If Kuchiki Byakuya was a poetic man, of elegant speech and floral manner, he would have said that hundreds of things reminded him of Hisana.

He would say that the dark velvet blue-purple night sky resembled her eyes, the sprays of the heavenly bodies being the pinpricks of light in them.

He would say that the wings of the ravens and other blackbirds were like her hair, ruffling and fluttering against the wind.

He would say that she had the grace and elegance and yet the beautiful simplicity of a swan, reflected in her dancing.

He would say that the warm summer breezes laden with the sweet scent of plum blossoms sent him flashes of her gentle smiles.

While all of these did sometimes bring Hisana to mind, Kuchiki Byakuya was not a fanciful man of flowery words. He was a man of introversion, practicality, sense.

He sees Hisana when he sees Rukia.

He sees Hisana's stubbornness when she is arguing with that boy.

He thinks of her silent strength when he watches her mock-fights and her real battles.

He hears her laughter when he hears her—no, their sister sharing a joke with her friends, her nakama.

He almost—sometimes—smiles when Rukia's indignant yet good-natured yells remind him of the outbursts of his own wife.

Kuchiki Byakuya sees Hisana when he sees Rukia. Not fragile and weak and thin like she was in her last moments, but strong, laughing...alive.

He knows that they are too different people. He knows that Rukia will have her own life...with that boy. He knows that Hisana will never come back, no matter how many times he visits her shrine. He knows that Hisana is..gone.

But he can't help wishing.