Notes: I thought I was going to quit Bleach for awhile but the newest addition to the manga series persuaded me otherwise. I've also recently been tampering with incorporating heavy indications of Biblical and Historical allusions in my English class so, I figured, why not get a little more practice in with my fanfiction? That being said, expect allusions regarding Disney themes because we can't get enough of them, can we? :)
And to clear up any future confusion, the plot's setting begins from the time before Momo's academy days, to during her academy days, to the beginning of Aizen's betray, to post-Aizen betray, and during the winter war. Rated for gory bits. Oh, and feedback would be lovely, too!
...
The memory is vague and slipping. The trail that had once led to it is fraying away and begins to rival the unknown. Suddenly, everything is spiraling out of control and this numbing feeling obstructing her from life terrifies the very depths of her soul. Hold on. Holdon.
But she doesn't.
Don't fight, child, urges a hushed voice. And it strikes her odd, when she pauses to close her weakly fluttering eyelids; hunger depriving her from even crying out in short whimpers, that she needs to stop fighting in order to die.
"Idiot!" hisses a voice in her ear and her eyes snap open. She yelps when she receives a chastising flick to the head but feels fear rush from her body when she realizes her cheek is resting on a shoulder, warmth illuminating underneath her. "You fell asleep again."
"Sorry," she apologizes as she pulls away, rubbing her tired eyes with her clenched fists.
It's late; in the middle of summer, she assumes from the humidity that dampens her hair and the irritating warm breeze that leaves her breathless rather than refreshed. She finds herself sitting on top of a hill, watching over the decaying ruins of her district and she feels like she's closest to the clouds here. Her eyes peer upward into the dark, dark sky littered with tiny specks of glaring stars and she fiddles with a blue ribbon she found lying near a riverbank on her way over.
She thinks this is what heaven is.
"Idiot, you're staring again," chides the voice beside her. She glances at her friend sporting a nest of white hair and she widens her eyes slightly at his displeasure.
"Am I not allowed to look at the sky, Toushirou-kun?" she asks quietly and he huffs moodily.
"Silly girl, always with your head in the clouds," he mutters even if he's far too young to be saying such things, "you always forget what surrounds you." He stands without further explanation before ordering, "come on, Momo. Let's go home."
And she doesn't think she'll move until he offers her some type of kindness. He eventually does, taking her hand in his as he pulls her to her feet, because he's anxious and a bit antsy and she's glad that he is. It makes him feel more real to her; more like a child that he is but tries not to be.
"Why are you rushing me?" she questions as he drags her down the hill scattered with debris, the long blue ribbon trailing behind her.
"We're late," he answers as they walk farther into the night.
She remembers this day the most. She doesn't know why but she thinks it's because it was so hot outside her bangs were clinging to her forehead, and her blue ribbon gleamed so brightly in the darkness behind her, and that her and Toushirou's small, childish hands eventually intertwined their fingers together (he claims she was falling behind and he had a better hold on her this way) while she followed the white blur into tomorrow.
...
She lays her tiny hand on his bandaged cheek and feels tears spring to the forefront to her vision. The gap between them is minuscule and she's so close she's blurry to him but she doesn't seem affected by the close proximity of their bodies; she's already preoccupied with guilt and worry, after all.
Her advances are a bit startling, to say the least, but he's the academy's star pupil and he's no stranger to fame, to pride; to admiration. This, however, wasn't initiated by any of those and that's what horrified him the most.
He lost his two friends he once thought were going to be his later comrades, he lost half of his vision in his eye, and lost his perfection to ugly scars healing beneath the bandages her fingertips are brushing gently against.
He can vaguely remember her name because she was one of three that had blindingly came to save him, which was ironic because it was he who had tried to save her in the beginning, and he thinks it's Hinamori Momo or something delicate like that. He doesn't handle delicate things though, so he can't be too sure.
And that's why he's so scared because she's so frail and tiny in his arms and her guilt is too heavy for her to carry. (But this isn't her fault. It's someone else's he doesn't know but thinks he ought to. But no matter how high he's already ranked or how superior he is, he's still a boy who trembles at the very thought of death and he doesn't rack his brain to want to know; to understand. Maybe, sometime in the future though, he'll curse himself for not looking closer into the attack. But right now, he's just a boy. And he's just terrified of the girl in his embrace.)
But she's so, so beautiful at the same time and when he finds himself leaning in to capture, what he thinks, is her first kiss, his lips linger a second longer than he wanted before he pulls away in an alarmed state. She looks flushed, and her hair isn't in pigtails but in a bun, and she looks more mature than before.
"I'm ugly," he blurts in shame, referring to the scars on his face and the bandages that cover them.
She doesn't understand what he means because he isn't but she feels her tears finally fall when he pushes her away and asks her to leave.
She does what she's told but pauses when she's a good distance away from him so that he can't push her any further.
Her eyes are lost when she says his name Hisagi Shuuhei and he feels his glass heart shatter when she whispers, "but you're so strong and smart and so easy to fall in love with."
He wants to know if she had fallen in love with him but he isn't naïve and what he does know is that he's just a boy with a scar story and a seat in a division and that she's just a girl with eyes for someone other than himself.
...
Poor pathetic little thing, he muses silently as he walks over Hinamori's body.
Aizen-sama is in front of him, beckoning him to follow because the prince is just about to arrive and die right next to her, and he glances back to look at the ruined doll.
Blood glitters around her like puddles of red roses and it splatters across and stains the cracks of her hands and fingers that twitch from involuntary muscle movement.
This is how she's going to die.
Alone.
He thinks Aizen-sama should have ripped her heart out of her when he had the chance. Even if he didn't take it with him and abandoned it pulsating before her eyes, she would've at least known this was real and that she was dead, if not dying.
But the palms of her hands are clammy and numb against the cool floor and her body tingles now as the pain resides. This should hurt more, he can hear her screaming quietly to herself, but it doesn't and she hopes this is what suffering feels like.
To not feel at all.
Tears threaten and crowd the corner of her eyes but they can't fall. Crying takes far too much effort and time and she has very little of both now. She wants to blink but her eyes are still fixated on the trail her superior left behind, fading as the walls of her world begin to be torn down.
This room is barren and rigid and bitter. Or maybe that's just her body. But it's cold, all the same, and she can't elude death's icy embrace any longer.
She's waiting for someone to save her. Whether it be by healing her wounds or puncturing the rest of her stomach until her blood paints the rest of the room's floor and walls. But she's waited for so long and gained nothing in the end.
Filmy outlines of images circles around her and she can see white and red uniforms alongside white and blue, there's many children her age wearing flesh-colored skin with rosy cheeks and white wide smiles, there's pink and green, and a different color red that's so similar to the pools of blood beneath her, and black scars, and just white and green, and yellow and blue, red and brown, there's so many colors and then her visions fades to blotches of gray.
This is how her world ends. Right in front of him.
"Are you coming, Gin?" asks his superior and he nods and smiles in response.
Of course he is.
And then, her hero arrives just as expected, and Gin's twisted smile contorts into something more sinister inside of him as the monster in his sword rages against the one in Hitsugaya's. The ice beast is eventually sliced through and the silver-haired snake can feel himself grow into dragon as he plunges himself into the prince's broken body, the boy's eyes already detached once they laid eyes on the fallen princess far before they even engaged in battle.
Gin thinks he did the both of them a favor.
Besides, wasn't Hinamori warned not to meddle in his and Aizen's affairs?
It wasn't his fault she touched the spinning wheel of their fabricated lies and believed them when she was firmly told not to.
It was just the death of her and Gin couldn't help but feel that much more in love with her shattered innocence.
...
Her cracked hands are folded neatly over one another and her glass eyes are painted shut.
Kira Izuru doesn't remember who she is, because this isn't the girl he once claimed as his dear friend, but he looks and looks and looks, searching desperately for familiarity buried within her porcelain expression. Instead he sees nothing but the embodiment of lost innocence and purity and he continues to see it every day he wills himself to disparage his paperwork and visit his new hobby (because seeing friends isn't an avocation, but observing a stranger is). And she, in return, waits and sleeps, waits and fades; waits and falls farther away from him with his every brief tarriance in her pristine room.
After his sixth visit Kira notices a few things and still doesn't understand everything else.
But what he does know is that time has seemingly suspended her memories, that she's the softest sleeper he's ever known, and that, while her face turns completely ashen from her lack of light as well as life, her lips continue to deepen into a crimson color. He assumes it has something to do with the oxygen mask that embroiders her snow tinted face beginning to threateningly blend with her white sheet covers, but he's not sure he can truly account a medical mask for rushing blood to her mouth.
Still he can't help but wonder if he can achromatize the alarming red if he were to brush his own colorless lips against hers.
But every time he finds himself leaning forward, he contracts himself back. He can't do that. No, not him. He's too calculating and terrified.
And how funny it is, he thinks instead with bitter irises that are clouded and concealed with shame and guilt, that the fruit which first intrigued the wicked had been tossed so easily aside.
He passes seven of her division's men, all which glance at him with separate expressions, before he ducks clear of their silent pleads to catch their falling lieutenant and shuffles into the familiar room.
And there she lies, sleeping in her own martyrdom, with a saint-like expression and tragic atmosphere scaring his pride away.
He can see his silhouette move about the walls while his physical manifestation resides in the corner of the room and he squeezes his eyes shut just as his shadow swoops down and claims her lips. However, he shuts his eyes to an even clearer image of her face awakening with the gentle brush of love against her and he mourns over the assumption that he's been consistently given the opportunity to wake the slumbering girl from her sleep.
But Kira can't because he's nothing but a coward, and it is a coward that he'll remain.
...
The night before they invade, her dear red-haired friend Renji pulls her aside (because Hisagi and Kira are too ashamed and scared to) and questions her if she can do this.
"Yes." I don't know.
He smirks tiredly and probably doesn't believe her but nonetheless says, "all right. Just don't take Ichigo's commands to heart, though, he's an idiot." You can't do this. Just let Ichigo take care of Aizen and stay out of the way.
And she probably should've listened to him, but the next morning his words fade from her memory, and she aids Matsumoto, avoids Hitsugaya's watchful eye, and, when Ichigo is preoccupied by Rukia, she meets her captain again.
Her heart feels like it's about to break but it's already broken to begin with and as he turns to look at her, she feels her vision cloud with tears. It's too late to turn back.
Captain Aizen's sword then slices into her and it feels disturbingly perfect—it fits.
A smile slides over his face and there's a glint of the old Aizen she admired once so long ago that resurfaces until a malignant expression takes over. She blinks and it's gone and she inhales a pain-ridden breath. "Ah, Momo-chan, I knew it was you." His smile brightens as he extracts his sword from her stomach and she stares at him with wide, torn eyes.
Then she vomits red on his white robe and she can see his face twist with disgust.
Now his eyes bulge slightly when he feels a slice of pain in the side of his arm and his blood suddenly mingles with hers.
"Captain Aizen," she breathes, "I knew it was you."
And when she collapses to the floor, her sword sliding out of his flesh, she corrects herself.
This is a perfect fit.
...
More Notes: Thanks for reading this story and I hope you enjoyed it. I'd also like to refer back to my earlier note of the Disney allusions I placed in the story. Each section has its own allusion and, because I'm lame, I figured I'd list them chronologically: Alice in Wonderland, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White (Yes, you read right, Kira's section is Snow White), and Cinderella. Some themes are implied more heavily than others but if you read carefully you can see an element of the selected fairytale in each section. Anyway, writing this story was fun and I'd love feedback if you'd like to give it to me. Thanks! :D