Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.
Pitfall
A/N: During the Thousand Year Blood War.
Death has been said to be slow, like a warmth coming to meet the one in peril. Comfortable, sweet, relaxing. Yet, he doesn't feel any of that at all. There is no burning fire to keep his skin warm, dry his tears. But it's not cold, either.
She screams, and it's the last sound he hears before the ground takes him in its arms, pulling him down. She appears above him, mouth wide open, eyes red and skin flushed of all color. He can't feel her hands on his chest, fingers scrabbling to cling to his shihakusho. Izuru can't even smell her scent, or feel the salty tang of her tears as they dribble onto his cheek.
Is this death? Is it quiet and still and devoid of feeling? Or does it change depending on the individual? Do some die with ice in their veins while others welcome the flame?
Izuru doesn't know. He just knows that she's still screaming his name.