Greetings yet again people!
I felt that I ought to finish off this whole "Snowflakes" thing, so that my conscious doesn't keep nagging me about it. Okay, I guess this is the epilogue of this story. By the by, I would like to thank all those who reviewed, added this story to their alerts or favourites, or anyone who quite genuinely enjoyed it. Lets go!
Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Tite Kubo. No buts. No exceptions.
Aftermath
Isshin Kurosaki felt his son's Reiatsu before he saw or heard him. The twins and himself had just finished their dinner before a wave of familiar Reiatsu swept through the home, and through Isshin's mind. But something was off about it; at first he thought that it had decreased, but the description didn't seem to fit. Then he realised that it in fact felt denser; as if the Reiatsu has carrying a ton of bricks on its invisible shoulders. The last time he had felt a Reiatsu like this one was after she had…
"Oh no…" The former Captain whispered, clutching at his temples, before looking up at the two young girls, who stared back at him with curious expressions across their faces. No, he couldn't put them through this.
"Yuzu, Karin, to bed. Now," Isshin said carefully, afraid that his voice might falter. Karin raised an eyebrow, but she stood up nonetheless, grabbing Yuzu's arm as she walked towards the staircase. Promptly standing up, Isshin walked briskly to the door, and prayed that he was wrong. But he ultimately knew he wasn't.
Ichigo stumbled in a few seconds after the girls' room door closed, his posture slouched and fatigued, his body covered in frost from the bitter snow, and his hands clutching a bloody Shihakusho and Zanpakuto. The young teen's tear stained face looked up with an expression of shock, before collapsing into the house, his numerous cuts on his hand from the blade he held causing too much blood loss.
Many have said that the death of Rukia Kuchiki would not be lauded over; some said that it was bound to happen, others merely believed that the Rukongai would be better off without her trouble causing. But by the time of her actual death, she had made many new companions, bonds and maybe even a romantic relationship, and many of her past misdeeds had been forgotten.
Discovery of Rukia Kuchiki's death to Soul Society took place two days after her passing, and her funeral took place another two days afterwards. Official possession of her Zanpakuto, Shihakusho and Lieutenancy badge were handed over to her remaining living relative, Byakuya Kuchiki.
There are many degrees of permanent damage dealt after death.
Some degrees are deep, but more bearable, due to previous , similar disasters occurring. However, this alone does not help one to accept it…
Byakuya Kuchiki closed the door silently behind himself, before turning, and walking to the dim candlelight in the far end of the room, a Zanpakuto in one hand, and a Shihakusho in the other. Stopping before the shrine, the Captain gently laid the items on the monument, letting them rest close to a beautiful picture of a petite young woman, with raven coloured hair. A single tear travelled down his usually emotionless face.
"I'm sorry, Hisana."
The man fell onto one knee, before letting the torrent of tears emerge, not afraid of interference due to his private location. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my one promise to you, Hisana…"
Other degrees run deep to the extent that one feels like a void has been formed in their soul, the one friend that they had known and treasured the most having been lost forever. And the fact that one wasn't even present at the only opportunity to say goodbye.
Renji Abarai stared down at the gravestone before him, a small carving of a snowflake on the top left corner. A look of hardened sadness was carved along his own face, and his weapon was absent, having seen that was it was unfit to bring one on such a visit. "Sorry I'm late…" Renji said to the grave itself, his voice wavering and shaking with each word.
"I hope this makes up for missing it. I know you used to love these."
Renji reached within his robes, before pulling out a sacred lotus; its white, pearly edges glowing with the moonlight. The red haired Lieutenant placed the elegant flower on the grave, before saluting, and striding out of the graveyard.
Then there are some degrees so deeply set that the wounds never heal- like for those who blame themselves for the death itself. Those who feel that they could have – no, should have done more to keep them safe. For those whose own lives would have ended had their loved on not been there.
Doctor Akira Fuhito walked quickly through the hall, the blinding lights and white tiles conjuring a somewhat disorienting feeling within him. Letting his eyes scan each of numbered plates above the entrance to each room, he looked specifically for room number 52, the text occupying a space on his wooden clipboard.
Ichigo Kurosaki never forgave himself. Three weeks after the funeral of Rukia Kuchiki, he was submitted into Karakura Rehabilitation Centre for clinical depression after a failed suicide attempt.
49, 50, 51, 52… Bingo. The lanky young man pulled out his large ring of keys, before unlocking and opening the door, and stepping into the room. A fairly tall teen sat with his back face to the doctor on his recently cleaned bed sheets. His long, uncut orange bangs shifted as he flinched at the sudden new light source. His skin was a near deathly pale due to the lack of sunlight in the room, and his nails had grown to quite an alarming size.
The boy looked like he always did, but something just didn't seem right to Akira. "How are you feeling today, Kurosaki?" Akira said, now shuffling in his coat as an ominous breeze seemed to rack the room. Ichigo turned his head, so that at least half of his face was visible to his visitor, a toothy grin spread along his face. Then Akira saw it; he saw why he felt so fearful, today of all days. The orange haired teen seemed to have manually sharpened his nails and canines, and two long, bloody scars, shaped like thick lines, ran from the top left and right corners of his forehead, over his eyes, and to their corresponding points on his chin. And his eyes; his most chilling feature. Each orb glowed a faint, ominous amber.
"Never better, doc." He sneered, his words echoing, despite the small size of the pearly white room. Akira opened his mouth to reply - or more to demand what was going on - but his words caught, and only a gurgle escaped.
The clipboard that the young doctor was holding fell to the floor. An audible crack echoed through the room. And the doctor collapsed after it.
The End
Well then, that just about ends this little story of mine. Don't forget to drop off any critique or comments you have, and I hope to see you again on another story in the future. See Ya!
Espada175 Out.