A/N: Yea, this is just a short lil' Orihime-centric oneshot 'cos she hasn't gotten much focus lately and that makes me sad. can we PLEASE go back to Las Noches?
Knowledge
There were three things Orihime had learned here, three things she ultimately had come to know.
Firstly, Hueco Mundo was not a black-and-white world and her old "us vs. them" perception was beginning to crumble. Lines blended together, borders blurred as ultimate contrast gave way to the grey palette of imprisonment. She found herself dancing along a hazy razor edge, right and wrong no longer so clear. They're my enemies so I must resist them turned trite under the realization that her enemies also worked to keep her alive. Imprisoned, fearful, weak, compliant – yes! – but also safe and breathing.
Secondly, she found that with this new vision, she saw far more than with her old stark sight. Nuances of character, idiosyncrasies and depth in Hollow hearts, she saw it all. Some were as cruel and brutal and coldly proud as every sense she had said they should be, but there were others that were different. Meek or wise or a thing she had no one word for, a sense of quiet conscience and maybe even warmth in the ever-frigid night of Las Noches... Some even seemed as unspoilt as the moon, still familiar and pure in an alien world. And even those that were just what she'd thought them, even they could manage to surprise her in a way that was almost pleasant. It kindled a strange emotion in her, not quite affection, but something very close to it.
Thirdly, lastly... she knew she would never really help them, and for all she felt she would never love them. Not even the angelic little boy with the purple eyes. She would defeat them. Sympathy, empathy – these would make her stronger in her fight. Every time a pang of doubt struck, she would touch her hairpins and look out her window, proverbial princess in the tower, and sword-sharp resolve would form in her heart. It would hurt, and she would shed tears before blood but she would do it. She would leave them on the floor, icier than before, unspoken questions on more than dead lips.
"Who? Why?"
And the answer:
"Me. For the pain you inflicted on my friends and I."
And there was one thing Orihime had always known: a caged bird may sing, but its voice must die before its hope, if it ever wants to fly.
A/N: Whoo! Orihime, you're gettin' all violent. It's that Grimmjow's corrupting influence, I swear.
Reviews please? I love *all over* constructive critisism!