Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warning: I guess there might be some spoilers?... Possible badness. I'm a bit rusty.
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Naminé didn't like Castle Oblivion from the first day she went there, or was dragged, rather. It was more than just the purpose, more than just the people (the nobodies, we're not people, we're just nobodies. Never meant to exist.)
It was the way the empty halls echoed each footstep, giving it an eerie heartbeat. One two left right one two ba-dum ba-dum. She'd tap the rhythm with her pencils, tuneless and dull. She found Larxene didn't like music, and the tap-tap was the only way to avoid her wrath.
It was the way it stood still, silent, all too white. Everything in the Organization was black and silver- the coats, the ties, the goals, the methods- except for the castle, her, and the other lowly nobodies. She hated the color white.
But most of all, it was the way it gleamed and sparkled, reflecting everything within. The smirk that eleven wore, the spring in Axel's step that made his hair bounce and sway like a flame, the glint of the knives. The hungry emptiness that bored her so, and tormented her.
What she hated the most about Castle Oblivion was how she never saw her own reflection. Naminé only saw hers.