disclaimer: we both know the answer to this. honestly, if i owned KH, nobody would play it except for rabid fangirls like myself.
Sky.
The sky was a liar.
The sky always danced just out of reach, smiling too widely with just a tint of malice hidden in the carefree masquerade of jubilation, almost lazily dangling precious things high above their owners. The sky loved taunting the mortals with their hearts' desires.
Today, the sky was hidden behind melancholy clouds, shadowed clouds that promised rain and relief from the vivid heavens. Where the thick clouds did not completely reach each other and the horizon, the perfidious blue above peeked through, sneering with the same wide two-faced grin, with the same garish too-bright hues.
The same color of his eyes. Sora's eyes.
He was named exceptionally well, for he was just like the sky, misleading. Everyone depended on him...and he only fought on for his selfish purposes, such as finding his friends.
In the midst of a considerable garden, a willowy girl stood. Pale blue orbs, faint and ghostly, were transfixed on the smothered expanse above, unmoving as a rain-scented wind glided across the subdued oasis and swept back her shoulder-length hair, flaxen tresses, soft strands of pale spiderwebby blonde. Her small fists clutched her equipment: a balled-up piece of paper clenched in one fist, three colored pencils clamped in the other. Blue, black, red. The colors of awful bruises and spilt blood. An opened sketchbook lay on the ground at her feet, remnants of a torn-out page still clinging to the metal spirals.
The garden around her was lush, with hesitant ivy crawling up young, spindly trees baring swollen fruit; exquisite flowers of all sorts filled the air with their floral aromas. The sheer splendor and beauty contradicted the hopeless, dull expression on Namine's face.
Soft footsteps announced his arrival; clad in a black leather cloak, mauve hair immaculate and soft-looking as always, deep azure eyes carefully devoid of anything, mild yet feral. His sapphire orbs softened as Marluxia neared the memory-witch, as quiet black boots avoided the delicate blooms scattering over the thick feathery turf, as the sky darkened further. A gentle gloved hand rested itself on the witch's shoulder, and she finally tore from her distant reverie and turned a hopeless pale blue gaze from the sky toward XI's soft eyes where he stood behind her. "Namine. How are you faring today?" The silky tones of the Assassin's voice danced singsong murmurs around her wearily hopeless thoughts, wrapping her in its fabricated comfort. She shook her head, flaxen tresses fluttering from the motion and the consistent pressure of the wind. Instead of answering the dark-clad man, she held out the fist that clenched the ruined piece of paper, opening her palm. Fragments of color were visible where the paper had begun unraveling. Fragments of color were visible where she had begun unraveling.
Blinking curiously, Marluxia peeked over the memory-witch's shoulder and tilted his head at the balled-up paper. Removing his hand from her shoulder, he walked soundlessly to stand in front of the girl, azure eyes curious. A gloved hand reached forward and took the paper from Namine's grasp, careful to brush against the pallid hand. A flicker of unreadable 'emotion' changed her empty expression and pale eyes were flustered as XI meticulously untangled the drawing, the sheet of paper making crisp sounds as it became close to perfect once more. His sapphire eyes seemed to memorize every inch of the drawing, tracing the lines drawn so hastily, haphazardly across the paper. Hopelessly hopeful feeling radiated from it. The azure eyes drifted up from the drawing to Namine's pale eyes, questioning yet smug. "Ah, I see…" he spoke in low tones, understanding tones. "So you've given up, finally. Welcome to the world without hopes and dreams, my sweet."
Slowly the gloved hands let go of the paper and it fell rather limply to the garden's floor, the grass cushioning its fall. The memory-witch and the Assassin merely observed each other for a moment; XI noted the bleak look echoing in Namine's pale eyes, and the blonde contemplated Marluxia's curious yet satisfied look. The memory of a smile graced the Assassin's lips and his hand lifted to ghost across the girl's cheekbone, index finger descending to barely trace her jawbone. He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead, his other hand placing itself on her shoulder. "But don't fret, little rose. I'm here to make it easier," he whispered, pulling back enough to smile his flawless smile at her, the perfection seeming oddly crooked. A faint blush painted false life into her colorless cheeks, merely blood rushing to her cheekbones as Marluxia's feather lips drifted down from her temple, across her flushed cheeks and to her pale lips. The kiss became not so innocent when his tongue trailed along her bottom lip and she granted access via parting her petal-soft lips, feeling somewhat less empty as his warm tongue slid over hers. He pulled away reluctantly when a low rumbling in the sky reverberated through the air, muttering with a glare at the interfering sky. The wind gave a low howl.
Marluxia swore when raindrops began to litter themselves onto the waiting earth; sending another glare up at the heavens, he tucked a possessive arm around the memory-witch and guided her back toward the Castle as the storm snarled at their backs. The small flowers they so painstakingly avoided treading on seemed to lift their petals to the tempest sky, hues matching those of the colored pencils Namine still clutched in her small fists. Blue, black, red. The grass rippled in the winds, and the ivy shuddered as lightning danced along the edges of the clouds, so akin to the way Namine shivered as Marluxia whispered in her ear with his soft voice. "Don't let them haunt you, my pet," he murmured, lips brushing her porcelain ear. "I won't let them much longer."
The rain wept upon the ruined paper as the pair disappeared from sight. The fabricated faux cheery colors made the drawing all the more gruesomely honest, the inky black bleeding into deep cerulean and the crimson staining pure intentions with bloody mock-hopeful undertones. The picture was of the deceitful creep, the Keyblade-wielder, the liar, Sora. The careless bastard had that idiotic smile finally wiped off his blood-smeared face, limbs twisted into odd angles, crumpled and bruised, just another broken body drowning in pools of its own blood. His too-bright, too-happy blue eyes were still open, staring sightlessly with a dim haze littering their depths, the last thing they'll ever see imprinted on the retinas like film in a camera.
The bright, putrid sky and its corrupt namesake with the same horridly cloying blue hues that cover up rotting promises with artificial charisma would have to find another victim soon.
Because they would haunt Namine no more.
yes, reviews would be nice..