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Inuyasha was of the firm opinion that the past lives theory was a load of superstitious bullshit made up by those too scared to accept the idea of permanent death. Nobody had yet come up with an argument good enough to convince him otherwise.
Meeting Shiori didn't change that.
Meeting her again, one hundred and forty years later, didn't change it either, but it did make him believe in deja vu. His head spun and memories he'd completely buried resurfaced in a jumbled mix. She hadn't changed at all, except to grow taller and become prettier.
Everyone was gone now, even Sesshoumaru, but Shiori was still standing on the grey-gold beach staring across the ocean waves with a wish blazing from her eyes.
He wanted to ask. She wanted to answer.
The water washed their footprints away behind them.
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