Hello everyone. ^-^ It feels like a very long time since I last updated...I haven't really had the will to write until just now to be honest. I've had this chapter almost completed for a long time but today I finally made myself work. ^-^ I hope, for those of you still with me, that you enjoy this story. Seven chapters to go!
Disclaimer: I do not and probably will never own Bleach. That honor belongs to the great Tite Kubo.
"And, if possible, die with a smile"
3. Sacrifice
Orihime feels his eyes on her. She clenches her hands and continues to stare down at her feet. Her limp hair hangs like a curtain. A barrier. Anything to block out his eyes, his voice. Her eyes remain fixed on the lone black king lying forlornly on its back.
"There's no need to look down, my dear," he murmurs. His cold pale hand lifts her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. His eyes remind her of blood. They stain her.
"Yes, Aizen-sama." She smiles sweetly.
In the beginning, when she was brought to him, she refused to answer his gentle query. The truth shone in his eyes. He could not hide it from her, that cruel light. But she couldn't hide from him either.
"Orihime-chan...Do you miss them?" His eyes laughed at her.
The second meeting—she didn't know how long after the first, time seemed to pass differently here—he asked her a different question. Again she didn't answer and again he knew.
"Orihime-chan," he began, "Do think they'll come for you?" His soft smile felt like poison.
"Orihime-chan," he always started this way, "Do you know where they are?"
"Orihime-chan," she has since grown used to the meetings and his subtle taunts, "Do you want to save them?"
Her eyes were dark against her pale, sun-deprived face and her shock made them larger. Her voice was raspy when she finally spoke.
"How?" It was the reason she came, after all. To save them.
He smiled softly and said nothing.
She finally broke. Sitting there, across from that man, she broke her vow. She could almost feel the silence shatter.
"How can I save them?" She loved them, all of them. If it took a deal with the strongest of all devils to save them, she would willingly sell her soul.
"Orihime-chan," she was beginning to hate the sound of her own name, " What are your limits?" His eyes bored into her own as he leaned his chin on his hand.
She sold her soul.
The days all blurred together. Everyday there would be a new room full of Arrancar to heal. Orihime was becoming more and more tired but she forced herself to continue on. Everyday their wounds became worse and worse. Everyday she rejected it all, knowing all the while that each one healed was one more soldier sent against a dear friend.
Until, finally, there was another meeting.
"Can you feel that, Orihime-chan?" He murmured. He had a gentle smile as he led her to a table—white of course—with delicately carved crystal chess pieces.
She didn't reply.
Of course she had felt it. Her flicker of her nakama's reiatsu—the sudden arrival out of nowhere to fill her with fear all over again. But she said nothing as Aizen placed a cool hand on the small of her back to push her forward. She quickened her pace and felt his hand drop. If she looked back, she knew, he would have that condescending smile firmly in place.
"Why don't we play a little game?"
She sat, hesitantly, in the smaller of the ornate chairs that faced each other across the gleaming board. Aizen sat gracefully across from her with another kind smile directed towards her.
He played white, of course, pushing forward a pawn that seemed familiar, somehow. The more Orihime looked at it, the more that niggling recognition bothered her until she finally realized what it looked like. The little crystal white pawn was an almost perfect copy of little Hinamori Momo.
Her breath caught and she looked, hesitantly, down to her own obsidian pieces. She couldn't help but feel a little sick when she registered who they looked like. Here, Yamada Hanatarou took the place of a pawn, there, Abarai Renji featured as a rook in the corner, Ishida-kun, Sado-kun and Rukia-chan all took the form various pieces on the board. Her king was a fierce Kurosaki-kun in his bankai gear. And...the queen took the form of Orihime herself, in the shinigami robes from brief stay in Seireitei.
Unsurprisingly, Aizen's took the form of various arrancar, although shinigami seemed to take the place of pawns just as often as arrancar. He was king, of course. His bishops took the forms of Tousen and Ichimaru...but it was his queen that made her shudder....It was herself.
Clad in white clothing similar to what she wore now. An intricate crown of woven lilies upon her brow. An unfamiliar expression on her tiny face.
"Are you ready?" His murmur sent a little tremor of disgust through her, but she pushed forward a miniature Matsumoto Rangiku and forced herself not to feel.
The games continued. Everyday, with a backdrop of her friends dwindling reiatsu, they played. Until, finally, almost all the pieces were gone. Orihime was surprised by how well she played but with every piece collected by Aizen felt like a small piece of herself was being lost as well.
She knew what this game was for, however. There was a tacit understanding between them on exactly what the end of this game would determine. The lives of her friends depended on this game. Her own freedom depended on this game.
She had no illusions. He who had masterfully used the most powerful shinigami in soul society as his own personal pawns would be almost impossible to beat, but she would do her best.
In the end it was the queen. Orihime's king, backed into a corner, could not even defend himself. Bitter irony coursed through her veins. She didn't want to do it. The fierceness of her conviction shocked her. Truly, she did not want to do it, even for him. But in the end, her other feelings prevailed. She loved to much. Felt too strongly.
So she did it. Hand trembling minutely, she gently placed a solitary dark piece in front of her king.
She didn't bother looking up from the chessboard. If she did, she knew what she would find. A small kind smile would be playing on his lips, his eyes would be deceivingly gentle, yet somehow cruelty would radiate from his entire being.
That little piece of herself she had kept safe for so long, after days or maybe only hours—she couldn't tell anymore—was consumed by a devil with eyes of blood and comfort(frighten)ing smiles. She kept her eyes focused on that pale form as it stood facing the small dark king. She finally recognized the expression. Dark smug triumph shone through that tiny figure.
A graceful hand toppled her defenseless king.
A gentle seductive voice, smooth as silk.
A small regal white figure. Herself.
"Checkmate."
Their game took less time than she had thought. It was only been a day and her nakama are still far away. Still safe.
Her new—entirely white—dress clings sinfully to her every curve. A long slit runs up the skirt, showing an eyeful of her pale shapely leg while simultaneously making it easier to move in. There is no crown, but his mark shows in other ways. The purposeful gait, the false smile, the anguished eyes. She is tarnished, deep inside.
Orihime walks slowly, trying to delay the inevitable, but the room comes into view quicker than she feels it should and she lets herself in. The low murmur of subdued voices halts instantly but her eyes are drawn to the figure reclining on the ornate carved ivory throne. His eyes flash in triumph and, feeling something deep inside herself cringe, she forces her face remains impassive.
There is a smaller throne next to his. She knows what he wants. His lips curve into a (dangerous)smile as she glides forth, her heeled boots clicking with each slow step. The hall remains silent.
When, at last, she is settled at Aizen's side, he places his hand gently over hers, before gesturing another arrancar forward. Orihime pays no attention to the struggling figure who is dragged before them, concentrating instead on the comforting feel of her nakama's reiatsu. They are closing in.
Perhaps they will ev—she bites back a pained cry. The cool hand over her own squeezes painfully and her eyes flicker to the man—no—creature besides her. His eyes are dark despite his kind smile.
"Are you alright, my dear?" He murmurs. His hand tightens and her bones shift painfully.
She gives him a sweet smile, forcing herself to ignore the unyielding pain. "Of course, Aizen-sama."
He searches her eyes for a moment longer, and she struggles to conceal her deep hatred before his grip finally loosens and he looks ahead once more.
Finally, it happens. They have nearly reached Las Noches and she has been called before him once more.
He does not appreciate weakness in his (pawns)followers so Orihime holds her head high as she approaches his ivory throne. The clicking of her heels against the floor nearly manages to override the sound of her racing heart but it is no longer a struggle to hide her innermost thoughts. She knows why she's there.
Aizen rests his chin on the palm of his hand as he glances over her small form. He doesn't bother to mask his actions, making certain she can see his eyes lingering on her every curve. What drives him is not sexual, she understands. It is simply his need to dominate her totally and completely.
It still frightens her.
When she stands before him, as regal as any queen, he deigns to speak.
"If," He murmurs, "You manage to make them retreat...I will let them live."
Her heart stops.
When her nakama arrive to Las Noches, she is waiting. Their shock is obvious as is the fragile hope that rises around them.
Rukia, Renji, Ishida, Chad, and...him...At once, deep inside her heart, she rejoices in their love for her and despairs for it.
"Why have you come?" Her voice is colder than ice and she sees now that fragile hope begin to crack.
"O-Orihime-chan?" Rukia's voice wavers slightly but her body is tense and prepared for all obstacles.
Almost all obstacles.
"I ask again: Why have you come?"
Unsurprisingly, it is Ishida who understands the implications first.
"Why," He begins and she can see his throat work for a moment before he continues in a quieter voice. "Why are you without a guard and...and dressed in their clothing?"
They want to deny it, but they are no longer certain. It is obviously in their faces, in their poses. Renji stands slightly in front of Rukia, his hand on Zabimaru's hilt. Rukia herself is close to unsheathing Sode no Shirayuki. Chad has shifted in a defensive stance and Ishida at his side seems ready to fight at a moment's notice. He—no, Kurosaki...Kurosaki already has Zangetsu in his hands, albeit pointed towards the ground.
It hurts. That lack of faith that she will have to foster.
A little laugh finds its way past her blood-red lips. A sweet smile twists until it plays on those lips as nothing more than a cruel mockery of her once warm light.
(Forgive me. She begs them in her heart of hearts.)
"Did you think," Orihime begins slowly, savoring every syllable, "That I was taken by force?"
They are horrified. But she presses on, desperate to extend their lives by even the smallest moment.
"Did you expect to find me—, " She stalks closer, her hips swaying seductively with each step as she advances on Kurosaki. "—crying: 'Kurosaki-kun, save me!' while locked in a tower like some cowering princess?"
She feels her lips curve into a dangerous smile as everyone seems frozen at her actions. She trails a hand across Kurosaki's collarbone, seeing his pulse jump as he finally seems resigned to her desertion.
"Don't worry," She murmurs with a wicked smile. "Aizen-sama takes very good care of me."
Orihime withdraws her hand sharply just as the others seem to overcome their frozen disbelief. She turns her back to them and begins her slow walk back to her own rooms.
"Leave." She orders them over her shoulder. "I have no use for you."
She hopes fervently that it is enough. That her actions have kept them safe for just a little longer. When their reiatsu disappears from her senses, after hearing what seems to have been an argument behind her, her eyes burn with unshed tears. She smiles softly.
She has sold her soul to the devil.
She hopes it is enough.