Epilogue

Hitsugaya Toushiro was executed at 12 PM. The execution was private, but the young woman who testified against him waited for the moment in her room. She had expected to feel joy in the courtroom after his sudden admittance to murder, but did not. So she waited for the delayed sense of liberation to come to her again in her room.

Yet when the both the hour, the minute, and the second hand were at the top of the clock, she felt as if she lost something terribly precious.

Now she is at the police station, just done filling out the last sheets of paper work with her gloating lawyer. She fakes the same sense of happiness that her lawyer has as not to concern anyone.

She almost allows her façade break until she hears someone call out her name.

"Hinamori-san!"

Turning, she finds a tall, orange-blonde haired woman trying to run towards her in high heels. She recognizes the woman as the one who talked to the defense attorney often during breaks in the trial. If she remembers correctly, the woman is a social worker.

"Hello." She greets tentatively She is certain that the woman knew Hitsugaya Toushiro well and therefore must harbor a great amount of animosity towards her.

"Hi…" The woman's blue eyes look at her, as if she knew her. She feels like she knew the woman too, yet cannot remember meeting her.

"Here." The woman hands her a thick, white envelope.

She takes it, unsure of what to do.

"It…it was found in his cell. It…it was addressed to you and I took it before the officials got it."

"Um…thanks." She flips the envelope and sees her name, Hinamori Momo, writing in neat ink.

She is supposed to study at the library in preparation for classes after waving goodbye to the woman, but she walks past the building and heads to her apartment. She sits at her desk, turning the envelope in her hands, unsure of what to do with it.

Her hand—with the letter—hovers over the trash bin but something inside her refuses to let the simple white envelope go. Finally, she gives in and places it back on her desk. She notices how familiar the handwriting feels—as if the unique loops and slants are all something she has seen over and over before.

Once again, the voice inside her urges her to look inside. She does. Gently sliding her finger under the flap, she pulls out sheets of notebook paper filled with the same handwriting and the same feeling of nostalgic sadness.

And so slowly, slowly…

She begins to read.

A/N: This is honestly the first fanfic I have ever finished. And I must say, it feels pretty good. Although, I'm super sad that it's over, I'm so glad that I was able to have readers!

Thank you so much to all you stayed with this modest fanfic to its very end! I really hope this story has touched you in some way or another...

I'll probably end up writing again sometime, although I will be extremely busy this coming school year. But of course, I love writing and anime/manga—and fanfiction is just the perfect outlet for me. So (maybe) look forward to my next work?