Disclaimer: Bleach is Kubo Tite's work. Borrowing.
The adopted
September 2: Loneliness and desire
13:53
There was a certain falseness in her existence. With each breath she took, she thought of the reasons why she was a hollowed being, why the exchange between oxygen and carbon dioxide was just that and not process borne of a mystical touch of some supernatural being sustaining inexplicable life. Oh, but she would have loved to believe that... only that her very life, her every cell, was proof against it. She was not created by some god, nor birthed by a woman of her own species. She was created by her master. She was a fabrication, a brilliant invention, a soul that was not.
Aizen Souchirou had dared to claim such an exalted position: godhood. Nemu could not bring herself to believe in him either—would not—and, if given the chance, would have fought to rid the heavens of him. But to that war he started against Soul Society, against the human world, she had been deemed in advance a mere spectator. Whatever the outcome, she and her master would adapt and survive. Mayuri-sama would profit. Mayuri-sama would know and would learn.
Ah, but why was she dwelling on such unpleasant matters?
Night was for dreaming, and under the moon, she could coax out the emotions her brain produced through out the day, could examine them under the cold white light and wonder at their seeming realness to her: how sorrow wrenched her heart from its great vessels and the flimsy sac that succored it, how her anger seared her blood so hotly that they budded from the pores of her skin, how loneliness dissolved her entire body, the remains poured down some incorporeal sink to coagulate with the chemical wastes coating the drain pipes, crawling to the sewers, and seeping to its final resting place in the undiscriminating earth. She dreamed that they were real, those feelings, and that the pockmarked silver face that smiled with such gentleness from above was her mother.
Nemu took a last long gaze up the sky. She looked hard enough, long enough, and for a brief moment it give her the illusion of flight, of belonging, and of realness. The glinting stars filled her with happiness----never mind that she was synthetic as long as she could take in happiness and hold it in till her soul brimmed---- and it would have to last her till tomorrow night, during the same three minutes that took her to walk from the laboratory to the twelfth division quarters.
14:33