Its raining now. A titter tat of water pelleting a small window. Can you hear it?
A dim, grey light fills a small room. In this room, we see a man sleeping peacefully on a bed. His features though relaxed are aged, yet his hair still remains as orange as a sunset sky.
Look. Near the window, do you see? Look carefully. Do you see her? Ah yes. The young girl, sitting on the window. The one with the pallid, pallid features contrasting angrily against the dull black of her haori. She looks sad, yet she smiles.
Do you wonder why?
Don't bother, she wont tell you nor I. She's in a faraway place now, can you not see? The faraway look in her eyes as she stares at the sleeping stranger?
You do know what she's thinking, don't you? Well I don't suppose I know myself, either. I don't suppose anyone could tell. Perhaps she is thinking of the day when she told a young boy called Kurasaki Ichigo her name. Maybe she's thinking about when she condemned herself by giving that boy her power.
Perhaps she's thinking of when her room was but a shelf in the young man's closet. Or a time when he'd make fun of her drawings and she'd hit him. Of when he would tell her she looked ridiculous in his younger sister's dress.
Perhaps she's thinking about his first time wielding a sword, or the first time she had to walk him through a battle.
Maybe she thinks of the time he collapsed in the rain and she had held him, unconscious on her lap. When for the first time she had seen him at his most vulnerable, and found she could do nothing to help.
She might be thinking of a time when she asked him why he didn't like the rain. Maybe she's thinking about the time she would spend warm afternoons with him and his friends, or cold nights talking about meaningless things.
Perhaps she thinks of a time she had to walk away as he lay in a pool of his blood. Perhaps she remembers how her throat burned as she cried out for him. Maybe she remembers the look he gave her before she left his world forever.
Maybe she thinks of when she found out Kurasaki Ichigo had risked his life, and those of his friends, to save her. Perhaps she remembers how her heart stopped mid beat when she found out that he had left his world for her. That he had come to save her.
Yet maybe she thinks of how she had to watch him go. Of how she knew she would only continue harming him by being near him. Maybe she remembers telling him goodbye. Maybe she remembers seeing him leave.
Perhaps she remembers watching as he grew. Maybe she thinks of watching him live on, of watching him forget. Watching him forget the blood he shed, watching him forget the sword he had to draw. The lives he had to end. Watching him forget lazy winter nights talking about nothing in particular, watching him forget getting dragged out of school under false pretenses.
Forget her.
Maybe she remembers watching him fall in love for the first time, or his first kiss. Or how his face lit up as he held his first born child.
Maybe she remembers when age started showing on his face. Perhaps she remembers collecting the soul of his beloved wife, then fighting not to cry herself when everyday Ichigo Kurasaki would go to his beloveds grave. Standing there, drenched in the rain he hated so.
Yet perhaps she remembers of how he'd hold his grandchildren and recant crazy stories of the ghosts he saw as a child, or the one god whom loved him without his ever knowing.
She sighs and draws out her sword, walking towards the bed. The hilt glows a faded blue, and she smiles lightly. Very, very silently she mutters under her breath and the scene suddenly fades out from us in a vivid blue light.
You do know what she said, dont you?
Do you wish to know?
She was quiet, so much so only he could hear. She looked at the sleeping man, her eyes showing a mixture of pain and happiness as she whispered; "Hello again, Ichigo."
