Here's a look in Shiro's pretty lil head, exploring what his scattered mind's like.

&&&&&&&

(A Month Later)

Dark lashes fluttered open. Hitsguaya awoke to the same sight he always did. White walls, white ceiling, and a flowing mass of strawberry blonde hair. It-she- was the only shock of color in the pristine room. Her hair hung in thick, long, and luxurious waves about her voluptuous body and glinted gold and copper in the light. He loved to fall asleep with a hunk of it clutched in his slender fingers.

Much else besides her hair he didn't know or understand. He understood what was said to him and things explained to him, but he could never remember any of it. Like her name. He'd been told it countless times, but could never recall it. She was a nameless entity to him, except for her hair.

But the pretty, sad witch had to have a name. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue. It fluttered around the edges of his mind, teasing and taunting him. It was there, but he couldn't grasp it; it danced just beyond his mental fingertips. He heard her name uttered all day, every day. Yet he couldn't remember.

Hitsugaya knew her, though. He didn't know how, but he felt her in his heart. She was the only thing he knew, even if he couldn't name her. She came to see him everyday and spent hours at his bedside. She slept most of the time and her appearance was usually a mess.

Under the tangled hair, mismatched, wrinkled robes and worn face, he was sure she was quite beautiful. Her breasts certainly were. She loved to hold him close, his head pillowed on those monstrous mounds of silky flesh. That's when his hand fisted in her dangling, knotted hair and he fell asleep as she muttered angrily about things and people he didn't understand. Other times, she clutched him to her and just cried. Those were the times he hated- he wanted to right whatever was wrong. He wanted to see her smile- he bet she was stunningly gorgeous when she smiled.

But she never did. She radiated sorrow like a mournful ghost. Something was killing her heart and spirit, and he sensed that it was his fault. The last time he'd tried to apologize for it, she'd burst into tears, crying with her face buried in his lap while he stroked her hair in bewilderment, untangling the knots with his slim fingers. He didn't know why she was so sad- and she would never answer him- but he hated it. He wanted her to be happy; he'd do anything to see her smile. He just didn't know what to do.

Even more confusing was his own sadness. His heart hurt, as if someone important in his life was missing. He didn't know who or what, though. It was very confusing and frustrating to be in pain and not know why. Sometimes, when he was alone, he'd cry for no reason. He couldn't stop it and he couldn't understand it. Someone important was gone and he wanted them back, but he didn't even know the person.

He knew this all was a result of the Bad Thing that happened to him. No one- certainly not the red-haired woman, or any of the Healers- would tell him anything. They were very careful what they said around him. He knew he was a wizard, and the woman with the flowing, wavy hair and gigantic boobs was a witch, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

The witch often performed small, simple spells to delight and amuse him, trying to get him to smile. But he couldn't smile because she never did. From the things she mumbled when she cried, he knew he'd been hurt by a Bad Spell, but even that was hard to remember.

She tried to teach him spells, but he could never remember the words. When she told him what to say, he could repeat the incantation for a moment or two, while it was fresh, but a minute later the word was gone from his mind. His befuddled brain couldn't retain it. He couldn't do magic anymore- his brain couldn't remember instructions.

But he never gave up. When he performed a small spell, a light of hope shone in her cornflower blue eyes. Maybe if he kept it up- if he actually remembered a spell- then he'd see her smile. She would show him a simple, basic spell then he would imitate her. He'd repeat her words and use her wand. His own was locked away- as a patient, he wasn't allowed to have one. He practiced with her every chance he got- eventually he was bound to remember something, sometime. Her name would be nice.

Tbc…

&&&&&&&