A/N: Yea, last warning for leikomghuge spoilers.
I really liked the whole thing with Aizen, and his character fascinates me, because I don't know much about him. Butyea, if you don't know what the hell is going on, you need to read/watch more Bleach. Because it is good for the soul, yo. :D
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He suspected that she knew. Maybe she had known more than he had guessed.
He'd never know.
He thought he had seen something in her face (especially her mouth; he knew that to be the part of her to be the most expressive after long nights of sitting and staring) that had almost startled him when he had killed her.
He saw a look of resigning defeat. A look of someone who knew their damnation and accepted it as their world came crashing down around their ears.
It was a look that was all too rare. He enjoyed seeing it.
The look on the boy's face was completely predictable. Confusion, anger, devastation, and then fury. He didn't bother to look down to see what was written on the boy's face as he walked past him. He already knew.
He did look down, once again, to see the beautiful expression on his little doll's face. The doll he had sewn together so carefully, so painstakingly slowly, pricking his fingers on the needle every once in a while; keeping his doll out of the reach of the grubby little hands below that were always reaching and grabbing and breaking things.
But it was all worth it.
Because he had such a pretty doll.
But he broke her. He broke his pretty little doll. It might have been stupid if he had not gained a whole new playground.
He broke her because she made him angry, because she shouldn't have known.
He knew and didn't know what he had done wrong. His doll was not perfect, although he spent years upon years trying to perfect. He had tried his best, and he ended up with something that was less than perfect. He had tried his best to create perfection, but she had gone and understood things and, ultimately, killed herself.
What a stupid girl.
She was too stupid to realize what she was, and that she belonged on the top shelf, away from all the hands that were grabbing, scrabbling, breaking always. Always, always, always.
Which was why he threw her away.
Perfection is mandatory in heaven.