A/N: Just a random drabble. It might bore some of you guys, since I'm just mostly describing facts that have already been said. I realize my style of writing is kinda slow, there's nothing I can do about it. Enjoy the fic :)
Disclaimer: Not mine.
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The moon. It's round, a ghostly, paper white. It doesn't look more any more substantial either. Hanging in that canvas of black, stretching from the line of the horizon to eternity. It casts a phantom glow, melding the shadows of the dunes that stretch on. The moon, it's perfect. Whole. Alone in that vast plain of the sky. Its soft candescence is beautiful. Still, all at once it is both flawless and so much more grotesque than imaginable. Its perfection is a mar.
He'd spend long minutes, hours, eternities gazing at the unchanging scenery. It's preferable to looking at that copy of the human realm's sky.
That which resembled a coat of paint, flaking off of the truth. Poorly applied glaze, chipping at the sides.
That superficial mask.
They are the Espada. The maskless ones. Still, he thinks that now, their masks are all the thicker for being removed.
He knows, as do they all.
.
Time has no significance for him.
The days, weeks, hours, minutes, years, seconds, they are all meshed together in the never-ending blur of existence.
It's empty. Cold. So, so hollow.
Almost like the void.
And that is his existence.
The terrible emptiness, of being alone.
Alone.
Once, once upon a time.
That was when he had not been alone. But slowly, ever so quickly, they had drifted off. Dispersed.
Left him behind.
Or was it he who passed them?
He can no longer remember.
And then. That was what had become of his world.
Loneliness.
It defines his existence.
His world. All of it. The fragments do not fall apart.
Sometimes he wishes they would.
Only, only. So that this never ending ache, the desire, the greed would stop.
If only for a little while.
He walks.
Keeps on walking, moving his feet. Across the sucking, rolling desert.
A white plain. It does not end, no matter which direction he goes.
This journey. It helps to fill the void.
Still, it is only a temporary replacement. For what he feels oh so keenly that should be there.
What he misses. What he supposes.
He's never had in the first place.
Moving, moving, moving on. It stifles the emptiness. Though really, he hasn't moved at all.
The hunger, it eats away at him.
Wearing on.
This is his eternity.
And when finally, he stops (his position has never changed in the first place), and falls.
He falls, and feels nothing.
Nothing albeit that eternal emptiness.
Finally. Finally.
It still isn't the end. There is no end for him.
Finally. Finally.
When he feels that the silence will tear him apart at last.
Something changes.
His world shifts, if only a little. He is no longer him. He is two.
Two for one.
Two for the one who could not bear his solitude.
From then on. They are no longer one. For they are two.
The one who could not stand to be alone.
The one who tore his own soul into two.
And they continue on the path.
Only it is no path at all.
Their (yes, they) journey continues. As not one, but two.
To pay such a price for companionship.
Still, compared to the loneliness, it is no price at all.
Though not much has changed.
Inside of him, he can still feel that flicker of difference.
.
When he first came. He who shone like the moon itself.
He, with his army of demons.
He who was not bound by the chains of fear. The chains of humanity, or mortality.
He with the eyes. Eyes that could look into your soul.
He offered companionship. Not friendship. Merely the ties that would bind.
And they accepted.
For beggars cannot be choosers.
Anything, anything at all. Chains to bind, unphysical bonds. An anchor against the unceasing winds of time. A bulwark against the wave of emptiness, threatening to crash down and sweep away that castle in the sand.
Though it is not a castle, even if the architecture looks like one.
It's a tower.
A tower that has build up, even as their footprints fade. And they, they sit atop that tower.
Where the wind blows, and there is nothing.
That man.
He with the fearless eyes.
Offered a ladder from that tower, with hands coated in guile. And they.
They took the ribbon, instead of throwing it away.
It is not a gift. No. It is an exchange. A deal. A promise, of sorts.
Desire is the ultimate conqueror.
None can escape its clutches.
And that holds true for them as well.
All of them.
They are not friends. Nor companions. You would not even be able to call them true allies.
Still, they are together.
And that is what he promised.
A promise that had been kept. However unstably, however precariously.
That one promise is branded into their skin.
.
Starrk does not sleep for the fun of it.
He does not sleep because he is tired.
He sleeps to fill up the void.
So that he does not need to think, does not need to ponder. Only sink into the dreamless, thoughtless depths.
There are so many complications. Sleep is but an escape.
To an oblivion of unawareness.
But it would be far too convenient if only this was so.
She.
She will always wake him up. Drag him back into the reality he is trying so hard not to face.
It is for her own selfish reasons.
He knows.
She who fears and hates in equal measure, he who always attempts to escape on his own.
She who would not let him leave her behind.
He who dreads that she is not there to jerk him back.
Neither of them will speak.
She has always known.
Known the reasons.
As she should, because they too are the same. However much they do not look it, do not seem it, they are two whom are one.
Two formed from a single desire.
Lilynette and he. They tie each other down.
So it had been.
It is.
And will always be.
For what eternity they have.
Until that moment.
.
Both him and her.
They fought out of greed. Out of selfishness. When all along it is simple longing.
For the sake of that promise. For the sake of that pact. They will fight. Their enemies manifest in the form of loneliness.
Though the shinigami know it not.
That is what they are.
He does not enjoy fighting. He has long become used to the feel of blood on his hands. He can remember, when he would still feel a tinge of regret. However, that time has passed.
Yet again, they fight. For ideals not their own, for their pact.
The reason they fight does not matter. The only thing of significance is the outcome of the battle.
They do not fear death.
They have never feared death.
There is but one thing that can make them feel truly hollow.
.
On they fight.
Fight a losing battle.
Still, there is nothing else they can do.
And when they fall (for they do fall).
When they fall.
There is nothing.
Yet at the same time.
There is their world.
.
He who made the pact.
He who looked and spoke with fearless eyes.
He who shone as brightly as the eternal moon set in a starless sky.
And they know.
He knows.
They always have.
Promises were never meant to be kept.
And as they fall.
Together, for that is what they will always be.
There is a feeling. Unreadable, hard to pinpoint.
Maybe, maybe.
As they fall under a shinigami's sword.
There is the sweet, sweet feeling of true oblivion.
Finally, after so, so long.
Finally.
They can rest.
The emptiness.
It's no longer there.
Kinda angsty. But I guess I gave them (Starrk and Lilynette, for those of you who haven't guessed it. And I don't think that you've actually read this fic through or can claim to know Bleach if this note surprised ya.) a sort-of happy ending.
Please review (though ya don't have to).