Yoruichi sits before Hisana's photograph, those wide, kind eyes staring past the years between them.
Spring blooms early in the Seireitei, and Yoruichi has brought a cluster of newly birthed peonies to set before the dead woman's picture. Yoruichi never knew her, never saw her, only aware of her existence through what little Byakuya and his servants told her. A kind, demure woman, whose guilt carried her into an early and tragic grave.
Yoruichi hopes, but doesn't expect, her death to be so gentle. Unlike Hisana, she is a warrior, an Amazon, dark-skinned and brazen, the perfect foil to Byakuya's small, pale wife in the photograph. She says nothing, because there is nothing to be said. Hisana is dead. And as much as he may hope, Byakuya cannot speak to the dead, no matter how hard he tries.
Yoruichi hopes, but does not expect, that one day Hisana's photograph will be put to rest. It is just a photograph, after all.
OoOo
Long wait was long, very sorry. Originally this was going to be a stand-alone one-shot, but I decided to put it in here instead because I was satisfied with its short length, and didn't feel the need to make a new story that's only 222 words long.