It would be great if I could get a beta-reader for this fic. :) Please leave a review if you're interested.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

Prologue

"You haven't been eating."

"Really? A novel concept to you, I suppose?"

-

If he were to pick a word to sum up the situation, it would be irony. Oh yes, it was epitomizing irony in every manner, the way they shied from him, the way they locked him away, and the way they did all the things he hated.

The second choice would be bitter. It was bitter and unspeakable hatred for his existence, his fallen hopes and loyalty. Bitter like the taste of his own blood welling up his throat. Bitterness was defeat.

The third choice…

…

… would not exist.

-

She left, closing the door behind her. He did not respond, only continued to stand with his hands in his pockets, staring out into the bright, hateful sunlight until he thought he would go blind.

But he couldn't go blind, not when his eyes had thousands of years of darkness to make up for the excess of light.

He stood still, never moving because he no longer had a reason to. And that was reason enough.

She came back an hour later, eyes hardened by determination. She strode in purposefully, and he could feel her trying to mimic the quick assurance with which he had regarded her. It amused him, but the reason to stand still overpowered the reason to move.

"You still haven't been eating." For all her courage and bravado, her voice was barely a whisper above the wind.

He did not turn, only answered with silence. If she wanted to be like him, he would be like her. Neither of them acknowledged that the roles they now played were only shadows of what they saw of each other.

"Now it's your turn to stay alive." She said, picking up a piece of bread on her way toward him. "And it's my turn to keep you alive." She was holding up surprisingly well, showing no signs of fear in his presence. He would've laughed at the naivety of the shinigami who thought that her simple imprisonment in Hueco Mundo would traumatize her. After all, she was a strong woman.

She was in front of him, staring up at his face. He made no move to look down at her.

"I know you can eat. I've seen what Aizen makes you drink, so there must be a stomach for it all to go to." She was tapping a place over his ribcage, and he sighed inwardly at her lack of anatomical knowledge.

She, of course, sighed aloud. She pried open his mouth and hooked out the piece of bread she had placed in it the day before. The wad came out looking exactly as it had when she had last seen it; Ulquiorra lacked saliva, she concluded. Tearing off a new crust, she dipped it in water before pushing the soggy mass past his lips, watching as his tongue settled around it and his jaws anchored themselves shut.

"Swallow it."

He did not, and for the first time since entering the room, she hesitated. She was nervous, he could feel it, though his perception seemed less acute than it had been in the past. The effects of his fast were beginning to show; his features had become even sharper, and his reiatsu had reached an all time low, though that could have been the circumstances of the room. He resented the shinigami's stupidity. Hollows do not need food, they required souls.

In contrast, her body had adjusted to freedom accordingly, rebuilding muscle she had lost in her many days of imprisonment. Her eyes glowed again, and her hair once again shone of sunsets and autumn, although she would liken it to oranges and carrot juice, a combination she apparently enjoyed.

Oh, irony, save him now.

She grimaced. "Ulquiorra, please. Swallow it." Once again, he refused. Seeing this, she reached for a fork. Ulquiorra knew what would happen next. The woman would try to prod the shit down his throat, he would pretend of choke and she would stop. They would then engage in a one-sided staring contest, in which she would try to drill holes into his nose with her eyes.

And then she would leave, and he would resume staring at the sun, all the while remaining as pale as he ever was.

She brought the fork around, and he tensed the muscles in his neck. He hated the feel of her fingers on his lips. They felt so soft and breakable, it was repugnant. He felt her raise the thing to his face.

But then, in one swift motion, she jabbed it into his left eye. Ulquiorra couldn't help utter a helpless gasp, and as he did, he felt himself swallow.

Shit.

As soon as it began, it was over. He was standing motionless again, his mouth closed and his remaining eye staring out the window. Orihime smiled primly, pulling out the fork and his eye with an unpleasant squelching noise. She suppressed a shudder and opened his mouth again. Ulquiorra decided she was satisfied because she beamed, turning and almost strutted out the door, still waving the absurd fork with his eyeball speared at the end of it.

Now the light fell on his face and illuminated the empty socket. It was warm, and he closed the lid against the light, resigning himself to another four hours of self-humiliation and disgust.

----

A/N: Just a prologue, was originally going to be a oneshot, but plot bunnies raped the idea...

Review if you think it'll work out as a multi-chapter... or if you want to beta read it