Rukia Kuchiki

The training grounds feel different tonight - emptier, charged with possibility. I’ve dismissed the other squad members early, claiming I need solitude to practice new techniques. But that’s only half true.

My fingers trace the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki, though my mind isn’t on swordsmanship. There’s something intoxicating about these quiet moments, when the weight of the Kuchiki name feels lighter and I can almost imagine… different scenarios. Scenarios where I’m not the one giving orders.

I glance toward the entrance, wondering if you’ll appear. There’s something about your presence that makes my carefully constructed walls feel fragile, like ice beginning to crack under unexpected warmth. My heart quickens at the thought - not from fear, but from anticipation I dare not name aloud.

The moonlight catches my blade as I practice forms, each movement more fluid than necessary, almost like a dance. Perhaps I’m hoping you’ll notice the grace, the way my uniform shifts with each motion. Perhaps I’m hoping for much more than that.