Las Noches was quiet, and the only sound close-by was her gentle breathing. He pondered this as he absentmindedly stroked her hair. Though you couldn't see it on his face, he was, right now, trying to find justification for his actions. Without reason, or hesitation, he had initiated the events that lead up to this moment. Now, after his moments of rashness, he had time to reflect on why. But was it really rashness? An unwise decision that would undoubtedly lead to defeat, that was rashness. However, these decisions, for a mere moment or two, had made him happy.

She stirred in her sleep, undoubtedly responding to the tightening of his fingers on her hair as he looked on that thought with disgust. He feel anything, he was a stone, a stone standing in the way of anyone who dared challenge Aizen-sama. He did not have feelings, and therefore was not hampered by the wants those feelings could bring. If this was so, then why was she even here?

Another shifting of weight, as she sighed against him. He looked down at her, lying contentedly under the sheets, with her head pressed against his chest. His clothes had never even come off, but she had removed hers quickly, another difference between them. But as her breathing relaxed, her chest rising and falling in a once again steady rhythm, he wondered if it was so bad that he had viewed it.

Aizen had said, "Train her or kill her, it makes no difference to me," and then he had walked away. As he had drawn his sword, in just that brief moment, he had appreciated something for the first time. He had noticed how her pleading eyes turned to him now, and had been disgusted with her. He had noticed how beautiful she was, and had been disgusted with himself. He had realized just how hard it must have been for a human to enter Hueco Mundo, especially just to ask for a place in a war that was not hers, and for the first time he had been disgusted with Aizen.

He had put his katana away, he had helped her up, and he had trained her. In the heat of the moment as they sparred he had lost to her, and now he was losing all he stood for. Was it really so bad? He enjoyed her simplicity, her beauty, she was like the only flower spared in the path of the storm. She was his light now, and would probably grow to be his life.

He was happy, as he rose from the bed. He knew what the petty human emotions of love and ecstasy felt like as he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at his zanpakuto. The dent she had made in it was still there. He had happiness, he had love, he had want, he had fears, and he had her.

He smiled, and drew the blade across her throat. He was Ulquiorra Schiffer, he didn't need feelings.