[bleach] speechless
There have only been two times watching the Bleach anime in which I've felt remotely close to tears. The first was episode 32, involving Rukia and Renji's past, and episode 62, involving Byakuya and Hisana's history. The latter...has knocked me speechless for the moment.
So what else can I do but write?
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He lived by the rules of propriety; from birth, they'd been set out for him, and there was no need to break free. Following them was simple, eliminating the need for questions, self-discovery-- all messy and time-consuming introspection. So naturally, he'd been befuddled when he (literally) ran into her, a free spirit beautifully tainted by guilt, driven by the weight of her past on her shoulders.
Even later, when he'd moved past confusion into the embrace of fascination with that delicate wisp of strength, he still couldn't entirely understand her-- every day roaming the streets wistfully, gently requesting that the servants not accompany her, looking out the window on rainy days like a worried mother. The spectre of a sister neither of them ever knew was an unspoken obstacle. There were times when he saw her only a few moments a day, as she headed to sleep soon after returning, exhausted from another excursion.
That wasn't nearly enough to keep him from loving her, but when she slumped unmoving to the floor on that terrible day, when the child was stillborn, when the light faded from her eyes after the title attached to his name drifted from her lips for a final time...the only things that kept him from hating the startled academy student the next day were his promise, her wide-eyed expression (too close for comfort), and those rules-- the only such things he had left to guide him.
So what else can I do but write?
-----
He lived by the rules of propriety; from birth, they'd been set out for him, and there was no need to break free. Following them was simple, eliminating the need for questions, self-discovery-- all messy and time-consuming introspection. So naturally, he'd been befuddled when he (literally) ran into her, a free spirit beautifully tainted by guilt, driven by the weight of her past on her shoulders.
Even later, when he'd moved past confusion into the embrace of fascination with that delicate wisp of strength, he still couldn't entirely understand her-- every day roaming the streets wistfully, gently requesting that the servants not accompany her, looking out the window on rainy days like a worried mother. The spectre of a sister neither of them ever knew was an unspoken obstacle. There were times when he saw her only a few moments a day, as she headed to sleep soon after returning, exhausted from another excursion.
That wasn't nearly enough to keep him from loving her, but when she slumped unmoving to the floor on that terrible day, when the child was stillborn, when the light faded from her eyes after the title attached to his name drifted from her lips for a final time...the only things that kept him from hating the startled academy student the next day were his promise, her wide-eyed expression (too close for comfort), and those rules-- the only such things he had left to guide him.