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.
Violet Hour
A/N: For a request on LJ.
He's always loved lilacs. The way they smell; the way they look; the way they fall lightly into the palm of his hand as the petals are pulled away from the stem. They're fresh, full of life. Always rising up from the ground once bathed in purest ice. They're the remnants of what he once held in his arms. The lingering spirit of his love.
It's still there, her scent. A gift from the gods to keep her in his thoughts. Still, it hurts to remember more often than not.
The day is still young, the sun not yet rising from her slumber. He's always loved the morning. The way he perceives it, the chilled air smells very much like rain. So clean and pure. As if all the sin has been washed right out of the world.
He sits by the pond, her pond, where they used to sit and watch the sun wake. She's gone, but her spirit remains, comforting him.
Something brushes against his arm, warm and silken. He smiles, one of sincerity, as the creature crawls into his lap, purring. Such timing she has, arriving when he's still wrapped in thoughts of his Hisana. But he does not shoo her away for this. She's not like other cats, as she isn't even one herself. It's her guise; the only means by which she can traverse the plane that separates the two worlds.
In this form, she confuses him. Perfect black fur and yellow eyes masking her thoughts. He's always hated how she plays the game this way, making him guess. With Hisana, he could tell and behave according to her wishes. But with this creature, this secret, he's had to resign himself to taking chances, working to figure out how she thinks and feels.
His hand runs across her back, another purr working its way out of her lithe form. Perhaps, if he tries hard enough, she won't keep him waiting this time.
He lifts her to his face, their eyes level as her paws swat at his face; this cat's way of touching. Her whiskers tease his cheek as she begins to shift, limbs elongating, eyes settling back into the face he remembers from his childhood. She still looks the same, that smile, the one that used to bother him so, on her lips.
He must put the past aside for now, and work towards the impossible goal of sating this desire of hers. At times, he tends to compare her to the koi in the garden pond, for their thirst has no measure.
A funny comparison, as she frequents the body of a cat.
She dispels all thoughts of the past, forcing him to live in the moment. It's amazing, the influence she has over him. Her touch is warm, fingers against the back of his neck as she makes her request. She smells of rosemary, causing him to wonder how such a scent would linger. But it's nothing to fret over, as she always tends to have the unseen aura of spice about her.
It's fitting, given the pace at which she prefers to move. She's not like him, who takes it slow, making every moment worth something.
They rise out of the grass, her eyes flashing as they move to the veranda and through the door. She has no fears of being caught. As if the guards would have a chance in the first place. She is the embodiment of lightning, far more daring than any he's known before.
Perhaps that's what makes her so alluring.