[bleach] reclusive
I'm dispensing with the typical 'real-life-ate-me' excuses. This drabble was inspired by the rage that resulted of my hearing that Bleach came to the US in my current 7-month-and-counting hiatus from anime, and also by this wonderful song, which I spliced into a 9-minute track.
Bear in mind that I have not read a chapter since February. This piece is morbid, nonsensical, and Aizen/Momo. Could possibly take place while she's unconscious after he nearly kills her; could take place anytime.
---
Eyes close.
She is at tenuous, heartbreaking peace. There are white walls soaring around them, the meaning of which she knows not and cares for not-- her vision, her world is focused on the man in front of her. His eyes are uncovered; they are unhindered by glass and lenses. Though-- he is still veiled by pretenses and disguises and utter treachery, but she doesn't care. She doesn't need to see through them in order to bask in his presence. She doesn't need to think about all that's been done, about the scar over where her heart ought to be-- but he's got a firm hold on that heart, so she can't die even if she finds herself impaled upon his blade once again, rendering her soul and flesh, throwing her spirit open to the cruelty of solitude.
She tries to open her mouth to speak, and all that emerges is a breath, a wisp of her emotions. It could be desperation, relief, rage, need. She'd like to think that they're at a stalemate or at the very least on the same plane, enclosed in this vast sky, circled by walls, but that is not possible. She will never find him as he was, or as he is. She will wonder what he will be, but she cannot know that either.
She tries to reach, to raise a hand to his cheek, to his skin, and the world turns red around her.
She is swimming, swept away by blood, everywhere the color pulsating in her mind and in her veins; the warmth echoes what she has wanted since the moment he disappeared from her senses. She is possessed, unable to survive as a single entity once more. It doesn't matter. He shouldn't matter. The damage was done.
The last thing she feels is the teasing scrape of pointed teeth at her neck.
Eyes open, and the only walls she sees are those of her quarters and her reality.
Bear in mind that I have not read a chapter since February. This piece is morbid, nonsensical, and Aizen/Momo. Could possibly take place while she's unconscious after he nearly kills her; could take place anytime.
---
Eyes close.
She is at tenuous, heartbreaking peace. There are white walls soaring around them, the meaning of which she knows not and cares for not-- her vision, her world is focused on the man in front of her. His eyes are uncovered; they are unhindered by glass and lenses. Though-- he is still veiled by pretenses and disguises and utter treachery, but she doesn't care. She doesn't need to see through them in order to bask in his presence. She doesn't need to think about all that's been done, about the scar over where her heart ought to be-- but he's got a firm hold on that heart, so she can't die even if she finds herself impaled upon his blade once again, rendering her soul and flesh, throwing her spirit open to the cruelty of solitude.
She tries to open her mouth to speak, and all that emerges is a breath, a wisp of her emotions. It could be desperation, relief, rage, need. She'd like to think that they're at a stalemate or at the very least on the same plane, enclosed in this vast sky, circled by walls, but that is not possible. She will never find him as he was, or as he is. She will wonder what he will be, but she cannot know that either.
She tries to reach, to raise a hand to his cheek, to his skin, and the world turns red around her.
She is swimming, swept away by blood, everywhere the color pulsating in her mind and in her veins; the warmth echoes what she has wanted since the moment he disappeared from her senses. She is possessed, unable to survive as a single entity once more. It doesn't matter. He shouldn't matter. The damage was done.
The last thing she feels is the teasing scrape of pointed teeth at her neck.
Eyes open, and the only walls she sees are those of her quarters and her reality.