A/N: Requested by cataclysmatic on LiveJournal, drabble post 9/28/09.
Prompt: jolt
Disclaimer: I don't own the original work this is derived from. This work is complete, and its brevity is intentional.
Enjoy!
x.x.x
unkind
x.x.x
How many years has it been now?
And yet still, every time, without fail--
He catches sight of her out of the corner of his eye, sees a mop of dark hair in a crowd, a swift slender figure in the garden-- the smallest of resemblances, and his heart feels thunder-struck.
Oh, Hisana had been cruel. He had known, and he had loved her anyway. This pain is hers. It is his tribute to her memory, an ever-smoking bundle of incense on the altar in his chest.
Perhaps someday he will be able to look at her little sister and not see her. Perhaps someday, he will be able to wake up in morning without reaching for her. Perhaps someday he will be free.
Today he remains her prisoner.
Rukia calls his name, trying to catch his attention. She has a bundle of papers in her arms and a harried look on her face. There is a sharp furrow between her brows, and her hands are wiry and callused. There is nothing in her expression but hurried professionalism and a touch of anxiety. She is no one but Rukia.
He turns away, and watches the plum leaves drift off their naked grey branches, and tries to draw a line between memory and the moment.
Hisana looked nothing like her.
X.x.X