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special thanks to: JC-Zala, Foxgrl18 and onlynameleft...thanx for awesome reviews!
Mindless follow the velvet tears,
The silent picture is perfect,
The architects of our flaws and fears,
I know, were nothing but servants,
...
Silent, damned and strange...
- Deathclub
That foolish human girl is yet again crying. Her tears have been falling continuously since her arrival in Hueco mundo.
Tears
Ulquiorra muses upon this human action, what a strange and almost pathetic way of wasting ones energy.
The amber haired girl often cries with such force that many a time it has exhausted her to sleep. she only seems to allow herself the comfort of rest after enduring countless hours of crying, self inflicting a sorrowful pain that causes her body to shake and quiver.
The foolish girl tries to stifle these tears not wishing for anyone to hear, but he always hear he was the one assigned to guard her, he is her capturer and she is his prisoner.
The Arrancar often paces the hall outside her chamber not being content enough to sit and tonight is no different, he walks the corridor, each step feels slow and exaggerated. A sigh escapes his black lips, frustrated that he must use a human gait. Slow. Aggregating.
All arrancars have been instructed by Aizen-sama that at all times they must move in human speed within the grounds of Las Noches, except for battle, the only exception when they can unleash their pent up energy and move freely as desired. Free. No restrictions. Caged.
Each step is mundane
One...two...one...two.
He finds the rhythm and sequence to his steps.
One...two...one...two.
Each night has become increasingly uncomfortable. His control tested when he guards this epitome of sorrow, her scent filling the hall till it seems that the very air he intakes is like drinking her in.
The scent of life within the palace of death.
He hears the girl attempting to hold her cries in futilely, the sound muffled. He contemplates that perhaps she has her fragile fingers clasped over her mouth or maybe she is biting down on a balled up fist to silence the weeping.
The cuarto espada cannot repress the shudder that travels down his very spine at the thoughts of seeing her pearly teeth bitting into creamy flesh. Teeth. cutting deeper. Skin. till crimson blood. Torn. would rise up. Red . And stain her lips.
He feels his member harden in his groin, throbbing almost swelling from the thoughts of her, combined with her alluring aroma, a small hiss escapes between clenched teeth while the coiling pressure continues building up and getting tighter.So hard.In taking a shaky breath he composes himself once again. Her very Tears. Her Scent. Her skin . Intoxicating.
In the end it is a vain attempt to control herself, as always a few sobs wrench out from her lips and pierces his ears. like Knives. Piercing. My core.
Nonsense. He shakes the thoughts from his mind, taking a breath to steady himself, his skin has now become faintly brushed in a slight sweat. fever. He chants to himself I am better than this.
I am not trash. trash like humans who are controlled by such desires. Trash. Desire. Want. Never has he felt these desires, never has another caused this reaction. New. Unfamiliar. Pressure.
Duty is all that matters, a duty to Aizen-sama. It is what separates him from the trash. To him humans are feeble creatures which run around without care or sense. Always depending on or expecting their 'destiny' to take control. Foolish. Trash. No duty.
The espada continues his rhythm of steps. Her sobs. He cannot comprehend the precise feeling that washes over him from hearing her weep, of course he is irritated by her weakness but something else resides. Stupid. Tears. Salt. Alone. Comfort ...Duty
However tonight the girl, Orihime Inoue , has been crying longer than usual, it's late. why is she not asleep?.
He finds himself wishing to give her another human to find solace in, anything to cease her pain. He momentarily freeze in his step. The steady rhythm wavering. Her pain?
How ridiculous he should not care for ' her pain ' as he had put it. No, he merely wishes to abstain from such unpleasant human sounds, that is all. That is all. He continues his pacing while chanting to himself I do not care for her pain,... but he cannot understand why this statement feels untrue. A lie? No,...Only untrue,...not a lie but not the truth either.
Walking silently along the marble white halls, his light steps not making a sound. Grimmjow has often remarked that he is truly like a panther, sleek and stealthy. insult. He is nothing like that former panther- Adjuchas. Despise . Another reason that he had taken up guarding her room particularly at night was due to the sextos' lascivious thoughts and actions.
Ulquiorra had often found him eyeing the amber girl lustfully, his eyes straying too long over her form, liking his lips in anticipation. Strange how it had infuriated him. A intolerable hot rage had washed over him. In those times he had wished to rip out his ribcage and make it an accessory to adorn his hollow mask, to signify to others that she is hi-Aizen-sama's. Not mine. Aizen-sama's.
The teal cat like eyes fleetingly glance to her chamber door. Counting.His mind already calculating the distance to reach it, Perhaps it would take five steps.
One,.. two,... three,... four,... five.
Taking five steps along with five short breaths. Now standing before the door, his body feels disconnected, unlike what he has ever felt before. Stupid. Frustration. Over analytical. thinking too much.
He contemplates at what moment did he instruct his limbs to move and carry him here?
He can feel her reistsu softly calling, pleading for something. Want. Need. Alone. Craving. Her spiritual energy is awash with something that craves. craves. It craves for what?...He fails in placing the feeling. aggravating.
How frustrating, never before has he been around a human for such a long period of time, never before having to be aware of each fickle emotion. It is a challenge for him in understanding their numerous feelings. yet this girl. This girl of fire is by far the most fascinating mortal that he has ever encountered. Fascinating. Different. Strange. Unpredictable.
Her face a canvas through which thousands of different expressions are painted, each one of them that smallest fraction different, always individual. Its puzzling that never twice is the same expression seen. Unique .Always altered somehow.
He hears the sniffling of the girl in the room beyond the door. Will her tears ever end?
His pale hand reaches for the door handle.Cold. Hard. Not unlike myself. Turning it slowly allowing himself enough time to turn back and change his mind without being detected. Too late. Turning the handle slowly. Can't turn back. Slowly. Not now. He opens the door.
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