Prompt: IchiRuki Month day 9, Time Travel

A big 'thank you! to the IchiRuki secret basement for making this anthology happen, and for encouraging me! This fic involves a time and place I've studied extensively, and I hope that helps in telling this tale that features our favorite couple.

"You know, if death isn't really the end of everything then the first time we met might not have really been the first time. For all we know, we might have been connected from way before that. I'm not really sure, but I think maybe once a bond is formed it can never disappear. And if that's the case even if we forget everything we'll all be connected again somewhere in the future."

- Kurosaki Ichigo

Williamsburg, Virginia Colony. 1773.

In the blue dusk of the Virginia wood, five men ran in terror.

They moved under a canopy of gray, skeletal limbs, marked with the last vestige of autumn. Harried steps propelled them through the fallen leaves which rustled loudly with each step.

Something hunted them, swiftly billowing through the forest. It lacked the gentle caress of wind, and instead passed through branches and limbs wildly, snapping them as it went. The only other sounds were that of the soldier's gasps for breath and the loud beating of their hearts.

One of the men fumbled with his musket as he ran, spinning to crouch down and desperately finish ramming the ball down the barrel. He poured powder and opened the flintlock. The swirling wind and leaves raged closer, impossibly fast. It was almost to him. He fired with a crack-boom and a puff of white smoke. Then he was thrown like a doll through the air, landing against a tree trunk with a sickening crack.

The others risked looking back for the briefest of moments. Instinct and fear had long taken hold, every fiber within them pushing them forward.

The next man was dragged aside in a crimson spray. Then the third, his shouts echoing throughout the wood. The fourth stumbled over a root. He hastily grabbed for his pistol with a curse, just as something slashed into him from above.

The last soldier chanced a look over his shoulder, clinging to focus amidst the terror that filled him. Just up ahead was the treeline and a clearing, with buildings and aid. He was almost there. So close, so very close-

He surged forward as his lungs burned.

A small house was perched just beyond the wood. Inside, Rukia sat at the table with her father and brothers, lit by the glow of the hearth and a candle.

A horrific roar sounded from outside. It was unlike anything she'd heard before, nothing a beast or man could make. She looked up from her sewing with wide eyes. "Did you hear that?"

They looked at her quizzically. "Hear what?" Thomas asked.

It sounded once more, the guttural howl that seemed to seep into her very bones. She swallowed and forced herself to resume sewing. They could not hear it, not as she did, the otherworldly things they could not understand. "Nevermind," she said.

But then the crack of a musket rang out- Close. Far too close.

Caleb looked at the others in alarm. "Musketfire? So close?"

They rose from their seats and moved for the windows. "It sounded from the wood," Thomas said.

Rukia peered out the darkened window, ignoring the sense of dread that lurked just beyond conscious thought. Another roar sounded. The others had no reaction to it.

"Is it an attack?" Father asked. "Surely, not this close to the city-"

Thomas reached for the rifle that leaned next to the door.

"Stay here," Caleb said, nodding to Rukia. He and Thomas grabbed for the rifles which sat next to the door, quickly priming them for fire, and moved cautiously into the yard.

The soldier reached the treeline. A stacked wooden fence barred his path, which he all but threw himself over and rolled into the grass on the other side. The house was close, now, so very close, just across the way-

Something raked across his back through flesh and cloth, erupting in pain. Crimson sprayed behind him. He screamed.

Still, he moved- biting back another shout, driven by sheer force of will. Forward, forward still, he managed one step, and then another, then another. His breath came in ragged gasps. A coldness seeped across his back; the numbness from shock starting to fade. Every ounce of strength went into the next step, and then the next. He managed one final step before falling to his knees. The soldier shut his eyes, tightly, bracing himself for the end. Just as he'd seen his comrades do in their final moments so many times before.

He thought of home.

But only the chilled autumn breeze caressed his face. Silence roared about in the woods and field. The gray bone-like branches shook faintly once more, then all went still.

Hesitantly, he chanced a glance behind- the inhuman winds seemed to threaten him no longer. Fatigue claimed him quickly, the price paid for his relentless charge. As he collapsed into the dirt, blood seeped freely into the wool of his coat, into the grass and ground.

The brothers crept out into the yard with their rifles held at the ready. It took them several moments to see the fallen soldier in the darkness. They rushed toward him and carried their rifles underarm, lifting the man between them and bringing him into the house.

"He's injured!" Thomas said.

"Make room- lay him down!" Caleb said.

Rukia caught only a glimpse of the man's face. It was a stranger, one with reddish hair, and a spark of familiarity flared with her. But the thought was fleeting.

They arranged the man as best they could in a bed, turning to expose his mangled back. It was marred by large, deep cuts through muscle and tissue. Rukia bit back a gasp, her hand covering her mouth, before scrambling to gather water and rags.

"Thomas, fetch the surgeon," Caleb ordered. He reached for beer to give the man for the pain.

With trembling hands, Rukia pressed the cloth against the soldier's bloodied back. He let out a hiss in pain. The rag was soaked red within seconds.

She had dealt with injuries before, but nothing that left the skin in such tatters, the clothing reduced to rags. She swallowed, fighting off the shock and panic, and reached for another cloth. Silently she prayed that Thomas would be back soon.

But moment by moment, the red-haired man's breathing turned from labored gasps to faint whispers. The sounds became eclipsed by the cracking of the fire. His breathing slowed.

By the time the doctor arrived, the man lay still.

Father placed a gentle hand on Rukia's shoulder, guiding her away as the doctor began his solemn duties. She let out a shaky breath and resisted the urge to look back at the soldier's form. Only after she moved to the far corner did she realize the blood covering her hands and ruffled sleeves. Muttering a curse, she wiped the blood on her apron with hurried, hasty motions. It was not the first time she'd seen death. But it was the most gruesome sight she'd seen in some time, and certainly up close. She leaned against the wall, her back facing the room.

Officers and undertakers arrived. The militiamen wore mismatching uniforms, similar to the soldier's, asking questions of her father and brothers. The three of them explained what little they had seen that night.

The undertaker arrived with a cart, wrapped the body in a cotton sheet, and carried it away into the now dark night. Only after the sound of the horse's hooves on the street outside faded did Caleb approach her. "Are you alright?" he asked.

Rukia remained facing the darkened window. She hadn't looked back yet, refusing to see the rest of their home. She nodded.

It couldn't be helped, she knew. She would need to turn around eventually. Maybe she could avoid it for a little longer under the guise of stargazing. A foolish hope that she entertained for no more than a moment.

Taking a deep breath, Rukia turned around.

The house looked just as it had earlier. The warmth of the hearth cast an orange glow throughout the room. Her candle burned in its holder, just where she had placed it on the table, and her brother's playing cards sat in scattered piles. Her sewing needle and thread sat atop a torn waistcoat hastily thrown in a chair.

Everything was as she left it, save for the translucent figure bearing a tattered uniform, red hair, and a broken chain that hung from a link in his chest.

Morning brought a fresh chance to forget the events of last night. Dawn shone through the windows in warm beams which illuminated floating dust in the air. Rukia sat up in her straw bed, high in the small loft which overlooked the rest of the house. Her father and older brothers were still sleeping in their beds below, although they would be up soon enough.

Lucinda Rotwood- or Rukia, as she had long been called since she was a child- was short compared to other young women, but slender from many days' worth of work moving about in the home and tending the garden. Ebony hair framed her face, which she tied back under her cap as she readied for the day. She rose and washed her face, dressed in her stockings, shoes, stays, then petticoats. A chocolate brown petticoat covered the others, topped with a powder blue jacket of a light floral design. A white linen apron marked her routine complete. It wasn't much longer before the men also rose and got ready for their day.

She prepared a simple but filling meal for breakfast which they quickly downed before scurrying out to work. Her father would work at the general store with Caleb, while Thomas went to his apprenticeship at the silversmith. Both were a simple walk away on Duke of Gloucester Street.

It was so normal and routine, Rukia found it easy to take comfort in it and leave recent horrors forgotten. But the pile of bloodied sheets and clothes sat in the basket, just where they'd placed them the night before. She sighed.

The fireplace crackled faintly with dimmed embers. She doused the remaining embers with dirt. The hearth had grown cluttered with the remains of wood and ash and needed to be cleaned.

She reached for the pan and broom- only for the spirit of the militiaman to appear through the wall.

Rukia jumped backward. "Scheisse!" she cursed.

The spirit stared.

Slowly, she managed to gather her wits and control her breathing. Shock turned to frustration and impatience, and she glared. "You- Have you no manners?!"

The spirit continued to stare slack-jawed. "You… You can see me?"

She had seen him easily enough the night before. Even so, she had done her best in ignoring him- no small task given the size of the house. He had seemed confused and only vaguely aware of his surroundings at the time. After ignoring him entirely, he'd disappeared through a wall before they retired for bed. Rukia hoped that would have been the end of it. The peaceful solitude was too good to be true, it seemed.

"Yes, I can see you," she said. Letting out a huff, she resumed her work in sweeping the ash into a dirt bin. She'd forgotten about the spirit completely, but would never admit to it. "You should know better. It's possible to die of fright, you know."

Her casual tone was lost on him. The spirit stared at her, squinting. "You… Aren't you surprised? Talking to a spirit? That's what I am, aren't I?"

There was a resignation in his voice that threatened to make Rukia sympathetic, which she cast aside in favor of the task at hand. "No," she said without looking up. "I've seen spirits before."

"You aren't some kind of witch, then?" he scanned the room critically. She snorted, lifting the pail of ash and dirt. "No. I can't help if I was born with such an ability." She moved to go toss the pail outside, and he followed behind her like a lost puppy. It was an apt comparison, she thought sadly.

"Why am I here?" he asked. He grabbed at the large chain and clasp which came out of his chest. "Why haven't I passed on? I haven't- I haven't been sent to-"

She sighed, her attempts at ignoring him in favor of chores clearly in vain. Standing outside, just beyond the doorway, Rukia spun on her heel to face him directly. Seeing him now, up close, she was surprised to find him more handsome than expected. His red hair still vibrant despite the translucent nature of it, his face carved with a strong jawline. He was tall, as well- typical for his age, but still a good head taller than she was. She found herself craning her head slightly to look up at him. Broad shoulders boasted of a life filled with manual work, most likely from farming, as was common with militiamen.

It took her a moment to organize her thoughts.

She stared back, his eyes searching hers in desperation. A wave of pity rose up within her. She swallowed.

"Miss Rotwood!"

Next door, along the low white picket fencing, Mrs. Jones waved cheerfully while carrying a large basket.

Rukia turned quickly away from the spirit, doing her best to mask what looked like talking to thin air. She forced a smile. "Good morning," she called. Already were the Jones' children were working and running about in the neighboring yard. Mrs. Jones was a gossip, but clearly hadn't heard of the events of last night. Not yet.

"Are you coming for tea this Thursday?" Mrs. Jones called.

"Ah- Yes," Rukia called, still forcing a smile. It was hard to focus on such frivolous things, but refusing her would have been far more troublesome.

With a wave, she turned back to the house, careful to ignore the spirit until inside and hidden from others. She closed the door.

The spirit watched her, curious.

She regarded the spirit carefully, then sighed. "I apologize… I know your situation is difficult, at the very least… Though I cannot imagine what it must be like. I only know that I have seen many spirits, such as yourself, for as long as I can remember. They appear after death, just as you have."

Rukia paused, her gaze going to the chain that came from his chest, the impossibility that added more absurdity to the very idea of spirits of the deceased. "Every one of them has a chain from their chest, just like that." Her hand rose slowly as if to touch one of the links, but it was no surprise when her hand went through mere air.

The soldier paused and considered. She could see the weight of it upon him, the kind that made it hard to breathe or think. "So… If I'm a spirit… What happens to me?"

"I do not know," she shook her head gently, frowning. "I merely know a spirit does not linger too long. I will see them, once or twice, then they are gone within months, at the most."

"Where do they go? Is this some kind of punishment- Is this… Purgatory?" The word was like dust in his mouth, a word filled with uncertainty and shame.

"I do not know," she said, softer. Hesitantly, she turned to lift the basket filled with the blood-soaked laundry. It would need to be sent off to be cleaned. Perhaps they could return to normal soon enough- a certain spirit notwithstanding. She adjusted the stained clothes so the blood didn't show outwardly and moved for the front door.

He was not the first spirit she had seen, although it was the first she had ever spoken to so directly, against her mother's old instructions. And there was little point in getting attached. "Spirits leave, after a time. You always do. That is all I know."

He remained as he was, seemingly frozen.

Rukia left abruptly, locking the door behind her, and walked into the city street. As she walked, something moved just in the corner of her eyes, following her. Around her, people of all stations of life spoke about the events of the previous night in concerned tones and hushed whispers. She forced herself to look forward and ignore it.

A block away was the Culpepper house which offered laundry services for a modest coin. She left the bloodied fabrics there, eager to be rid of them, hoping to finally cleanse herself of the memories and events of last night.

As she continued down the walk, the spirit was made plainly known. He attempted to stand off to the side casually. A futile gesture given his state, she mused, with only slight annoyance.

"Are you going to stalk me like a blushing stablehand?" she muttered, too low for anyone to hear. She had escaped notice from any prying eyes.

The spirit shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else to go. I'm invisible to everyone else."

Her miffed frustration eased immediately. He was the victim and deserved sympathy. Even if he seemed intent on frustrating her. The images of the night before came back fresh in her mind. The warm blood that covered his back, the confusion of a man who lay dying far too soon…

She began the walk back home, casting him a sympathetic look. "It will only be a matter of time before you pass on," she murmured, discreetly. He followed alongside.

"And how long will that take? Why haven't I already?"

Rukia stepped aside to make room for an errand boy running down the walk. Across the street, a merchant stood in front of his shop, vying for the attention of passerby's. He looked at Rukia directly and shouted about the newest laces which arrived from Paris.

She offered a faint, polite smile, then turned away. "Not here," she muttered. It wouldn't do for the neighbors to question her sanity. In the corner of her eye, the spirit nodded.

When they reached the house, she turned to him once more. "If you expect me to have answers regarding your plight, I apologize- I do not have them. I have only heard some linger still upon the earth if they are bound to it, somehow. If there is something from their life that causes regret. That is what my mother used to say."

His brow furrowed in thought. "My only regret is leaving my family, causing my mother to lose not one son, but two."

She swallowed. The years had eased the pain of losing her mother and her young sister, but the wounds refused to heal, and the hole was painfully felt at every meal, every day. "I'm sorry."

The soldier shut his eyes, pained. Then he gazed out a rear window, towards the woods, with a far-off look. "I'm… not even sure what happened," he shook his head. He turned his back to her, exposing his bloodied and mangled back.

She looked away.

"We were on patrol. There were rumors of attack, that way. Then something was chasing us and picking us off, one by one. But we saw nothing. I heard nothing."

Rukia crossed to the back door and went into the yard. The small garden there sat untouched, as were the stacks of firewood and other tools. At the end of the yard, where the stacked wood fence formed a zig-zag pattern next to the untamed forest, one spot had been destroyed. There, just in front of it, were the dark bloodstains marring the grass.

Maybe it was a bear, she thought stubbornly, with the claw-like marks that ripped across his back like paper. But what bear could leave wounds of that size? What of the otherworldly roars she had heard? Was it a coincidence, and her strange gift manifesting in new ways?

The tall wood suddenly loomed closer, with such a small divide of grass and field between them. What could lurk so close? What danger lay unseen that trained men could not stop?

Rukia moved back inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. "Animal attacks are not uncommon, even so close to the city," she said. She moved to busy herself with gathering pots to be cleaned in an attempt to distract herself.

"I didn't see an animal. None of us did," he shook his head, then tilted it as he watched her carefully. "Shouldn't you be afraid? What sort of woman talks to spirits so easily?"

"It's a mistake to label me as weak-willed simply because I am a woman," she sent him a firm look. Did he have to be so trying on her patience? "As I've said, I am used to such things. I've merely had the ability since I was a child."

He watched her for a moment. "You're not a witch, are ya?"

She snorted. "Fool! I'm not a witch." She folded her arms across her chest.

There were suspicions, rumors she'd heard as a child, things her mother had never said. Things she never shared with another living soul, not even her father or her half-brothers. They wouldn't understand, her mother had said. No one would. Even the closest of friends would cast them as corrupted instruments of evil, or as victims of vacated sanity.

It was preposterous, she realized, having to defend herself to a spirit. "Besides, you're in no position to accuse me of anything. It's not as if anyone else can hear you."

"What else am I supposed to think?" he asked.

"Anything will do, so long as it does not involve calling me a 'witch'."

"Fine. I guess I don't have much of a choice in the matter." He moved throughout the room idly.

She allowed herself to sit down, wiping her hands on her apron absently in a bid to calm down. Rukia bit back a sigh, as the loss of her normal solitude was clearly stolen away for the foreseeable future. It wasn't as if she could force him to leave- he was a victim in more ways than one. It was a terrible fate, she always thought, left to wander about invisible to all, sentenced to solitude even after losing one's life. To see others without the power to touch or speak to them.

The spirit, much to her chagrin, seemed all too comfortable lingering about and examining pictures and items within her home. "So… your name's Rukia? Never heard a name like that before."

It was a poor idea, she thought, to use names. Names led to familiarity, and it was something best avoided with a connection she knew would be temporary. But her pity for the ghost was strong; he had no one else to speak to. "It was a nickname I used as a child, which followed me."

"Rukia, huh?" he said as if trying the name out for himself. It sounded right, somehow. "I'm-"

"I don't need to know," she said smoothly. "You are a spirit. That is all I need to know." With that, she rose and resumed her chores. It was a reminder for herself as much as an excuse.

He scoffed. "Fine."

Several moments passed in silence as she worked. Then, "I suppose I should be thankful," he said with a cocky smirk, one that betrayed his true nature for the first time she'd known him. "At least I have someone to talk to. Looks like you're stuck with me whether you want me or not."

She found herself smirking in return. "What makes you think I want to talk to you? Perhaps I enjoy the solitude of housework?"

"Like hell. I don't believe that for a second."

She scoffed. "You hardly know me. There is no place for you to assume such things. Besides, my mother also said to stay away from soldiers, unless they were officers. Then, I was to find the one who drank and gambled the least, before considering them proper enough for company."

He smirked, still. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. I should stay away from men like you."

"That's funny. You were the one cursing in German earlier. I wouldn't expect such a 'lady' to have such a dirty mouth," he said, amused.

She threw a wooden spoon at him. It sailed through the air, through him, and bounced against the wall before clattering to the ground.

That evening, Rukia's father and brothers returned home. She passed around the stew she had prepared earlier with pieces of bread. The spirit lingered away in a corner. Rukia chanced the briefest of glances at him that went unseen by her family. The spirit disappeared after that for some time.

Her father spoke of the latest news in town, and the rumblings of war which still seemed an eternity away. Dull, idle events were also discussed, the kind typical of a city such as theirs. Innocuous enough until a shift swept throughout the room like a chilled breeze. There was talk of the militiamen who were killed and the effect it would have on the local regiment.

"Something's got them scared, I think," Thomas said warily.

"Don't start with those theories," Caleb scoffed.

"I'm just repeating what I've heard, that's all."

"Do they know what was responsible?" Rukia asked.

"Wouldn't you mean 'who' is responsible?" Caleb asked with a raised brow.

She looked down at her stew. "I doubt any sort of man could inflict such a wound. You saw it, as I did."

"Five trained men, killed without a quarrel? Muskets fired with nothing to show for it? They're right to be scared," Thomas said.

Caleb shot Thomas a glare, inclining his head without subtlety towards Rukia. "I'm sure they have it under control," he said firmly.

"Well," her father chuckled lightly. "They were militiamen. Hardly trained regulars, after all."

Movement on her left drew her attention. The spirit was standing there with a curled lip and a glare. She eyed him discreetly. "Oh? Not as skilled as the regulars?"

"Oh, no," her father shook his head. "Not the same at all, you see. A great difference in discipline."

"Hey! I'll have you know-" The spirit had pointed a finger, incensed. Rukia had the smallest of smirks as she watched him. He saw her and scowled before turning away.

"I'm sure they are better than you think," she said, finally tearing her eyes from the spirit.

"There's rumors throughout town, no matter where you look," Caleb shrugged. "They've called in extra watchman, I heard. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he smiled at Rukia.

"As they should," her father nodded. He turned to Rukia, stern. "But… If you ever see sign of danger, Rukia, promise me you will run right to safety. I worry for you being here alone. You should go to the Jones' household if something happens while we're gone."

Movement caught her eye just out of view. She resisted the urge to glance toward it. "You need not worry. I can take care of myself." Rukia offered a reassuring smile. "Besides… It's not as lonely here as one might think."

That night, the spirit was nowhere to be found. It was just as well, she thought, as she readied for bed. But the comfort of sleep did not come. The knowledge of the woods, now cast as a danger she had never seen, seeped into every thought.

Rukia felt very small. Not unlike years ago, when she was a little girl frightened from a nightmare and huddled under the blankets. Like the time they had seen a violent spirit chained to a large red house along the main street. There were always spirits there. Sometimes they were dressed like the native tribesmen, others looked like townsfolk. One day, after seeing a shouting, spiteful spirit, she lay awake in fear. It was impossible for her to sleep that night, the man's terrible cries echoing for hours.

Her mother had held her close and whispered, soothingly. "There is no reason to be afraid, little one. For so long as you are within sight of our home, no evil can reach you."

They were idle words of comfort, meant for the simple mind of a child. But Rukia still recalled the memory on such nights. The warmth of her mother, the reassurance in such an uncertain world.

As she drifted off to sleep, something sounded far in the distance. A sound not of the living world. Savage, guttural.

The next morning began much as the last. Rukia readied and dressed, noting the absence of the spirit (and rightfully so, she thought, when she was not yet decent.) Her brothers and father left after their breakfast. Then she was met with the familiar solitude and silence of the day.

But as she began to sweep the hearth, the soldier's spirit appeared through the wall.

She snorted. "Fool! Have you not learned? Do not sneak up on me."

"I didn't sneak up on you," he said.

"Were you always this way? Or have you developed the habit as a ghost? It is very fitting," she smirked.

He scowled.

Throughout each day, he continued to dutifully follow her as she finished her chores. The horse seemed to react to his presence, as animals often would. He moved unseen amongst the neighbors and visitors to the city. He even followed her to tea at the Jones' household, lingering in a corner, making remarks at the gossip Mrs. Jones so helpfully dispensed. It was difficult to keep a straight face, at times. Sometimes she would appear to glare at nothingness. Frustrated by her inability to reply to his comments for fear of looking mad.

When out of eyesight of wandering townsfolk, she spoke to him of idle musings she'd recently heard in town. The rumors of the attack had faded quickly enough. The spirit, she learned, was from a farm at least two days' ride away from the city, and he was only familiar with what he'd seen when posted in the militia. It was a new place for him in many ways.

The days passed quickly, the idle chores less of a burden for her. Despite his annoying nature of lightly mocking her in various ways. He was certainly very full of himself for a spirit, she thought.

And every night, he would disappear to places unknown.

She was sweeping the floor one day when the spirit approached her. "I'd like to ask a favor… but I have no right to it. You have every right to refuse."

Rukia paused in her sweeping. "What is it?"

He thought carefully. "You can write?" The spirit gestured to the writing table in a far corner that had an inkwell, quill, and paper.

She nodded, curious.

"Could you write to my family? I… I'd like to reassure them, somehow. I can only imagine what they're going through." He shook his head, and Rukia's chest ached.

Numbly, she nodded.

"I never learned to write, so… They won't question if it's written by someone else."

She moved to the desk, found a piece of paper, and dipped the quill in ink. It was a simple message. It took some time for the spirit to speak of it, so often did he pause. Emotions rose within him plainly visible as he winced, as unshed tears sprang to his eyes. How his voice quivered and cracked when he spoke of his mother and sisters. How thankful he was, truly thankful, to have lived with them as long as he had. He wished them to be well. Even if he could no longer be with them.

He longed for home.

Rukia wrote on a separate page, stating she had found the note on the soldier's body. A letter in case of his demise that she penned at his request just days before. As many other soldiers had done.

With a heavy heart, she folded the letters within an envelope and sealed it with wax.

He was very quiet after that. She approached him, the urge to embrace him an impossibility she felt foolish for entertaining. Anything to soothe the turmoil seen in his amber eyes and tired expression.

"Thank you," he said. Their eyes locked for a long moment, a softness to this gaze she hadn't seen before.

That night, the spirit disappeared once more.

"I should have known a soldier to be good at gambling," Rukia grumbled.

The spirit smirked from across the table. "That's what happens when you're a soldier and have two brothers."

In the rare moments of rest during the day, Rukia and the spirit played cards. Her mother had never approved of Rukia playing the game and considered it too close to gambling, which was far beyond what a respectable woman should do. But her brothers saw no harm in it. And she had gotten fairly good, besides.

At least, until she had played against the spirit.

The paper cards were worn, faded, and bent from use. Each card was dominated by detailed illustrations and excerpts from Aesop's fables. The card suits and numbers were relegated to the upper left corner, almost an afterthought to the tales and morales printed in bold texts. Rukia always liked the cards because of them. Each tale was different and mysterious, a substitute for books that were usually beyond their means.

Through trial and error, Rukia and the spirit discovered a way to play cards. Rukia would lift his cards up in a way only he could see. Then, he would point to the card he wished to play, and she would play cards as needed without looking at his hand. He was very good- far better than her brothers. But it was expected, as there were few things for soldiers to do in the off-hours beyond drinking and gambling. Just as her mother had warned her.

That was no excuse, still, for the way the spirit lorded his victories over her with a cocky smile.

"Fool," she huffed, as she always did.

He chuckled. As she moved to reset the cards, the spirit jerked suddenly. He bent over with an agonized yell. Hands clawing at his chest, hissing in pain, he fell to the ground as his breathing came in gasps.

"Spirit! What is it?!" she crouched next to him with wide eyes. Helpless, panicked.

"I don't-" he grit his teeth as another wave of pain rocked him. The chain which dangled from his chest had changed. The end of it had distorted, small teeth-filled mouths had appeared. They gnawed and bit, ravenous, like starving beasts without eyes. The end of the chain began to disappear the more the mouths chewed and bit.

He screamed, terror and pain filling him.

"What's wrong?!" she pleaded.

And then it was over. The chain-mouths were gone, the uninterrupted chains hanging just as they had moments before, save for the now shorter length that stopped at his waist.

The soldier's breathing came out in painful gasps and huffs. He rose shakily to his feet with a wince.

Rukia noticed her hands were shaking. She tried to will it away. "Are you alright?!" she asked desperately.

He breathed, in and out, slower and calmer. "Y-Yeah," he nodded. "I think so."

She stared at the chain. It had become so normal; something they both had grown used to. It was merely something they accepted in the world. An unknown, unchangeable element. They noticed it no more than a tree that grew in a certain part of a field.

"I've never seen such a thing, before," she shook her head. "Never… I'd only seen the chains… They were always different lengths, on other spirits…"

He looked at her soberly. "The spirits you've seen… Have you ever seen one without a chain?"

She paused. "No, I have not."

The spirit nodded slowly. The unasked question hung between them, in want of an answer that lay beyond reach. When the chain hung no more, what was to become of him?

Rukia looked back at the cards strewn across the table. Amongst them, atop the others, was the six of diamonds - emblazoned with the tale of The Old Man and Death:

'An aged Man whose shoulders bow'd beneath

A might Load, in anguish calld for Death;

Death strait approached & asking his Command,

Cryd only Sr. to lend your helping hand.

Tho wreckt with various pains yet Life still pleades

Much more than Death, who all our Sorrow eases.'

On the card, a man was drawn in a field, desperate to avoid the too-soon fate from his foolish wish of release. The Reaper of Death stood before him, a skeletal being who bore a towering scythe. The skeleton grinned.

Rukia hastily gathered the cards, covering and hiding them away where they could threaten them no longer. But it was too late, and the cruel image continued to haunt her into the night, mixed terribly with the memory of the spirit's agonized screams.

That night, she slept little.

-To Be Continued -