"Impressive. You're even better than the rumours suggest."

The soft words echo across the courtyard- the child is turned sideways to him, hair glinting in the moonlight. The spots of red splattering his face are a stark contrast with the unearthly white skin.

Beautiful, Aizen muses, and thinks that it is almost as if the pale strands are threads of spun silver, luminescent.

"Perhaps... I could hear your name one more time."

The entreaty is made with perhaps a little curiousity, even though the files on the prodigy are already in his office, still open on his desk.

The boy turns to face him, and the red blood that drips down his hair onto his cheek has a certain poetic reflection to its image.

"Gin." Crimson trickles down the naginta, falling in perfect teardrops onto the grass. "Ichimaru Gin."

Aizen's lips curve into a smile.