~Her portrait in black CH.3~

True his imaginings in his dream state had seemed fraught with details he suspected were common to the era in which the girl had lived. But the student's mind as he made his way up the steps to the corner office on the third floor of the University, refused to allow any sort of precognitive or call it what you will, past life recall associated with his dream.

The professor he had in fact called on; was delighted at the mention of the Kuchiki family. The dark-haired man beamed behind round scholarly spectacles. "Ah…so my boy you have discovered an interest in them as well? Splendid. It's quite fascinating the lore surrounding them. After all they were one of the more prominent families in their time."

Ulquiorra listened quietly to the man's speech, only interrupting in the pause that followed a hastily taken swallow of tea. "But what of…" he felt a little odd saying her name aloud, the vision from his dream arrested him and he continued on in more subdued tones, "the last of the family. Rukia the daughter?"

Professor Ukitake bridged his fingers together on the scuffed marble desktop worn by years of book covers flapping down on the cool polished surface. "She was perhaps the most tragic of them. You know it was that painting of her that hangs in the gallery in this campus that sealed her fate?"

He was forced to admit knowing some of their history through local historical guidebooks. The professor nodded sagely, "I suspect much of the truth has been glossed over. You can't believe all that's printed while in later sections they cry praise to the man who destroyed the family, Ichimaru Gin."

Gin Ichimaru appointed Daimyo of the region by the ancient Tokugawa Shogunate.

"—Rukia rejected him as a suitor and in re—"

"What about a maid employed in the Kuchiki household-? A girl named—Orihime." Ulquiorra knew he was being rude, interrupting in the middle of the man's history lesson but it paid off. Seeing as the professor seemed taken aback. "Goodness. Are you sure you haven't done more than the casual studying up on them, Schiffer-kun?"

Ulquiorra denied it flatly.

After a few minutes, Ukitake shuffled the papers on his desk distractedly before speaking again, "not many books reference the maidservant to the Kuchiki family, Orihime Inoue. Her existence is pretty much based on a few texts and excerpts from Rukia's letters to her mother's family. What wasn't burned along with their possessions has survived. I don't think I have anything handy right—"

"Her—this girl Orihime—did she have gray eyes and long auburn hair?"

Again he received a peculiar, suspicious look.

"It's not really known. Though one source does give that upon her mistress's condemning, the servant was taken away screaming and tearing at her long red hair as if she were possessed. But how could you—"

He could almost picture the scene. "What happened to her—after…?"

The professor looked sadly across the space of the desk into the student's impassive face, "history doesn't know. She fades out of the story since no one knows where she was taken after that. I've always been one to believe-in fact," ruefully a disorderly sheaf of neatly typed paper was touched upon fondly, "in my upcoming thesis. I was going to place some emphasis on the maid's character…"

"Her loyalty." Ulquiorra almost inaudibly murmured.

"Yes." The professor looked somewhat surprised, "as I was saying. I thoroughly believe she was put to death alongside Rukia Kuchiki. However there is no evidence existing to substantiate that statement."

~*~

He was consumed with the idea or thought that came to him at that moment after the professor's last sentence. It was no dream. It was all very real. That event in the girl's timeline had come to pass however few witnesses there were to it he had been one.

Excusing himself with the vaguest of apologies about something that he had forgotten to accomplish, the student hurriedly left the professor's office in a greatly agitated state. He was being allowed a glimpse into the past. A past in which that girl had no future…but what was the point of it? He had to wonder. He already knew in the end what would happen so why?

He had read enough science fiction in his teens to know all about the golden rule of time travel; nothing must be changed. He hadn't been seen by any of the women in his dream so to them he was as incorporeal as a shadow on the wall or less.

Frustrated beyond hope, the student turned his steps homeward, only stopping at a small bookstore to purchase a new copy of a particular book recounting the early Christians in the area. Upon opening it, seated in his studio apartment, his eye alighted on a phrase printed on the flyleaf.

"Ten ni mashimasu warera no…"

He seemed to hear a woman's voice chanting softly. His gaze fell again onto the page seeing the illumination from the overhead light fade into that of muted daylight and the surroundings waver into that of dark wood panels much stained by water leakage.

He raised his head to stare at the bowed figure seated on her knees before a small altar. Instead of the many-armed Buddha as was expected in a shrine, a serene faced Virgin Mary painted in pale color gazed sadly upon the bent girl whispering over trailing beads.

A rosary.

She stumbled over the words and stopped, frowning in mute consternation. Ulquiorra glimpsed her profile, recognizing the much-altered appearance of the youthful girl from yesterday. Maturity lined her forehead and gave a stern turn to her pink lips pouting while her fingers passed quickly in count over the tiny polished wood beads.

He heard her muttered repeat of the first four sentences before her voice faded away again.

Disappointed, his ears pricked up as slowly another room came into his vision. Floor cushions were arranged neatly and the girl-Rukia had her hand extended above a small China teapot. She was robed that day in an exquisitely embroidered Kimono of red with designs of gilded cranes adorning it. The boy seated near her could only stare in admiration, as did the student quite unconsciously.

"My Lady Aunt tells me that you are…" she paused, appraising the rather shabbily dressed boy with sardonic eyes, "a painter of the Impressionist school? Very unusual for a commoner."

"Y-Yes; Miss. I've studied all manner of European art. I could paint your portrait if you'd like."

Ulquiorra watched the exchange somewhat enviously; knowing neither could see him.

"Oh yes," she politely sipped from her shallow summer cup before continuing, "that's exactly what I was desiring. Of course," she added knowingly, "you'll be paid well if we are pleased with the outcome, Yamada-san."

The painter blushed. The student on the other side of the room seethed but then understood the next scene that melted and formed before his eyes. An empty room, probably one long in disuse put to use again deep within the Kuchiki estate, save for a plain oak chair and posing with her head slightly tilted was Rukia. Her dress had changed once again, it was like that in the painting, her hands were folded upon a book and drawing near, Ulquiorra was amused to find his assumption correct.

It was an ancient Psalter.

The painter stood behind a makeshift easel upon which a plain canvas had been set. Paints and a primitive brush were lax in his hand. The student observed the scene for a moment longer the feeling of still life became prevalent and he bestirred himself to turn to the sliding door wrenched open by frantic hands roughened by work.

"My Lady!" Orihime cried, her voice breaking the unnatural stillness. Rukia accordingly lost her assumed position and turned her attention to her obviously agitated maid. "Yes?"

"Ichimaru-dono is coming! Word is…"

Irritated, Ulquiorra felt the scene slipping away, his curiosity about the infamously cruel ruler growing. He would have given a lot to have stayed and seen her meeting with him. He could only guess in the speed, which was required to redress in something appropriate and Japanese rather than a modified nun's habit in black.

But his eyes opened staring up at the ceiling, already darkness began its reign as the last dregs of the sun sank into the borders of the sky. The book had slipped from his lap onto the floor, the pages wrinkled. Ulquiorra straightened from the reclining position his body had fallen into.

Three different scenes he'd witnessed this time, he mused. It was almost amazing considering the young boy's lack of teaching-he suspected-the amount of talent needed to transform that blank canvas into what is was today, an extremely lifelike portrait that was very near to mirroring the real subject. Or the real subject as he envisioned her, he had to remind himself.

It could have been all coincidence that he knew the name of the Kuchiki servant and guessed…he scowled to himself. That was a lie. Whatever was occurring was not his mind recycling images and centering the drama around it. They were real dammit! She was real! As real as

~*~

AN: I'm sleepy. :) Thanks for reading and reviews are appreciated.

Note: The words in Japanese that Rukia was reciting are the opening lines to the Our Father prayer. I got it off the wiki ;) since Latin wouldn't have been too commonplace there.