Hey everyone, sorry for the late update, I had two sudden deaths in the family and things have been very hectic.

I really struggled halfway through this chapter, and I hope my forcing it came out well.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bleach or any of its characters

WARNING: This chapter is a bit controversial, but if you can't handle it then this story probably isn't for you.

Lets jump in-

"Do you own any other colors than white?" Bronze bellowed, the next afternoon, her words sweeping out from deep in my closet, where she'd been throwing around piles of my clothes all morning.

I stretched my arms above my head, the old, worn spine of my book, allowing it to stay open in my lap as I did so. "There is a splash of black and red somewhere." I replied, not able to put any amount of care into my words, as I returned my attention back to the story of two star-crossed lovers, dying together.

Ichigo groaned from his place on the couch, "Are we ever leaving this room again? If I hear another word regarding which tunic matches which pair of boots, I'll go mad."

"If you find our company so boring, feel free to find your way onto the balcony railing and jump." Bronze replied quickly, her voice no more than a muffled huff.

"Orihime could never bore me. Though, you on the other hand,"

"Bite me."

"You'd like that wouldn't you, Masochist."

"Better a masochist than a pleasure hall whore." Bronze growled, poking her head out.

Ichigo sat up quickly, twisting, his brows crinkled, lip raised in a sneer, "Watch it," He turned to me, "Don't listen to a single word she says."

Bonnie groaned, "By the Gods, stop pining after her like some imprinted duckling, it's becoming difficult to stomach."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd know all about it, Bronze." Was Ichigo's quick retort, her nickname a mocking that hung in the air as Bronze tried and failed to counter it.

I flipped my page dramatically, sighing like some tired den mother, "You two bicker like children."

Ichigo sunk back down, with a mumbled, "She started it." Causing Bonnie to stick out her tongue at him, before disappearing back into the mess she'd created.

I couldn't help but agree with Ichigo's earlier sentiment. I had never been one for girl talk, having found it rather difficult since I'd only had men as companions. When I was a young girl I'd attempt conversations with the maids, but they were all usually too fearful to say anything meaningful, and so I'd taken to ignoring them for their own comfort.

Yet, it seems Bronze had no quarrels with such things. Upon meeting her I had assumed her to be a quiet woman, internal like myself- and had been surprised to find the opposite to be true. The woman could speak for hours, hardly ever coming up for air. Thankfully, she didn't seem to mind that I had nothing worthwhile to add.

But I desperately needed a release from my chambers. From the view from my balcony that had somehow turned less beautiful and more taunting. And in the swarm of all the things I could no longer do- sleep comfortably, train, walk without pain- I found myself dreaming of running, though I had never been much a fan of it.

Yet the freedom that could be found in echoed footsteps over an empty Center, it was all I craved.

Like Ichigo, who was, perhaps, just as restricted as myself, I was beginning to feel smothered. I snapped my book closed and threw it to the foot of the bed, rubbing at my face roughly, trying to keep the aggravated groan from escaping.

A wild gasp sounded moments before Bronze rushed out, a blur of red and black. "It's so," She struggled to find the words, as she stroked a hand down the matted black sleeve. "Diabolical."

I wondered if there could be any other word to describe the thing she held. Black as the night itself, designed to shield me from unwanted eyes, when I was sent out by my King's command. The last time I had taken it from its spot in the back cobwebs of my closet, a man's head had rolled. It made me truly sick to look at it.

Bronze, of course, had no way of knowing, as she looked it up and down with a clear look of want and admiration, that the thing she held reeked of death and tears and all the horrors I'd done.

She held it up to her body, straightening it to her length, "Imagine the look on Kisuke's face if I returned home clad in executioner leather. I have to try it on!"

"No!"

She halted in her tracks, half turned toward the bath door. And even Ichigo, who had been ignoring her completely looked up at my sudden declaration. They both watched me, Ichigo's calculating eyes flashing between our faces.

They waited for me to speak, to give some sort of explanation. I tried to think of an excuse that would warrant such strong disapproval, and came up as empty as the void cracking open inside my chest.

Sometimes, no matter how skilled a liar you are, the truth is all you have to give. "That is not an outfit suited for you. It is what I wear when I intend to spill the blood of the innocent. I do not wear it proudly, or with excitement. So put it back where you found it, wash your hands, and never speak of it again."

Bronze hesitated, the look she gave one of conflicted understanding. I could tell there were words forming on the tip of her iron tongue, and I braced myself for the questions, for her view of me to shift like it undoubtedly would.

Ichigo stood, swiftly and with purpose, "You heard her."

He and Bronze shared a look, and he flicked a nod over her shoulder.

She disappeared, reemerging hands empty.

I pushed past the look in her eyes, and demanded, "Tell me everything you know of the witches."

A sigh. No doubt a sign of relief against the building tension between us three, "I only know what I've been told, and I've never dared ask them for confirmation."

"You've met them."

"We have a few on our side of the fence, not many. Most of them are Whisperers, not fighters, but they help when we are so spread out, to keep in touch with the other leaders."

My blood ran cold, an itch at the nape of my neck. Ichigo laughed, "Don't worry, Princess. They aren't in your mind. Though, a part of me wishes they were. I'd pay good money to learn only a few of the things living inside that pretty head."

I turned my full gaze to him, and a smile, wicked and delighted, grew on Bonnie's face as I purred, "Careful what you wish for, Soldier Boy. For whoever is mad enough to enter my mind, might never find their way out again."

I gave Ichigo credit for how long it took his stare to break. He looked to his leader and gave her a nasty glare. "Don't act like you've never thought about it."

She barked out a cackle in response, "Sure, but I'd never be stupid enough to actually mention it."

I hauled my legs over the side of the bed, breathing through clenched teeth as I rose. The pain mostly subsided once I straightened, and I noted with a hint of glee- which I quickly masked- that walking gave me no pain at all.

"Help me bathe," I ordered over my shoulder as I passed between them. The marble floor of the bathing chamber was cool against my bare feet, and I welcomed the familiar scent of jasmine and lavender as I began to fill the tub.

Their voices carried, quiet and pointed, and they spoke for a moment, long enough for the bath to fill half way, and then I heard a thump and a growl before the squeaks of rushing boots and a slammed door.

I turned to see the victor of the debate, and found Bronze, back pressed to the door, hand not yet fallen from the knob. I gave a slight nod before turning away again.

I winced as I loosed my arms from their sleeves, the fabric bit into the still healing sores and made me see white. I was silently cursing my inability to even remove my shirt properly, when Bronze spoke, "I should warn you," She began, and I gave her a glance over my shoulder. "That I prefer the company of women. I don't know if that might change how you view me, or if it makes you rethink asking for my assistance in this matter, but I felt you should know."

I watched her only a moment more, before shaking my head, looking forward with a humored huff, "It makes no difference to me." I pulled the shirt over my head, tossing it away. I was struggling with the tight pants my new maid had helped me into this morning, and I barked out a curse, nearly losing my balance- and I would have plummeted to the ground if Bronze hadn't suddenly been there to steady me.

Her face was conflicted, her eyes clouded. She released me once my feet were once again sturdy beneath me. "Is such a thing uncommon in Bellator?" I questioned, attempting to determine the cause of her hesitation.

"No. In fact it's as common as any male and female relationship."

"Then why feel the need to clarify it with me?"

That darkness returned to her face, as she helped me sit on the golden lip of the tub. She leaned down to untie the laces of my shiny boots, "You are not Bellatorian." My jaw clenched. "And I don't mean for that to sound harsh. It's just that, this city is strange to me in many ways. Most things un-blinked at in Bellator, would be seen as scandalous here. It is hard for me to keep sense of it all."

I considered it, as I slipped my pants down my legs. "Well, I have never heard of a scandalous same-sex courtship here, and there have been many. You have nothing to fear."

"I think the king might have a very different opinion." I could hear, not only the slight anger in her tone, but the small fear what his opinion could potentially do to her- or anyone who shared her tastes in partners.

"The king is a demented person. He enjoys making people suffer, he did long before either of us were born, and that sickness will probably remain long after we are gone. But even he wouldn't care who you entertain yourself with. You don't get to choose the ones you love, only truly heartless creatures who have never known love would believe otherwise."

The clouds in the sea of her eyes cleared, as she looked up at me from her kneeled position. I was not sure if it was the weight of those too old eyes, or the tender smile she allowed to show, but I patted her head, her copper hair soft beneath my rough skin. That smile changed slightly, and I rose before I could analyze the spark that lit in those eyes.

I stepped into the tub. The water scalding hot, due to my distraction, yet I enjoyed the slight burn. Sinking deep into it, until my hair soaked and the water overtook my chin. The scabs now overlapping my back seemed to sizzle, growling at me silently for making them endure the heat. I ignored them.

Bronze allowed me to sit there for a few minutes, either not knowing what to say, or enjoying the silence. The only sound the ripples making their way through the water at the soft movement of my breathing.

I sat up, pushing my dripping hair back, reaching towards the many bottles of soaps. I studied them, I repaid her condor with one of my own, "I have always demanded a variety of different scents. Each day, when I bathe, I look upon all my selections, and determine the mask I will wear that day- all depending on which soap I choose." I ran my finger over the beautiful glass bottle, fingering the fraying label. "Lavender; will I be calm, a flowing river that never angers." My fingers shifted to the next, "Jasmine; will I be youthful, a creature that thrives in the night. Rosemary; will I be bold, a warrior thriving and unapologetic." I did not touch the last bottle, did not say its name. "They are all bits and pieces of all the parts I play. I rub the scent into my skin. I imagine them seeping into the bones beneath and changing them- altering them into what the day will need them to be. I have never once looked at these bottles and wished for their scents to change, I have never wondered if they could, one day, mean something different." My hand slipped down, back into the murky water. "Perhaps, that is my curse. To look at things as they are, and never hope they could be more."

"That's bullshit."

I looked to her, and found her expression hard, determined.

"I don't claim to know you better than you know yourself. And maybe you lack the ability to look at sheeted steel and wonder if you could shape it into something different. Maybe you look at the hell around you and accept that it is all you will ever get. But none of that matters to me- and it shouldn't to you. Because you looked at a boy, broken where no one could see and saw a king's guard. Because you looked at a girl, naked and bleeding and saw someone who needed to be saved. You looked at the tears on her face and the worthlessness in her soul and saw a slumbering warrior beneath. So no, you don't look at soaps and wonder if they could mean nothing when you rub them on your skin, but you look at wounded, broken people and see all the changes you wish you'd had the chance to make within yourself. And I think that says far more about you than these soaps ever could."

I've read that you will always appear different to others than how you appear to yourself. That you can look in the mirror everyday of your life and not truly know what you look like. I'd always wondered if that were true, and her words made me wish it was. But I had also heard all the words whispered as I passed by courtiers and citizens, words like bastard, murderer, slave, and that was what I saw in the mirror each day. Though Bronze looked at me and saw something else, perhaps she saw what was so far beneath the skin and the bones and the hate, perhaps… perhaps.

I scooped my hair over a shoulder, running my fingers through the tangled mess. She reached over and overtook the task, sweeping it back with a slight tug, beckoning me to sit back while she went to work on it. I laid in the tub, the water growing less warm as she combed my hair, her hands careful but sure.

"Tell me more about the Whisperers," I said, her soothing strokes nearly luring me to sleep.

She went into detail, as she finished brushing and moved on to cleaning. She told me how their magic worked. Potions needed to be consumed if they were to get clear thoughts from a great distance. She told me they could not enter where they had not been invited, though they could sometimes force their way into a mind weak of will. She told me that she herself had taken such a potion before leaving Bellator, and that it had tasted like apples and smelt of tricks. She said that she was now bonded with the Whisperer who'd made the tonic, that sometimes, late at night her own sense of self seemed to slip away and she would see through the eyes of that witch, see her home through strangers eyes.

I asked if she knew when the Whisperer was inside her head, asked if she could choose which thoughts the witch could see. She had paused, long and heavy, and reminded me that such magic was as old as time itself, and had grown stronger by each passing moon. "Some days, there are so many voices inside my head that I forget who I am, I lose sight of which thoughts are my own. I think the witch is the same, sometimes, she takes a memory from me, as if plucking a flower from a garden, I feel it leave me and enter her. She always returns them, replanting them with wilting petals. And she tells me she thought it was her own, that she was revisiting a part of her own past, and realized too late the person in the memory was me. I don't believe she means to take the things I'm not willing to give, but thoughts are an easy thing to steal."

She went on to tell me how, if the connection with your Whisperer is strong enough, if the waves of your mind are similar, the witch can even take your body as her own for a short while. She said she's never seen such a thing happen, and knew it would never happen for her, but she'd been told what it felt like, by someone she trusted.

"The night we took you from the balcony, when we broke what little trust you might have had in us, it was not Ichigo who watched. Not him who carried you to the warehouse." I recalled the way his face had shifted, how his body had morphed and had suddenly held itself foreignly. I could remember the voice that left his lips and had known even then that it had not sounded right. "I knew he would not have accepted such a tactic, and I betrayed him that night as much as you. He did not mind taking the punishment you gave him, yet things between us have been tense ever since."

"The witch he is bonded to, she is here within the walls?"

"She was, but I sent her away with the others. Witches can sniff each other out like dogs, and the risks outweighed the rewards."

I nodded, "I think I have discovered who my father has been seeking his help from. A few weeks ago a strange woman entered his inner circle, I have seen her only once but there was a sense of wrongness about her I haven't been able to shake."

"Do you know which coven she belongs to?" Her voice was strong but her hands shook.

"I don't know enough about the clans to establish such an important factor. Though, I swore I felt her pushing images into my mind, yet what you've told me of your Whisperers suggest she shouldn't be allowed in."

I felt her body shift as she shook her head, "All witches have that ability. They can influence actions by showing you clips of a certain course, but they can not see the effects their pushes have made. What did she show you?"

My body ran cold, despite the warm water, "My death."

Her fingers falter, only by a second. "Surely just a way to scare you, to keep you leashed…" I could feel the question rise in her, "How did it happen?"

I remembered very vividly, as if it had already happened, I could still feel the phantom blade. "Stabbed by a betrayers blade," My pruned fingers moved up to my left shoulder blade, where the dagger had pierced just below, the strike meant for my heart. To stop it from ever beating again. "Killed from behind like a thief in the night."

"Then I guess it's a good thing you have me now, to watch your back from such cowardly attacks." She pushed my shoulder lightly, telling me to dip my head under the water, and I did so quickly, so she could not see the effect such simple words had on me.

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A weighing chapter, more meant as a lead up.

But I hope you enjoyed it either way.

Till next time-