It lost on him for a moment, this sweet nectar of that voice calling for him and alone. Those silver eyes begging for him to return home.

Wasn't this place his home?

He was a doll for Momo-chan and that was all he knew.

Wasn't his whole reason for existing in this sallow hell made by Aizen-Sama of his own dreams and kingdom to seek peace?

Shiro whimpered for a moment of his chest, the muscles pulling the arms to lift his body from the pool of dried blood of the frosty stones. Fire rose on the tender skin from where the twins had cut his chest open with their razor bladed nails and their sharp fangs sank into the tender flesh of the collared boy. He should've been killed by them in their feeding of his blood and flesh.

They never killed him and just left the broken body to heal once more of Shiro.

Why?

That question had always been nodding in his mind for some times when looking at the map of scars on his body from his punishments he earned. Or when they thought they needed a bit of amusement by using his body as their puppet to do as they pleased. To Momo he was her doll to keep her company and play simple games with and pretend, to his Lord he was an outlet for his anger and own twisted visions.

Why?

The chain had been un clipped from his collar so the boy could weakly move from the throne of the room of Aizen-sama and head back to his keeper for what she needed. Would Momo be made at him for not being there for dinner? Could his snowy flesh take one of her own personal enjoyments of the blood being drained from his scars once more?

Every step was painful to his body and he fought back crying in this place if anyone cared to watch the parade of the broken soul of Shiro. His sight was a blur of white lines and hall ways with black doors, each one the same as the last as he passed to keep going to Momo's room and maybe to rest if she was not there for angry with him.

The sweet fresh air was like a drink to his lungs of the stale air of the palace, the twisted crystal trees glowed in the half cast moon that seemed for once smiling on the land to him and not the lonely light she often gave off in his world. Maybe she was trying to comfort the boy and under stood him of not belong in his place.

Shiro caught goes anymore as he hugged the tree that had been his only company in reading in this garden. It's shadowy form wrapped around the child's shadow in its branches to rattle it might seem to anyone looking this late in the night phase. Slow warmth hit his chest as the blood of the bite slide down the pastel flesh to hit the silver sands of Las Noches

He fell into the darkness of his mind as he laid his weeping body on the cool sands and cared not raise from this place again. Caring not for Momo-chan or her needs for once in his exist even if that was the only reason to live in this world.

Why?

It left a silver note ringing in his mind and captured it from the pain; he recalled that image of the woman again and held on to it from the pain. Such brighten eyes of cerulean that glowed with something he yearned for and could not name in his life.

Love?

It was lost to Shiro of what it was? Momo said it, yet it was twisted and hollow from her pink lips and lonesome eyes that held nothing but for Aizen. Did she love him? Did she serve Aizen-sama out of a twist thing they called love?

She had whispered something sweet into his ears, a name he knew once long ago. Her eyes pleading for him and the scent of honey in his nose, a recall of warm lips on his forehead and those silver eyes shining just of that thing he yearned to recall and know. He wanders who she was in his mind and why she came now of all times in his tortured being.

Then her whispers had reached for that moment with a name, a name of his own maybe? Shiro was the name that Momo gave him that day he was freed of the sinister room. He belonged to her and that name was her's for him and that is what he replied to when spoken too by all other people in this white hell of his home or punishment.

Hitusyaga ....Toushiro...

Something deep in him reposed to it, seeking that name that belonged to the boy and to him alone. Nao's voiced also called him something.

"Captain."

It hungered for it, to exist in those words that had been stripped away in blood and torn flesh, in scars and tears shed by teal eyes in the darkness. Of that honey colored scent and silver eyes full of a fire he longed to be seen in and captured in. To feel more than numb fingers of Momo on his body or the touch of Aizen or his kind anymore on his skin, it felt so cold to his soul.

He wanted to claim that name for his and fill the shape of it to his own, to be that name it called out for.

Hitusyaga ....Toushiro...

He let it fall from his lips, hungering for the sound of it. " Hitusyaga ....

Toushiro..."

Shiro stirred with the sound of it to his ears like fine wine, clear and point to his ears. A name of his own and his alone. This he would keep from them. Something else but in his mind, new to the core of his soul.

Hate

Hate for Them

He hated them for binding and burning his flesh. For stealing his name and recasting his soul to fit theirs needs and hungers. He hated Momo for the empty smile and sweetness of her voice saying his name of Shiro and twisting what it once meant maybe in a past life to them. He hated Aizen for cravening his body and breaking his mind of who the boy once called: Hitusyaga Toushiro

But then his mind recoiled to ask the question: Who was Hitusyaga Toushiro?

He needed to know...to maybe find out who this person was or had been before Shiro had come along to this white hell of Aizen-sama. The person who's silver eyes pleaded to return to some place lost in the trails of his mind once more. Teal eyes crept open to the lonely moon in her endless watch of this dead world, understanding that feeling all this time of the young boy.

He would find Hitusyaga Toshiro once more even if he lost who Shiro was in the end.