Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its characters
It is hard to describe the tiredness that comes with losing your grip on your own mind. It is a form of fatigue that can not be cured with any amount of sleep. It turns my body into a stranger, my reflection into a shifting mirage. The only thing I recognize is the anger I course through my veins like blood.
I used to know how to navigate this world where I have no control, pressed under a pampered thumb. But I've found I had cast out all my mental armor somewhere I could no longer reach.
Yet this anger I recognized, this anger I remembered, for it had never left me. It caused my entire being to ache, as if bruised.
I had taken a few hours to allow myself to calm. Long enough to pick the broken glass from the soles of my feet and for the small scrapes on my palms to stop bleeding.
I dressed carefully, ensuring I did not reopen them. I could afford not a single hair out of place. I knew from now onward I would need to tread with light steps; As if walking on cracked ice. One wrong shift and I could plummet into a depth I'm not prepared to face.
However, I would not leave the fate of Ichigo in Cuyler's hands. Any attempt to send word to Sam would be intercepted before it left this northern hell. Rukia was a lost cause, I don't even know where she is, physically at least.
I had no allies. My hands are tied with the same rope around Ichigo's neck and the more I try to wiggle free, the tighter it grips him.
That is if Cuyler even has him.
Ichigo is a slippery sort of man. He had bestest me time and time again, and I couldn't help but have a hope lodged in my throat that Cuyler was bluffing. That Ichigo is safe and sound; waiting for me. A book in his lap and an easily earned smile on his mouth. I imagine he would laugh himself hoarse to hear of my worry for him.
Yet I had never had a taste for gambling. To dangle something precious for the thrill of its possible demise.
I stormed through dark halls, lanterns spread wide apart along the walls. They cast shadows in all directions, seeming to cause more darkness than light.
There were two guards standing on either side of the door I stopped at. They did not even look at me as I knocked as if they'd been expecting me.
The moment the door opened I pushed in, not waiting for it to close again before I whirled on Cuyler, "I want to see him."
Cuyler had a small glass in his hand filled with amber liquid. His white collared shirt was unbuttoned and untucked. He turned toward me fully and gave me a look better suited for a child asking for the world to stop turning.
I gritted my teeth at his silence. "I said, I want to see him."
He took a step toward me, "No."
Taking a deep breath through my nose I tried to sound reasonable. "How do I know you speak the truth? How do I know you have him, if I don't see it for myself?"
"Did you not get my little gift? I left it right where you could find it."
I fished his 'gift' from my pocket and held it up, "Anyone can write a poem. Do not take me for a simpering girl you can control with shallow threats and phantom truths."
Cuyler took a sip of his drink, "If you believe it false, by all means throw it in the fire and rid us both of its sickening lovestruck verses."
The logs behind me popped as if in agreement. I did not move, planted in place and Cuyler shook his head with a laugh.
I brought the poem down slowly, holding it now in both hands. I had wrinkled it, and I desperately wanted to smooth it out but I didn't give in to the urge. I stared at it instead, making sense of the erratic chaos swarming in my head.
I should have waited until morning for this conversation, I should have waited until I had gotten myself under control. I am too ruled now by my instincts, too overcome with my emotions to think rationally..
Kill Cuyler now, then find Ichigo on your own.
Beg him to tell you.
No, kill the guards first, then torture Cuyler until he sings.
Sink to your knees and cry.
Create a mask he wants to see, play him while searching for Ichigo.
Fall.
Apart.
The shaking in my hands was uncontrollable, the quiver in my lip involuntary. "I just want to make sure he's okay."
I felt him move closer, until his bare feet entered my view, "He's alive."
Not enough.
KILL HIM NOW.
Would I feel whole again if I slit his throat open and let the blood absorb into my skin? Would it be enough to smother this hunger, would it ever be enough?
He reached for my cheek and I flinched back. Not as if afraid, but like a feral animal moments away from sinking teeth into flesh.
"You feel it, don't you?" his breath fanned the crown of my skull, his voice awed, "Give into it and you'll never have to be afraid again."
Afraid? I was not afraid. I was burning. Choking.
I don't recall moving but I am no longer idle. I am moving across the room, until I am inside his bedroom. Until I am holding the entire world in my hands. It is warm and fragile and alive. It flickers inside its prison.
It can give me all I've ever wanted. It can give what nothing else can.
It can turn the golden traitor whole again.
"Do you understand now?" Cuyler asks from the doorway, but I do not answer him. I am no longer in that room with him, I am everywhere and nowhere. There is nothing but darkness around me, nothing but chilling quiet.
There is nothing I don't understand. I am infinite with knowledge and purpose and power. It is raw and molten, it slithers along every molecule.
It turns me inside out.
There has always been a darkness inside me that forms itself into the shape of a creature. And anytime I'd tried to bring it out into the light, to better understand it, it'd wither away. Turning to dust between my fingers. It has always preferred the dark and musty discomfort of my worst fears. Yet now, after years of waiting, with the witchfire's beckoning, it takes its first step into my view.
The whispers of darkness fall away, inch by inch until I am face to face with the grotesque creature that has haunted my every step.
Myself.
She is naked and slender and lethal. And she watches me, curiously; head cocked slightly. As if she is surprised to find an inkling of her likeness in me. She saunters toward me, a grace to each movement. Each ripple of muscle calculated, every strand of hair ensnared in her control.
Until we share breath, until we are nearly merged.
It is only then I see her skin is pure as ivory. Not a single mark blemishes the armor of it.
"You have fought for us long enough." The voice that came out of her was mine, "You have failed for the final time." I shiver, look down and find myself naked, head snapping back up to see her standing in my clothing. I reach for her wrist but she catches mine instead, "Your time has passed."
She began to shake, then I realized the shaking was coming from me, "What are you?"
Her eyes are clear, "I am who we were meant to be. Unburdened by failure. You allowed us to be broken, allowed us degraded, but not I." Her grip turned splintering. "I have only known victory. I am the Heir this world deserves."
The smooth plane of her skin, the unbridled fire in her eyes, the strength in her convictions... She is who I would have become if not for my time in the pits. Shiny and whole.
Every old wound on my body seared with pain and I fell to a knee, gasping, "No, no."
Her touch was firm as it smoothed over my bowed head, "It was a valiant effort, but you were always meant to fail. You were always meant to kneel."
Teeth bared, I glared up at her.
"It is all you have ever done, and all you will ever do," Her grin was cruel, and all too familiar. "I will smother this world in pitch black, until there is no safety, no solace, no fire but mine."
A light flared above us, pulsing like a heartbeat.
It spread until it swallowed us both, and then it was gone- and her with it. I roared with fury, slicing my arms through the empty space before me. Trying to summon her back.
But I was alone in a blackness like I'd never known.
In the cage of my own mind.
.
.
.
Yes it is short, but we are nearing the endgame now, and I want to savor the time I have left with this story
Thank you for reading :)