"I'm at the top of the food chain, and well…you're the food."

-Dance with the Devil (Sherrilyn Kenyon)

What seemed like hours later, the blue-haired demon named "Grimmjow" returned. She'd been sitting on her "bed" when the door opened, spilling in the light from the hallway. Immediately, Ciara ran for the only exit, hoping she could take him by surprise and slip right underneath his arm, or something. Unfortunately, he was faster than anyone she knew and quickly stepped in her path. Colliding with his solid chest, she fell back onto her butt with a cry.

"Ow," she whined, climbing to her feet. Rubbing at her sore ass, she glared at the male. It was then that she noticed he had a tray of food balanced in his hand. Her stomach growled in response. "What's that?" She asked, eyes zeroed in on the tray.

"Apparently, humans need actual food to survive." He sneered, he turned his palm over and dropped the silver tray of food.

"No!" She cried, rushing to try and catch the plate before it hit the ground. Of course she wasn't fast enough and watched in horror as the chicken and rice scattered on the white tile. Lifting her head, she glared at him. "You bastard! Why would you do that?!"

He shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. An evil grin pulled at the corners of his lips; flashing a hint of fangs. "Guess I lost my hold when you tried to escape." His blue eyes pinned her. "You won't be trying that again, will you? Or your next meal might end up with the same fate."

When she rushes him a second time, Grimmjow takes a single step backwards and closes the door. She impacts the door with fists flying, beating against the wood as she screams at him. On the opposite side, Ciara can hear his maniacal laughter as he walks away.

Seething with anger, and fearing a meltdown, Ciara steps away from the door and walks over to the window. The moon shining in cast a shadow on the floor. Taking in a deep breath, she settles in the center of the shadow and closes her eyes in an attempt to center herself once more. When he left her alone earlier, Ciara had desperately checked her pockets for her medication, but found nothing. Without the pills, she'd have a much harder time controlling her emotions. Needing some kind of outlet, she fell back to what she'd been taught as a child.

Meditation.

Slowing her breathing and calming her racing heart, Ciara reaches for control. Praying to the Gods that she could find it now, despite how it's eluded all these years.

Grimmjow laughed as he walked away from the human female. The way her eyes had widened in disbelief as the food had fallen to the floor, her desperate attempt to catch it before it hit, was absolutely hilarious to him. Still, as she'd looked up at him with anger and unshed tears in her blue eyes, something inside of him had stirred. Something akin to….regret. Which couldn't be right, because he never felt anything close to regret. Especially not towards a pathetic human girl.

Though, he did enjoy the spark of fire he caught in her eyes every so often. She was fierce for something so fragile. When he'd had her throat underneath his hold, Grimmjow had felt just how easily he could've snapped her little neck. With a flick of his wrist, he could've ended her life in an instant. But the way her heart thudded against his thumb had sent an unexpected thrill through him.

He found that he didn't want to end her. Not yet, anyway. No, Grimmjow wanted to see just how much he could push the little creature before she completely broke. Something told him that she wouldn't. But he liked a challenge, and for the moment, she would be fun to play with. Like a pet he could end whenever he got tired of playing with it.

The sudden pressure behind him made him growl low in his throat. That greasy haired bastard was standing behind him. Turning around, he glared at the green-eyed bastard with hatred. "What do you want?" He said, not even hiding his disdain for the Fourth Espada.

"You've been placed in charge of that human's well being, Grimmjow." He comments, his voice grating on Grimmjow's ears. "That means seeing that she is kept healthy. Playing such games with her will upset Lord Aizen."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, uncaring. "As if I care what Lord Aizen thinks." He spits on the ground at Ulquiorra's feet. The Espada doesn't move or even acknowledge the act. "She'll learn to be a good little human, or go hungry."

Ulquiorra gave him a blank stare, but he could see the condescending way he looked at him, and it had Grimmjow's fists clenching in his pockets. Oh how he wished he could kill the bastard where he stood. But he behaved himself this time.

"Anything else?" Grimmjow asked, trying to sound bored.

"Lord Aizen wishes to see the human girl." He says, turning around to give him his back, casting him off. "Be sure she is there on time."

As Ulquiorra walked away, Grimmjow glared at his back. His hands itched to wrap around the greasy bastard's neck and squeeze the life out of him. Nothing more would satisfy him than watching the light leave his cold green eyes. Soon, he would be the one to kill the Espada.

Walking towards his own room, Grimmjow didn't care what their "Lord" wanted, he had things that needed to be taken care of first. Once he was done, he would bring the girl before Aizen. He didn't care whether they were late or not.

Ciara watched from her place on the bed–the only suitable place to sit comfortably–as a small pink-haired girl dressed in a little white dress, cleaned up the mess Grimmjow had made of her dinner. As tempted as she'd been to just eat it off the floors, she was that hungry. Not yet, anyways.

"What's your name?" She asked the girl, but like with the other questions Ciara asked, she didn't answer. Didn't even acknowledge her.

It was becoming irritating.

"Do you not talk?" She asked, watching the little girl as she swept up the rice.

Silence.

"Do you know that blue-haired demon? He said his name is Grimmjow."

Nothing.

Ciara chuckled. "What kind of name is that? Grimmjow." She shakes her head, hearing how ridiculous it sounded. "I bet he was picked on as a kid and that's why he has a stick up his ass now. Now that he's this all powerful guy, he likes to make others feel like they're inferior to him."

Still, nothing.

"My name is Ciara. It's Irish." When the girl continued to remain silent, Ciara continued. "That's where my family is from, Ireland. My grandmother left decades before I was born with my mother and her brothers and sisters. According to my mother, she was run out of the country as a witch."

Ciara had never talked about her family with anyone outside of those who already knew their history. When she was little, she begged her mother to tell her the story over and over again as if it was a common bedtime story. According to her, they originated from the Irish Isles, and centuries ago, the Celtic Gods had blessed the women in their family with special abilities and long lives. Even to this day, they continued to worship the ancient gods, but long before she'd been born, they stopped answering. Her mother didn't know why, just that one day, they stopped responding.

That had been the day her grandmother had fled the country for the Americas. Back then, refugees had been encouraged and welcomed with open arms. Her mother said she'd been young when they left and didn't remember much of the process, but she did remember how scared Gran had been. When they finally arrived by boat, she quickly did everything she could to blend in with the Americans. Going so far as to change their last name and even hide her accent. To this day, she could barely hear the accent in her Gran's words, and never in her mother's. The only time she heard even a hint of an accent was when they spoke in the old language. Even now, she and her brother sounded like your typical American.

When she pulled herself back from her thoughts, Ciara looked back at the young girl to find that she was staring back at her with wide gray eyes. She didn't say anything, of course, just stood there watching her. Ciara sighed and she tilted her head at the girl.

"You don't talk much, huh?" The girl just blinked. "Fine!" Ciara says, throwing her hands in the air, exasperated. "I'll just sit here in silent boredom." Falling back onto the plush mattress, she stares up at the white ceiling. Everything here was either white, or black. Other than the people–or at least the few that she'd seen so far–there was no other color. She liked black, but this was going overboard.

When the light from the hallway disappeared, Ciara looked over at the door and saw that the girl was no longer standing there looking at her with blank eyes. Ciara probably could've used the opportunity to escape, but she didn't know the layout of her prison, and judging from the height from the window, she was in a massive building. She'd gotten the impression that it was some kind of castle in the desert.

Running into the unknown and hoping for the best, was a foolish idea. No, what she needed to do was get the blue-haired devilman to get her out of here. That, or someone else who happened to enter. The pink girl had been a deadend. Perhaps the next person who was sent to clean up Grimmjow's mess.

Snickering at the demon's name, she rolls over onto her stomach and closes her eyes, picturing the male in her mind. He obviously wasn't human, not with that hole in his stomach. Maybe he really was some kind of demon. She wasn't exactly human, though she could still be killed, why couldn't there be others. But what was he?

She pictured his smirk, and the way his eyes had lit up with glee as he'd taken her by the throat. He hadn't hurt her, just scared her. His hold had been firm, and he'd blocked her airway, but it hadn't been painful. Did that make her sick? Was it some kind of hidden kink? She shivered at the idea of being turned on by someone choking her. The thought hadn't occurred to her before. Then again, no one's ever taken her by the neck before either.

Without any warning, a hand wrapped around her ankle. Her eyes popped open and just as she was looking over her shoulder, Ciara was roughly thrown onto her back. Momentarily dazed, she looked up into the blue eyes of her jailer. That twisted smirk was on his face.

Grinning back, she tugged on her leg. His hold was tight, but again, he wasn't hurting her. Not really. "Ears burning?" She asked, putting her hands behind her head.

He looked down at her with confusion. "The hell are you talking about?"

Ciara rolled her eyes. "Nevermind." She pulled at his hold a second time. Again, his hand tightened. She could feel that he had the strength to crush her ankle, but he was holding back. Why? "What do you want, Grimmjaw?" She purposely said his name wrong, putting emphasis on the "jaw" part.

His hand around her ankle began to tighten, painfully this time. Stupid, Ciara! Filter! She mentally chastised herself for taunting the sole person responsible for whether she lived or died. When she watched his fist ball up at his side, she closed her eyes and waited for the hit she knew had to be coming. But when the sound of someone clearing their throat came from the hallway, Ciara opened her eyes with relief.

Behind Grimmjow stood another male. He was tall with hair blacker than anything she'd ever seen before, with a skull-like helmet on the left side of his head.. His eyes were green like a cats, with slitted pupils, and thin teal lines looked like tear marks slipping down his cheeks. He was ghostly pale, and like Grimmjow, had a similar hole in his throat.

Ciara's eyes widened at the sight. How was he breathing and speaking with such a large hole in the middle of his neck? Just what were these monsters?

"What do you want now?" Grimmjow asked through gritted teeth. His blue eyes blazed down at her with anger.

"Lord Aizen wants to see the girl now." The man in the doorway said, his expression blank like the girl's from earlier. When Grimmjow didn't say anything, he continued with, "Perhaps he was wrong to place the girl in your care." He turned around to leave. "I'll be sure to report your insolence."

An animal-like growl came from the man looming above her, muttering under his breath. "Fucking greasy-haired bastard." Dropping her ankle, Grimmjow takes a step away from her. "Let's go." He said, turning away from her. Without waiting to see if she would follow him, Grimmjow exited the room, turning left.

Sitting there a moment trying to process what just happened, Ciara soon climbs to her feet and follows Grimmjow out into the hallway. Whoever this "Lord Aizen" was, maybe he would finally tell her why she'd been taken and just where exactly she was. If anything, this was her opportunity to get a rough layout of her new prison. Grimmjow was unknowingly aiding in her upcoming escape attempt.