She remembered the day she'd left behind the dormitories of the Shino academy, a decision, once made, that could not be undone. She'd assumed she was stepping into her new life as a shinigami. She would have a profession, a position in a squad, a family, even a title.

Byakuya's mansion was in the northern compound of the Sereitei. Rukia found the perimetre wall, three times her height and of polished white stone, long before she found the grand entrance that cut into it. She was walking down a wide street overhung with cherry blossoms, which drifted down lazily in the still summer air. Now and again, shinigami passed her and they stared at her curiously. She was the only one wearing academy uniform. On her back was a string bag filled with all her worldly possessions.

Double doors marked the entrance to the compound. After she stood outside them for a while, wondering if she should knock, a latch was drawn back and, with no instigation from her, they opened.

Inside, there stood a number of men. She thought, at first, that they were shinigami, but then she realised they were wearing brown obi instead of white and, to a man, wore their hair in topknots. They bowed. She almost turned to look behind her before she realised that the obeisance was for her and not some other, more honourable, visitor.

"This way, please, Kuchiki-dono."

That name. She wasn' used to it yet. Gripping the strap of her bag across her shoulder, she followed the household guard into the grounds of the mansion.

It was an intimidating sight. A rambling, palatial building stretched away to her left, while, immediately before her lay the most exquiaite garden she had ever seen. It seemed that every ripple in the landscape, every blossom and every shrub, had been placed according to a rigid plan. No line was out of place; no blade of grass was allowed to grow above the others. The only things that seemed to have gone unchecked were the cherry blossoms blowing in from an orchard on the far side of the garden. They lay in heaps, like new snow.

Across a miniature bridge, beside a pool gleaming with koi carp, and in the midst of these blossoms, a man was seated beneath a willow tree. She didn't recognise him at first. Perhaps she didn't square the image of transcendental power she had glimpsed that day in Shinoreijutsuin with the peaceful figure before her. But, as she approached, she recognised his formidable presence. Dressed now in a plain kimono, he looked up from the book he was reading.

Immediately, a veil fell over his eyes. His face hardened. To her, it seemed he sucked all the tranquility from the scene and remade it so that, instead of an ornamental garden ablaze with cherry blossoms, the only thing that existed for her was this man who found fault in her with his first glance.

Byakuya Kuchiki. Captain of Sixth Division.

When she reached him, she tucked her hakama behind her knees, knelt and touched her forehead to the ground.

"Rukia."

"I am pleased to meet you."

"Sit."

She straightened. Briefly, he studied her face.

Perhaps she was mistaken, but it seemed to her that there was a kind of desolation in those grey eyes. "You are to be adopted into this family," he said. He spoke formally and his voice was soft: "You will take my name, be treated as my kin, and be given rooms, here, in my house. I have had them prepared for you."

"I am extremely grateful."

"This afternoon, I have arranged for you to visit Juushiro Ukitake, the Captain of Thirteenth Division. It may be that he has a place for you in his squad."

"With greatest respect, thank you."

"My servants will show you to your quarters." He frowned: "Change. You will not need that uniform again."

"Oh. Yes." Her hands tightened involuntarily on the fabric covering her knees. In her wildest dreams, she could not have conjured this mansion, this garden, this lifestyle. And yet, this did not feel like a family.

"There are clothes in your wardrobe. Choose something suitable."

"Yes" – she hesitated, wondering how to address him, and settled for the formal appellation for an older brother: "Nii-sama."

He blinked at that and then, almost to himself, conceded:

"Yes. That will be acceptable."

He didn't speak again for a time, but his eyes remained fixed upon her. There was no affection in that gaze, but nor was it, she sensed, entirely dispassionate. There was something involuntary in his absorption, as if he could not help but stare. Why that would be so, though, she could not tell. It was not an experience she was accustomed to. "Rukia?"

"Yes."

"Joining the Shinoreijutsuin. It was your choice? It was not born out of necessity?"

She frowned at that, but hesitated only briefly:

"It was my choice."

"It is dangerous."

"I understand that."

"While you live under my protection, there is no need for you to work for a wage. I would not choose this path for a woman" –

"Well, it is not your" – She bit back her words.

His expression had not changed, but she had been about to ruin everything: "I'm sorry," she said.

"You're stubborn." It wasn't a judgement. Just a plain statement of fact, but she blushed beneath the fall of her hair. "Very well. Attend the appointment with Captain Ukitake this afternoon. For now. Please." He signalled towards the house.

It was old. It smelt of years passing, of wood shrinking in the rain and drying again in the sun, season upon season. Wooden boardwalks wound around hidden courtyards full of ornamental shrubs and the soft sound of water. And, on every side of her, screen doors opened onto room after empty room. Once, perhaps, this place had been full of people and now they haunted it in imperfections: scuff marks on a polished marble floor, scratches on a wooden panel. The hopes of a once powerful clan seemed now to hang on just one man and and his memories.

The servant showed her to a room. It was large, furnished only with a divan and a writing desk. One wall was devoted to books. She glanced at them with interest, while the servant slid back the door to a cupboard full of clothes. Inside, it seemed to her, there was every colour and every fabric under the sun.

"Is there anything else you need?" he asked. Her jaw had fallen slack and she swallowed quickly:

"No. That is – substantial. Certainly."

"With respect." He bowed.

"One question though."

"Yes, my Lady."

"Can you tell me why he chose me, please?"

The man's face coloured a little, but he didn't miss a beat:

"It is because you bear a remarkable resemblence to his wife."

"His wife? You mean he's married?" She failed to hide her surprise.

"Oh, no. He was. The Lady Hisana passed away less than a year ago."

"I'm sorry," she said numbly.

"Of course. With respect." Another bow. He began to edge out of the room, clearly as discomforted by the turn of the conversation as she was, so she turned away, giving him the opportunity to leave. When he was gone, she closed the screen door and stood there, in the half-light. She was shivering, but not from the cold.

Just what, she wondered, was she supposed to be to this man?