The Beauty Of Senses~ Inuyasha X Reader

One Step Too Much

I take a step forward, the morning breeze brushes against my face as I inhale the fresh scent of nature. The sun is warm on my skin and I smile at the openness that is in front of me, I then let out an exhale. Tapping sounds follow each of my footsteps as I walk, the sound of wood on the ground. As I take another step, I stop as the sound of wood hits something and echos in my ear. I sigh and turn my body slightly and continue walking, the tapping of wood following me. It's been 3 years since then, 2 years since I last saw colors of the world around me. Now I see nothing, my lost of sight has finally caught up to me as the doctors said, I'm 27 now and everyday is still a challenge despite losing my vision last year. Since my father taught me how to make things, I have carved myself a wooden walking stick before the colors of emptiness took over. I have carved a butterfly onto the top of the walking stick, my mother told me long ago that the butterfly symbolizes transformation, the butterfly also symbolizes the myth and art which has become a part of me. Now everywhere that I go, I use the walking stick to help guide me and help go on the right direction. I'm still pretty new to this, but I'm slowly getting the hang of it. Life moves on, I can't be stuck in a world that was. Although I can't see anymore, but I can still feel, smell, touch and hear and I suppose that is enough. Although my sight is gone but it did not diminish my artistic talents, because I have never really relied on my sight to draw a person. I am still the "Blindfolded Artistic Butterfly" that everyone knows, it's just that now I am truly blind. I have widened my spectrums and started to draw pictures by a person's description, I was never good at those, but after that day from the challenge by Inuyasha, I have realized that with practice, I can do it. People come to me to draw them pictures and people daily, it makes me happy to know that people appreciate the beauty of art.

"Are there any ways for the doctors to help regain your sight somehow?" The voice of the mother of the son that I draw every year echos in my ear.

"The doctors tried, but they said that there's nothing that they can do, if it was an accident or some sort, then perhaps it could be fixed. Unfortunately, it's a genetic thing that developed over time. There's nothing that they can do." I reply back to her as I feel my eyes travelling around in the emptiness as I turn to the direction of her voice.

The charcoal in my hand moves across the smooth rice paper as I draw out the line of the mouth, the mother and her son has come by for another year of a portrait sketch. As I felt his face earlier, he has matured. His facial features feels more defined, no longer a child. It just tells me that time has passed and this is reality, I smile as I hear the light scratching of the charcoal moving across the surface.

"I see, but nonetheless, you're still the beautiful and talented___________, the "Artistic Butterfly" that you are. Life must be hard for you right now since everything is still foreign but I can promise you that it will become better if you just focus on the good." She tells me.

I feel her hand resting on my arm gently, it's soothing, almost like a motherly comfort. I nod in response as my eyes glazes over the space in front of me. I finish the sketch along with the shading of the dark and light, though I can't see, I can still feel. The charcoal over the paper has a different texture, a dusty feeling, it allows me to keep track of where I am on the paper. I take it off my wooden easel and hold it out towards the direction that I assume is where the mother is standing. I feel the paper slipping out of my hand, the rustling of the paper filling my ears.

"Lovely and perfect as always. I have never lost my faith in your work," She says with admiration in her voice.

In these few years, I have learned to decipher how a person is feeling by the tone of their voice and how they speak their words. Yes, she said that she admires my work, but she is telling the truth. Her tone of voice is lively and has a joyful rhythm to it, her words feel controlled and reinforced. Usually, we would look at the the person's expressions to see how they feel, but I have learned to see from their voices. I smile at her words and appreciation, She then hold my hand and opens it up upwards, she then places a few cool objects into my hands, coins as the clinking sounds fills my ears.