Characters: Isane, Unohana
Summary: Not everyone is left to die. Drabble.
Pairings: None
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Timeline: Pre-manga
Author's Note: Feedback would be appreciated, and please don't complain about the length.
Word Count: 300
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
A tall, slender girl with a shock of short silver hair huddles in the makeshift clinic in Rukongai, deep gray yukata swung close about her, threadbare woolen shawl draped around her shoulders. The other sick and dying cluster in the dark, dingy room, too far gone to groan or give voice to their pain.
She has grown increasingly weak over the past months, barely a year beyond her death in the living realm but dying again already. She doesn't know what it is she suffers from, or why there must be so much suffering when she had prayed for mercy in death. Her hunger gnaws deeply at her, robbing her of the meager strength her sickness has left her. Nothing, it seems, wants to show her any mercy, any at all.
A slight impulse to weep comes on her, when she thinks that she will never find her sister now, that they will be separated again, for good this time. There will be no happy reunions, no tearful hugs nor stories about what they have been up to in the year since they both died.
She almost cries, but finds that there is not enough strength left for that. Not enough water to form hot salt tears, not enough feeling left.
There is nothing to do but sit and wait to die.
Then, she looks up, and a hand is being extended towards her. "Come with me," the woman says, in a soft voice with blue eyes filled with kindness.
She blinks hazily, and wonders if this is God, and decides she does not care—she can trust this woman, clad in black and white. She knows she can rely on her.
So Isane, with her remaining strength, reaches for her hand, and allows the woman to lead her away.
