A/N: I am back! I know most have not read my other Bleach fanfics or just have wondered about me with my other fanfics needing to be written and done. Anyways, I've had this idea for quite a while and had the perfect time over Spring break and started it. It was originally supposed to just be another short one-shot of mine, but soon what went from 3,000 words, went to around 10,000 and I've only been trying to finish it by then. Instead of making a huge one-shot that would have taken me another month to finish and edit, I decided to release it in short- and I mean short, as this chapter is not even breaking 2k words- chapters.
Now you really won't listen to my rambling now, so please enjoy the prologue, and don't forget to review if you have any comment!

Disclaimer: Bleach and its characters are all by Kubo Tite. The title "Lost Angels" is from Gackt's song LOST ANGELS- I really enjoy the song of his. Enjoy!

Angels are only a myth.

He - Kurosaki Ichigo - did not believe angels existed. He had never seen one – the description of the angel he always read in books.

The pages were filled with illustrations that showed what angels looked like. Golden locks of hair, fair skin unblemished and flawless, with wings made of feathers from a pure white bird. The angels had radiant halos that hovered above them, the same color as their hair.

Ichigo was able to see spirits of the departed, but he never saw any spirit similar to the drawings of an angel. None of the spirits he met had flawless skin, the curling, long hair, or wore heavenly expressions.

The closest he found the image of the guardians to anyone was his mother.

He remembered how she always smiled at him when he was younger; she made him feel secure with her, happy.

As a young child filled with foolish dreams, he wondered if she became an actual angel after her death.

If she had, wouldn't he be able to see her? Ichigo refused the ridiculous notions of angels ever since her death, never seeing a spirit that could compete to his mother's image or the pictures in paintings.

Until that evening.

---

Angels were not to be seen or interact with living souls.

She - Kuchiki Rukia - was an obedient angel, following all the strict rules placed on each angel. They were ordained everywhere, to remind each one of the forbidden acts an angel should not do.

It was the truth that angels were real.

But, angels were to be kept a secret from the living souls on Earth until they died and came to either the lands of the angels or the fields of the demons.

Only some living souls in humanity met angels during their mortal lives- many drew what they could remember of the angel.

But what they drew of angels were false memories they replaced in the soul's mind. Once a man had seen Rukia and was soon to draw her, not before she altered his memories. Instead of her raven tendrils and large, icy, violet eyes, the man drew Rukia with yellow locks, and small, soft blue irises- not to mention her body was far from that of the large women they drew. It was small and frail, almost like a child's.

Every living soul had a distorted image on what an angel was, from those who draw of the distorted image they gained.

This was another law; having each angel avoid being seen by a special human that could actually sense them, see and interact with them.

If the angel was caught, they could easily alter the man's memory to the place holder image. It was all lies.

But every lie held some truth.

Rukia gasped in pain, keeping her wings frozen in place so no pain would shoot up her spine from any movement. Her hands grasped the grass as her arms trembled.

All the laws were placed to protect angels and living souls, and punishment for breaking the laws was lethal, as breaking any of the laws was severe.

She collapsed onto the cool ground, moaning. Her wings felt like they were being ripped off from her back. Her whole front was down in the damp ground, as she felt the cold seep through all the way to her core.

This was punishment.

Punishment for disobeying the laws set for angels.

Because they knew it always ended like how she was now.

Broken.

She lay on the grass in the mortal world like a broken doll.

She was paying the consequences, writhing in agony in the rain.

Because she disobeyed the first law of the line that was not to be crossed.

Angels must not share feelings with a living soul.

---

Ichigo was walking home that evening.

The skies above were clouded, but you could tell that the sun was just setting over the horizon line. It was past the wet season and close to the summer break from school, yet there were still many storms. His eyes scanned around, as no one was outside on the empty street. He was surprised when he noticed an old shop, looking worn by many years of hardship.

Something was odd about it, seeing the sign mounted on the front.

"Urahara's Shouten…?" He muttered to himself. It was a store, but it looked close with no one inside. He stared up at the building for another moment before backing away, ready to get pack on the trail home. He turned his head and could see behind the store a large hill with a single tree at the peak. It then did he stop in his tracks.

It wasn't the tree that caught Ichigo's attention, but the figure that he could see under it. His eyes widened when he could see a small figure of a person, something large protruding from their back. His feet carried him quietly up the tree, staring as the silhouette became clearer and focused.

One of the first things he noticed was her short hair wasn't a shining gold- instead; his orange hair was a sharp contrast to her midnight locks that fell sharply to her shoulders. One strand fell in her face, but she showed no sign of irritation from her hair.

He stifled a gasp when he saw the wings that lay limp behind her. The bird feathers looked pure white, with the soft curve at the end. His hand reached out, if he could touch the soft wings…

But he froze when the color red attacked his sight. The liquid stained in blotches everywhere on her wings.

Ichigo finally noticed something was wrong with this image of the supposed angel.

Bloody wings, lying dead on the grass.

The white dress she wore was soaked and stained with mud and grass, obvious from the ground she was sitting on.

Her dark eyes that looked captivating were dull, glazed. She didn't even see him right in front of her - if she did, she remained still, not acknowledging his existance.

One trait similar was her skin. Her skin was pale, almost a sickly white. It glowed in the darkening sky, as the sun was probably saying good bye while it disappeared in between the clouds.

But her skin was still smooth, with no scar or freckle.

His heart froze seeing the sight.

This wasn't what an angel was.

This was… a dead being.

But then, angels technically were dead-yet looked wonderfully alive.

She looked busted.

He reached out and touched her arm, and could feel her skin was creamy smooth, but freezing cold.

"H-hey…!" He muttered, hesitant but gently shook her arm. She did not look up at him much to his disappointment. He kneeled there, holding her arm questioningly. He jumped slightly when he heard a voice- it was hers. It didn't sound high like a girl's, but still held the harmony of a woman. It didn't sound like a voice of an angel's, which was described as silk and a harp playing words in books.

"You…can see me?" She questioned, but her face was still pointed forward. Her arm twitched, making him release the skin.

"Of course I can. Why wouldn't I…?" He asked.

She remained silent- it looked like she was mulling over his answer. He stared at the top of her head, waiting in patient silence- but he decided to break it with another question.

"What happened to your wings…? What happened to you?" He asked urgently. He heard a pained gasp, and reached for her arm again, in case she was hurting. "What's wrong?" He asked, feeling the cold skin again under his hand.

"You… must leave at once. If you stay any longer, you could…" Her voice sounded strangled; as she looked up to the foolish boy she was talking to.

Her eyes weren't dull anymore- in fact, he was surprised to see so much life in her eyes so quickly- if only her eyes weren't lit by anxiousness and worry. He stared at her dumbly, taken aback for a moment before retorting.

"What do you mean 'leave'? I can't just leave you like this..!" He argued. He stared at her defiantly. She looked almost dumbfounded as she stared back at him, but her face was composed once again, looking indifferent.

"What do you think you're doing, trying to save someone? When you see some pathetic creature, you take pity on it and act humble? You have no business if I'm in pain or not- and I'm not. I'm fine." She lashed. Ichigo stood up, shocked at her outburst, speechless. Her voice was suddenly loud, yet icy. It sounded hard, more like a trumpet than a harp. He didn't know how to answer her assumption on him.

"-But I still want to know why you're lying here with dead weight on your back!" He replied in sharp voice, looking pointedly at the wings. She looked away, a pained expression washed over her face.

"This is just what the wings on an angel looks like…" she paused before adding, "Usually without the blood, of course. This is old blood anyway, I'm perfectly fine." She said.

"…Why is there even blood on your wings?" He asked.

"It's nothing of concern to you." She told him once more, icily. Ichigo glared at the defiant figure, but then noticed the rising moon behind him. It was a full moon tonight, he noted for no reason.

"Whatever then- I have to go." He retorted, annoyed at her rude behavior. Still, he was reluctant to stand up from the ground next to her. When had he sit down next to her? He turned and started walking, but stopped. She turned her head and looked at his still figure, wondering why he was still there.

"…Are you really an angel?" He asked out loud, not turning back to her. Even he could hear the his hesitance and disbelief, asking such a question.

"… That is one term you could call." It was all she said. He took her answer with no objections and started walking away.

He remembered all the stories his mother read to him about angels, and the textbooks he read about them. The same definition of angel in each one of them.

She wasn't the textbook definition- she was the exact opposite. She was not humble, as far as he could tell. She was not some well-endowed woman with long, radiant hair. Her voice wasn't soft like a harp. Her attire of blood-stained wings and a dirty dress screamed of some sort of devil in disguise, or an angel that fell into mud.

But despite the appearance, she held an air of independence; almost to the point of ignorance- she had a small body of a girl his age or even younger, yet the maturity of a woman decades old with experience. Along with her shadow hair, her voice was loud and blunt- he didn't doubt it could be silky, though.

Despite how everything seemed to yell that she was some hideous creature, how she was nothing like his mother-

He, Kurosaki Ichigo, met an angel.

Angels were real.

A/N: That is all for the prologue, I'm sorry! I wrote this so strangely it was hard to find a good place to stop except here, despite being so short. This fanfic is somewhat of experimental, a little something different from what I write. Please, please, please leave me a review. If you're actually interested, fear not as all I have to do for the next chapter is edit it for mistakes, and it won't take long to publish.