Dotted Line

It should have been just another fight, identical to the ones that occurred every night for the past year. The screaming, the threats, the tears, the angry exits, and the lonely nights as they slept in separate rooms.

Despite it all, she had loved him. They had first met in high school and their friendship had been timid; borderline comfortable at most. When she had landed a scholarship into the college he attended, their relationship had changed drastically and for the past five years, she had supported and loved him through everything they had ever encountered and vice versa. Two years ago, they married blissfully. A year ago, everything went wrong.

But what?

She never knew. It was as though all of a sudden, he loathed her and she reciprocated. It should have ended then, but she didn’t wish to let go and he never cared anymore. There were nights where he didn’t come home, choosing to spend the night alone in the company office rather than with her. Moments in which Sesshoumaru came home angry were often; eyes flashing crimson red, jaw clenched, short tempered, and tight, fisted claws. He would pick fights with her and no matter what it was that Kagome said, it was never enough.

Perhaps last night had been the last straw; perhaps the love she held for him was simply not enough to keep their marriage together. Regardless, she had shouted those words before she could hold them back and he had agreed more quickly than she had ever thought he would. Perhaps that was what caused her the most heartache.

The papers had been drawn up with an incredible speed that only her husband was capable of and now, she sat here in the quiet office with her head down, wringing her hands together nervously as her husband sat beside her, blatantly ignoring her presence.


Snapping her head, she gave the lawyer a blank stare, willing her eyes not to water.

“It is your turn to sign,” he explained patiently, handing her a ballpoint pen, “just sign on that dotted line and the divorce will go through as planned.”

Hands shaking, she placed the tip of the pen on the paper and hesitated. She glanced over at her husband, but he still refused to look at her. She drew in a deep breath, his name at the tip of her tongue when his gaze slid towards her. She held her breath, staring at him still, willing him to say something; anything at all.

“Just sign the paper,” he said, voice hard and tone bored, “I have actual important matters to attend to.”

And her world officially crashed down upon her.

It truly was over. Just like that. The five years they had spent in each others’ presence vanished in a cloud of dust. It was like it had never happened. She looked at him and wondered where the Sesshoumaru she knew had gone. She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts and compose herself.

Biting her lower lip, she slowly and delicately signed her name on the dotted line. Only after she placed her pen down did she realize she was still holding her breath and she exhaled deeply, an unknown but dreadful feeling settled deep in her heart.

“Well, I guess we’re done here,” the lawyer announced, gathering the documents into one neat pile.

Pushing her chair back, she stood on unsteady legs and headed swiftly for the door. When her hand came in contact with the door handle, she stopped and glanced behind her at the unmoving figure still sitting in the chair. She had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, but still, leaving without another word felt wrong. Not after everything they had been through together, even if the memory had seemingly long escaped him.

As if sensing her gaze boring into the back of his head, he turned and their eyes met once more. Holding back tears, she gave him a weak smile, but kept her head held high.

“Goodbye, Sesshoumaru,” she whispered, before slipping through the door, shutting it firmly behind her.

The resonance of the sound was so final, that only then, did she let her tears fall.


INUYASHA © Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan • Yomiuri TV • Sunrise 2000
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