Disclaimer: Bleach is not mine.
a/n: UlquiHime one-shot/drabble later be rated M for adult/dark themes, future lemons/sexual contents, violence, swearing.


Rewind

we wish we could turn back time
and be frozen where we were
for eternity

i. (once upon a time)

Once upon a time, there was a princess who fell in love


Ever since she comes back from Hueco Mundo, Orihime changes.

She becomes more detached. Her eyes look unfocused and soulless, dark pupils floating aimlessly amidst pools of gray, sinking lower and lower into ashen depths until they catch flashes of sunlight no more.

Instead of paying attention to the teacher, Orihime scribbles furiously on the pristine white pages of her notebook, filling them with a name — only one name — in capitals. As if it's the basic knowledge of life, the only thing she ever needs to know and learn and remember.

Tatsuki leans forward, hopes her hushed tone is drowned by their teacher's passionate voice, and asks with eyes dilating in concern; "who is that?"

Orihime jerks her head around, embracing the book tighter and closer to her chest — heart — as she smiles knowingly, softly. Dark eyelashes flutter down; like a lover reminiscing a nonexistent romance she whispers,

"Ulquiorra."

Flustered, Tatsuki draws back and tries to divert her attention to the board again.


Scattered before her are boxes wrapped in iridescent papers and adorned with pretty ribbons, hiding surprises she has yet to unravel. Smiling to herself, Orihime begins to unwrap one of the boxes, Tatsuki cheering beside her, singing happy birthday Orihime jubilantly.

The auburn haired girl stares down at her finding: a soft pink dress with frills billowing gracefully at the hem, intricate laces accentuate each rosy wave with exquisite femininity. Truly beautiful. But the treasure doesn't take her breath away — instead of gasping in awe, Orihime gazes at it with an alien expression.

Tatsuki stopped singing and is now grinning widely, her countenance full of expectation. "Flabbergasted? What do you think, huh? Perfect? I thought it'd look excellent on you! You've always loved pink, after all."

Her friend's smile wanes when Orihime twists her head around, brows knitted in disagreement.

"Pink? But… my favorite's white."

Orihime knows she has always loved white. In all her dreams and memories and flashing images she's always wearing white, Virgin Mary color starkly vivid against her sunset locks, rivulets of sin and suffering.

She always looks beautiful in white. Innocent and fake and stunning and prone to breaking.

Like a princess.


When her friends ask what's wrong with her, she only shakes her head and smiles. When they ask if she's sick and points out the bags under her eyes, she just laughs and tells them she's okay.

They don't buy her excuses, but they don't and won't understand — she really is okay.

Her sleeping schedule may somewhat have changed, but it's nothing big. It's just a routine she does every night now. An addictive but healthy routine that involves gazing out her apartment windows.

She likes the somnolent town. The deadly silence and steady breathing of an insecure palace in the middle of the night, vulnerable but exotic as yellow lights flicker and line up below her, like signposts and directions in a purgatory — she likes them all. Because they remind her of somewhere far away where everything is dead quiet and lifeless but constantly breathing with despair and serene solitary.

But what she likes the most is the moon. It's ghostly pale, like the princess dress she wears in her dreams and the walls of her castle and his skin.

Her white knight.

Who liquefies and solidifies out of darkness, who steps into her room quietly and feeds her and gazes at her with electric emerald eyes.

Who will whisk her away from every horrible thing on bat wings and deafening air current.

A dreamy sigh escapes Orihime's lips.

"Oh, Ulquiorra."


She knows he is still here with her. Kurosaki-kun doesn't know. Ishida-kun doesn't know. No one knows but her.

His figure has long incinerated away, embroidered her mind with burned edges of crisp images that will never die. Ulquiorra might have disintegrated and waned from reality, but Orihime knows better.

She sees him.

He's everywhere.

And she knows he's there, in the darkened walls, watching her with lugubrious emerald eyes, the gaze sending chills down her spine — just like it always did back then. And she almost smiles at the thought.

She likes to huddle closer to the walls, lights out and black shadows crawling and scraping and splattering every corner of her room with murky debris of the past. And the shadows, they move, dance, twirl and flash. And they have bright, verdant eyes.

Sometimes she can hear him slipping soundlessly through the open door; sometimes she can hear his monotone voice and whispers in the zephyr caressing her sunset fringes. Sometimes she can feel his hands trailing across her skin, each touch cold but oddly sensual, making her moan and close her eyes until the room spins and all she sees is him him him him.

Orihime's head slumps onto her pillow, gray orbs never leaving the animated shadows sprawled across the ceiling. Cerise lips turn upwards, the wind outside gets stronger and rattles her window, and she squeezes her eyes shut, hands on her chest, her mouth open.

"Ulquiorra, Ulquiorra, Ulquiorra, Ulquiorra…"

She breathes his name like oxygen. She utters his name like a prayer. Like a mantra.

"You are still here," she smiles and opens her eyes, staring at nothing in particular, her laughter ricocheting off the walls with eerie solace. Then, in a low whisper, she asks the whizzing air, "When will you take me away from this tower? So that we can escape?"

The silence is vociferous.

She chuckles. "I can wait. Of course."

The shadows elongate and spread, shrouding her with twisted contentment. And she embraces them almost greedily.

Burnt edges of memories reduce to ashes in her head, but she knows, she knows he still lingers.

Orihime smiles again. Striking green is all she sees before slumber comes.

"…so that we can live… together… happily ever after."

She falls asleep and sinks into a dark ocean that drowns her in black and green.


with hollowdemonenemy shadows.



a/n: About Orihime in this. She's one of few who has the higher chance of being mentally "broken" after the war; hence the obsession and delusions. I wanted to stress on that. There will (dark)fluff in the future, so don't worry about the romance.
Thanks very much for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Please review and tell me what you think.

— Ryfee