"That's better."
In this illusion, he sensed intimacy. A strange emotion tugged at the back of his mind.
Where in the world had he felt such...feelings?
No, no! This is an illusion! He reminded himself that the feelings were nothing but an illusion and the story before him contained a world he had weaved with his parchment and ink.
When the 2nd wave of sorrow hit him, Zexion wondered how in the world could his own work of art turned against him. Was that even scientifically possible?
Yet, this was the very evidence that his art was testing him, stretching his mind.
In this picture; no, story, a young man was fighting a futile war. His purpose lost and his will power, tested. Morals were low and everywhere he turned, fellow brothers and sisters would turn against their own kind, in a battle for what they termed - paradise.
Paradise came in the form of a strangely shaped planet resembling a famous, ancient symbol. A heart.
The 21 year old's eyes looked up, his handsome features bloodied and scarred.
Had the cloaked schemer been an artist like the memory witch, he would've captured this image on canvas. Art - a skill almost foreign to Ienzo, no, Zexion, at least when it came to the method of moving a paint brush across the rough, dyed white canvas.
Zexion could picture how the story would end now.
The 21 year old man whom Zexion had been watching, averted his gaze away from the ridiculously shaped planet.
A wave of brightly colored dust flew towards him. Dodge rolling expertly with a samurai's grace; the colored 'missiles' sped towards a new, unsuspecting target.
Said target came in the form of a fairly distracted woman, a form yet to be fit for the face of war.
The young man's lips moved. Zexion was deaf to his cries but he was clearly reaching out for the woman.
The woman's eyes met his.
Student to teacher.
"Don't save me." The proud student grinned; eyes brimmed with madness from one too many wars waged.
Kicking herself free of her young master's grip, she free fall and became a corpse, even before she could hit the ground.
In a sea of corpse, his student's body was pretty hard to differentiate.
Zexion shut his lexicon, letting the woman's journal entry fade into oblivion.