Disclaimer: In the most simplistic statement I can offer all of these scary lawyers and copyright people, I will say that I do not own Bleach.

A/N: I'z back w/ another (kinda short) chappy. And I am sincerely sorry that my updates are monthly(ish)…and I know the story is going kinda slow but…in the beginning I hadn't intended on really making this a story story! And I'm kind of depressed right now but…Heh, excuses excuses! Um…I hope this chapter is okay…

Anyway, I want to thank the peoples that have taken time to review. First, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to a friend of mine, Brighit R. Gauthier, who has been amazingly supportive. As stated before, she translated the story into Portuguese and she even made me some fan art! I'll post the links to the fan art on my profile so the readers can check it out! Love yah!

frostedheavens, DoodleNoodle-no-baka, St.Kitsune, TheGoldenOne, and Lady Kaliska, I tip my hat to you. Thank you so much for the reviews!

--

Chapter Five Conversion

Silence permeated her quarters. Every now and then, a subtle patter of lily-footed strangers met her ears from the other side of the world; the side which she'd abandoned. Hushed voices. The rattle of the sand outside her window, perhaps? She didn't know…she had grown deaf from the unconscious roar of blood in her ears.

The hours passed, ignoring her muted inquiries of 'When?'

She ate as commanded, answered Ulquiorra with monosyllabic statements, and refused to meet his eyes.

And when she was required to bathe, he stood at the edge of the room with his back to her. The mirrors had been taken out...the shattered glass cleaned.

But that did not mean she could not see her reflection in the water. At times…she had actually begun to forget what she looked like.

At night, she rounded her emaciated fingers over the bars and waited for her sense of time to return. Her vitality. Her need—no, excuse to live. Somehow, she even convinced herself that Aizen hardly meant her harm. Hardly wished to keep her there, alive, enclosed by the bulk of his ravenous talons…drinking off of her misery, like some sort of elixir. Maybe he had forgotten about her? Maybe she was the tail of his concerns? Maybe…he would set her free.

She toyed with these notions, only to realize that these thoughts were very similar to the strained amount of patronizing hope she'd settled upon Ichigo. Who did she think she was, fooling with reality??

Only a fool would attempt to search the veracity of Aizen's intentions.

So why even bother…why bother…why bother…?

To question the decisive judgment of a god?

Thusly, it was at the window that she relinquished her rights to individual ownership.

Inoue Orihime just gave up that night. She gave up everything that she had believed in…she mentally crumpled beneath the weight of her deterioration…and for once, the girl stewed in nothing but the prospect of divine submission.

It was then…that she truly belonged to Aizen.

--

It was the morning of the day of Aizen's return.

When she walked over to Ichigo's robes, she felt Aizen's breathe against her neck; an easy warmth, suffused with tea and mint and mutual intentions. She turned around, but he was not there. She bent over at the hip, coupled the black folds to her chest and tried to breathe.

"What is monstrous…is forgetting Kurosaki Ichigo so easily."

There was an odd feeling at the pit of her stomach. It struck her heavily that she could not recall the sharp emotion…its suddenness left her strangely nonplussed, and for a moment she was left raking the back of her mind to place its origin.

…she was kissing him now, her sweltering passion thrice that of what he had given her...

Her misted eyes sharpened and she realized that she had not been trying to recall not a feeling at all…rather, a dream. A replay of previous events. A night's supplementary for the suppressed desire that Aizen had watered and dubbed monstrous.

Could she call it his fault?

And she blushed, breathed--because she had been holding her breath, faltered before her feet could mobilize properly—

"Onna."

A rich thrill of terror groped her spine like iron talons and she spun around. "Ulquiorra—" She choked out, clutching Kurosaki's robes tighter to her chest.

Before her, the door was thrown open, framing the hoary arrancar in a freakishly bright light. His green gaze was leveled with hers, unmoving, like the petrified eyes of a severely venomous serpent. She frowned, oblivious to the way the blood rushed to her cheeks in response to her surprise.

And she waited, but he did not speak. He continued to inquire her. She stood, feeling irregular; limp. Then suddenly, she threw out her arms and tossed Ichigo's shinigami uniform at his feet.

For once, his gaze turned incredulous.

"I want you to get rid of it." Her voice was oddly stony.

Ulquiorra kicked the tainted clothe to the side. Erected one finger, poised his cero, fired—a cylindrical green beam pervaded the darkness as a green spectacle, and the odor struck her to be as sordid as burning flesh.

Her last ounce of remembrance was reduced to smoldering ashes.

"Are you ready?" The question was oddly suiting. He spoke as if he was giving her a choice. But she knew that the inquiry was only for appropriated purposes…

"…he's here?" She forced herself to ask.

He did not answer that. Instead, he nodded to an unknown source, and several arrancar bustled into the room.

He watched her face then.

Her eyes never left his.

He turned…closed the door behind him.

A/N: Next chapter, Orihime meets up with Aizen again. Yayness! Kbye!