Title: A Sort of Fantasyland
Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing them. Square-Enix and Disney own my soul right now.
Summary: It's magic, she thinks.
Roxas leans over her shoulder and watches, the sound of his breathing quiet in her ear.
"How do you do that?" he asks, watching in quiet amazement as pictures come to life beneath her fingertips.
'Do what?"
Naminé keeps her head down, colours flowing into a monochrome page of black-white sketched outlines.
Roxas waves his hands as if the words are up in the air. As if he'll be able to pin them down and make them spell out what he means to say.
"Your drawings. The pictures. You know?"
He trails off and the question is left vague. His hands, ever moving and ever restless, are resting on the back of her chair, stilled momentarily.
Naminé doesn't know what he's trying to ask, but she pretends that she does because it really doesn't make much of a difference.
"Magic," she says simply, and it's true enough that it's not a lie. Her pictures look like they're something out of a fantasy picture book sometimes, at least.
She stares glassy-eyed at the expanse of painfully white wall and sees without really seeing.
There are blue skies, sandy beaches and bright green palm trees, and she can feel the warm sun on her skin. There are sounds without meaning, conversations without words and memories that aren't hers for the taking.
"-né. Naminé!"
There are gloved hands shaking her shoulders and she blinks blearily. The vibrant paintings before her eyes fade into a muted swirl of smooth brushstrokes.
Naminé is almost nose-to-nose with Roxas when she turns her head to face him.
"I'm fine, Roxas."
He huffs and turns away, and she catches a glimpse of something fleeting in his eyes.
Yes, magic.
Theme: 076. Magic
