The year was a bloody and merciless year, as a storm-cloud spread fear and anguish across the land of Japan. Viruses descended from the deepest pits of Hell, as God merely watched, judging his prisoners in their earthly cages. Those who were rich tried desperately to hold on to what little strength they had, judging the inferior creatures, the dust at their feet, taking every possession they had for granted, as they let the malice of wealth guide their paths, like a desolate candle through a dark alley.
Those who were poor barely lived. Barely breathed. Barely existed. All they had was a daily glimpse of the life they could have, if only the right blood pulsed through their puny veins. If only the right heritage pumped their hearts. To the poor, the rich held content, purified lives, whilst they, the urchins of their motherland, remained on the cold, desolate streets, with not a word or breath escaping their frozen lips. They dared not speak out. They dared not show their presence on the unruly soil beneath their bare feet.
It was times like this that Lady Orihime Inoue blazed a beacon of hope to the poorer generations, in her achievements of the power she gained. The once lowly, brittle child descended from the darkness, clutching hold of the thinnest thread held out in front of her. She didn't hold back. She didn't hesitate or show fear. She merely climbed, her cold hands grasping her escape with great pleasure; the thread slit deep into her hands, wounding, burning, and scarring her. She merely held her head high, escaping the pits of the underworld. The lowly, brittle child was now a rich woman, in fine feather. She had once been the daughter of Miko Obutsu, the filth of the land, the prostitute roaming the streets, with her soiled clothes, and her fan clutched in her hand, her slick hair plastered back into a simply commiserable attempt of feigning her imaginary wealth.
Her father, Hitoshi Obutsu, was anything but what his name implied. Hitoshi described his nature as even-tempered, well-mannered, a man of his motherland; albeit, it was a common fact amongst the citizens of Karakura that this man was a menial fraud, intoxicated with drunken memories, his conscience slurred as he lashed out at anyone who came close to him. Whether it be his own flesh and blood, he simply didn't care. Hitoshi Obutsu's name simply blared out his reputation: he was a thief, a murderer, an inebriant; a simple criminal, wasting away in the world, drowning himself and others around him in the alcohol he consumed, each drop representing an ocean of his poisonous influence.
Her brother was the lone star burning through her darkened life, the lone flame giving her warmth, and the means to survive another futile day. His name was Sora Obutsu, the only father figure in her life, even to this day. Whenever their mother was absent, "working", or their father finding a new toy to shred apart with his fists, this man cherished for her, ensuring she gained her daily nutrition, placing her needs miles before his. The selflessness of his soul instantly lit up the room, his sacrifices making her achievements possible. Orihime gulped, as she felt the guilt rise in her throat, as she reminisced the day of his death, the demise no soul as flawless as his should ever have had the curse of experiencing.
Orihime lay upright in her bed, her white cotton gown clad with sweat, as her breathing became harsh. Her nightmares had once again consumed her dreams, a bloody battle hosted within her mind, the two consciences fighting for victory of dominance. The candle placed at her bedside flickered amber light through the luxuriant room; her sleeping chambers was in the shape of a box, with long, thin walls, a low ceiling, with a chandelier hosted in the centre. A burning fireplace was placed opposite her bed, the logs in-tact, yet not burning. The cinders and ashes flickered softly, settling through the air, as she noticed her French doors left ajar. A cold breeze penetrated the air, as shivers hit her spine with a sharp blow. Something seemed off. A strange presence stabbed the atmosphere, shattering the serene environment, blasting shards echoing throughout the room.
She pouted, crossing her arms over her unusually ample chest, the fabric of her sleeping gown stretching uncomfortably, as she shook her head, eliminating any traces of paranoia from her mind. She pushed the silken covers back, revealing her smooth legs, as she turned her body partially, twisting her legs over the edge of the bed, slipping her feet into the slippers located on the rug. A sly smile swept across her lips, as her hands clutched on to the lantern, sliding the French doors shut, before scanning the room. Once satisfied, she crept over to her large mahogany door, careful not to stand on any floorboards in her path. Her hands hesitated, as her moist palms clutched on to the brass door knob, turning it, and creaking the door open. She scanned the corridor before her, hoping her Aunt was fast asleep, and that no servants were roaming the house at the ungodly hour.
Her gaze fell upon a Grandfather clock ticking almost silently in a corner, reading the time displayed. The time was eleven, not too late at night, but she hoped it would be late enough. Her plan was simple. She would lurk in the shadows of the enlarged corridor, and navigate herself towards her cherished environment: her secret personal library. Her hands held on tightly to the lantern in her hold, as she began stalking the walls, her eyes scanning the darkness skilfully. Her library was her home. Her brother had taught her how to read as a child, and ever since, reading had become her passion. She adored the mythical creatures, dancing and exploring, engaging on unthinkable adventures. She became enchanted by the dreams that filled her mind after reading the witty novels, certain that her nightmares would soon fade away under the influence of her favourite stories. Her dream in life was to become a writer someday, and become a strong, independent, educated woman, sharing her stories and life happenings to the world. But of course, these were mere aspirations. Her Aunt would never allow her to leave her household without first marrying into a respectable family. She would never allow her to chase such an unfeminine life.
Orihime scowled at her Aunt's prejudiced views. It was her life, so surely it would be her decision. Her body froze, as she snapped out of her trance, realizing she was stood outside of the library already. The intricate door contained vined designs, varnished over, giving a shimmering glossy effect under the reflection of the lantern's flame. The amber glaze gleamed softly in her gray tinted iris, the sense of defiance transpiring from the heart of her soul. The demonic eyes traced her movements, as he stalked the maiden, obscuring his figure in the darkness. She felt shivers trace the back of her neck, as her auburn hair brushed aside, a freak wind blowing softly as she opened the library door. She forcefully swallowed her fears, gulping as she slid inside her haven, sliding the door shut, locking the demon in the corridor, a grin plastered across his ashen face.
She held her lantern in one hand, her other hand picking up the skirt of her gown daintily, as she stepped over the floorboards stealthily. She heard a distorted laugh echo throughout the room, as her body pivoted, her breaths becoming shallow as her hand shook, scanning her surroundings with the beamed path of the lantern. She kicked herself mentally, as she peered over, finding an open window in the far end of the library, continuing her expedition towards her favourite book section. She turned around a corner, muffling her screams with her hand, as she walked into a figure positioned in her path. She edged backwards, her eyes wild with panic. She lifted the lantern, revealing her Aunt's bitter expression, as she ducked her head, ashamed.
"Inoue, just what do you think you are doing out of bed?" Her Aunt stood clad in her crimson dress, the skirt and sleeves puffed out, with a lantern of her own in her hand. Her hair stood tamed up into a fierce bun, her copper coloured hair blazing as it clashed with her porcelain skin beauty. Her stern eyes remained narrowed, the hazel tint darkened under the current environment, the flaring lantern giving her face an unearthly glow. Orihime shied away from the woman ablaze, as she held her gaze on the carpeted ground, muttering her answer under her breath.
"Oba-san… I'm terribly sorry, I was having nightmares." The woman glowered at her young niece's insolence, scolding her with her harsh demeanour.
"Now, does that explain your vacancy from your chambers?"
"No, Oba-san. I wanted to read something to help me sleep."
"Return to your chambers, *Kodomo; this instant." Orihime nodded glumly, her body turning of its own will, as she mindlessly dawdled back to her room, shivering at the glacial ambience shrouding her with a turmoil nature, slamming her door shut, depositing the lantern to her cabinet. She spat a curse under her breath, muttering profanity towards her mercenary of a guardian. She retired, allowing her body to collapse against the bed, removing her footwear in the process. She lay, squinting her focus at the low magnolia-tinted ceiling. She bit her lip softly; her mind became lost in thought, hoping her distraction would limit the nightmares to haunt her for the rest of the night. Her eyes flickered shut, as she hoped to drift away into a state of reverie.
Her ersatz surroundings became briskly demolished, as her serene thoughts fractured under the abnormal pressure shrouding her. She sensed a presence of evil, malevolence lacing the air, as her heart stalled, floorboards creaking outside her door. Her anxious whimpers resound, as she held back her breathing, hoping the presence would leave. Her hand clasped hold of her lantern, holding it high, to improve her eyes still adjusting to the darkness. A figure shifted, as Orihime swallowed her gasps, her eyes locked on to a sound of husky breathing resonating from within her room. The same laughing as before resounded throughout the room, her breath becoming trapped in her throat, as a granite hold grasped tightly around her neck.
The creature came into view, as her eyes squinted, certain she was dreaming again from what she saw. He had the body of a man, albeit unearthly muscular. His hair was built of the finest flames, blazing a liquid orange, as the heat overwhelmed her body. His lifeless skin gleamed a shade of ivory, his slitted eyes demonic and distorted in colour. His sclera flickered black, burning like a thousand onyx shades, dull and glazed with a maniacal aura. The berserk creature grinned psychotically, as his stone hand tightened its grip around her neck, listening intently for the blunt, sharp snapping of the frail bones. His lunatic nature chilled her to her heart, her lashes fanned out, casting shadows over her cheeks, as she blushed, snapping her eyes shut as she prayed for salvation. Pain coursed through her veins in a coarse manner, the mercilessness in his eyes striking as he panted, perplexed as to why her demise was delayed.
She began to feel her body become weightless, sinking into the cold embrace of the harsh, Arctic seas, her nerves rupturing under the frozen nature crushing her into a state of defeat. Her speechless lips parted, her breathless lungs begging for Oxygen to flow through her veins. Her silent whispers entered his mind, as he groaned, tearing his hand away with frustration. Orihime convulsed under his pressure, studying the assailant before her. The slick strands of hair fell down over his shoulders, cascading as it reached the small of his back. The environment around him clashed a mix of fire and ice, both elements unaffected by the other's presence. The ice did not melt from the fire, nor did the fire cool from the ice. Orihime lay upright, her mind disorientated from the events.
"Am I dreaming?" Her hoarse voice whispered, as her silver eyes traced his pacing movements. His eyes flashed over to hers, emitting a thousand emotions, constructed of pure hatred and venom, all in a single look. His black lips became thin, as his grin plastered over his face, his expressions screaming a soundless No.
"I must be dreaming… I am not going mad, I feel it… Am I in Hell?" She gained the same response, a simple thought transmitted into her head, screaming No. "Shiro-san…" Her sobs filled the room, her confusion leaking from her very soul. "You were trying to kill me." The voice in her head changed his answer for the first time, as the word Yes echoed throughout her mind. "Why?" The creature before her merely scoffed at her naïve question, turning his back, his hand clenched into an odd shape. Orihime's brows creased together, as she opened her mouth to question his actions. Within seconds, she received her answer, swallowing her screams as she saw her door open, her Aunt stepping in.
"Kodomo, I ordered you to sl-" Her voice became strained and feeble, as the demon's hand pierced her torso, leaving a hollow hole adorned with fresh, scarlet blood, as he retracted his hand from his impalement. Orihime's screams became lodged in her throat, as her aghast gaze watched her Aunt sink to the floor, her blood the same shade as her crusted locks. Her gaze averted to the demon, her face wild with fear, her lips trembling at the sight. The demon merely smirked, taking his blood-soaked hand, smearing a trail of crimson liquid across his face, applying the blood across his cheeks as a soldier might his camouflaged mask. His lips became stained in the liquid, as her gaze couldn't leave his for a moment. He flitted towards her, his blood-stained hand pushing her back against the bed with a harsh nudge.
For the first time in that commiserable night, he spoke words untranslatable by the young maiden.
"Nemuru… ima." Her eyes grew wide, as she felt her heart slowly stop, her body overwhelming with a numb feeling. The last vision she had on the world was the sight of the demon's malicious smirk chanting an inaudible curse, sending her into a deep state of bliss.
