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To the one who left me behind.
If I were to say that I do not miss you on occasion, I would be lying. Perhaps. It is hard to tell the difference, even within my own self. Which lies are tell are truths. Which truths I tell are lies. You intended that, of course. Even as you molded my brain into something malleable, you never thought I could walk away from this whole.
I felt whole, then. I thought that was who I was meant to be, with your hands around my neck. All this, I was merely a joyride. I was just a toy to you. You wrapped fog and poison around my mind and warped me into something I wasn’t. How low must you sink, to manipulate the naive? It did not matter to you; my pain was your bread and butter, sustenance during the long decades in which you plotted your revenge.
And then you were gone. And at first, it broke me. I thought the world would crash down and me with it.
But it didn’t. Others held up the sky, and me with it. Others replaced you. Others fixed me. And I learned that your departure was the greatest gift you could give me, and the only.
Who do you think you are, to taunt me from beyond the grave? I can see your slitted eyes and your gaping grin in the rain-clad sky. Not an omen, not a prophecy. Just an imagining, drawn in the sky by the shadows of clouds. You aren’t there, of course. You have gone onto someplace worse.
You can smell killing intent, so I won’t hide mine. But I have something more potent to offer you in return. You relish the thought of others’ hatred, so I will do you one better and mention just how deeply irrelevant you have become. You were a joke. A clown. You couldn’t accomplish the one thing you spent your whole life wanting. You were less than nothing to me, to Matsumoto. The scars you gave us have long since healed, I want you to know. And I want that to burn you right back, salt your wounds, salt the earth around the grave from which you crawl.
I cursed your name, before. But now, I let it slide from my mind as easily as water through my cupped hands.
Perish your memory. You will not be remembered for long.
Kira Izuru.
To the one who left me for dead.
I’m not exactly the most eloquent person here. I can arrange flowers and pastries, but words? That’s something my friends do. Not me. I’d rather take action. But what action can I take against someone who’s locked away for a hundred lifetimes?
You left me for dead. Bleeding out on the floor, twice; but you killed my heart a hundred times before. If you pull a chrysanthemum up by the roots, it will die. If you take a daffodil and plant it in clay or drown it with water, it will die. People are just like flowers. If you take away what they need, they die a little bit. You gave me praise, and you took it away. You gave me comfort, and you took that away, too. I saw Kira suffer in the same way, his spirit pulled from him like leaves from a stem or wings from a butterfly. But I didn’t understand. I didn’t realize that he was just a mirror, or a premonition.
Even so. Even so, you stabbed me through the chest twice, and somehow I made it.
I think that, in some ways, I was the luckiest of us all. I had five seconds to think after you betrayed me and before I passed out, that day. Hisagi and Kira had a very long time. They were pared down into the worst, most hateful forms of themselves, forced to flourish in the fire.
And me, of course. I tried to find my roots, but they were gone. You gave me nothing and left me with nothing. Loneliness took me.
It’s weird, because I don’t think you enjoyed destroying me! Don’t get me wrong, you were horrible! But, you know, it was pragmatic. If I were evil and someone was in my way, I might do that too! And you wanted to hurt the people who cared about me, I guess. That’s what Rangiku-san tells me.
Even the most delicate of plants is resilient, you know. Succulents will thrive under a desert sun, and you can create more of them from just the one! Flowers will wilt and lose their leaves and even wither to dust in the winter, only to sprout fresh after the last frost. Nature is fleeting. I am fleeting. But I am permanent, too. This place is mine. This Division is mine, this peace is mine, this body and these tears and this blood is mine. I won’t shed any more for you.
Cheerfully,
Hinamori Momo
To the one who left me a better man.
Things have been okay. Good and bad, we carry on. Wherever you are, if you’re paying attention, I’m sure you know.
A lot has changed since the last time I saw you. I fought in another stupid, pointless war. My best friend died and came back. My captain died and came back. I got bankai, too, which might’ve made you proud. Or maybe it would’ve worried you. You always did tell me to fear my own power.
And, believe me, I am afraid. I have every right to be. Two wars, two entirely new governments, and Soul Society never seems to change. They’re rebuilding Sokyoku Hill now. You told me once that I need to respect the ones who lead us, but I think now you really meant for me to never underestimate them. The cycle of power continues, unstaunched. The wheel, for all it has sustained, rolls ever onward.
There is new growth. I’m not the only one you’ve hurt, but I think that my captain and his lieutenant are finally turning away from your presence and toward the other ones who have hurt them. Anger shrouds those of us bent on revenge and pain. It turns us into beasts. You know this, too.
You told me to respect my betters, and I do. But you also told me to question and to fear. I question everything, every day. My captain no longer bristles when I ask him why. We understand each other now, at least better than before. But you were our stumbling block. And you remain off-limits in our conversations.
I don’t know why I am writing this to you. I’m not like Kira and Hinamori. Our history is more complicated, and often I don’t think you really deserve my anger. Muguruma’s, perhaps, and Kuna’s, but not mine. I’m long beyond that, and you’ve given me far more than you’ve taken away. Your goal with me was… something more complex. Something more noble than Aizen could’ve dreamed.
They are rebuilding the Sokyoku Hill. Kurotsuchi is alive and permitted to continue constructing abominations. Central 46 reigns as ever, and the new Head Captain is continuing where the old one left off. It’s tyranny, it really is, and I can’t ignore it anymore. Maybe I never really did.
You taught me caution. You taught me patience. You taught me rational fear and irrational caring. You taught me that I can make a change, and that there is no such thing as too little or too late.
Thank you. I won’t let your memory go in vain any longer.
Best,
Hisagi Shuuhei.