THE HEARTBREAKER:
having a broken heart is better than having no heart at all —

Wiping sweat from his brow, Demyx groaned, eyes narrowing in gloom as he made his way through the crowd of the dead, bumping along with bones and weedy figures alike. His boots walked along old cobblestone streets, caked with grime and gruesome filth of all kinds. Dark, green eyes glanced around suspiciously, always landing on a soiled skull or a patched-up face missing an eye. The view was close to making him want to cringe and fold into himself, but doing so would just make things much harder than they already were. Oh, if the Superior were to see to it right now, he would be dead. As dead as a nobody could be, at the most.

Whatever Underworld he was in, it obviously wasn't the one he was meant to be in.

His coat dragged on behind him as he trudged through the town, it's black fabric being trampled on by rushing critters oozing with pus, along with rickety skeletons bumping shoulders along his clad body. The urge to call for a portal and whisk himself away was strong, but he kept it in the back of his mind, rushing forward and away from the cluster of the non-living. Clearing away from the traffic, Demyx sighed, unclenching his gloved fingers and easing them of any strain. Then, taking a step forward, he breathed in the foul-smelling air, nose crinkling in distaste as he lifted his foot to take another step, until a voice called out to him, "Hey! Watch where you're stepping!" It's volume was just enough to stop Demyx in his tracks and make him glance down, his eyes searching for the man who may have shouted at him. All he found was a worm, green and thin in appearance as it glared up at him with wine-rimmed eyes.

Demyx faltered, a small "oh!" escaping his lips as he shifted back some, watching as the creature continued to wiggle on. Eyebrows drawn together, Demyx stared after him, face flustered and lips turned into a frown. In his state, he didn't notice the thread of silk that lowered near his ear, a black spider swinging back and forth.

"Oh, don't mind him," the spider drawled, making the unsuspecting nobody freeze with dread. Turning his head, he caught the spider gazing at him with her six eyes, thin legs treading the cord of silk. "He's just in a rush."

She dropped down onto his shoulder, holding herself firm against the fabric of his coat. Brushing a long leg against his pale neck, the spider frowned, fangs glinting. "You don't belong here, do you," she stated, jabbing his flesh and making him yelp. His skin was scratched, the sensation prickling at him though it didn't really hurt.

"Where am I?" he blurted out, trying to shake off the critter as he continued to babble. "What are you?"

Chuckling, the spider held on, still lingering by his earlobe. "Why, you're in the Land of the Dead, obviously. And me?" She grinned, making Demyx's frown deepen even more. "I'm a black widow, of course." Her smile never seemed to falter. "Oh, my husband had died recently. Tragic death, really."

Gulping, Demyx winced, muttering "oh really?" while his mind continued to wander to different matters. The Land of the Dead. The Underworld. That was where he was meant to go, wasn't it? There couldn't possibly be a wrong Underworld, Demyx thought fruitlessly, only to shake his head and take up with asking questions instead.

"Do you know Hades?"

The black widow hesitated at the sudden inquiry, eyes blinking naïvely at Demyx as he stared right back with hard, dark eyes. "Hades?" she repeated, tapping thin legs against his neck as she thought pensively.

"Hades." Demyx declared, "You should know. Um, he's really… blue?"

She blinked again, once, twice. "Oh! You mean Emily?" She continued to gaze artlessly at him, even as Demyx knitted his eyebrows and proceeded to shake his head. "No, I mean—who's Emily?"

"Why, the girl you said you were looking for, right?"

Demyx shook his head, a frustrated groan fluttering past his lips. "No, no. I meant Ha—"

"Someone is looking for me?"

Surprised at the unfamiliar voice, Demyx looked up from his shoulder, eyes wide and mouth agape as he set his sight on a woman—a corpse—of tall height, wisps of navy-blue fluttering across pale, dead skin. Large, dusky eyes gazed innocently at him, a subtle smile of sorts pasted on her features and dabbed a dull shade of burgundy. The fissure of broken skin and bone drew Demyx's attention quickly, his eyes wandering from her left cheekbone all the way down, eyes trailing over the gritty material of a soiled wedding dress. It's edges were tattered, the once-soft cloth tainted a pasty blue. One of her legs weren't even covered with any remnants of her bluish skin, as was her left arm, it's broken crevices and dirty joints as visible as night and day.

"Emily," the widow sang, though Demyx didn't catch any of it. "This human has been looking for you!"

Demyx blinked, eyebrow raised in astonishment. Was he supposed to find a corpse attractive?

"A human?" Emily repeated in disbelief, eyes growing wide with surprise—if they could possibly grow any bigger—yet still, they were filled with admiration. Her lone pupils looked incredibly remote, lost in all white. Demyx didn't find it at all disheartening as she continued to stare at him in stunning bewilderment.

With a visible jolt, Demyx started to shake his head. "Wait, me? Human?" Strands of his own bleached chestnut hair framed his face, flickering across his face as he looked back at the spider in confusion. Sure, he was human—with flesh and bones, hair and eyes—but there was so little to him at the same time. Where was his blood? His feelings? His heart? Demyx inwardly winced.

"Ah. You mean the human that almost squished me to death!" came a voice, nasal and loud as it seemed to echo. Emily gasped, smacking the side of her own head, a "shut up!" falling past her lips. "You're already dead, if you haven't noticed!" she muttered harshly, then she let out a yelp, her eyeball falling out of it's crevice and rolling onto the ground by Demyx's feet. A familiar, sickly looking maggot appeared in her eye socket, taking the place of the runaway eyeball.

"It was still squishing, either way," he muttered, looking wretchedly at the stricken nobody.

"I'm sorry!" Demyx replied huffily, bending over to grab for the eyeball, but Emily had beaten him to it. She plucked the little worm from her socket and dropped him to the ground, bending forward to pick up her eyeball and squeeze it back into it's socket. "Oh, maggots," she mumbled, looking apologetically at Demyx and then looking down on the worm, round eyes narrowed. "You ought to respect newcomers," she shot at him, nearly full-blown angry. "The breathing don't need to deal with your trouble."

Demyx blinked, lips settled into a puzzled frown. "The breathing?"

Looking up, Emily's face softened at Demyx's expression, confusion and shock mixed in with his features. "The breathing!" she repeated for him, lips smiling and eyes twinkling with mirth. "The living. It's what you are, right? After all, you bleed. You eat. You need air. The dead?" she shook her head, her long wedding veil fluttering in the wind. "Well, the dead don't do any of that. They don't need any of it." She frowned slightly, her grimace gradually deepening even more as she lifted her left hand to place it on her chest, right above her heart. Her fingers tapped gently on her coarse yet fragile skin, the bones clacking against the surface. "And neither does a corpse bride, of course." She let out a sigh, her breath ghosting away into the chill night.

The black widow sighed too, reminding Demyx of her presence, still sitting on the shoulder of his coat. "Oh, Emily," she started, shaking her head and threading her way towards the corpse, "who cares?"

"Unimportant!" the maggot piped in for emphasis.

"Overrated!"

"Overblown!" The two nodded their heads, both looking at Emily with a purpose.

"The redeeming feature from the living is that they're alive," the maggot persisted, eliciting a perplexed mumble from the standing nobody. The widow continued nodding her head in agreement. "Overrated!" she exclaimed, poking Demyx's flesh with her wiry leg, "He might have a working heart now, but he won't for long." She shook her head disappointedly, Demyx mumbling an affronted "what!" as Emily gasped at the two critters unmistakable implications.

"Oh, don't say that!" she cried, glaring dejectedly at the two then looking at Demyx with strange, sad eyes. "Don't listen to them," she instructed, trying to cover up for their clear-cut declarations. "The living have it all. The thing is that they don't appreciate what they have until they have no chance to appreciate anything at all." She frowned gloomily, glancing down at his torso where his heart is—where his heart should have been—before looking back up at him, into his blank, green eyes. "A heart is an amazing thing. Whether it's beating… or broken. Am I right?"

Demyx continued to look at her, forgetting the presence of the maggot and the black widow. With his eyes, he traced the contours of her round face, soiled with desolation yet marked by certainty, large, round eyes never wavering or trailing away from his. He could imagine her pain, his eyes trailing down to where he could see her heart sitting, dead, rotting and withering with bleakness. It's there, breaking. And while his heart isn't where it's supposed to be, he knows somewhere, someplace, it is broken. He does have a heart. Demyx smiles. Looks back into her eyes and smiles, sad. But genuine.

"You know. I've never met anyone more right in my life."

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