This is the first ever NamiLarx I wrote, for hotaru-ai, for the LarxNami comm. she created on livejournal. www. larxnami. livejournal. com. Anyway, please comment constructively, I'm looking for good feedback.
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Naminé often wondered why she did it. If anyone were to catch her sneaking out of her room on the top floor of Castle Oblivion so late at night, she would probably be killed. And yet...
Naminé knew there was no love involved, barely any feeling at all, except Lust, Desire, and she sometimes felt that Loneliness made a quick stop on these late-night escapades. Was all that really worth putting her like on the line for? She never dwelt on it, considering how neither of them had a right to be alive, anyway.
Naminé sometimes felt like she could believe she had a heart. When those long, nimble, calloused fingers ran over her bare skin, she shivered, almost as if she could feel some hidden motives behind them. She often tried to figure out the other's reasons for going along with this, as she lay aching and in need on the floor.
Naminé tries sometimes to think of what it was that had first drawn her to the other. Was it the strength she had seen in those eyes? The blazing defiance? Or maybe it was the power. Power that she didn't have, but so longed for. Probably, it was out of sheer desperation that this all started. Sin born from sin, right?
Naminé didn't like to think about all the unpleasant things: hearts, feelings, emotions, ulterior motives... she just wanted to live for the moment, and drown in the kisses and caresses; the feeling of fingers running through her hair. She loved knowing that she had some sort of power, something the other wanted from her, other than her ability to manipulate thoughts, and memories. This was real, not created. This was existence. Except... neither of them existed. Is it reality when Nothing and Nobody are the only ones who believe it?
Naminé sometimes hated herself for being weak enough to give in, again and again, night after night. She hated how she was always the one crawling back, and never the other way around. She hated the hold the other had over her, because it was just one more chain, binding her into some kind of false life for those who were never meant to be alive.
Naminé doesn't know why she cries when she hears the news. She's never cried before, but something in her breaks, and the ache under her skin, the pain in her chest caused by a wound she can't see no matter how hard she looks, makes her crazy. She tears off her dress, wildly pushing her hair behind her, and stands in front of the mirror, looking for it. It makes no sense for her to be in so much pain if there's no wound. She claws and scratches her fair skin until she's red, bruised, cut, and in some places bleeding. But still, the only hurt she really feels is trapped underneath her protruding ribcage. She wonders briefly if ripping herself apart would make it go away; it already felt like she was coming apart at the seams.
Naminé dresses again, careful not to show any sign of distress or remorse. She has no heart, after all. Were she to give up their secret, they would eliminate her. She promised not to tell.
Naminé still talks in her sleep, hushed whispers heard only by the looming shadows in the corners of her room. And on nights when it rains, and thunder claps shake the walls, and flashed of lightning illuminate the darkness in her world, Naminé can't help but...feel.
Larxene...