Title: Accismus
Series: Bleach
Pairing: Ichigo + Rukia
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Characters ain't mine.
Note: For covet. Who somehow got me to write this even though I can never get into Rukia's mind, nor write more than 300 words.
Rukia yearns for winter, for cold control that's easily assembled in gelid shades and stern lines.
Her figure's a pale column dressed in somber blacks, stark against the slender path. Rukia identifies more with the tarmac, the lampposts, the skyscrapers in the distance rather than any tremblings of the natural world. Impenetrable things, she thinks. Metal and glass and rock and materials that don't erode so much as break in hard angles. Grass crushes underfoot, but snow packs down. Sleeks, and yields nothing.
She doesn't think she belongs in the perpetual autumn she's locked in here, where the slow turn of chlorophyll goes unrenewed and leaves riot in brilliant oranges. Reds. The trees mark a deciduous levidity, she thinks, a rigor mortis of things just beginning to fade.
In winter, everything is already dead.
And she stoops, in this body that's not her own, in a park she might as well forget, and catches a leaf twirling across her path. She can't fathom the difference between oak, maple, or rowan (and it is a maple leaf), but the carrot color stings her retinas just before she presses it to her chest, and breathes: This is loneliness.