"Let's skip this pretense, we'll remain anonymous."
This was his introduction, his calling each night as he hit the dance floor. For some reason, she didn't mind not knowing his name as he swept her into the crowd of ballroom dancers. Her eyes lit up, reflecting the others in the room as they danced, twirling around them. Dresses flared up in sync with the beat, heels hit the floor with perfectly timed 'clicks', but none of it mattered. Tonight, they were anonymous, too, and she only had eyes for him.
Somehow, she couldn't stop herself from looking into those blue eyes, searching him. Curiousity made her leap in head first, drinking him up. There was an aura of mystery about him, and she couldn't help but wanting to know more. Though the twisting and spinning was dizzying in itself, she was high off the moment. Everything was spinning around her, but she was stationary in his arms, stumbling into his eyes.
Little did she know, his eyes were really empty. Thus, he was able to fill them with whatever he wanted. What Marluxia chose for this woman to see, she would see.
Oh, how one who dealt in deceit could be fooled. The next night they returned, and she found him again. Once more, they danced and danced, except now it was he who was diving in her deep green eyes. How cruel it was when she smiled, flashing those sharp teeth. There was power in her eyes, ambition, wanting.
Every night after that, he returned only for her, to look into those eyes again. Did she know what he was? How could she not, when so many nights were spent with her held close to his chest, where she would hear quite distinctly nothing.
Perhaps she didn't care now, but she would eventually. Oh, how he had to have her! Finally, one night he proposed taking her away. Smoothly he steered her away from the other dancers, head held up as he made his way towards the grand staircase. Grinning wickedly, she followed, hand in his and pressed beside him, the other women shooting glances at her jealously. This was her night.
Up the stairs and through the halls, they finally found themselves on a balcony. The stars laid themselves out for them perfectly that evening as he approached her, smiling wide. Out of nowhere it seemed, he summoned a rose and handed it to her, kissing her hand as he did so.
The gesture was nice, but something wasn't right. Suddenly her hand was being squeezed, squeezed into the thorns until small beads of blood flowed out. She couldn't get her hand away, and it would have been useless as soon after vines crept up her legs and arms, binding her in place.
How did it happen? How could it have happened? She suddenly felt detached, distant, empty. Her chest was empty and open, bleeding and gaping!
Perhaps the pain faded away, perhaps she blacked out from the shock, but when she woke up, she quickly realized why she didn't need to know his name, because eventually she would be somebody else. Soon, she would be nobody, and Larxene would be his.