"And tomorrow everything will change
That's what all our teachers used to say
We don't need to wonder if the rows on our face will turn to grey
But since we know the movements of the stars
We know exactly where we are
And we'll be together when the leaves are acting strange"

"The way starlight comes through this window, it won't be the same wherever they send me, but I'll still be watching the night with you. This is my last night, Yachiru. If you miss me, look up at the night and know that I am with you." Orihime held her younger friend tightly against her chest. Yachiru couldn't see her crying, but she felt the tear drops falling into her hair.

"Why do you have to go?" she nestled in closer to Orihime, sharing in the sorrow, but not fully understanding the situation.

"All the big girls have to leave eventually. I'm too big to stay here. I have to go into the city."

"But you're not much bigger than me, Orihime! And I'm little!" Yachiru protested. She clenched her little hands onto Orihime's dress. The fabric was thin and it soaked quickly with the sweat from her palms. "I don't want to be alone here."

"You won't be alone. I'll be in the stars. And you'll be in the stars. Together in heaven." Orihime pushed the girl off of her chest, then gazed at her, making sure her tears had finally stopped falling. The smile she forced felt convincing, but she knew Yachiru wouldn't fall for it. "Now, off to bed with you, before Madame Yoruichi catches you in here."

She watched the younger girl climb down from her cot and head toward the door. Before exiting, she loomed in the doorway, gathering the confusion, processing it into something she couldn't comprehend. Coincidentally, Orihime felt her own confusion dissipate for the first time since Madame Yoruichi told her should would be sent away from her sisters. Looking back at the stars, she whispered, "Goodbye halcyon days."

"The coroner will be here shortly to do an inspection," Detective Kurosaki stated flatly. It wasn't the first time he had seen a dead body that year. He could sense that it wouldn't be the last. He handed his leather notebook over to his fellow detective, Renji Abarai. "Same situation, heart ripped straight out of the chest. Young woman, nice dress, bad neighborhood."

Renji crouched closer to the corpse, her eyes frozen in terror, the only face she would ever make until her body decayed beyond anything that could be recognized as beauty. The only blemish he could find was a gaping hole in her chest where a beating heart should have been. The pests of Las Noches had begun to crawl into the wound in search of sustenance. Renji and his partner, Detective Ichigo Kurosaki, they weren't part of this world regularly. They lived in beautiful valley city of Karakura, the city of the nobles, the upper-class, the rich. Las Noches was the name given to the bottom sector of Karakura where the poor dwelt in a different kind of squalor.

"What was that last thing you said," Renji asked.

Ichigo glanced back down at his notes, "Oh, I was just going over the notes. She's like the others. We found out who she is."

"I know who she is. She was a friend of my fiance's, and that dress she's wearing is an Ishida original. All of the debutants about Karakura are fawning all over his overpriced gowns. Rukia is no different. She's ordered a couple to be made special for her." Renji flipped up the bottom of her dress. The letters U I were visible in red stitching. "Bastard charges at least a month's salary just so women can have his initials under their skirt. Which begs the question, if she can afford a dress like this, why would she be out here in Los Noches."

Ichigo scribbled the letters into his notebook. "You don't think a dress maker is behind the murders, do you?"

Renji shook his head, "No, it was just on my mind since her wedding dress is coming from him as well, and his shop is set up in Las Noches."

"Strange to think any noble would come out here for anything." Ichigo paused, realizing the situation, "Except to get murdered. And robbed. The woman that found the body said she had to shoo away pickpockets. Sinful."

Outside the walls of his home and shop, the rain fell in sheets. Uryu's appointments would be soaked by the time they met with him, dragging in the mud of Las Noches with them. He hated filth. The grime of the slums seemed to linger worse than standard dirt. But soon it would all be over. The local orphanages were always looking for places to keep their children employed doing odd jobs. Uryu had currently made a deal with a local, Madame Yuroichi, who needed a job for an orphan while the girl attended finishing school. The girl would come by to help Uryu as a personal assistant. He didn't like the idea of anyone sharing his shop with him, but he did need the help. The headmistress had also hoped that Uryu could find some use in her as a seamstress, but he refused. If she could keep an organized book and dust all the displays, he would keep her. Beyond that, he had no use for a second body in his home.

Around ten in the morning, an hour before his shop would be open for his customers, there was a heavy knock on the door. A chill darted down his spine at the thought of his first visitor. Tea had been prepared in the dining room, Uryu had been picked up cakes the day prior, and he made sure to have his records prepared. His guest, a gentleman named Aizen, was an auditor of sorts, keeping track of the terrible deeds that Uryu committed time and time again. By now, Uryu had lost track himself. If it wasn't for Aizen's monthly visits, he'd have no way of remembering his own gruesome actions.

Uryu found his way to the front door and received Aizen. He remained dry, but only due to the aid of his man, Ulquiorra, who stood silent by his master's side. Ulquiorra shook the umbrella off under the awning, then folded it. He helped Aizen remove his trench coat and hung it on the wooden hook by the door.

"Good morning, Uryu. How are you enjoying this heavy rain?" Aizen asked. His voice was as sophisticated as his crisp black suit. The stitching, the fabric, and the detailing were all remarkable, but they weren't his handiwork. He wondered what kind of man could stomach making a suit for the devil.

"All this rain seems to create is mud," Uryu responded, leading the pair into the dining room for tea.

"Ever the selfish brat. The rain feeds the crops that sustain us."

Uryu placed a fresh cup of tea onto a saucer before Aizen. "And floods destroy them."

"Just the right amount of power to keep things going the way they are. Nature is always cycling life and death in perfect balance." Ulquiorra saw to it that the Aizen's tea was prepared to his liking, mixing in two sugar cubes and a splash of cream. "Your existence requires such balance. But that was discussed in your contract. You wanted ultimate fame. For that much greed and pride to exist, you needed me to help get rid of an equal amount. And for me to alleviate you of this whole deal, I would require something pure to cleanse you of such overpowering sin."

Uryu thought about the world beyond his stone walls. There was no purity left. In Las Noches, it was more obvious: the murders, the robberies, and the vandalism. But just past the slums was Karakura, where there were political assassinations and extortion.

Aizen clapped twice and Ulquiorra opened the briefcase he had toted with him for the journey. The leather case contained only one thing, a contract with today's date. The format of the contract had been standard; the same rules Uryu had agreed to more than a dozen times before. "Nothing new, your success for this season in return for one damned soul." He dragged his finger down the paper, stopping half way through to add, "And of course, this clause here, stating that should you offer us one pure soul, you will be absolved of any and all debts."

Uryu had prepared a sewing needle alongside his tea on his saucer. He didn't hesitate for a moment. He simply lifted the needle from the plate and plucked his finger. Uryu pressed his finger onto the contract. The same dark magic that kept the women who wore his dresses in coffins was the same magic that incinerated the contract as soon as his blood touched it.

When the smoke cleared, Aizen rolled his eyes, "Eager to have me on my way? How rude. After all that I've done for you." Again, using the same sorcery, Aizen whipped his hand around, conjuring a golden scale with his gesture. Ulquiorra retrieved a piece of coal from his pocket, then placed it on one of the scale's hands. Next, Ulquiorra reached into Uryu's chest, claiming a rock of similar size. As the blood from the gaping wound, dripped down his chest, the only thought in Uryu's head was one of worry for the stain it would leave on his silk shirt. Once the stone had been removed from Uryu's chest, Uryu went limp in his chair. Ulquiorra allowed Aizen to inspect it before he placed it on the other hand of the scale. "Blacker by the month, Uryu." The hand on the left raised slowly, until the levels of the hands were at even height. "Oh Uryu, when will you bring something that is worth more than your wretched soul? And to think, all of your wealth only amounts to the soul of one greedy trophy wife."

Aizen handed the coal back to Ulquiorra to return to Uryu's chest. When the rock was set in its rightful place, the wound began to close. The life crept slowly back into Uryu's cold veins. The color came back to his face a bit at a time.

"Well, my boy, we'd best be off. I have other clients to service, you know."Aizen stood up at the table. Ulquiorra pushed his chair in for him and lead the way to the door. He gathered his master's coat and umbrella. Aizen nodded as a farewell but said nothing.

Orihime trailed behind Madame Yoruichi faithfully on their trek from the orphanage to Mr. Ishida's dress shop on the edge of the slums. She balanced an umbrella over the headmistress' head, trying to steal some of the coverage for herself, but it was an almost fruitless effort. Madame Yoruichi could muster much longer strides in her high heeled boots than Orihime could. She couldn't find the right balance of keeping the umbrella up, walking in the pointy shoes, and keeping her dress from dragging through puddles.

As they traveled, the headmistress rattled off notes for Orihime to keep in mind, "Do not speak to this man unless spoken to. If he needs something, you will address him as 'sir' and you will not complain about the work, ever. A woman is always grateful for duties. You should be honored that he wants the help of a plain girl like you in the first place. You are to report to him promptly at nine in the morning to have his breakfast prepared and shop ready for business. Once the shop closes in the evening, and you are done cleaning up and serving his dinner, you are to head to Madame Rangiku's home quarters in Karakura. She works for a family in the city. She will have an hour of instruction with you each day, and you will help her with her duties on the weekend." Orihime made mental notes of the names and places Madame Yuroichi mentioned. "Remember, half of your wages come to me and a fourth of your wages go to Madame Rangiku. The rest of your wages are yours to keep, but you must remember to pay your rent to the family that will be housing you and transportation between work and home. You are never to ask your employer for carriage money, do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

Madame Yuroichi hastily grabbed the girl's wrist to usher her through the alleyways quicker. "Don't dawdle. I don't know why you have such issues with those shoes, they're only an inch high."

"I'm sorry ma'am.

"And don't keep apologizing over your ineptitude. Either try harder or don't say anything at all."

After a few more minutes of trying to keep track of Madame Yuroichi's list, Orihime's mind began to wander. In the alleys of the slums, Orihime thought about how grateful she was to not be out in the streets peddling for change or stealing from pockets. As a child, Orihime had her older brother Sora to look after her. They didn't have any money or a home to call their own, but Sora made sure she had food and shelter. She didn't mind poverty in the slightest, so long as her brother remained by her side. That was until the day she met Madame Yoruichi. She had offered to take Orihime in as an orphan and find her work. Sora promised to visit every chance he could. He never had the opportunity for he had been murdered in the sewers only a few hours after Orihime had been taken into the woman's custody. The last thing Orihime remembered of her brother was his lifeless body floating down the canal with a hole in his chest.

"Are you listening? Mr. Ishida's shop is just a few more buildings down."

Orihime nodded fervently. "Yes ma'am."

Orihime could see the sign for the shop in the distance, but had to stop gawking when the headmistress stopped in front of a tall man in a black suit. At his side stood another gentleman with black hair and cold eyes. "Mr. Aizen, what a pleasure to see you."

The man smiled warmly, a single lock of auburn hair falling over his brown eyes, "Well hello, Madame Yuroichi. What have you been up to these past years? Still running your home for girls?"

"Of course. This city is, unfortunately, a never ending source of orphans."

"Indeed it is," Mr. Aizen agreed. "I would love to catch up, my dear, but I am off to visit a client. Please do be careful, Madame, traveling in this area. I heard there was a murder just a few days ago, a woman not much older than your lovely traveling companion here."

"Oh dear, how terrible. Orihime, this is Mr. Aizen, an old business partner of mine."

Mr. Aizen offered his hand to Orihime. As she tentatively placed her small hand in his, he lifted it to his smiling lips and kissed it gently. "A pleasure my dear."

"Likewise, sir," Orihime said, blushing.

"She has been tasked with helping Mr. Ishida at his dress shop, a great honor for such a homely woman like her."

Aizen laughed in a deep low tone, "On the contrary, I'm sure she'll be worth her weight in gold to a man like Mr. Ishida. He is plagued with business these days." He beamed at both women and winked at Orihime. "Again, my apologies on leaving so quickly. My partner and I must be off."

Madame Yuroichi bowed and Orihime did as well. The gentlemen left the females to carry on, deeper into the alley, to the shop. When the men were well beyond the stone walls of the business district, Yuroichi turned to Orihime frantically, "You must promise me you will never do business with that man. It's people like him that keep that poor in poverty and the rich in greed. Indeed you are plain and void of skills, but you are not evil and you are not bad. And that is worthy of respect."

Orihime felt like shrugging at the comment, but knew it would be unwise. It seemed so hypocritical for a woman in the headmistress' position to judge anyone's worth when she was so wealthy.

Madame Yuroichi rapped on the door and was greeted by a slender man with black hair and blue eyes. Orihime didn't expect to be met by such a man. He was much younger than she thought he would be. He was tall, and his features angular and clean. His glasses sat on his nose the way a statue would sit in a garden, balanced and even on his face.

"Good morning, Mr. Ishida. I have brought your assistant. May we come in?" The man stepped back, allowing the pair to enter. "Orihime, my dear, this is your new employer, Mr. Uryu Ishida."

Before Orihime could muster a greeting, the man began to appraise her openly. "She is…dirty."

Orihime glanced about herself. Her dress had admittedly seen better days. She had made the dress herself, and it had survived a kitchen fire, endless games of hide and seek, and now today's rain. Her strawberry hair was kept in a tight bun at the base of her neck, not as styled as it could have been, but by no means messy. She didn't wear any cosmetics, but she had bathed profusely that morning.

"Nothing a little polishing can't shine," Yuroichi mentioned. She rubbed at a little spot of dirt on Orihime's cheek.

"I make wedding gowns here, Madame. They are white. She is…brown. The kind of brown that doesn't come off silk or satin or lace."

Orihime tried her best to remain gracious for her position as her new employer degraded her and her previous master bitterly defended her. "She is a hard worker. She will do as she is told. She can cook very well. I think of all the girls, you will find her the most useful."

"I suppose," he said, rubbing his chin. "While you are here, you are to keep clean and wear only my product. You are to study with me on current fashions and wear only what is in season and right for your body. You are a living advertisement while you are in my shop. You are never to wear rags again. Until I feel you are capable of helping with business, you are a maid exclusively. Clients are a delicate creature that I don't think you are smart enough to comprehend."

"Yes sir," Orihime said through gritted teeth. The headmistress nudged the girl in the side. "I am grateful for this position. I hope that I can help you to your liking, Mr. Ishida." Orihime spun around to speak with her headmistress, but when she did, Madame Yuroichi was already outside the shop. "Madame!" she called, regretting her insubordination just after. "Please, Madame…can I ask a favor? Can you…please have Miss Yachiru moved to my old room so that she can look out of the window at night?"

The headmistress did not turn to face Orihime to reply, "The childish things, Orihime, put them away. Never forget such innocence, but keep your wits about you first and your dreams about you second. That is the last lesson I can impart to you. From this point on, you are a woman, Orihime. Find lessons in the things that bring you disappointment, and your frustration will never burden you. In this way, you can stay pure and retain wisdom. I will not move Yachiru. Goodbye, Orihime." She closed the door behind her abruptly.

Orihime stared at the door as it separated her from her childhood, her memories, her orphan sisters. If she turned around, he would be there, ready to give her the first command as a woman. It wouldn't fulfill her, she could sense that. His words were harsh and full of unjust criticism. If that is what it meant to be an adult, she would rather be back on the streets as an orphan.

Mr. Ishida, on the other hand, stood awkwardly behind his new assistant, shifting his weight between his legs, unsure of what to say to her. The way the woman spoke to Orihime was the same way Aizen would speak to him, full of bitter truths that stung to hear, no matter how honest they were. A small part of him wanted to offer her solace, but if he couldn't find any for himself, how could he offer her anything.

He cleared his throat audibly, "Come back here to my stock room. We'll find you something to wear while you're here."

"Yes, sir."

Orihime followed meekly into the depths of the shop. In the parlor where the customers were charged for their items, there were a few dresses on display, the most current fashions that women were feigning over for this season. The floor was a beautiful marble tile, splaying across the parlor to where the grand staircase began, separating Mr. Ishida's work from his home. In the middle of the parlor stood a round glass table with beautiful flowers in an oriental vase.

Past the parlor was the show room, then the changing rooms, then the stock room. The other hallway leading from the parlor lead to Mr. Ishida's sewing room where his creations came to life. For now, Orihime was brought to the stock room. When her new employer brought up the light in the room, Orihime felt like she was trapped in a rainbow. She had never seen so many colors in so many shapes and fabrics. She reached to touch the sleeve of a long red gown, but she pulled back, worried that Mr. Ishida might reprimand her for leaving a finger print on one of his products.

Mr. Ishida pulled the cloth measuring tape from around his neck, and without permission, he began to inspect his assistant. He muttered numbers to himself as he lifted her arms. When he wrapped the tape about her bust line, she blushed. If he noticed, he didn't make any mention of it. He lifted a few dresses from the racks, all in varying shades of blue. Again, without any notice, he pulled the pins keeping her hair secured and let her radiant hair fall over the dresses. "That red hair would go best with blues, the darker the better against your pale skin, but those grey eyes…so frustrating. Do you own jewelry?"

"No, sir."

"While I appreciate the formalities as your employer, unless we are in front of a client, I would appreciate it if you just called me Uryu. Orihime, was it?"

She nodded.

"Periwinkle. This will do." He tossed a dress with white ruffles about the bust over her shoulder. She could see silver buttons running up the back. Before she could offer any thanks, he piled on a petticoat and corset. "The mannequin in the parlor with the silver jewelry, you may barrow those accessories. Consider them a gift."

He guided her into a mirrored room. Housed in the corner, was a small set of drawers where Uryu kept some spare tools. There was a tiny set of steps leading to a wooden platform. When she stood in front of it, she could see herself from every angle. It was a little daunting at first. She felt exposed. Even more so when Uryu retrieved a pair of scissors from the drawer and cut her current outfit off her person. The cold blade of the scissors ran down her spine with ease. She gasped, and her face swarmed with color.

"I never want to see you in this dress again." Orihime gripped the remains of her dress against her chest to keep from revealing too much to this stranger. "I'll leave you with some privacy. When you've got the corset about you, I will teach you to lace it."

She had never had to trust a man since her brother had been murdered. Everything after that moment was at the mercy of Madame Yuroichi. Orihime's immediate friends, the ones she considered sisters, they were orphans that Yuroichi had chosen to take in.

When she lifted her arms to let the front of her dress fall from her, at first, she didn't trust that he would be allowing her any privacy. The idea that a man wouldn't want to see a naked female figure was foreign, especially after growing up with such a stern woman as her only role model. Madame Yuroichi carried a great weight, bred from some far away heartbreak. The chill that pooled and breezed through the orphan house didn't always come from winter nights. Sometimes the stories that the headmistress disclosed made Orihime made her fear for the day she would ever give a man her heart. Would he break it? Would he spite it? Would he leave it?

The sight of her nakedness even felt unfamiliar to her. The only mirrors at the home were in the bathroom, and even those were just large enough for her to glimpse at her complexion. Yachiru would poke fun at Orihime from time to time for having larger breasts and hips than the other girls. Orihime didn't know whether to criticize her curves or hide them away. Now, they were before her, about to be corralled into the harsh shape of a corset. There was no easy way for her to remove her dress without finishing the job Uryu had begun. Orihime stood silently atop her tattered childhood uniform, studying the corset. As she stepped into her petticoat, she remembered the last time she had been forced to put on heirs. Madame Yuroichi loaned her a dress with appropriate undergarments so that Orihime might help her impress the landlord for the home. Yachiru had to stand on a stool to reach the top strings of her corset, and despite her best efforts, the younger girl couldn't tie the garment tight enough to keep to Orihime's chest during the night. Twice, the headmistress caught Orihime yanking up the top of her corset and shifting her breasts back into it. Afterwards, she decided Orihime wasn't polished enough to parade in front of high society.

Orihime beckoned for Uryu to return once she had the corset wrapped about her torso. Upon returning, he didn't waste any time tugging back the top strings of the corset. She felt the boning at the top squeeze down hard against her breasts, forcing out a breath. His nimble fingers worked fast to weave the ribbons of the corset trough the small eyelets, wrenching back the strings each time to keep Orihime's stomach tight and straight. Half way through, he said, "In and out, like laces on boots, until you reach the middle. Leave two slack loops, and begin a less taunt weave on the way down." Orihme attempted a sigh of relief, hoping the process would be less strenuous from that point on, but struggled to breathe still. However, when he reached the bottom, he jerked the loops in the middle, tightening the top half more, and tying them in a secure knot. Then he pulled the rest just as tight and made a bow at the bottom. "Two knots, one to keep the chest tight and the other to keep the back straight."

"With all due respect sir, how is a woman intended to do such a thing on her own?"

Uryu gripped the smallest part of her waist, to right her spine and keep her from slacking. "You don't live alone. While your particular figure doesn't necessarily need a corset, your poor posture does, and my creations deserve it." He held the dress low before her, intending for her to step into it. Orihime struggled to balance when her spine was sitting so straight atop her tailbone. She reached to hold onto Uryu's shoulder as she stepped in, but he bit at her, and not in a playful manner. "Hone your balance in that corset. Learn to shift your weight gracefully and you will never need a hand to hold." This time, Orihime lifted her chin, heaved the deepest breath she could squeeze into her compressed lungs, then concentrated on lifting up her leg using her core muscles. "Never step into a dress from the floor, nor should you pull it over your head. These dresses are not Ishida originals if they are wrinkled." Uryu was as delicate as he was rapid when it came to buttoning down the back of the dress. "Do you own cosmetics?"

"No sir," she replied.

"Have your keeper teach you to use some, and make sure you purchase some when you can." She didn't voice her dissatisfaction, but he could plainly see it on her crooked face in the mirror. "Cosmetics can complement your better features." She forced a shy smile. "I can't believe I'm teaching you how to be a woman," he muttered, "entirely asinine."

"If I may, sir –"

"-You don't need to preface everything with formalities. I appreciate the notion, especially in front of guests, but in privacy, you may speak freely, so long as it is with respect."

"Thank you." His voice never wavered from his strict tone, making her nervous still to ask her question. "Where did you learn such skills? Most men know few things about such matters of fashion."

"I come from the East. I made wardrobes for the royal family. It was requested that I come to this country and do the same for the queen. My father said it would give our family great honor. So I immersed myself in European styles of dress." He conveyed no happiness as he told of his past. Orihime couldn't sense any nostalgia in any of it. "When I came, I couldn't speak a word of English and the only spot they could give me for a shop was here in Las Noches. I was introduced to a great businessman who helped me along with learning the language and getting customers out here."

"Do you miss your family?"

"I feel more comfort in making my family proud than I do in lingering on any fond memories I might have shared with my father." Uryu stopped fussing with the fit of the dress on her so that she might appreciate the whole spectacle for herself. He turned away when he added, "I apologize for that grim sentiment. In the East, we have different ways of showing appreciation to their family. I also don't feel comfortable speaking to this subject with an orphan. I'd hate to offend."

"Not at all." Orihime barely recognized herself in such a fine dress. She couldn't fathom how anyone would consider such luxury a casual. "Is there anything else that you will require of my appearance?"

"Better shoes, but for today, you are passable. I will send you home with a few other dresses and teach you to pack them properly. For now, our first client is due to pick up an order."Uryu's timing proved to be impeccable, for there was a knock at the front door almost as soon as the client was mentioned. Orihime followed dutifully to the front. Along the way, Uryu straightened his tie and smoothed the part of his hair. He pivoted back on his leather shoes and said, "Our customer this morning, Detective Abarai, greet him kindly, then allow me to settle his bill. Watch what I do carefully."

"Yes sir. If I may, there is a spot on your glasses."

Orihime reached to assist him with his appearance, but he slapped away her hand. "Never wipe anything on your dress. However, I appreciate you noticing my flaw. Keep such an attitude, and you will do fine."

She nodded. Brushing past her employer, she opened the door without confirming the identity. In her anxiety to do a job correctly, she forgot to consider that the person on the other side of the door might not be the expected customer. Still, she stood back and allowed the man entrance, saying, "Good morning detective."

In walked a tall, muscular man with strange tattoos patterned about his skin. His long hair was pulled back tightly behind his head. His gruff appearance made it impossible to think of him as a customer of Uryu Ishida. He glanced down at Orihime in the doorway. "Hello there. Who might you be?"

Uryu answered on her behalf, "This is my new assistant, Orihime. How are you this morning, Detective?"

The detective removed his coat and handed it to Orihime to put by the door. She silently thanked the heavens that she was educated enough in common etiquette to know what to do with his coat. "Well, I'm sure you've heard of the murder from last night. Lots of bloody theatrics with your dress as the leading lady's costume. Hope you won't be wanting it back."

Uryu waived the idea off, "It'd be bad for business. Speaking of business, your fiancé's dress is ready. How did she enjoy her last order, or rather, how did you enjoy it?" He winked with his last question.

"Which last order?"

"The black lace night gown with the gold flecking, very stylish evening wear, if I might compliment myself. I do hope I didn't spoil any sundown surprises."

The detective retrieved his pocket book to conduct business. "The only surprise is where she found funds for such an ordeal as I haven't allowed her any funds this previous month since she's been shopping so mindlessly for this wedding. Hopefully, when I do see this evening wear, whatever tricks she's prepared with it will make up for my poverty." He looked to Orihime, who was anxiously writhing her hands as the men made conversion. "Will she be staying with you?"

"She will be staying with a family in Karakura."

The detective stared down his nose at Orihime and she trembled, his face hovering inches above her, "Be careful. This isn't a very safe neighborhood. I'd hate to see something bad happen to you." While Orihime kept an uncomfortable gaze with the broad detective, Uryu went to retrieve the customer's dress. "If you happen across anything suspicious in this area, you are welcome to report it to my office." Orihime tried to concentrate on the black lines outlining his jawbone and forehead and less on his lingering stare. He smiled and lifted his face away from hers.

"Here it is, Detective." Uryu beckoned for Orihime to meet him behind the counter. Housed beneath the counter were long boxes with spools of silk ribbon. The boxes were long enough for the dress to lay flat, so long as they were folded in thirds. "If the customer is going to wear the garment the day of purchase, we iron it and serve it to them on a hanger in a linen bag beneath the counter or we dress them here. If it is a gift, we give them something to unwrap." Uryu lined the boxed with crepe paper. After placing the lid atop the gift, he measured lengths of ribbon against his arm a few times. "A couple of yards, across, beneath, the back around the front." Uryu pulled down roughly on Orihime's wrist to put her hands on top of the ribbon. He guided her hands to tie the bow with him. "A finger here, then loop around, then through this loop. Make sure it is centered."

With his hand trapping hers, he lifted the scissors to the edge of the bow, wanting to give the corners a slight angle. "Ouch!" Orihime squealed. They both pulled their hands back to inspect the situation. While Orihime examined a small cut on her thumb, Uryu gawked intently at the blade of the scissors. "My apologies. I didn't realize the blade was so sharp. It's just a scrape, really. Nothing more."

Along the edge of the blade, a bead of blood slid down to the point, then fell into the palm of his hand. They both watched as he touched his finger to the red drop, she, not fully understanding his perverse actions, and he, completely immersed in whatever he seemed to be doing. He smeared his fingers together, then, set the scissors in his breast pocket.

The detective waited for the tension to fade before clearing his throat. "Well then, if I may, your payment." He retrieved his pocket book, placing a few notes on the counter before the pair. Tucking the box under his arm, he nodded at Orihime and then to Uryu. "Thank you both."

"In the kitchen, there are some rags and there is oil in the cupboard. Please see the counter is polished. I need a moment."

Orihime had no time to protest for Uryu was already at the top of the grand staircase, retreating to some private area beyond Orihime's freedom.

"Where is it?" Uryu mumbled to himself. He inspected his thumb and index finger where he had felt the warmth and wetness of Orihime's blood. He found no trace of the crimson liquid though his fingers were damp to the touch.

His study housed many books pertaining to his craft. Some had pictures and instructions to help further his skill, but they did not seem to interest him in the slightest. Dozens of books and dozens of his own drawings fell to the floor in search of something he had not seen since his initial arrival in the gutter of Las Noches.

Within the covers of a musty paged journal hid the dated words of his father, written in his native language. The brush strokes were painted across thin paper, dated with days long before Uryu crossed the seas.

My son, my son who carried my name and my blood, my honor and my lineage, seeing him on the steps of our home with tears of pain in his eyes, I fought to forget my strife. I had held his bloody hand in my own. He had fallen on the steps and used his palm to brace himself. The scrape was not much, but it caused blood to fall and it frightened him. It frightened me twice as much. Aizen had warned me, should blood run black on my skin, it was the blood of a sinner. Should the blood rub clear, it was the blood of the pure. Though the blood dripped from Uryu's hand into mine, I saw no color. I will not kill my son, though it would lift this curse from me. I cannot kill my son.

Since the fateful day that Aizen had condemned Uryu, he had not once allowed himself to harm a child or a nun to release himself from his curse. To kill one pure soul and spare a thousand sinners, he would not give himself the chance. Uryu had never felt pure blood on skin after making that promise to himself. Now, with only a dab of Orihime's blood on his skin, he felt the confliction his father had so many years ago.

The original contract bestowed upon him came with more stipulations than were addressed with his seasonal renewals with Aizen. Delivering the wicked to Aizen personally would cause too much suspicion. If Aizen's clients were to all be executed for being serial killers, he wouldn't have any source of income. There were two options a client could choose from:

A client could receive a portion of Aizen's demonic powers. They could move in the shadows, undetected. They could open a chest with their bare hands as though they were ripping through tissue. They could read the thoughts of their victims.

Or, the client could have a representative to the dirty work for them. These men were called the Espada. They took many shapes, sometimes not even human. Ulquiorra, then green eyed monster that accompanied Aizen that morning, had been assigned as Uryu's Espada. The plan was simple: anyone wearing a dress with Uryu's initials stitched in red was a mark for Ulquiorra to conquest. Ulquiorra could not kill without this specific permission.

At this point in his life, there were no morals Uryu could claim. He couldn't accuse his conscience of holding him back from taking Orihime's, or any other innocent's life. And yet, some glimmer of something divine reminded him that this poor, orphaned, girl had been delivered to him for something greater than his own greed. But what could there possibly be beyond what he needed from her, her soul? She could never give him anything of value worth more than his soul's freedom.

Just as his father had promised himself to keep his son from being offered up to Aizen, Uryu vowed not to let this woman come to harm.

Uryu's father sent him away to make certain he would not be tempted. It wasn't that Uryu was pure of soul that endangered him the most. It was that Uryu was a pure soul that was always within his grasp. The sheer convenience of killing his own son made it too tempting. A few months after Uryu had arrived in Las Noches, a box had arrived with his father's diary, and an urn containing his mother's ashes. His father's diary noted that even after he killed his innocent wife, he did not feel freed.

The rest of Orihime's first day was carried out in almost silence. Uryu instructed her on certain tasks and manners of dress. He showed her how to find an account in his book of receipts. He showed her where to pull orders from. All this was taught without any extra banter or exchange. Uryu didn't make mention of his personal life and Orihime refrained from prying, all the while hoping her private life in Karakura would be one where she could meet a companion to have as she entered adulthood.

"Orihime," Uryu began, "the carriage to take you home comes in five minutes and it will come for you every morning at nine o'clock. I have prepared a few different garments for you to barrow until you can afford some better ones for yourself. Do you have any questions before you leave for today?"

"Nothing about work," she answered.

"Something else then?"

Orihime pointed at the front wall that faced the street. "There are no windows. I was just curious how you kept track of what time of day it was."

"I keep a pocket watch." She nodded in understanding. "In my private quarters, I have a window that is above the rooftops of the city. It's not all glum down here. I do enjoy watching the stars from time to time."

"As do I, sir."

The carriage ride into Karakura felt like a trip to a different country. Though the night fell heavy over the alleys of Las Noches, it blanketed Karakura like a child in a cradle. The moon and stars displayed brightly in the night sky, but the world below seemed to still house morning with the amount of street lights that lined the streets. Orihime didn't feel as though she were crawling in shadows. For once in her life, the night felt as safe as daylight did.

From the window of her carriage, Orihime followed the road with her eyes to a house on top of a hill, surrounded by a large iron gate. The driver hopped down from his seat to unlock the gate and bring the carriage up a dirt path to the front of the house. Orihime wondered why her employer couldn't have a home like this out in the city. He could certainly afford it with how much he charged.

The air outside the carriage smelled of roses, which she could see growing along the fences. She thought about the flowers in the entryway of Uryu's shop. Where did they come from? She had never seen any flowers growing in Las Noches and didn't imagine there were too many places they could flourish like they did at her new home. At the moment, they were closed into tight buds, sleeping, and in the morning they would stretch open to greet the sun. Orihime counted sixteen windows on the front facing wall alone. At any time of day, at least sixteen people could be seeing the roses bloom.

The driver helped her along with her boxes. Madame Yuroichi had already made arrangements for her personal items to be moved to the house earlier that day. Orihime offered the driver a tip and he gladly accepted before heading back down the path.

Standing on the front steps, looking at the mailbox that read KUROSAKI, she breathed in the scent of her new surroundings deeply once more. Before she could gather her courage to knock, the door flung open, and a broad man with dark hair met her. He hovered over her, wearing a velvet evening robe and matching night cap. She worried that she had somehow disturbed his sleep. In a gruff, robust voice, he all but shouted, "I heard the carriage! I thought it was my son! Who might you be?"

"Dad!" a young female voice called. "Dad, don't be strange. Go back to bed. Ichigo's fine. He's just coming home late tonight."

"This is late!" the man protested.

"I'm Orihime," Orihime interjected. "I'm here to work with Madame Rangiku."

The man, Isshin, wrapped a sturdy arm around Orihime's shoulders and ushered her into the house. "Ah ha! So you're the pretty face that will be joining us. My name is Isshin Kurosaki and my home is your home."

Inside, the house was warm and inviting. There were paintings and beautiful furniture everywhere she looked. The three faces that met her in the parlor all seemed to be smiling. Behind Isshin stood two younger girls, one with dark, short hair, wearing boys riding slacks and a loose blouse. The other, with lighter hair, and larger eyes wore an apron over her baby pink dress. They were introduced to Orihime as Karin and Yuzu respectively.

Yuzu pointed at the boxes Orihime had brought in with her. "Rangiku said you were working with Uryu Ishida. Don't tell me those are actual Uryu Ishida dresses!"

Orihime smiled at the young woman, offering her to open any of the boxes. "They are. My uniforms actually. Would you like to see some?"

"I heard Uryu Ishida dresses. What's all the commotion?" added another female voice. When Orihime looked up, she saw a woman about her height with twice her proportions when it came to the generosity of her curves. It was hard to notice much else about her after noticing the size of her breasts. She too had strawberry blonde hair, though it was a touch lighter, and lot more voluminous. The woman darted out her hip and placed her fist against it. "I'm Rangiku. You must be my new roommate."

"Yes," Isshin began, "just what we needed around here, another woman."

"Don't mind him," Rangiku said with a laugh, while shooing the Kurosaki's away from Orihime and her luggage. "He's on his way out, really. His son seems to be pulling more of the weight around here." Rangiku helped Orihime with the load of her new garments past the entryway where Isshin was still arguing with his daughters. "I'll give you the grand tour in the morning. For now, let's just get acquainted while we unpack. Hopefully, the young master will be home before we get in bed. Trust me when I say, you are very lucky to be polished in this house. I'm the best at what I do and the Kurosaki family, though not perfect, are a lovely family to work for."

Rangiku couldn't help but help but hold the dresses Orihime had received from Uryu against her chest, testing the fit against a full length mirror. Orihime would have to share a room with Rangiku until the Kurosaki's decided to keep her. She was only to be there temporarily, to be schooled on etiquette and duties by Rangiku.

"Tell me, dear, how is Mr. Ishida?" Rangiku asked, still mesmerized by her own reflection.

Rangiku lived like a princess from a fairytale really. She had a bed with tall brass posts and a white canopy across the top. Her closet was filled to the brim with dresses. Orihime did not reckon she needed to envy her for having a week's worth of dresses from one designer. All of Rangiku's furniture seemed to match the trim of her bed spread. In the corner stood a beautiful vanity littered with ornate glass bottles of perfume and face powders.

"He is…the private," Orihime replied.

"Oh, I don't care about that. All real talented men are private because they leave women speechless. It's the lesser men that women need to create gossip for to keep them appearing more impressive than they really are." Across from Rangiku's grand throne of a bed was a cot with a plush set of sheets for Orihime. She was happy enough to be in a room without a draft and a window. Rangiku gave Orihime an extra pillow from her own bed. "It's a silly rule, but consider it your first lesson from me. The men of this house are also very talented and very private, which means you best keep your little mouth shut, no matter what scandal you happen upon. These men are their reputations."

Orihime wanted to flop down onto her cot like she would after a long day of chores at the orphanage, but her corset would not allow for such comfort. She sat stiffly with the weight of her torso pressing into her tailbone. "Should I be concerned?"

"Just keep the gossip in this house until you learn to use it efficiently like a real woman." Orihime could barely keep track of all the hypocrisy Rangiku was tossing into the air. Orihime wasn't supposed to gossip because it was shameful to the man involved, but Rangiku was looking for information on Uryu Ishida. If being an adult meant understanding this idea, she had a long way until she was fully educated. "What I meant previously with my question was is there a woman involved with Uryu Ishida? I heard he was very handsome. Exotic. Foreign. Talented."

"If there was a woman, I didn't meet her today. I think he's married to his work though." Orihime kept to the truth as best as she could and tried not to speculate more than she already had. Sometimes gossip came out as lies and she didn't want to participate in lying, especially not about her employer. "He is handsome. Very clean. Very dedicated."

"You're the kind of girl that's going to take her polishing seriously, aren't you?" Orihime nodded in response. "Yes, I can tell because you're kind of boring." The chat session had to be cut short when they heard glass shatter in the entryway. "Sounds like young master's home."

Rangiku pulled Orihime by the hand back to the front of the house. Orihime felt like Yachiru for a moment, holding hands with a big sister, telling secrets and running through the house. Rangiku looked back at Orihime, smiled and laughed. This was fun. This was what sisterhood felt like in the orphanage. Some sentiments were proving to be universal.

Isshin was screaming loudly at a younger man in the doorway. "You're three hours late! Your sisters are already in bed!"

"They're probably not sleeping anymore!" The other man screamed in response. He made eye contact with Rangiku from over Isshin's shoulder. "Can you leash this man, he's already broke a vase."

Rangiku grabbed at Isshin by his shoulders until he fumbled backwards to allow the red haired man access to the house. "Now, now, Isshin, we've had this discussion before. Your son is a very busy man and can't be expected to come home early every night."

"He missed a perfectly good dinner. How ungrateful."

His son rolled his eyes. "I'll live, father. Thank you, Rangiku, now see he's put back in his kennel so I can some rest."

"Oh, Ichigo, before you head to bed, I wanted you to meet my new student I told you about. This is Orihime Inoue." Again, Rangiku pulled Orihime by the arm. As long as she kept a hand on hers, Orihime felt less vulnerable meeting her new master, as opposed to how Madame Yoruichi just left her to struggle in Uryu's gaze.

"Don't they look like they could be sisters?" Isshen asked.

Ichigo finally caught himself a moment of relief from his father's attack to take in the new resident of his house. An unnecessary silence filled the air where laughter used to be. They all looked toward Ichigo, expecting him to introduce himself, but he remained quiet, staring at her like a painting.

Isshin slapped his son on the back of the head. "Yeah, yeah, she's pretty alright, but stick your eyeballs back in your thick head."

"We'll watch them fly away
They always fly away"
- Blouse