Pretty Princess Perfect.
((larxene.x.kairi-replica))


She strokes that long, sleek hair – coloured a sort of sunset colour, with hints of twilight and rain clouds in it.

One nail drags down the side of that porcelain face, carefully raising a welt without breaking the skin.

"Pretty." She says, spits, really; grudgingly admiring the face, turning it this way and that.

Forcing those slim white legs apart, she makes the girl kneel, abase herself before one more powerful, makes her humble herself and conceal that fiery pride lest it ruins her. The manacles about those fine wrists clank on the way down, and it's like music to a conqueror's ears; music to make a prisoner weep. A tune like a funeral march, or a soundtrack to discord and chaos.

But those amethyst eyes don't weep. They have already, plenty of times, plenty of tears; they're red around the rim and bleary from all the crying and that smooth throat is red and raw inside and rubbed hoarse from all the screaming.

"Princess?" She says, maybe a name, maybe a code, maybe a random word that also begins with 'P' for 'Pirate' or 'Petticoat' or 'Precious' or a million multitudes of other words.

Whatever it is, the word no longer suits. 'Slave' or 'Victim' or 'Prisoner' would be more suitable. What kneels before the strong woman now is a shell, a husk, a broken copy of the original. Still beautiful, still attractive, still physically admirable in every way in all its nakedness and sorrow; and clearly a copy.

It speaks, still. Oh, it speaks. Sometimes it shouts, sometimes it whispers taunts and angry biting sentences that on the whole make little to no sense; nevertheless, it still speaks.

But not, she's sure, in the same way the real thing would.

One day, she'll crave, hunger, yearn for a taste of the 'real thing'.

One day, she'll stop at nothing to get it.

Right now, though – right now the replica's enough to do her. Enough to tide her and her sadistic tendencies and her neverending will to dominate and rend and tear until there's everything and nothing left and she's created something new and not whole and definitely not improved but still different; really, it's enough to tide her over until then.

Delicately, she leans in to that gorgeous little face, with its fluttering long lashes and its flushed cheeks and its panting mouth. Delicately, she nibbles a bit on that full lower lip, and delicately, she sinks her teeth through the soft flesh, hearing the quick indrawn gasp of pain and shock and feeling.

"Perfect," she says.


Pretty much, what if Vexen made a replica of Kairi? I'm pretty sure Larxene'd be the first to dig her pretty little claws into it. Sure, maybe the Kairi replica never existed, but it's a very tempting thought and one that's much too much fun to pass up. This is for... Kamikaze Tama, to tide her over until Meet Roxas is finally finished; and also for The Glass Slipper, because she's like the epitome of awesome-o-saurus.

----Tally.