Aut. Note- Because I see no Nemu fics out there.

Pretty

She was all right. No, really. She was fine.

It was, after all, not customary for dolls to dress themselves; traditionally, the task was entirely left to their owner to select which clothes they would wear. And although the dolls sometimes had to wait a while for their owners to tend to them, the outfit inevitably chosen always worked out. It was always the right size, always the right color.

Always very pretty.

The zanpakutou's loose, black sheath flapped angrily with the whirling gusts nature hurled at them, just close enough for her to graze over it with the tip of her fingernails, but she of course would not touch it.

No, she told it, it wasn't so much that she was "afraid," for she had thought of using the sword several times before; in fact, she found that a part of her did want to embrace it—but her hands remained stiffly by her side. The fact of the matter was, she simply could not.

Mayuri was her owner, not the sword. It was not, after all, a good idea for a doll to be dressed by two owners at the same time.

She was a puppet before she was a shinigami. The sword, she explained, was not for her; only Mayuri-sama's orders were. Nemu could always play dress-up, pretending to be many things—but living was not one of them.

So, yes; she was all right. No, really, Nemu said. She was fine. It was, after all, a very pretty thing. Being dead.