Thank you for the reviews and follows. As an FYI, I don't have an N key on my laptop. It's safe to say if I miss a typo it's due to that missing letter. :P

"Destroy everything you touch today
Destroy me this way
Anything that may desert you
So it cannot hurt you"

Long before the Kurosaki family came to life in the morning, Orihime was up preparing the house for breakfast while getting ready for a day of work. In the bedroom, Rangiku had a foot flat against Orihime's back with a handful of corset ribbons in her palm. After a count of three, she pulled back on the ribbons like reins on a horse, and Orihime pushed against the sole of Rangiku's foot to keep from falling backwards. Her spine came to a right angle, perpendicular to the wooden floor of the bedroom. They both grunted in a breath, Rangiku receiving more oxygen in a single breath than Orihime could gain in three.

Rangiku tossed Orihime a satin robe. It was an elegant Eastern pattern with gold stitching and a gold tie to keep it closed. Instantly, the pattern caused an associate to come to mind. Orihime remembered Uryu's stating he was from the East and she wondered what he might think of such a pattern. It was difficult to think of him feeling affection toward his past. He seemed to only speak to it as though he were telling the history of a stranger.

"Throw on a dressing robe and let's check on breakfast. We'll finish dressing you after we eat. Also, Tatsuki should be here any minute to take the girls," Rangiku instructed.

Orihime nodded in response. Rangiku covered her nightgown with a robe as well. It seemed there was an outfit for every occasion in this world. She went to bed in a pair of informal pajamas, but there was such an attire as formal pajamas, less sophisticated and alluring than lingerie, but more acceptable than a cotton dress. Formal pajamas were for when Orihime was to stay at someone else's abode for an evening. As if she had any friends to visit. Orihime trailed behind her instructor dutifully and made mental notes as Rangiku rattled on with the day's agenda.

She finally had time to absorb the intricacies of her new living quarters. Each room had a beautiful and unique theme and the hallways seemed to tell a story that connected everything. Orihime saw portraits of the predecessor Kurosaki's as well as paintings of the current residing family. There were no pictures on the walls of the orphanage and the windows were too high for her to see out.

Rangiku ran her fingers of the edge of a painted and tsk-ed. "We'll have to see to it that they dust more thoroughly this morning," she mentioned.

Against the pewter frames of the pictures, Orihime could hardly notice any dust. "Who is we?"

"The servant staff, of course. You didn't think I meant us, did you?"

"I apologize. I've only ever done my own chores."

Rangiku tsk-ed a few times more and smirked. "It would be physically impossible for me to clean this entire house in detail every day. An entire staff is required. Their quarters are across the yard. I am in charge of them, that is my job. You are here to learn and assist. I may ask you to help here and there, but your job with Mr. Ishida requires enough labor to keep you a good house hand." Rangiku pivoted on her slippers to make her way toward the kitchen.

Again, Orihime's mind raced in observance of the blaring differences between her past and present life. The notion that one could have had enough work made her pity the slave life she used to have. Some occasions, Orihime would go an entire day without having a break from her labor. Other times, she would volunteer to take chores away from the younger girls so that they wouldn't have to spend all day inside cleaning when the day was nice. But today, here she was being asked not to work so she could focus on more important things. Madame Yoruichi would have doubled her work load if Orihime even began to mention that there was something more important than her chores.

Rangiku could hear a familiar sniffling coming from behind her, but she didn't turn around. "Orihime, if I turn around and find that you are crying, I will strike you."

Orihime fought to pull in a breath against the tight embrace of her corset. Her face felt like it had been next to a fire all morning. After having been in a place like the orphanage, she couldn't believe that a fairy tale life such as this could exist. The emotions swirled around her head like a flock of doves. "I apologize again, Rangiku. I am just…ever so grateful."

"Tears are not allowed. You will find that there are some things worth crying over…happiness is not one of them. Trust me, the less you cry over blessings, the more sympathetic people will be when you cry over something truly painful." How Rangiku could take something so joyous and find a way to perverse it and manipulate it, Orihime could not comprehend. She thought momentarily of her employer. Uryu seemed like the kind of man that respected a rule against crying.

Breakfast was almost impossible to digest with her stomach confined beneath her corset and dress. It seemed that the suffocating feeling would never become second nature to her. Though Rangiku and Orihime were not servants, they still did not dine with Kurosaki's. They oversaw that breakfast was served properly. They saw to it that the daughters had their school outfits laid out neatly in their changing room and that Ichigo's bedding was fluffed and straightened. Once the house was prepared to start the day, the servants could meet for breakfast in the kitchen. The servants of the Kurosaki household ate better than any orphan Orihime had ever met.

Orihime had a chance to meet a few of the servants, as well as the cook, Sado Chad. He reminded her of a sweet hunting dog: broad, strong, but engaging in the company of others with messy hair falling in his eyes. He spoke only a few words with his deep and low tone, but Orihime could sense a loveable charm to his personality.

Rangiku checked the time against the cuckoo clock above the stove. "Hmm…Tatsuki had better not be late. Tardiness is not on the agenda today."

"Maybe the carriage came late for her this morning," Chad offered.

"He said, blushing." Rangiku flashed her winning grin again. "So defensive of our tomboy tutor." Instead of coming back with a retort, Chad put his head down and started clearing some dishes. "You see this, Orihime, the man of so few words says so much in just a slight change in skin tone."

"Who is Tatsuki, Chad?" Orihime asked.

Chad mumbled something inaudibly.

"Tatsuki is Yuzu and Karin's personal tutor. She takes them to class and then they do studies together after. It's imperative so that the girls can attend a good university." Rangiku jabbed Chad in the abdomen with her index finger. "She's also very pretty and endearing. I mean, Chad seems to think so."

Orihime wanted to laugh but Chad seemed so uncomfortable with Rangiku's jokes that she had to reserve her giggling to keep from making the situation any tenser.

Boys…how had their presence ever enter her tiny world? The way Rangiku carried on about impressing men, the way Chad blushed at the mention of a girl's name, even the way Isshin lightheartedly complimented her…Madame Yoruichi made it known that all men were terrors that only wanted one thing. Yet, each day she met another new friend. The only person that seemed to be void of charm was Mr. Ishida, and even so, she believed that beneath his professional demeanor was wonderful history full of colorful stories of a foreign land.

"Good morning, everyone!" a chipper voice greeted from the doorway.

Tatsuki was nothing like Rangiku or herself. She was much more narrow and tall. She could have been Karin's older sister with her short black hair and athletic build. Orihime needed a contraption that almost asphyxiated her to stay as upright with as great of posture as Tatsuki did. Her whole character exuded a confidence, a different confidence than Rangiku's, one that Orihime could relate to.

"Chad! Look, it's Tatsuki!" Rangiku yelled. He mumbled again.

Tatsuki shrugged. "Good morning, Chad."

"Their own secret language, I swear. Anyways, Tatsuki, this is my new pupil, Orihime. She's working for Uryu Ishida while she stays here with me."

After shaking Orihime's hand, Tatsuki joked, "No wonder she looks so uptight, Uryu's got her stomach taped up tight in one of those silly devices so she can fit in his stupid dresses."

Orihime felt kindred enough to share in the jest at her expense. "It's true. I can barely breathe."

"And I'm sure that Rangiku and your new boss have you believing that breathing isn't required of a lady."

"That's true," Rangiku agreed.

"Breathing, eating, reading, and all other such nonsense can wait until your husband is dead, isn't that how it works?"

Rangiku gave Orihime push towards the door. "Don't listen to her. Some women earn their stripes in the eyes of society through being the prettiest and wittiest, and other women are just bitter and think their intelligence will keep their bed warm." Orihime couldn't sense any malice in any of their pointed remarks. The women seemed to be in best spirits when making fun of one another. "Besides, I'm going to teach you all the things you couldn't learn in one of Tatsuki's encyclopedias."

Before Orihime left the shop the day before, Uryu had given her a key. She thought of all the jealous women that would murder to have that key. Then she thought of how fun it was having women jealous of her for once in her life. Then, a little at a time, she wanted nothing more to have Yachiru saddled alongside her on her cot listening to her talk about her new job and new life. She was a foreigner, a stranger, alone in the world of aristocrats and debutants.

Tears are not allowed. You will find that there are some things worth crying over…happiness is not one of them.

The ringing of Rangiku's estranged advice echoed until her nostalgia dissipated and she was in the present again.

Orihime locked the door behind her and brought up the lamps. Uryu would be expecting the parlor to be dusted and polished with a light breakfast waiting for him in his dining area. He said tea and toast would be fine. Orihime usually awoke with a growling and consuming hunger. Even after years living on barely enough food to sustain her, hunger was not something she enjoyed nor had she gotten numb to the pain. If she had any intentions of surprising him with something larger on her first day, they were quickly dismissed after she realized that the only things in his cupboards were teas and breads.

Nothing was personal in his kitchen. Even Orihime, with all of her naiveté, had a favorite tea: green with honey. Uryu simply kept a tin on the counter with an assortment of tea leaves crushed inside. She inhaled the scent, trying to make out an origin. It smelled like Earl Grey tea. She loved to take her Earl Grey with a spot of cream. Uryu preferred it plain. With how stale the bread Uryu kept the bread in his pantry, it may as well have been toast. If she slapped it over the edge of the table, it would shatter like glass. There was no butter to speak of either.

I ate better as an orphan.

The shop was easy to get in order, so she tried to be as detailed as she could when she cleaned, minding the baseboards and molding along the edges of the floor. Orihime could tell that no one had cleaned those trouble areas in some time. She didn't fault him though. He spent years earning his success all on his own. How had he achieved such fame on his own? Two hands and talent could only carry a person so far.

At precisely ten minutes before the shop's opening, Orihime came up from the corner where she was wiping the last base board to find Uryu behind the counter with his appointment book open to today's date. "Be careful in that dress," he began, "as of this morning, you're the only girl in the world that has worn it." She nodded. "And thank you for breakfast, Orihime. Did you have any trouble preparing yourself or the shop this morning?" She shook her head. "Are you always this quiet first thing in the morning?"

"I…umm…" she struggled with her words and then decided shaking her head again would do for a response.

"How did you find your new home?"

"I am…privileged. And I am grateful for the opportunity to learn from Madame Rangiku."

"And Mr. Kurosaki is kind to you?"

Why do you care? Orihime's brain had been programmed to second guess people's intentions. But she trained her tongue even stricter to keep to itself and remain polite. "From what I gathered, both of the Kurosaki gentlemen are very kind. The younger master of the house, he's a detective, I believe, like Mr. Abarai yesterday."

"Yes, poor Mr. Abarai. I do hope I didn't ruin a honeymoon surprise…Come to think of it; his fiancé seemed to be very secretive about the whole purchase. She didn't say what it was for."

"Madame Rangiku says a lady doesn't need an excuse to be beautiful."

Uryu laughed. "With all due respect to your teacher, the outfit that Rukia Kuchiki purchased from me was only meant to be worn to be unwrapped. He noticed Orihime blushing slightly. "My apologies, that was a bit rude of me. It'll take some adjusting to have you here. I'm used to being alone with my thoughts."

"Me too. Being outside of the orphanage has given me so much interaction in such a short time. I don't mean to be so quiet. I'm just trying to absorb everything that's happening around me."

Uryu looked at Orihime from over the rims of his glasses. When he made eye contact with her, she felt transparent. His blue eyes felt like needles ripping into her flesh and exposing her most vulnerable secrets. "Absorb if you must, but always be mindful of your surroundings." Again, the cryptic advice befuddled her. "Around customers, I'll expect you to be a subordinate, but I give you my word, when we're alone, you can speak freely so long as it's always the truth. I have enough gossip and slander circling around me."

"Madame Rangiku says that gossip is due to the insecurities of women, and if a lady must gossip, she must do it tactfully."

"I'm interested, Orihime, to hear what you think about you think about gossip."

Orihime fidgeted with the rag in her hand. He wanted her opinion? "I'm not a terribly skilled liar. So if someone asks my opinion, I'll offer it candidly. If something comes from my mouth that can be seen as gossip, maybe people should stop doing scandalous things."

The busier that shop stayed, the easier it was for Uryu to push Orihime away from his thoughts. Every time she picked up a pair of scissors or climbed up a step ladder, he saw himself falling into madness and doing the unthinkable.

Apart from the lingering insanity she caused, Orihime was a good hand to have around the shop. She proved to be more competent than expected and she was pleasant with the customers, which was an arena he knew nothing about. People seemed to be enamored with her magic and sweet nature. Between fittings and transactions, he would school her on fashions and fabrics. Orihime immersed herself in the knowledge quickly and with enthusiasm.

She proved to be a decent model for the product as well. Twice that day, women had requested the very dress Orihime wore. Orihime assisted in measuring the clients and explained the buying process, all while Uryu lurked behind, thinking to himself, 'you will never look as good in that dress.' It was a truth that he realized the first day he fit Orihime: corset or not, she had the perfect frame for the traditional feminine design. He had already set aside a few dresses he would switch out for the ones she borrowed this past week. When he first loaned her the garments, he was concerned that he'd have to sell them at a discounted price after she had worn them, but now he contemplated simply letting her keep them.

Keep your thoughts closer to the ground, Uryu told himself. It seemed to have nothing to do with physical attraction, this infatuation with Orihime. It stemmed from the notion that she could release him from Aizen's prison. His father endured this pain for years before murdering his wife. Only two days into knowing Orihime, Uryu wanted nothing more than to slice her neck and be cleansed. If he had to fire her, he would to protect his conscience.

Unfortunately, the contract he kept with Aizen did not permit him to take his own life until his obligation to his dent was fulfilled. Uryu read the stipulation the first time he signed the contract, but it did not settle in until he found himself dangling from his banister with a noose around his neck. It caused an excruciating amount of pain and made him lose consciousness from lack of air, but he awoke later to find that he had not been successful at his suicide attempt. It wasn't as simple as just refusing to fulfill his contract either. Should he forfeit, he ran the risk of Aizen turning him into an Espada himself to work off his debt. Uryu wasn't sure what was worse.

In his private sewing room, he slaved away before a slab of grey linen. Uryu did not worry too much about Orihime keeping herself busy. She knew most of the work by now. Customers did not need to meet with Uryu personally unless they were looking to have something custom made. With her taking over the front of the shop, he had more time to work on dresses and get the product turned out faster. He even had time to come up with new concepts. The more he relied on her help, the less he relied on the powers Aizen had bestowed upon him.

When it started, Uryu locked himself in his sewing room in complete privacy to conjure the dark magic Aizen gifted him. His mind felt uncaged somehow. All these beautiful ideas for dresses came spilling onto paper and his hands, enchanted by demonic sorcery, could finish a dress in a matter of minutes. The power, the cunning, the skill, the immortality all came from his Espada, Ulquiorra. Uryu's contract, in part, was to clear a debt with Aizen, but the main premise was to keep his Espada satiated. He fed Ulquiorra the souls of the damned and Ulquiorra shared his supernatural powers with Uryu. Typically, Aizen would pressure Uryu to hunt souls for his benefit, but, occasionally, Ulquiorra would appear to him in dreams to reinforce the severity of his situation.

Out of all the Espada that could have been assigned to Uryu, Ulquiorra had to be the most terrifying to interact with in person. Not because he was physically intimidating, though he could be, but because he seemed have no human emotions. Aizen told Uryu that he assigned Espada's case by case. He could have given Uryu someone that would accentuate his arrogance or deplete his inhibitions, but he wound up with Ulquiorra, and with him around, Uryu's emotions seemed to melt away as well.

Thud.

"Orihime?" Uryu called from his studio. He called once more. Uryu detested hollering in his own home. He stood from his project and stepped out toward the front of the shop. At first, he didn't see Orihime at all. Then, he noticed the overturned step stool behind the counter. On the floor, Orihime lay in a pile of packaging paper with her feet tangled in the legs of the stool. Uryu quickly came to her side to inspect. Though she was breathing, her eyes remained closed. He didn't notice any blood, so he assumed her head had not hit the counter or the floor very hard.

His brain started to invoke images of her head split open against the floor. If she died naturally, he could not offer her to Aizen. But like this…unconscious…maybe she wouldn't even feel it if he reached over, grabbed the scissors, and pushed them through her chest. He could see Aizen placing her pure little soul on a scale next to his own, her soul weighing twice the worth of his own. He had until the end of the year to fulfill his current contract with Aizen. He didn't preoccupy himself much on finding a victim. They came to him usually.

Uryu shook his head over and over, trying to push away any plan to kill Orihime. His sweet mother paid the ultimate price to redeem his father's soul. His mother would have died all over again if she knew what her son was contemplating.

He slapped Orihime's cheek a few times, calling her name over and over.

Orihime's eyes fluttered open, her face turning red, and her breaths coming in shallow and quick. "I can't…breathe…" she whispered

Uryu rushed to the kitchen to find her a cup of clean water and a damp towel. He had a feeling her tumble had something to do with her corset. It wouldn't have been the first time he had seen a girl get light headed from wearing one. He helped her sit back against the counter and swallow a few sips of water. Orihime pressed the towel against her head and chest.

"I'm sorry. I was coming up and down from the ladder trying to restock the packaging supplies. I started to feel faint and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor."

I could choke her, here and now. I could put my hands around her neck until her breath just stopped. I could say she fell. No one knows her, no one would miss her.

"Orihime…I…" He watched her keep the towel pressed against the vein in her neck, trying to cool herself. Little beads of water dribbled down onto the neckline of her dress. "I need you to go home."

"Really, I'm fine now. I just needed to cool off for a moment."

"No, it's not that." It's that I want to kill you right now. I want you to die. I want to be free and I need you to die. "It's…it's…that dress. You're letting water get on the silk neckline. It won't come out. There will always be a spot there now."

"I've upset you?"

Uryu lowered his voice to keep his cowardice from coming through too obviously. "Yes. I'm very upset. That dress took a very long time to create and now it's ruined." He lied. That dress was a product of black magic, black magic that she would have to lose her life to free him from.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It's just this corset is-"

"If you don't think you can handle yourself appropriately in a corset, then perhaps you should reconsider your employment here. Maybe your Madame can explain it better. But for now…just go." A single tear escaped her eye. The way the tear looked rolling down her cheek and the way her blood looked on his hand… "Go! Get out!"

She nodded. "My apologies."

He thought of how he would breach the subject the next day as he watched her retreat. He couldn't necessarily tell her that he wasn't really upset about a nonexistent stain, but that his morals were being tested by an unearthly being he promised his soul to. But to break the girl's spirit so shamelessly, well he may as well have killed her.

The carriage brought Orihime back to the Kurosaki house two hours earlier than she should have arrived. She didn't want to think about what would happen if Rangiku caught her being expelled from work over something as simple as a stain.

She tried to open the front door as quietly as she could, but she was noticed. "Miss Orihime," Ichigo said, placing an extra hand on the door to open it for both of them to enter.

"Oh…um…hello, sir."

"I was just coming from the stables. You're early, aren't you?" Compared to Uryu in his pressed, custom suits, Ichigo standing before her in his filthy riding pants and muddy boots was a breath of precious air. She wanted to smother herself in his chest and have him hold her like a child.

"Actually…I…was…" Orihime felt herself panicking again and finding it impossible to get enough air in her lungs.

"Are you alright?"

Orihime's psyche began to crumble again. She could not cry in front of Madame Yoruichi. She could not cry in front of Madame Rangiku. She could not cry in front of Mr. Ishida. But she was going to cry in front of Ichigo. The tears would have made trails in her face powder, but she had wiped it all off when Uryu gave her a damp cloth. "I upset Mr. Ishida and he sent me home. If Rangiku catches me, she'll have my skin!"

Ichigo caught her hand in his. "My Rangiku? Don't be crazy. She'll complain, I'm sure, but she could never stay angry."

"I just don't think I can deal with disappointing one more person today."

He pulled her into the house. "Come on. Come hide in my office until you calm down." He kept her in his hand all the way across the house to his office. He made sure to keep an eye out for Rangiku. Ichigo's office faced the backyard of the estate. In the distance, Orihime could see the stables and the servant quarters. There was a drink cart by the fireplace. He motioned to offer her something, but Orihime declined. "If you want to scream, you can scream in here."

"I feel so silly. He was very adamant about me not ruining the dresses."

"What happened? Did you rip someone's wedding dress?"

Poor, frazzled Orihime tried to explain how the mess unfolded. "I was wearing this…this…damned corset and it was making me short of breath. I was climbing up and down all day and before I knew it I fainted on the floor. Mr. Ishida brought me a damp towel, and the water stained the silk trim of this dress he loaned me."

"Orihime," he began, "it sounds like he ruined the dress. He made you wear that damned corset. He brought you the wet towel." Ichigo sat Orihime down in his office chair and he knelt down beside her. He studied the trim of her dress. "I don't even see a stain."

"He said it was stained."

"Orihime, you have a voice too. He may be a man. He may be your employer, but you're a person." She remained flustered and sniffling. He grinned at her distress. "I think I spend so much time around women like Rangiku and Rukia that I forget most women are a bit more fragile."

He reached in his breast pocket to give Orihime a handkerchief. She pushed away a few tears and asked, "Who is Rukia?"

Ichigo seemed to turn away quickly before Orihime could catch his expression. He placed his palms on the window sill and leaned in to look across the yard. "Rukia Kuchiki…she's a…friend."

"She is marrying Detective Abarai, right? He came in to pick up something for her at the shop."

"Yeah," he mumbled. "She's marrying him. New Year's Eve." His voice trailed off. "How much was the dress that you supposedly ruined? I'll pay for it."

"No. I could not have you do that."

"Then I'll go down there and tell him he can't treat you like that," he suggested.

"No! Please don't, sir."

When he turned to look at her, whatever far off emotion she sensed prior had been replaced by his prior frustration. "Then what? You're just going to keep going back and letting him treat you like…like nothing."

"I'm used to it. I just let my emotions get the best of me."

"You're used to it?"

Her grey eyes glared into his amber eyes. Ichigo's face was always alive with justice and righteousness. Trying to explain the sad truths of society to him was almost like talking to a wall. "I have lived my whole life being told my place. Being told I wasn't pretty or smart enough to achieve anything. And my best hope of survival was to be good at being told what to do and how to feel."

"My mother and father spent their whole life making sure that their children never felt that way."

"With all due respect, sir," Orihime began, "I'm an orphan."

"Well then, I'll dedicate my life to making sure you never feel that way while you're in my house. You are pretty, you're beautiful. And you're very smart. And you're genuine. And if someone as black hearted as Uryu Ishida can't see your value, well then maybe he hasn't assessed his own."

"Why?"

"Because we're friends. I mean, you're living in my house, we might as well get along." Ichigo smirked again, replacing his anger with his charm. "And you don't owe me a thing, a promise. You just be the nice person you are, and I'll be nice, and it'll be…nice."

Orihime didn't want to smile. She wanted to soak waist high in her own tears. But when Ichigo rambled on like…well…an idiot, she could not help but smile. "Alright…I'll just be nice."

"Great! As for Uryu Ishida, I happen to know from Renji that Uryu is a lonely, miserable bastard. I heard he used to trade clothes for women's company. What kind of coward does that kind of thing?"

Gossip. It hit her ear like knives. "I don't think that's true. He barely lets me into his kitchen, I can't imagine he'd let a woman in his room over having her pay his outrageous prices."

"Maybe it's the detective in me, but I'd really love to snoop around his lair to see what makes him tick. There's no reason to be so…so…grumpy."

After speaking with Ichigo about her pupil's particular situation, Rangiku had to think of what to say to put Orihime's mind at ease. Rangiku had so many anecdotes she could relay that would explain some of her mindset, but being vulnerable did not come easy to her, which would be the greatest truth of all.

Rangiku knew all too well what it was like to not feel good enough.

She glanced down at her naked left hand, remembering where her engagement ring used to hug her finger like a promise. Rangiku was born into a servant life, and the only way out was to marry into wealth. She thought she had found true love and happiness in the arms of her first master, a well to do banker by the name of Gin Ichimaru. At his estate, she was given special treatment, allowed to stay inside overnight. He was a gentleman and promised that he would not touch her without her permission, and would never dream of deflowering her without marriage. When he proposed, she thought all of her dreams had come true.

But she found herself alone at the altar without as much as a goodbye.

A gentleman by the name of Isshin Kurosaki had been a client of Gin's and a guest at the wedding. He told Rangiku that her master had urged him to take her, and paid him handsomely to bring her to his estate as a servant. But Isshin refused to allow her to be a slave. He told her his late wife ran a finishing school for girls out of their house and he wanted her to take over. Isshin also gifted her all of the money Gin offered in exchange for taking Rangiku. She, in turn, used that money to buy the rest of the servants out of service to Gin.

She left him helpless, and he left her hopeless. It seemed like a fair trade.

Maybe that was why she felt so connected to Orihime. The idea of not being wanted was not foreign to her. Rangiku did empathize but she also wanted to forge a backbone within Orihime.

Oh, Orihime, how can I teach you not to be so innocent without breaking that which makes you pure?

Rangiku saw so much of herself within Orihime. Even her physical appearance harkened back to Rangiku's younger days. She could see why Ichigo thought she was attractive, despite his best effort not to say anything.

"She's so beautiful and perceptive, and yet she's so oblivious to her own strength of character," Ichigo had said.

"The best thing about Orihime is that she's not engaged to your best friend," Rangiku snapped back.

The exploits of the Kurosaki-Kuchiki affair were well documented in her keen mind. It didn't take long for her to piece together the meaning behind the late night visits, anonymous love letters, and weekend getaways. Rangiku had warned her young master many times to stay away, not just for the sake of his friendship with Detective Abarai, but also for his father's reputation.

It would be nice, she thought, if she could replace Rukia Kuchiki with Orihime. How serendipitous would it be for the pair to end up falling in love. Ichigo was attracted; Rangiku could tell by the way he waxed and gushed about her. It was hard not to be. Beauty recognized beauty. But Orihime was so shy. It would be impossible to force her onto Ichigo without making it obvious, and Rangiku didn't have time to set up chance rendezvous for two oblivious people. Her safest bet was to just keep both of them in good light and remind Ichigo that he should not chase after someone so unavailable when someone just as fair and sweet was at his disposal.

Orihime kept herself as busy as possible in the kitchen while she waited for Rangiku to come home and prepare her chores and lesson. Tatsuki had just escorted the Kurosaki daughters home from school and was bantering with Chad as he prepared dinner. Tatsuki seemed to carry on much of the conversation but Orihime could tell Chad was listening intently.

Currently, Tatsuki was educating Chad and Orihime on the sexist morals of the books the girls were forced to read in class. "All I'm saying is that young girls have no heroes in modern literature. They're taught to be princesses in towers, waiting for a prince to give them fulfillment through marriage." Orihime forced her hand steady to keep from losing any fingers as she chopped a carrot. Tatsuki reached over Orihime's shoulder to steal a piece and toss it into her open mouth. She continued her speech with a mouth full of orange debris. "And then there's this idea of showcasing these poor girls at a ball in hopes of marrying them off. It's like…auctioning off cattle."

"But-" as soon as the word left her mouth, Orihime regretted the sound of it. Both Chad and Tatsuki offered their full attention to hear her opinion. When Orihime didn't continue at first, Tatsuki raised an eyebrow impatiently. "I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to fall in love. Some women aspire to have careers and others aspire to be mothers."

"What are your aspirations, Orihime?" Tatsuki asked.

"It's complicated. I've always wanted a family, since I was orphaned. But I have since learned that family doesn't always deal in matters of blood relation."

Tatuski spun around to kiss Orihime on her cheek. "Oh, Orihime, you precious girl. Orihime, the brave little orphan girl that learns the true value of friendship – now there's a hero young girls could look up to."

"You should write it, Tatsuki," Chad mentioned.

"Maybe I will."

Rangiku's stern, flat tone broke the cheerful nature of the conversation when she entered the kitchen. "Orihime." Orihime couldn't hold back her trembling this time. Her body convulsed at the sound of her name. Rangiku took a few steps toward her. Orihime watched her inhale deeply before pulling her hand back and striking her across the face. "If I ever hear of you causing yourself such embarrassment again, I will put you back out on the streets. Is that understood?"

"Rangiku!" Tatsuki shouted. "Whatever grave, societal tragedy that had occurred to cause her such embarrassment is punishment enough. I do not think it's necessary to harm Orihime just to teach her a lesson."

"With all due respect, Tatsuki, you may teach your pupils in whatever fashion you want, but Orihime is my student and she requires discipline. Orihime, I don't think you deserve dinner this evening. Please finish preparing dinner and then head to bed."

Rangiku never formally apologized for disciplining Orihime in front of the others, but she did return to her buoyant self the next morning and that was enough for Orihime to pull herself back into the swing of things. It made going off to the shop a little less daunting.

When Orihime arrived, however, her employer was ready to put the fear straight back into her optimistic heart. She watched Uryu silently change the flowers in the middle of the parlor with a fresh bouquet. He didn't look at her when he spoke. She despised when he did that. It was one thing to feel invisible; it was another to be treated as such.

"Orihime, I've been thinking over our employer-employee relationship, and I realized that my lazy attitude toward you might be cause for some confusion." He had been using a pair of sewing scissors to carefully cut off the thorns and leaves along the stems of the roses he put into the vase. "From now on, you are to remain formal with me at all times. No more personal stories and please do not inquire about any of mine. Your actions yesterday brought to light the most base fact of working in this shop, one that I feel you may take for granted if I allow you to be familiar with me: The dresses come first. Always."

Uryu is a lonely, miserable bastard…What kind of coward does that kind of thing?

Orihime could not commit to a nod and a smile as she usually did. This time, just a silent nod before brushing past him to get his breakfast ready.

The tiny window in the kitchen, one of the few in the dreary house, had been left open and Orihime could hear the clamor of the streets. It used to be the gentle song she swayed to as she swept the steps of the orphanage. Between the hum of the carriages pattering against the cobblestone in the alleys and the gentle tapping of dirty water being poured down the drains, Orihime found a happy groove to let her mind dissolve a little. If having a job and a hope meant carrying a load of mental stress, she wished she would have stayed with Yachiru and the other girls.

Orihime had just set the tea leaves up to steep in a pot of hot water when she noticed the gaze of a crow that came to perch in the window. It was not common for such a creature to be so sociable. Matching the bird's stare, Orihime noticed his eyes were green, the color of an emerald being held to the light. She brought her hand forward to touch his feathers. She expected him to fly off, or at the very least, jump along the ledge to get away from her, but he stayed, just as transfixed as she was. Her pale hand finally made it close enough to run her fingers long his wing. "You're a strange little thing. I've never met a crow that wasn't afraid of people." His eyes finally pulled away to look past her at her employer.

"Orihime…" Uryu said in an almost whisper. "Please shut the window…I don't want that dirty thing in here." The crow cawed.

Orihime smiled at this, then pet the crow on his head. "You must go, friend. Unfortunately, you are not welcome here." She meant no passive aggression in her comment, and she prayed Uryu realized that. The crow, however, did not seem to see it that way. In the blink of an eye, the crow snapped his head forward and jabbed at the meat of the palm of her hand with his beak. "Ouch!" The crow looked back at Uryu before beating his wings to depart. Orihime noticed the prick from his beak made enough of a puncture on her hand to cause it to leak the tiniest amount of blood.

They were alone again.

"Tea's ready," said Orihime.

"I have seen you before," she said. All was black except for two green stars hanging in the abyss, gazing at her.

"I am bound to you now, woman."

She could hear the flutter of wings. A single white feather fell at her feet.

"Who are you?" She stepped closer to where his voice originated, deeper into the darkness.

"I am the death that awaits you."

"Am I dead?" she asked.

The glow from his eyes faded momentarily when he blinked slowly. She still could not see his face. But she heard the beating of wings again, then saw another feather.

"…The crow…the crow on the window. I can hear your wings flapping. I know it's you. Are you here to fly me away?"

His eyes faded completely. When a voice broke the silence, it wasn't the flat tone from before. It was Uryu's. "On the contrary, you are here to fly me away, and I can hear your wings."

This time, a pair of cold, blue eyes lit of the darkness like suns, revealing a billowing pair of white wings extending from her shoulders.

"What you touch you don't feel
Do not know what you steal
Destroy everything you touch today
Please destroy me this way"

Ladytron