He'd known he was dying. He'd known long before the burning, wrenching pain of Fate's denial had entered his chest, filling the hollowness within him for the last time, before his being scattered, dust to ashes.

He was dead the moment he came into existence. The first time he reemerged past the animal-like state of a Gillian. The first time he had had rational thought he had wanted to disbelieve. But the very nature of himself resented psychological disillusionment, and so forth the thought had been born.

I am dead.

His flesh was cold and his body numb. Impervious to pain, but not it's affects. Death, his body registered. Death Is for the dead. It was a stupid thought, but it hit him with a fatal force all the same. And when he had advanced to the state of Arrancar, he'd known then as well, perhaps more than ever, and it did not bother him. But in a way it had.

Ulquiorria had not been afraid himself. He lived life- or whatever this new existence was called- the same way he always had. The way he had when he'd been a sad, lonely man, playing on the streets for sad, lonely people.

Maybe 'had' wasn't the correct word for it. Because even now, to his death, he remained sad.

But not lonely.

And as he faded to black, he remembered the Boy, and he remembered the Woman. The Boy, always filled with such heat and ignorance and impulse that even though his body was that of a man, his soul in essence remained that of a child's, held from running its course years ago.

He had hated the Boy with such a passion it had become endearing, a transfixing emotion that, for those moments he saw him, those moments dotted with pain and corrupted with scarlet, the Void within him was filled, and himself occupied.

And he remembered the Woman. The illogical one. For within her was an unrelenting source of Love and Wonder, and when in her presence he had felt them, the waves of Curiosity and Forgiveness rushing him, digging their nails into his skin, clawing at his mind.

He enjoyed those moments with her, and even though they made no sense to him and something within him told him to stay away, stay away, he found himself coming back to her, if only for a glimpse of her blood-and-milk colored hair, the pale line of skin tracing her jaw, the arch of her back. He was not Attracted to her. If anything she felt to him more like an apparition of something from his past life, something he couldn't, or wouldn't, remember.

He had thought that maybe she was like his mother, but he dismissed that immediately after recognizing that someone such as him could not have turned out in the presence such as her. Illogical.

His ashes began to sift apart. Ulquiorria stared down at himself, noxious orbs of light hidden among midnight lashes, still deep in thought. At one time, he had been nothing more than a sad, lonely man playing for sad, lonely people. He knew not to what new horizons this second death would send him. But deep within his corrupted, ash-choked heart, he dreamt of returning to that life.

He emitted a sigh that sounded much like a melodious funeral tune. He would remember the Two, the Boy and the Woman. And as the final bits of him flickered away from existence, he turned to them. He did not smile, and he did not speak. But his eyes seemed to light upon them, a sort of grim happiness.

His non-existing lips formed notes he did not know he knew, and from within him flowed a terrible Music, a song of death and despair. Eerie and terrifying he continued until in his space was nothing, and his psyche floated off. He would leave them with his last note.

His requiem.


A/N: I admit, I don't know very much about Mr. Schiffer. I neglected reading several chapters of Bleach, and then, bam, Ulquiorria's dead and Inoue's crying. So, please rate more on my level of writing than on my inadequacies.