I own nothing.
Orihime wakes up one morning and she really doesn't want to get out of bed. She's sore and tired, more so than she can ever remember having been upon waking up. I feel like I spent all night running a marathon.
There's an odd, musty smell all throughout her tiny apartment and when Orihime's feet hit the floor in the pre-dawn darkness, she doesn't want to turn on the light for some reason.
Then, her eyes go to her hairpins on the dresser, and flashes of green glimmer in the darkness, catching on the street lamp outside.
She looks at her hairpins, and for a moment Orihime hates them. Bile rises in her stomach, thick and hot.
What on Earth? Shaken, Orihime rubs her forehead. She thinks of when Sora got them for her. Even stronger than usual is the hard knot in her throat, the burning at her eyes, threatening to spill over.
Orihime slips her pins into her hair, and starts to get ready, not turning on the light and still shaken by the momentary hate she can't explain.
Her bones are sore, her mind spins, her throat aches. She wants to cry and doesn't know why. And for the gifts she has cherished for three years now, she still can't explain that dizzying spike of hate.
—And there's soot in your eyes to hide the memories. No matter how much you rub, sight is obscured.
You'll find when you remember that you wished you still forgot.—