I wrote this chapter to Oh No! by Grandson, I recommend listening to it as you read it as I think it will give you the energy of Orihime's mind during this chapter

As usual, I do not own Bleach or any of its character!

Lets get into it!

Cuyler no longer allowed me to ride my own horse. Instead he shackled my hands before me and had me ride in the carriage. I didn't have it in me to argue, and with the wagon walls protecting me from the icy winds and the remaining witchfire keeping the small space warm, it gave me ample time to think.

I'd been trying to call Rukia in my mind for the past two days as we neared closer and closer to the palace. Yet all it had gotten me was a throbbing headache and even more anger burning in my chest.

Rukia!- Silence.

Ichigo is in danger, you have to do something!- Nothing.

Gods damn you, you useless screecher!

I slumped back, teeth clenched so tightly I thought I could feel them splintering. I hadn't been able to rid myself of her influence until I needed her. Perfect.

I know that her's and Ichigo's minds are connected, I had to hold out hope that she was already aware of what was happening. I had to believe someone else knew to be looking for him. Then an unwelcomed thought- if her and Ichigo are linked and he was truly dead… what could that have done to her?

Cuyler suddenly came into view behind the carriage, his horse slowing to trot behind it. "You look irritated." he observed. I didn't look at him. "Are you hungry? We can camp early."

I'm surprised my glare hadn't burned a hole in the wood of the wagon wall.

"Or maybe you're cold? I can bring you a blanket?"

I refused to look at him as I said, "If you're offering supplies, I'd like my sword back."

"Funny," he chuckled. "You'll get it back once we reach the city. You're lucky you're getting it back at all after your little episode with Brayton yesterday."

I grinned a bit, remembering. "Tell your men not to look at me then,"

"You thought a look warranted a broken jaw?"

I shrugged, my shackles clanking with the movement, "I was bent up."

He was quiet long enough that I began trying for Rukia again. This time calling her every name I could think of, all in hopes it would reach her and irritate her enough to engage.

"Don't bother trying to reach your witch friend," That got me to look at him, my head snapping sideways. Cuylers face was all business. "That poison I slipped in your whiskey wasn't just to weaken you. It also burns out foreign influence, that tonic you'd taken was likely the first thing it targeted. You're all alone out here and in there."

I stared at him a moment, the rough terrain jostling me as I said, "You want to know something?" He nodded. "I would have helped you willingly."

His expression did not change as he searched my face. And that expression... it was as if I was looking at a stranger.

"You were my comrade. My equal. I'd thought you a man of honor, a man who held my trust. I would have deemed you a worthy king. I would have done anything I could to help you." The emotion I'd kept swallowing down became too much to bear as I watched him. "All you had to do was ask."

I could not look at him a moment longer. I looked instead to the shackles around my wrists, they scratched against the long healed over scars, turning them raw. I'd told myself I would never be here again.

A thickness clogged my throat, and filled my voice, "Yet in the end, you are just like the rest of them."

There is always a weakness to exploit, an advantage to gain, I should never have let myself forget it.

I'd known the oily feeling of helplessness before. I'd felt hands pull and grip and tug at me through every course of my life, and I had foolishly believed myself free of them. Now I was again caught in their bloody handed grasp.

I felt the water slowly slip back over my head as they pulled me under. I feared this time, when I resurfaced I would be irrevocably unmade.

We arrived at nightfall. The village, dark and silent.

The manacles were gone as I ascended the stairs to the palace, my sword back at my waist. But I could still feel them as if they were ingrained in my skin. Could still feel Cuyler's hand wrapped around my throat like a brand.

The long halls were lit with candles, and the heat seared into my frozen bones. It took only the distance from the entry to the dining hall for me to forget what it had felt like to be cold.

The entire northern ruling family was seated at the table as we entered. They rose with smiles, and Cuyler left my side to embrace his mother. I lingered at the door, feeling as if I was watching their reunion through glass. An outsider with no place anywhere.

Then Ryley was wrapping his arms around me, burying his face in my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut from the sight of Cuyler over his shoulder.

"I don't need to tell you what will happen to him if anyone suspects anything amiss." Cuyler had threatened as he removed my restraints. I'd already noticed how he refused to say Ichigo's name, as if that reduced him to less than a man.

"I know my part to play," I had assured him.

I'd said it before feeling the look of Lady Florence, as if she had been just as worried for me as for her son. I'd said it before I'd felt Ryley wrap his arms around me, as if I was only a girl and not a shell of something far worse.

I had said I would never be here again.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to destroy the feast on the table, I wanted to get Cuyler on the ground and rip his eyes out.

Instead I wrapped my arms around Ryley's middle, and said "I'm happy to see you,"

He pulled back, smiling from ear to ear, "You look diminished to nothing. Here, come eat and tell me all about your journey."

Ryley pulled me by the hand, leading me to sit in the chair beside his. Lady Florence leaned across the table and clasped my free hand. The gesture alone enough to reduce me to ash. I was unable to look at her, but I gave her hand a returning squeeze before letting go.

Cuyler was speaking, but I did not want to hear his voice. I wouldn't be able to keep the anger from my expression if I had to listen to him describe a false narrative. Instead, I looked to the head of the table.

Luca had a goblet of wine in his hand, half raised to his mouth as he intently listened to his eldest son. I wondered as I watched him, if he realized it would be the life he brought into the world that took his away. Did he ever look at his son and see, not a future, but an end?

I suppose Clark had been right to keep me at arms length.

I downed my own cup of alcohol in one gulp. Lady Florence watched me, but I looked at Brandt, "You want to train?"

He exchanged a glance with Garth, "Now? It's the middle of the night and you just returned."

I clenched my jaw and stared down at my plate. I could feel my hands about to start shaking if I did not exert the adrenaline coursing through me. I needed a release and I feared what I would do if I didn't get one.

The chair scraped against the stone as Brandt stood, "Let's go."

I couldn't stand fast enough. I realized then that Ryley was still holding onto my hand, I paused when he didn't let go, "Why are you rushing away again?" He asked, no hint of bashfulness even in front of his family.

Being sure to keep my eyes from drifting to Cuyler I lifted my free hand to caress Ryley's cheek, "I'll see you later tonight," then I leaned in and brushed my lips where my fingers had just been. I felt the blood rush into his skin beneath my lips and I smiled as I stood straight again.

I nodded at Brandt and gently pulled my fingers free. Only then did I lock eyes with Cuyler. He seemed at ease, as a servant filled his glass to the brim, but I could see the liquid black leaking out from his pupil before he blinked it away.

It was well past midnight before I made it into my room. My clothes were drenched, my body strangely numb from the cold and aching from the savage training with Brandt.

I locked the door, and placed a chair under the handle- just in case. I stripped my shirt off and threw it in a corner, running a hand over the red skin near my ribs. Brandt had been gentle at first, likely thinking I'd be exhausted from my trip but he had realized quickly how bloody I planned to make us both.

Garth had joined us after dinner, not participating but just wanted to watch as we made a mess.

I stood before the fire that had likely been lit soon after my arrival, as the logs had started to crumble and turn to soot. Kicking my boots off, I shimmied my pants down, they stuck on my damp skin before I threw them on the ground before the hearth.

I was about to venture to the window when I noticed an envelope on my pillow. I froze in place as I read the writing on the front, recognizing it instantly. There was no postage, telling me it had not arrived by travel carrier.

Knees shaking I took it carefully in my hands, thumb stroking over the swirl of letters. The date marking it as nearly three weeks old. There were two blood drops near where the seal had already been broken.

I was trembling as I read:

There is a girl I knew once

With a soul as wild as the sea

Though deep inside her was a fire

Among the hottest of degree

She told me stories of the people

Who would huddle by her warmth

All seeking shelter

From the rising storm

They ripped apart her organs

To fuel the rising flames

Taking each of her few ribs to do with just the same

But when the storm did pass,

As they always often do

There was nothing left inside her but smoke and smearing dew

Yes, she's a girl whose made of fire

It follows her around

Threatening to burn me into ashes upon the ground

Yet her hands are so gentle

Though she has been stolen, oh so many times

To fall into this love

Would be the worst of all our crimes

She doesn't want to hurt me

I can see it in her eyes

But she can't push me away

No matter how hard she tries

For I am made of chilled water

That will calm her harsh flames

If she will just merely tell me

That her heart feels the same

Tears dropped to the parchment, running the ink. I couldn't stop them, I didn't try. I sank to the ground, my face pressed to Ichigo's words. Until I was screaming, until I was unhinged.

It was always the one thing the books always got wrong. When the crushing weight of the world becomes too much to bear, when daggers disguised as words cut too deep it was never sadness that answers.

Anger always comes first.

I tried to swallow that anger, that infected aching inside my bones. I tried to stifle it as I had done so many times before, but the more I pushed it down the more it flared in my throat.

Suddenly, the screams were forcing their way out, my hands were shaking as they threw the table against the wall. Candles flying, the crystal vase shattering into tiny fragments.

I've always tried to absorb my pain, to transcend it but in the emptiness of my room I allowed myself to lose control. I thrashed and destroyed without even an inch of the anger receding. My hands were bleeding and my throat was hoarse but I could not stop, could not breathe. I was a monster made of skin and bone.

And then I was on my knees before the fire, my eyes swollen. My bare body marred with bloody splatter and hand prints. A calmness taking over the madness for just a shadow of a moment.

Perhaps the writers are all liars. No one can take the withering petals of a flower and weave them back together with string, no soft touches and whispering of sweets could fix this rotten core inside me. Where there is blood, there is bone and decay and nothing more.

Wicked, twisted liars.

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Thank you so much for reading!