A/N: Wow :D Thank you so much for liking the first chapter. I'm really glad it seemed to be well-received despite my misgivings. Thank you very much to those who've reviewed/subscribed/favourited. I really appreciate your thoughtful comments. Although I can't promise that the updates would be quick, I still hope you'll also enjoy this chapter :)

Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to its respective owners.

Revision notes: The full unedited and uncensored version of this chapter can be found at the-tower-room dot livejournal dot com (no spaces and replace "dot" with period; there's also a link to it in my profile since I can't put a link here :/ ).

Chapter 2: White


"This," intoned her brother Sora in a gentle voice as he pointed to a white figure in the book before him, "Orihime, is the God of Death."

"Death?" asked she, voice low and frightened as she stared at the long fall of bone-white hair, the milky skin and clothing almost indistinguishable from the other in their starkness. The horns and the black mask were the ones that scared her the most, as golden eyes―the only splash of colour on the black and white page―peered at them through the slit of its mask.

Sora smiled ruefully. "There is nothing to fear, for the Death God, despite his name, is a god who protects. He is also the God of the Moon. One day, when heavy clouds covered the sky and the sun, and darkness came upon the world, he carved away a part of his chest and stuck it up in the sky so that the night would not be entirely dark. When you see the full moon, you see a part of his heart, and there's nothing for us to fear in the night."

"But what about the times when there's no moon?" inquired she, curiosity overtaking her fear.

"Ah, those..." He took a deep breath before continuing. "On those nights, the God of Death also makes a sacrifice, a tithe he must pay to the God of Night. One day, the God of Night was angered because the moon shone more brightly than the stars and he thought that the balance of the world between the living and the dead had been broken when the Death God seemed more content to be the Moon God. The God of the Night demanded that for one night every month, the God of the Moon, the Death God, must not show himself up in the sky, and on that night he must perform only his rites and duties as the God of Death. So every new moon, the Death God takes a different form."

He turned the page over. On the sheet was the image of a figure in black: long ebony hair flowed behind it, and its torso all the way up to just beneath its eyes were covered in bandages. This one seemed as equally menacing and unsettling to Orihime. She flipped the pages back and forth, examining both. Though human in figure, there could be no doubt that it was far from human. If indeed it placed its heart in the sky, what then was left of it? How could it bear to live without a heart? She sidled closer to her brother for warmth as an unknown chill sent a shiver down her spine.

"It's alright, Orihime," said Sora as he put his arm around her. "The Death God is..."


Orihime awoke stiff and sore in places she'd never paid attention to before. She sat up with a groan, the blanket over her falling away to reveal her bare breasts. Gasping, she reached to clutch the cloth back over her as she surveyed her surroundings. The room, though white, was ornate and opulent, a motif in ivory and pearl apparent in the matching furnishings.

Here she was at the house of the God of Death, here to be his bride. It all seemed almost unreal. Though everyone knew it―he―existed, everyone worshiped him in their own way, and to have been able to actually encounter him face to face and experience what she had gone through at his hands...somehow made him seem almost human. Working as she did tending to cattle, and being almost witness to several trysts between lovers back in the village of Karakura, she was no stranger to what went on between a man and a woman. So when she was chosen, there had been talk amongst the elderly women of a wife's duties as a way to prepare her. They figured that the Death God, being in the form of a man, must have some urges (he must, mustn't he? It only stands to reason, having a form like that...right?), and well, they were sure he could find some use for a bride...somehow. And here, the village's ladies stopped to ponder: What do gods really do anyway?

Answer our prayers, pointed out another, and they all hushed and looked over their shoulders as though expecting an immediate reprimand from the god in question. Perhaps a sudden storm of fire and brimstone or a worsening of the plague.

She wrapped the blanket tighter around her as her body was overcome with a sudden chill, the silence broken only by her stomach's grumble.

At this, she was reminded that she hadn't had any meals at all yesterday. What she had perceived as a death sentence when she had been chosen as the sacrifice perished all thought of worldly needs from her mind, despite what the elderly women chattered about. After all, what else would greet her in becoming the bride of the Death God save for death itself? What could a mere human do for a god? The sacrifice entailed that she must give up her life for the survival of her village, so what would have been the use of savouring a meal? And with the way her stomach flip-flopped around yesterday, she doubted that she would've been able to keep what she was eating. But now, though still faced with uncertainty, she seemed to have been kept alive.

She bit her lip, surprised to find them swollen, and she made to move to get off the bed. She groaned at the pain between her legs, blushing furiously as she remembered what caused it. Orihime peeked under the blanket. Part of her wanted to convince herself it was all a dream, but her body stated otherwise. The marks on her legs, hips, and breasts; the tenderness of each limb and the stickiness she could feel between her thighs were all testament to the consummation of her marriage.

With a sigh, she finally managed to slide off to the side of the bed, still clinging to the blanket. Splashes of colour played at the corner of her eye. On the bed were the shredded remnants of her wedding garment, and she felt regret over the fact that the village's entire finery now lay in tatters. Worry filled her at the sight. Did she not please the god? Was that the reason she was now alone? Tears sprung in her eyes as she prayed that she did well in her duty and that Karakura could be saved. She mustn't let herself think that their sacrifices had been in vain.

Her bare feet touched the cold floor, and she gasped, toes curling from the impact. To her left, right beside a changing screen, was a door. As Orihime gingerly walked toward it, she could only hope that it contained clothes as she now had nothing to wear, and she refused to meet the god again (or anyone else, for that matter, for surely there ought to be servants and the like in a god's house, right?) garbed only in a blanket.

She was correct in her presumption as inside were various clothing in silken fabrics and rich colours she had never dared to imagine ever applying to her. She felt humbled at the sight, and she shrunk back. Even if she was now the bride of the Death God, at heart she was a peasant, and such things were beyond her. The villagers' offering as her wedding attire had not even come close to the luxury displayed before her.

But the alternative was not at all pleasant either as she eyed the sheet wrapped around her. Maybe she could find the simplest one? She hoped such a thing were possible as she peered back into the closet.

And she hoped that she could find it fast as her stomach made another protest at its continued emptiness.

As she reached inside, Orihime realized that she couldn't very well dress herself in her current state. What would the Death God think of her if he saw her dressed in splendour and yet with both their essences still sticking to her? She coloured, feeling humiliated at the thought. Before everything else, she must cleanse herself. Hurriedly, she jogged away from the closet, hoping that the next door would have what she sought. An open archway adjacent to the room she'd just vacated revealed her wish, but it wasn't entirely empty.

A white marble basin on a raised dais graced one wall, and embedded on the floor was a matching pool upon which sat her missing bridegroom. Were it not for the golden eyes, the black tattoos, and the gaping hole in his chest through which she spied the long fall of his white hair, she would have mistaken him as part of the scenery, he blended in so well.

She halted, embarrassed and shy at barging in during his bath. Orihime lowered her head, muttering apologies and peering at him under her eyelashes even as she slowly retraced her steps backwards. Somehow he was back to the form that first greeted her, but this time unclothed and unmasked.

Devoid of the bright orange hair, he seemed like an entirely different person.

She bit her lip, bowing low in supplication, but something about his demeanour stopped her tracks. She felt a pull, as though she was magnetized, her eyes slowly rising up to meet his gaze. That was dangerous. Alarm bells rang through her head. A long blue tongue snaked out to lick his lips as he looked upon her with a leer as though she was a sumptuous feast, and he held out a pale hand to her.

Nervously, and with shuddering breaths, she stepped into the water, keeping a tight hold on the blanket with one hand while taking his proffered hand with the other. She fervently hoped that he didn't mind her getting his bed linen wet, but under the circumstances she didn't want to feel anymore exposed than she was already feeling. But that last shred of covering was all for naught as he quickly ripped it off of her and gathered her against him so that she sat straddling him, his lips swiftly descending on hers.

The clawed hand entangled in her auburn hair wouldn't allow her to pull away, and she knew better than to reject his advances. His tongue licked at her closed lips, seeking entrance, and she complied with a moan. She shyly stroked her tongue against his, hearing his growl of satisfaction.

As though knowing how quickly Orihime would flee from him when given the chance, the Death God kept his arms tight around her, stroking her hair and whispering soothing nothings in her ear. Befuddlement swirled in her mind; maybe it was because he was a god that he was beyond her comprehension.

As her throbbing heart started to calm, her stomach issued a loud growl, and he chuckled, the reverberations tickling her.

He sighed, and he assisted her from the pool as he saw how weak she seemed. Knees knocking together, it took all she had to be able to stand unsupported as he fetched a towel and started wiping her.

Releasing an annoyed growl, an odd echo resounded in voice as he spoke, making it sound high and manic. "I'd rather keep you to myself but I guess it can't be helped." A mischievous smile played at the corner of his lips. "Come. I've been remiss of my husbandly duties in not feeding you first."


Thanks for reading :)
Jan/2011; revised 2012