The Pandora Child
Oh but Juliet, you lucky lass, do you not see that I nearly lost my soul at the hands of a rose and a thunderstorm? And that I was a mere phantom in a cell of fakery? You can paint your fancy wooden dreams like a story of that of star-crossed lovers, but you cannot best me in a game of low self-worth. You believe yourself cheated and wretched? Feast your eyes on me. And then give me the truth.
… and sometimes, she wonders if her very non-existence is tainted; cursed and warped into a joke that no one gets. Because she realises it herself, that it's going in circles and spirals into predictability. And when the same thing happens like déjà vu thrice damned, she wants to intentionally split her smooth pale skin on paper and make the inside of her mouth bleed (and this time she cannot, for it is not her body to mar).
It is because each and every time she yearns for freedom, she finds herself spilling faux tears on crayon smudges in a cold room of white-grey silence. Either that or looking out through glassy eyes that seem not to be hers.
Castle Oblivion. She shivers each time she recalls the time spent within those walls. She feels like hiding her face shamefully each time she sees the keybearer through the eyes of her, because Sora's made it clear that he never cared for her previous deceptive ways. It makes it all the worse.
The mansion. Like a ghost caged; haunted. And she wonders what good she did when she told Roxas he'd never disappear, because in the end, she doesn't quite know if she's kept that promise at all. He doesn't walk this world anymore. Not in his own shoes.
And her.
Repetition has rewound her senses mirthlessly and has gripped her in a never-ending tale of wicked puppeteers and selfish souls. And so maybe it's natural that she likens the wicked puppet-master of oblivion with her captor in the simulation of twilight. She thinks it's ironic for a moment because now that she looks back, she knows she's never had the courage to step out of her own shell and fend for herself in either situation.
And she thinks maybe it's okay that now, she's enslaved to a little girl. Stuck true. Trapped and imprisoned like a caged creature once more.
This time it's perfectly fine, she reasons. Just fine. She can stand to be the marionette in this brittle flesh-and-bone box.
Kairi is, after all, her.