Miora wasn't meant for this.

Only, she didn't realise it. All she had to give her any distinction, as far as she was concerned, was a recurring dream that had haunted her since she was a teenager. It's odd, she couldn't remember much before then, but she presumed it happened before then too. Her lack of memory before then was something she'd grown up with; her mother reasoned offhandedly that she was witness to her mother being mugged at the age of 12, and amnesia was of course a common offset of such trauma. Miora reasoned, to herself in her quiet, silent way, that it couldn't have been terribly traumatic, because she and her mother were still here, unscathed, and her mother had never shown any sign of having ever experienced anything traumatic in her life beyond a chipped nail. But, Miora took the explanation as it came, and made allowances for her mother's shallow behaviour because who knows? Maybe that's how her trauma manifested.

And so, when she questioned her mother whether her traumatic experience gave her strange dreams, or recurring ones, her mother shrugged and shook her head with a dismissive expression. "I can't say that I have." So that was that conversation cut short, and Miora didn't even have a chance to describe the dream. It was very simple and abstract, images if anything, set in a frame of grey mist. The images were of a crying child, a box the size of a ring box, and a pair of grey eyes, turned away. Sometimes, there would be different images, perhaps a group of people or a busy setting. Sometimes, there wouldn't be an image at all, but instead a hint of an emotion she couldn't quite grasp. Sometimes, the dream would develop into a typical one about flying or whatever, but no matter what, the principal imagery stayed the same. A child, a box, and a pair of slate grey eyes.

Those eyes felt like the most familiar thing in the world, occupying the space her mother should have taken.

Miora wasn't meant for this, and she was one of the few people who truly fit that statement. Only now, as she was sat with a group of colleagues in the bar on this particular Thursday night, she felt it, too.

"I can't stand that woman," one of the girls said. They all fit interchangeably together. "Oh don't get me started," the girl next to her said. And then the three of them fell into gossiping about their manager, who, other than being a little stern, really wasn't that bad. Miora's only saving grace with Tashi, her boyfriend, who was sweet and kind and had fallen very hard for Miora. He'd come to keep her company, despite not knowing any of the girls and making every effort to turn the conversation to something more positive, eyes warm and smiling behind his thick rimmed glasses. Miora tried to throw herself into these conversations, but as the night drew on, she felt that she didn't have the energy. What did it matter, anyway? The bar was overcrowded, it was too warm, and more so than ever she looked at Tashi and the girls and felt removed. She didn't belong with these people, and they didn't belong to her.

"I'm just going to take a breather outside, I won't be long."

Tashi moved to follow, but she placed a hand out and smiled as kindly as she could. "No need, really. I won't be long."

Miora maneuvered through the crowds of workers who filled this bar every weeknight, and burst out through the open doors with a sigh of relief. It was a warm night, and anyone might have thought the entirety of Earth's population was crammed inside that building with the comparative emptiness outside. Taking the opportunity of not being seen, Miora vanished down a quiet alley way, and found herself in a street with houses, apartments and small shops stacked on top of eachother on either side. If she carried on down the way, she would find herself back at her apartment building, where she lived with her pet parakeet and a peace lily that could never decide if it was dead or not. It felt empty, and when she was alone at night she felt the walls press against her. It was a nice apartment, paid for her at the beginning by her mother who always seemed ready to spend money like it grew on a tree that never would die, and would instead sprout even more branches so that it would grow more money for her. She never held down a job, and when Miora got this job and stuck with it for more than a month, her mother questioned the need for continuing this phase, it was only a whim. But stick it she did, and she'd been there for ten quite contented years. Her apartment building stood proudly at the end of the street in a deep silhouette, and with nowhere else to go, she pursued it on heavy feet.

But then, as she moved closer, something caught her eye.

Something… a small figure on top of the building. Was someone standing there?

For an awful moment, Miora let herself think that the person was readying to jump, and in a flash she was running. She was running faster than she ever had before, her mind white with panic, and in record time she'd made it to the building. She must have been closer to home than she thought, and paid it no further mind. From the parking lot, she looked up at the figure and tried to fathom what on earth she should say.

Then, the person jumped. Miora froze, and watched as a silent scream filled her lungs and tore through her mouth. No sound came out, but it was like she had been slapped on the back by a sheet of metal. Powerless her eyes followed the figure as it plummeted to the ground in a perfectly relaxed manner, poised as though it were going to land like a cat, unscathed, and then just walk away.

And that's exactly what it did.

Miora couldn't believe her eyes. The man standing before her had landed feet first, and now stood watching her as though all of this were totally normal and every day.

"My la-... Good evening," the man said, his pure white hair flowing in the wind. His eyes were a deep brown and filled with friendliness, and for a fleeting moment, Miora felt that she had seen this man before. Like deja vu. She couldn't speak to even respond to his greeting, and she was sure that he understood.

"My name is Jushiro Ukitake, it's… it's a pleasure to meet you."

When she continued her silence, he continued. "I'm sure this is very strange, my apologies. I came on an errand from your grand uncle."

"My… grand uncle?"

He nodded, a gentle smile eternal on his face as though no malice would ever be at home in it.

"I don't… I don't have any family besides my mother."

He nodded. "I'm afraid you are mistaken, but the intention was for you to believe this. Am I correct in deducing you have very little memory of your childhood? The intention was-... well, I'm not the person to divulge this. Forgive me, only, it's been many years since I last saw you. You were only a child," he explained, laughing quietly as he said so.

"And… what was the errand from this uncle?"

"He desires you to come home."

Miora arched an eyebrow for the first time in her life, she never knew how to do it before. "Home?"

"I can understand your hesitation, but yes. You have a choice, of course. But you would be able to find answers. Answers to your past."

"And where is 'home'?"

Miora noticed a motivement in the top periphery of her vision, and when she looked to the top of the building, more figures stood, waiting like cardboard cutouts. Then, startling Miora out of her skin, a huge screech coming from somewhere in the city behind her broke the silence in her mind and kick started it. "What was that?!"

"That," Ukitake began, "Is the very thing we fight. Hollows. Would you care to let my subordinates take care of it and we get out of here?" As he said this a set of doors faded into view behind him, and opened to show a blinding glow that Miora could just about keep her eyes on. It felt like it should be strange, but no matter what it was; the man landing like a cat after a colossal jump, the screeching noise, or the portal appearing from nowhere, Moira had no trouble believing everything, and she had no trouble trusting this kind looking man. "It's okay, my Lady."

Miora paused, and her heart gave a start. "What did you call me?"

He smiled, and as though on autopilot she followed him into the light.