It was always raining here.
The melancholy grey sky splashed a few stray drops of water onto the hood of Number Eleven's coat. He was walking through the puddles across the square below Memory Skyscraper to a back alley of the city.
Shouldering his way through a door, he made his way into his flower garden as he slid the hood off the top of his head. He navigated his path to the back of the building, to the door of his greenhouse.
The inside was a complete contrast to the grey world outside. Here, the color grey was nonexistent. Flowers adorned every corner and available space, enlivening the room with their vivid coloring. Roses in yellow, red, and pink. Petunias in every shade. Violets in their tiny purple dresses and bluebells hanging limply. Sunflowers in blinding yellow and lilies with their fragile grace. Every leaflet, each petal, was perfect, frozen in the moment of its greatest beauty, forever. He slipped his fingers underneath a white rose, bringing it close to his face, inhaling its sweet scent.
Outside, the rain was coming down harder. Thunder crashed and lightning rolled across the sky, each strike louder than its predecessor. All around, the dark buildings of The City That Never Was pressed in, muffling the sound of the thunder. But the noise was no longer a bother to him. One learned to live with the storms. He was more concerned about his garden. Or at least, as concerned as a being without a heart could be. But lately, he had noticed a change in his mannerisms. He came to his greenhouse less and less. The joys of growing living things no longer held the same thrill it once did. There was no pleasure, no feeling, no color.
Something had replaced them all.
He pulled away from the rose and as he did so, caught a thorn on his glove, cutting his hand. He watched the blood slowly trickle down his arm, staining the sleeve of his coat.
The lightning bolted outside as Marluxia suddenly realized what was wrong. What had replaced his emotions.
Indifference.
Cold.
Empty.
Indifference.
He looked out over his flower garden, taking in every petal.
"They're more real than I'll ever be."
He wiped the blood off his glove as he stood up and walked to the door. His hand lingered on the light switch for a moment as the memories of a past life scrolled by in his mind. Then he flicked the switch, letting the darkness claim his garden just like he let it claim his heart.
I own nothing. - SilverInkblot