I love Naminè, but it took me forever to figure out what to write about her. This doesn't really do her character justice, but I hope you like it anyway.
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She was the picture of innocence, really.
Just a thin, fragile-looking girl with sapphire eyes and golden hair, wearing a little white dress and clutching a crayon, and overall looking so young, so sweet, so naïve, that it was hard to imagine her ever doing anything to hurt someone else.
But if one took the time to look, they would see her sorrowful expression, her state of utter loneliness, the faint bruises along her thin arms and rosy cheeks. And they would see that the drawings scattered about, those crude, childlike drawings, were not of blue skies and flowers and furry animals, but of shadows and villains and nightmarish visions.
She knew. She knew it was wrong, what she was doing.
How could she not? Larxene must have told how vile and horrible she was for doing this a thousand times by now. They all bullied her, teased her and hit her and made her feel worthless. But she could only let them, because deep down she knew she deserved every stinging slap and hurtful word.
Because it wasn't right, taking apart someone's life, their memories. It wasn't right, it wasn't humane, it wasn't fair, and that little boy running around the castle, he just didn't deserve it.
She tried to tell herself that she had no choice; they would destroy her if she didn't. As true as that may have been, tears of self-loathing still flowed from her eyes when she knew that boy was getting hurt, because of her.
She couldn't stand up to them. She just couldn't. She simply was too afraid—for herself, for Sora, for Riku. They had beaten the fight straight out of her, and now her willpower was as fragile and fleeting as watercolor spread thin on a canvas.
She couldn't believe how much had gone wrong.
She couldn't believe how terrible she was.
She couldn't believe how wrong this was.
Her crayon never stopped moving.
