A/N: So this is the first thing I've ever posted. Yay! Hopefully at least one person will read it. It's nothing special, mostly just Namine's feelings. One of the many ideas that came to mind when I couldn't sleep last night.
Namine watched his back as he walked away. His boots clicked on the cold, white floor and his pink hair swayed slightly, as if waving goodbye. Namine was left alone in the room.
Her solitude did not comfort her as it usually did. His words still echoed in her head.
A witch, he had called her… twisting Sora's memories… destroying him. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Was she truly a witch?
She walked towards the window; the small footsteps made by her white sandals were hardly audible. She stared into the glass and could barely make out a reflection. Empty eyes stared back at her with a blank expression. Her skin was pale, white like the harsh light all around her. Namine bit her lip as her eyes began to water.
She saw a witch.
Namine's dream of prince charming, of her knight in shining armor shattered like glass to the floor. Sora was coming to save his princess, Kairi, not his witch. Her tears flowed freely now. No one was coming to save her. Who would save a witch?
Wait. I may be a witch, but I can still stop this. Namine walked over to her table and sat in the small chair in front of her art supplies. She had the power to control the memories of anyone who into contact with Sora and that included the organization members in Castle Oblivion. Namine knew this. She wasn't just some dumb pawn like everyone thought. She would show them.
"I'll show you a witch!"
She picked up a pink crayon and began scribbling rapidly.
"Namine dear," Namine let out a small shriek. "You forget. You can only control the memories of those whose hearts come into contact with Sora's. Alas, little witch, we have no hearts." Marluxia said, snapping the pink crayon. He casually tossed it across the room and laughed as it left a small pink mark on the floor. Futile. He left the room with a smirk, leaving Namine to her despair.
She laid her head on the table, on top of the useless drawing of Marluxia. Her golden hair framed her face, but tears refused to fall.
It was true. He was heartless.
And she was nothing more than a witch.
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) Please reveiw, I would love it if I got just one!