The sound of the slap resounded in his ears.
Red flushed pale skin like a bruise, she started back.
The man before her sneered words.
Promising their fall.
Only he could've saved them from condemnation.
Boldly she stared him down, knowing all was lost.
The way to salvation was through Christ, the one true God.
The student was gratified to see the effect her declaration had on the imposing man arrayed in handsome robes, silver hair in a queue. History had been kind to him, softening the harsh cruelty he dealt to the masses. It wasn't fair. The man was glorified while his victims were seen as little more than historical annotations.
This wasn't fair. Ulquiorra gripped his fists at his sides, longing with a fervor that overcame his passionless exterior to rip the decorated Katana from the man's waist and cut him down. But it was all for not; no one could see him standing by her. Those narrowed red eyes slit-like challenged the young woman and not the student. Rukia stood her ground and Ichimaru left without another look back.
She collapsed the moment he was gone. Her hands so fine wrenched now at her shorned hair, trembling at what she had done. The student's heart ached to see her anguish, his hand of its own accord rose and extended to her, fingers ghosting through the corporeal flesh of the girl. Rukia looked up startled; she had felt that.
The maid's abrupt, harried entrance through the open door, severed any hope of things changing. She had felt his touch but in the end could not see him no more than hear his words or feel his presence at her side.
Soldiers of the Daimyo were coming.
Word had come that Father Ukitake and her Lady Aunt had been detained under charges of practicing the forbidden religion. Orihime was shaking, she was begging her mistress to flee. Calm, though she had paled upon the news of her aunt, Rukia laid aside the girl's beseeching hands. She wouldn't try to run and show cowardice. That was what he expected of her. Instead she would attend to everything the way she always had. Except...
His eyes closed to the darkened room.
"Renounce your faith. Claim you were coerced by me!"
Trying to save another from the doom that awaited them all.
She gave no thought to her own life.
Orihime refused as well.
Fate was sealed.
And he could do nothing but watch them suffer in silence.
~*~
The stamping of horses far away brought only the slightest flicker of emotion to her face.
Orihime had stayed outside to confront them.
She turned away from the fragile doors, gathering her skirts to hand and assumed a position of veneration for the image of the Virgin. Ulquiorra watched her lips remain immobile, the long strand of rosary beads trailing along the ground. She had no prayers left. No appeal to the Holy one above that had not already been made. All had failed. Nothing was left but death.
Before his eyes, she broke.
Sobbing.
Pleading.
Begging.
She didn't want to die.
Like all when faced with the time of their true demise, life glittered suddenly and all they could do was yearn for it. Resolve was shattered beneath the crushing weight of mortality. Emotion stirred within his breast, he remembered the touch from before and stepped forward, the floor creaked.
She stiffened and slowly looked through tear-filled eyes.
They stared at one another.
Her voice broke the silence.
"Who..who are you?"
~*~
He heard the scream of the servant, the rough voices of men.
They would reach them in a matter of moments.
Knowing all this, the student couldn't speak.
His mind was blank. Numbed to everything but the pale intent face framed by locks of raven hair. "Who are you?! Tell me!" her tone was of a higher pitch, one that he had seen her use when concealing fear.
"A friend." He clasped her shoulders, feeling the insubstantiality of her being.
So small.
"Listen, don't be afraid," he didn't know what he was saying, whispering into her ear. Footsteps were outside on the engawa, soon they would enter the main room and only a few more rooms and ...
"...Rukia..." He read the confusion roaring in her violet eyes, his hands slid into hers, clasping them in the briefest grasp. He could feel the reality of her world slipping away and his own stealing into his consciousness.
"You won't be forgotten."
~*~
Sirens erupted.
His eyes opened, moisture pooled beneath them.
Lights flashed by.
He thought he knew their eventual destination but made no move to ascertain it.
The morning would soon come.
~*~
The gilt frame bore few scorch marks, the canvas itself was a ruinous mass of blackened wall. Nothing remained of her. The firefighters who had responded to the Two am blaze, had suggested it was as though the fire had started from within.
Arson was ruled out.
Security tapes revealed nothing but smoke suddenly pouring from the painting. Alarms had gone off and the sprinklers were triggered. But it had been too late to save it.
He surveyed the destruction.
"Pity." He was unaware he had spoken aloud until Ukitake replied in a soft tone. "Perhaps not."
The student turned eyes full of curiosity to the older man. He was smiling sadly, "it was most likely what she wanted."
"What are--"
"It's not enough to simply view an object and admire it once for its beauty or value. The painting was in essence a piece of history, it was history. It captured a young girl on the cusp of adulthood dedicating herself to a greater cause. They say..." pensive brown eyes traced the line of the frame then lifted and met those of the student. "A photograph captures a part of the soul. Native Americans refused the white men's early photography on that basis, believing that when they died, their souls wouldn't be able to pass on."
The portrait...
"Impossible."
...contained...
Ukitake frowned, "many things in this world can't be explained and have yet to be. My guess is, is that she was finally liberated from whatever limbo her soul had been trapped in." The teacher shrugged, "but perhaps, I am yet imagining things to suit my own mind. Who knows?" With one last friendly smile and slight shake at the burnt painting, the Professor left him to his thoughts.
Her soul.
He had released her. Somehow. Someway. His eyes rose to it again, recreating its image in his mind. "You won't be forgotten. " He murmured quietly to himself, never hearing the clack of heels on the tile floor as someone approached.
"Forget who?" questioned an impertinent female voice.
A hint of irritation clouded his expression, he turned to the rude interloper, a girl of diminutive height dressed in jeans and a purple plaid shirt confronted his startled gaze.
"What are you staring at?!"
Dark hair arrayed in a feathered cut. Large violet-blue eyes in a small angular face, pink cupid's bow lips that were drawn up in a frown...couldn't be.
She was the mirror image of...
"...damn it! And I came all this way just to--"
"See the painting?" He finished.
Her eyes lost some of their coldness, "yes."
"It burned last night."
She scowled, "I can see that."
"Would you consider stepping out with me to the cafe around the corner?" He had nothing left to lose.
Suspicious again, "are you...asking me out?"
"Just for tea. The day is quite cool for the season."
She was smirking slightly now, "do you have an answer for everything?"
A rare smile curved his lips, "not always."
She became thoughtful, "you know...it's odd. You seem so very familiar. Have we met somewhere?"
~Finis~
Note: probably didn't make sense. :p
Rukia's spirit couldn't move on and hence she haunted the painting. When it was destroyed, it was because of what he had told her. She wouldn't be forgotten and once the painting burned-the symbol of all that had happened-she was freed.
Finally done! Yay!
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