“what -- what have you done?!”
there’s carnage all around her, and her body is frozen solid -- not by any magic. by fear. sayuri has only felt this once before, and the cause has also been aizen. what did he see in her? why did he -- why -- momo is bloody and dying and -- “hinamori, h-- i -- “ she tries to reach for her sword, but she can’t move. she can’t move. aizen’s staring at her.
he’s groomed both of them for this moment. hasn’t he? she remembers now, every moment comes to her in the long seconds that pass -- his comfort for her dead friend. his encouragement for seated positions in gobantai. his desire to have her closer. why? why?
what about her has been so special? because in this moment, she realizes she is nothing but a frightened child. she can’t even breathe as she listens to aizen talk. as she realizes she did not choose this destiny; it was thrust upon her. forced.Â
could aizen have planned the entire thing? every decision she would make? and then --Â
                    "Come with me, Yaso-kun.”Â
the touch on her cheek is too intimate -- it’s another tactic, it’s -- he’s brushing her hair behind her ear -- “i will make you a god.” she feels the blade plunge into her. she’s on her knees, gagging on her own blood. aizen’s words ring in her mind, but she’s focused on hinamori, whose wound was life-threatening -- who lies there, lifeless. she shakily reaches out her hand as her vision blurs. she’s failed again. she’s --
sayuri GASPS for breath, covered in sweat. another nightmare. why does she keep coming back to that moment? her long black hair covers her face as she bows her head forward. she grabs at it. it’s -- too much. it’s too much. everything is TOO MUCH.
she screams and grabs raikou and grabs the chunk of hair that he touched and she slices it right off -- uneven. it falls to the bed, to the floor. she cries and yells and uses raikou over and over again -- slicing until it’s too short to grab too much, uneven -- even her bangs. sayuri has always been vain, but now she’s an absolute mess. she moves away from the mess, looking in the mirror. it’s not better; she can still feel the ghost of his hand on her face. she never expected this. she always -- what had happened -- why --Â
it’s morning. her body aches. she cleans the hair up and sits on the bed for a long while before leaving the room (knowing she shouldn’t, not with her wound). she’s standing in front of hinamori’s room...and then she slides open the door. she can hardly breathe, but she feels guilt, she feels -- she kneels before the bed, pressing her lips together, wondering if hinamori’s been having nightmares, too.Â