Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Mashiro was quite proud of her inner world. It was a large open space, full of perpetual night and enough stars to please even her. Mashiro loved stars, always had. They just seemed mysterious, barely out of reach, an unattainable beauty that was to be yearned for but never achieved. So when the strange black and white version of herself appeared and started destroying her world, Mashiro got mad. Very mad.
She struggled with it for years, just keeping it as far away as she could, but it crept closer to the surface all the time. Soon it was manifesting, only a little bit, at first, and then more and more, until it was wresting full control of her body for short, quickly suppressed bursts. Mashiro began spending more time alone, distancing herself, so that her former friends and allies wouldn't have to deal with what she was becoming.
She held the copy back for as long as she could, but there was bound to be a confrontation sooner or later, so one day in late July she ran as far from Seireitei as she could, going out beyond even the eighty districts of Rukongai into the uninhabited wastelands. Mashiro plunged into her inner world, sword already swinging, and faced off against what she had by now figured out was her Inner Hollow. They exchanged many a blow, and her Hollow slowly but surely beat her into the ground.
As she knelt there, on the ground of her inner world, about to be dealt the blow that would finish her once and for all and steal all control of her body from her, Mashiro looked up at her Hollow. It paused for a moment, sword raised, before it smiled, looking like a cat, and lowered the blade. It held out a paper white hand.
Mashiro realized with a start what it was. It was the star - the one she always wanted but never got, that unattainable perfection. And it was reaching down to her, offering help.
She took the hand.
