I EXIST

There are no masks here

I cannot hide

The world is so different

But I can walk by

He no longer exists in this place

I exist for him

I wanted to stay

A boy once lived, he walked alongside me and breathed the same strong metallic scents that followed, but he died. A long time ago, a woman killed him…someone I seek to kill.

The plan had been simple. Tsubaki Himeko had to vanish without a trace. Become invisible in the eyes of all Soul Society for when she was gone, no one would notice her disappearance. After years of having been underneath Aizen Sōsuke's tutelage, he finally told her that she was ready to carry out her share of his ploy. He would be killed two days from then, and she would clear Central 46 of its residents.

That had been her first test.

But she couldn't stop crying as the death count whizzed in her mind. She had killed plenty of times before. Long before she had become a shinigami, when she flitted through the streets with a bloody katana as a nameless warrior of the Seventy-Eighth District, when she had no humanity and lived as a monster. Everyone simply knew who she was by looking. No one really did approach her unless they wanted someone dead. And the shinigami had no control over those districts. She walked through the streets thoughtlessly, wishing that one day she would find someone who was willing to accompany her on her trek.

There was no one.

No one until he appeared in her path. And she began getting in tune with her humanity. She had sworn to protect this young boy until she couldn't. Without him, she felt there was nothing she could do but continue killing as she had. It was why Aizen's offer seemed so tempting.

He allowed her to do as she wished—to kill whoever was necessary to further their plans. She stood by his side since the moment her only friend had been brutally murdered.

Regrettably, Himeko had started to feel and it was hindering her abilities. She recognized it the moment she swept through Central 46, blade at hand.

"If you kill another, will you cry?" Aizen asked.

Himeko reached upward with her arm, rubbing away the falling tears from her cheeks as they continued sliding from her eyes. Her vision was blurred and her heart heavy with apprehension. She never meant to kill them. He asked and she complied, they were orders and she obeyed. Disregarding his demands was out of the question and she did her best to stray away from displeasing him.

She tightened the grip on her weapon, hearing the last living person groaning in agony as they twitched in their seat.

"It seems you might have missed one," he said disapprovingly. "Finish him."

She nodded and walked towards the person, stepping over the cadavers of the others, the splash of crimson hitting her legs. She jumped towards the man as he slumped over, begging for mercy. She felt her eyes crying more, disapproving of her actions with some emotional revolt. She lifted her blade over her head.

His last words as he gazed upon her shadowed figure were negative, knowing she would not spare him. "You will die…w-worthless—" She lifted her foot over his head, slamming it down on him to keep him in place as she pushed her blade through his neck.

A final groan escaped his lips.

Himeko stifled a sob, clasping a hand over her mouth and pulling out the blade from the back of his neck. The tears dripped from her chin onto her sullied clothes.

I've become a hideous monster. I'm horrible.

Regardless of how many times she would tell herself, it was never enough for her to turn away from the game. She knew she would die if she would—immediately. He wouldn't allow her to live, which was the only thing she feared. Dying. Even if it was a part of life and she had brought it upon everyone, she was too much of a coward to accept it.

"You've done well, once again," he said.

She rubbed away a few more of her tears, but she felt she had stained her face with the blood on her hands.

"Thank you."

"There is no reason for you to cry, you're simply doing everyone a favor," he began. "How long ago had you been sentenced and confined by these—"

"I understand," she said, interrupting him thoughtlessly.

Sentenced and confined by Central 46 was just a piece of history she chose to forget. After all, she had been guiltless, but with Kitamura Sayomi placing the blame…there was no one around but her to take it. That had been her purpose for a long time. Sayomi was imperative to their plans. She had the information they sought. Pleasing the woman as means to acquiring it was a good way to go by, but she eventually had grown livid. She allowed her jealousy to get the better half of her, using that envy to ruin her. She hated the attention Himeko got from Aizen, and Himeko despised Sayomi for having killed her only friend.

There was only a silent hatred between them.

"Good morning."

His eyes opened on the second day as she slid the rickety door shut behind her. He surveyed the room carefully before his blue-gray eyes met with hers.

"Who are you?"

"I don't have a name, just call me onee-san," she said, smiling.

He stared at her confused and averted his gaze. "Did you…?"

"Mm-hmm," she replied with a curt nod. "I don't think your wounds are healed completely, it's best to continue resting. I'll keep you safe." She paced about the beaten down home and left her katana leaning against the wall nearest to the entrance. She watched him exuberantly, her lips a tight line, but the happiness shown through her light-colored eyes. "Do you have a name?"

He blinked, exhausted as he stayed perfectly still over the draped noisy wooden floors. He contemplated it a while, eyes dancing with the light seeping through the aperture in the ceiling. "It's Stark."

A smile appeared over her lips at the sound of his voice and his eyes took in the sight. "Nice to meet you, Stark."

Himeko's eyes snapped open, fingers coiled against her blade as she heard a voice at her side. She turned her face slightly to see Aizen standing only a few feet away from her, his eyes overlooking the overlapping roofs of Seireitei.

She realized nothing would bloom in a desecrated garden, but she was sure that if she worked harder, against her body's will something will sprout from the crimson-coated soil. Just as like he had said, "Work as best in your ability and he will return to you." Can I kill a person and have him back? No. And if I increase the number, would that matter? It would not. If I massacre as many people as I possibly can, letting my thirst for blood get the best of me—will he smile at me? Or must I look upon our leader and ask for a miracle, treating him to be the God I so long to destroy for taking his life from me?

She often wondered how much blood she would be asked to shed…before he enlightened her. She'll oblige without complaint, but she needed help. She needed it more than she wanted to live and breathe this oxygen. She wanted to abandon her attachment and find something other than bloodshed to ease her sorrows. But how can she be different when everyone's views of her are the same? I am the monster which people acknowledge. To not be destroyed by my talons crusted with crimson or be torn limb by limb with this blade that overwhelms them with just its presence—they will speak to me.

He kindly smiled and said she does not belong. Whether she willed it or not, there is no place for her in this world and she can agree. She cannot amount to anything if she was nothing to start.

With a downcast gaze and a sword embraced tightly against her chest, she buried her sorrows and looked back to his demure expression.

"Okay," she began softly, her eyes meeting his for a short second. "I will comply with your plan and serve you well until I am no longer of use."

A smile spreads across his lips, "Good girl."

Upon their first meeting, Aizen said that he could bring back her dead friend. All she needed to do was use her sword for him instead of for herself. If it involved returning Stark to her, who had been stripped away, then she would do whatever it took.

She leaned back again, falling back into a centuries old memory of the time that she had cared for this boy more than anything in the world.

She returned in the middle of the night, slipping into her home without making noise to disturb Stark, who she assumed was sleeping. Moonlight illuminated a good portion of the layout, allowing her to see where Stark was sprawled out over the floor with a thin blanket draped over his legs. He slept odd hours so he was up most of the morning while she was sleeping. She crept over to her place, her legs tired from all the ground she had covered throughout that day, and took a seat against the wall. Instead of setting aside her blade, she hugged it tightly to her chest, got cozy in that cramped space and closed her eyes.

She drifted into slumber particularly fast. She was still alert of her surroundings, could sense and feel everything occurring outdoors. She was prone to attacks during nights, so she had always been a light sleeper—always alert and prepared. Nobody would catch her off guard in her territory. She had experienced that sort of troublesome situation various times; it explained the damage done to her house. When she found it, the small home was in tiptop shape considering where it was located. Seventy-Eight district, in the outskirts of the main streets, that's where it sat, around a few trees and flowerbeds. It was the perfect area for isolation. Someone like her needed that type of seclusion to avoid dragging in innocent people.

There was movement before her, rousing her from sleep. Her eyes opened to a slit, strands of black hair sliding in front of her face to shield her vision slightly. She watched Stark moving about the floor, pushing his upper body from the ground with his hair a mess as his eyes searched the darkness. He turned in her direction.

"Awake? Asleep?" he muttered, mostly to himself than her.

"Awake," she answered.

"I can never tell with you."

"Always awake," she said lightly. "I have to take care of you."

"Is it that dangerous for me to be near you?"

"Yes."

"Will I die?"

"No. I wouldn't let anyone harm you."

She closed her eyes once more, hearing the rough fabric of the blanket fall from his legs as he shifted onto a comfortable seat, or so she thought.

"Oi, nee-san," he mumbled.

"Yes?"

"Why don't you lie down?"

She remained silent and he didn't press onto the subject. He merely stood and crossed the room, plopping down at her side. He dropped the blanket over her head making her jolt at the feel of the fabric on her skin. She pushed it from her eyes and turned to him sitting at her side, leaning back with a deep sigh.

"At least cover yourself."

Her cheeks heated up and she hid behind her hands as he stared at her strangely.

He wouldn't return.

That reality frightened her.

He gave me the sands of time and I gathered enough courage to move through the inconsistencies of my troubled world.

The rest happened quickly. She hardly remembered what followed Aizen's defection, only that Kitamura Sayomi had vanished as well and that no one even noticed her disappearance. She accomplished what was necessary of her and now, as Aizen had promised she could get her revenge. But there was something odd about having arrived to the cold, lonely world that was Hueco Mundo. It was a feeling that forced her to stay in place, asked her to not move a muscle as her clear eyes searched the empty expanse that lay before her. The strong winds whipped her long locks of black hair all around her face.

Footsteps approached her and she turned to see the mocking smile on Ichimaru Gin's face. "Cap'n Aizen wants ta see ya."

"Where is Sayomi?"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he shook his head disapprovingly, and continued, "Sayomi-chan should be the least of yer worries right now."

Her eyes narrowed and she slipped past him, to reenter Las Noches and move through the long hallways. Since their arrival those long walkways had started filling with arrancar for Aizen's army. Every day there were more and more, rooms inside the palace were filling. She always made sure to avoid meeting any of them. She wasn't the least bit interested in them. She only wanted her long-awaited revenge and to continue serving under Aizen as she had sworn.

She slipped into the gargantuan room without so much as knocking and stood perfectly still before the large doors. In the center of the room there was a tall chair where Aizen had taken a seat.

"Himeko," he called knowingly. "I have a new proposition for you."

"Yes."

Her vision began blurring as she saw him take a stand and move closer to her, speaking words that she couldn't hear. She saw the glint of his zanpakutō as he had drawn it. She took a few stumbling steps away from him, her back hitting the doors and sinking to the ground.

A lingering thought appeared in her mind.

I will not die here.

"I have bigger plans for you, Himeko," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "Your sacrifice is imperative; you understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, I understand."

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Cyan de Imortell," called Aizen. "You are one of the few who have been given a second chance. If you listen to all orders accordingly, you may become more than just a vassal."

"Yes—" She tried to speak his name, feeling herself mouth the words, but she quickly retracted.

Her weary eyes met with calm, emotionless orbs as a hand curled over her neck, threatening to asphyxiate her if another slip occurred. She opened her mouth to apologize, but as she attempted at speaking coherent words, she was unable to make anything from the gurgling noise she made as she gasped for air.

He tightened his grip on her, causing her eyes to squint from the pain. "We've gone over this, Cyan de Imortell, you will refer to me as Aizen-sama," he said sternly, a threatening tone that caused chills to run down her spine.

An Arrancar was a Hollow who tore its mask off, born with the help of the Hōgyoku, an orb with abilities to dissolve the boundaries between Shinigami and Hollow. The explanations given to me had happened long ago, before she was allowed to leave that dark cell. Every day, she waited expectantly in silence for someone to venture inside. Someone to talk to, even for just a little bit. About anything, she wasn't fussy.

"Yes, Aizen-sama," she managed breathlessly.

A malevolent smiled upturned in his lips as he pulled his hand from her neck, running it against the exposed skin of her neck. She flinched involuntarily. "Have you learned your purpose?"

What more was there for me to learn? Other than the fact, my sacrifice would benefit him somehow.

"Yes, Aizen-sama, I have learned my purpose."

She watched him turn over a small hourglass, tapping its top as his gaze fell back to her with confidence. "When the last grain of sand drops, you will no longer be of use," he said tentatively. "But before you can acknowledge the existence of your shinigami past or hear the desperate cry of your zanpakutō…you will breathe your last breath."

His words frightened her as she held onto her zanpakutō, wishing and hoping to hear the familiar voice calling out to her. Instead, there was silence. A silent that washed through her body and instilled the fear further into the concaves of her mind—she wished to live, but there was no telling she would from then onwards.

She would live the rest of her life as an arrancar. That was the only purpose she had, henceforth. She understood that enough to acknowledge how easily the memories of her past began slipping through her mind's eye like a film. The minute she stepped out of that room, she had relinquished the name Tsubaki Himeko and embraced her new calling as Cyan de Imortell. The soft timbre of her zanpakutō warning her of the destruction to come was replaced by the sound of her heels against the ground. She no longer felt like a shinigami, she was a hollow who embraced higher power.

She allowed herself to fall into the moment.

And with time she had forgotten everything about her past self, everything that was once important meant nothing to her.

She had become a monster all over again, became the thing she hated most and there was nothing she could do about it.

Time worked monotonously, each second dragged on in a way that eternity could easily compare to it.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Cyan sauntered through the long halls, pacing herself, breathing easy as she felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Long, billowing pink hair caressed her naked shoulders, brushing over her bare back, the tips ticking her skin. She continued on her way until she stopped abruptly, hesitating about meeting with Aizen that evening. They had plenty to discuss about her role as an arrancar in his army, but every waking second meant forgetting something of importance.

She still remembered Himeko, a woman with long, dark tresses that could kill so swiftly it sent chills down her spine, but she couldn't acknowledge her.

She heard a door open and turned to see a man standing by with his eyes fixed on her form. Familiarity washed over her…she—

Her lips parted, eyes glinted with a heavy sadness, but instead of speaking she turned away, continuing to Aizen's tower.

The feeling remained.

Himeko still lived.

She existed, seeing that man was enough to shake her into remembrance, even if only for a second. He reminded her so much of that boy she couldn't protect, who instead, took care of her for as long as he stayed by her side.

She wanted to meet him and continue seeing him. It didn't matter how it happened, only that it did.

Himeko wasn't ready to lay down her memories of him.

So they bloomed and streamed through her mind.