A/N: This came to me in the middle of watching a movie, and it refused to leave me alone for a full seventy-two hours until I relented and wrote it down. So here it is, in all its glory. Enjoy!
For as long as she can remember, she has always loved words.
They fascinate her: no matter what order you put them in, they will always tell a story. By finding the right words and the correct order to put them in, you can craft a story of your own. She thinks that it is simply amazing that if she writes something down, other people will understand it. It is its own form of mind reading.
She also enjoys names. A name is word that is assigned to you at the moment of your birth. It describes you in a unique way, and others use it to connect with you. Names, she decides, are beautiful things. Beauty is hard to come by in this part of Rukongai, as Zaraki is known more for its murders than for its majesty, but it can be found if one looks hard enough. And anyway, she lives in a kingdom of her own making, where beauty is plentiful. It can be seen in the way the broken, dusty bits of glass in the road sparkle and become the finest of diamonds when touched by the sunlight. In the way that the scraggly, sun-bleached clump of dandelions becomes a lush rose thicket in the royal garden. In the way that the young, too-skinny, violet-eyed girl with the kidou buzzing through her whole being becomes a sorceress queen, brave and smart and beloved by all.
But this girl- this skinny, underfed, fierce little wisp of a child; this powerful, fearless, wise warrior queen- is nameless. She has not been deemed special enough to have her own name, a word that is all her own and no one elses. She is just another face in the crowd, another mouth to feed in a place that already has far too much to worry about. She knows this, and she makes a descision.
She will name herself.
For a while, it is a sort of game. She comes up with a name and uses it, not unlike the way the rich nobles she has heard rumors about use clothes: find it, try it on, wear it for a while, and discard it to go find a new one. She thinks that this, too, is magical. She is one person who is also hundreds and thousands and millions of different people. She is Ayame, and Haruki, and Sayuri, and Chiyoko, and Fumiko, and a million more besides.
But something is missing. She is missing a person to call out to her. That shopkeeper from last week didn't count, because her name is Sorako, not "stupid, worthless, thieveing little brat". Rather, the person she is missing is a friend, or perhaps a family member. Those things are virtually nonexsistant in Zaraki, but her reiatsu is high enough for her to remember most of her human life. It wasn't very long; she died at ten years of age.
Mother calls out to her from the other room. "Darling!" She enters, and Mother is all smiles. "I got you a present!" She holds out a small, furry thing, and the girl gasps with joy and takes the small white kitten into her arms.
Akira, laughing, kneels beside her, his fingers and mouth stained blue. "How did you find these blueberry bushes?" he asks as he stuffs another handful into his mouth. She laughs with him and makes a face at her older brother's piggish antics. He's always been able to pack away a surprising amount of food, for such a small boy.
Father's eyes cloud with sadness. Mother is weeping, and Akira clutches her hand, his thin face pale and drawn. Milky White, the cat, lays on her stomach, providing a comforting warmth. She hates seeing them so sad. The illness has taken away most of her strength, and she can feel herself going. Perhaps it's for the best. She wants to tell them not to worry, that soon, she'll be gone, and she'll spend her time laughing and playing like she used to. She's a brave girl. She isn't afraid.
She knows that somewhere, a long time ago, these people cared for her and loved her, loved her enough to give her the name she cannot remember. She knows, and these memories give her hope.
Enough hope to pack a bit of stolen yen, adjust her glasses, and walk clear to Shinigami Academy, where she registers for to become a shinigami.
The receptionist is pinch-faced old woman who looks like someone glued all her skin to her bones and pulled tight, making it too small for her frame. She peers at the girl of ridiculously thick glasses that magnify her eyes. "District?"
"West District 80, Zaraki."
"Age?"
"About seventy, by my best guess."
"Name?"
"Ise Nanao."
She has no idea where that came from, but as soon as she says it, it feels right. She hears it click into her memories: Mother laughing and calling her 'silly Nana-chan', Akira's solemn voice as he says "I will always protect you, Nanao-chan.", Father twirling his 'Nana-hime-chan' around the living room in an extravagant waltz.
The woman hands her the key to her new dorm room, and Nanao takes it. "Thank you." She leaves the administrative office and sits down on a stone bench underneath a flowering sakura tree. She smiles softly and tips her head back.
Ise Nanao. She likes the sound of that.
Hello! Queen here! For those of you who didn't know:
. Ayame- iris flower
. Haruki- springtime tree
. Sayuri- lily
. Chiyoko- child of one thousand generations
. Fumiko- child of treasured beauty
. Akira- bright; clear
This is one of my favorite things that I've written. I think I'm going to try to make fanart for it, but if I don't, please don't be mad at me, because I honestly have no freaking clue how to turn this *gestures vaugely at writing* into this *gestures vaugely at fanart*.
I've been toying with this idea for a while now, because I've always been curious about Nanao's past. So little about her is shown. It makes Queen very upset.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy! As per my usual style, this was uploaded sometime around 11:30 PM (which is actually relatively early for me, considering my severe insomnia). Review, favorite, follow, and remember- I accept concrit with open arms! (And so ends the longest author's note in the history of the universe.)
Hugs,
QueenMaj