Author's Notes: Uhm. It's weird but I have nothing to say!
In the Beginning
In the beginning, there was nothing but blood - the memories of blood, the shedding of blood, life blood. Her sword rose and fell with cool precision, the aristocractic line of her back a straight line against the darknening skies filled with white, grasping hands and the unearthly howls of Hollows. She walked along rooftops, stood on telephone poles, the guardian of oblivious souls who would never even know they were being protected. This was the way of shinigami, to fight without an audience, to die without witnesses.
Then she met him.
Now there's a spot of color in her world, a splash of orange against a dreary backdrop that she registers only briefly as she slices the Hollow in front of him with a short-lived cry. Straightening her knees, she sheathes her sword with a pristine click, turning to glance back at him to gauge his injuries. He had none, and so she turned and disappeared back into the fabric of the world.
After all, it wasn't like he could see her anyway.
She wings her way into his bedroom that night, leaving a trail of butterfly dust. Everything's about to change but she can only see duty and obligation and regret.
And that bright splash of orange against a cloudy sky full of rain.
The End