Ok people, I'm still working on my other story Rite Of Passage while I'm doing this one too, I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in for-freaking-ever, but there's just been way too much going on...don't ask unless you want an annoyingly long story.
But don't worry! I haven't abandoned Rite Of Passage, it's just taking me a while, but I do have Ch. 9 started, so it's only a matter of time.
Ok so... I got the idea for this from my art textbook, apparently vanitas is an actual word, it's an art term for "an artwork that serves to remind us of death", cool but scary, right?
Anyway, I got the idea for this story from that, so here's the first chapter, and I'll probably continue it regardless of what some readersmighht say so meh.
Enjoy.
KH: My Vanitas
Chapter 1
Beginning of the End
Golden eyes gleamed with amusement as they watched me scrubbing furiously with a towel. I could feel his gaze burning a gaping hole through my body. So, hoping it would turn away, if only for a moment, I scrubbed as fast as I could- my hand gripping the towel becoming a blur of motion against my arm.
I could hear his chuckles bounce off the walls when a trickle of blood drew a path down my now searing arm.
"You're a fool."
I turned toward him with a glare, but that still did nothing to lessen his amusement.
"And why is that? You're the one who presses me to do it." I raised my bloody arm to make my point and he shrugged.
"But what person leaves ugly splotches for scars when they could leave the clean, straight ones instead?"
"The person who's afraid of knives but not towels. Besides, if they were the lines from knives, people would know what they were right away." I muttered, beginning to wrap the burns with an old shirt lying on the floor.
His pale hand grabbed my wrist and I flinched from his strong grip. "Don't bandage it, let it breathe." He looked at me as if daring me to disobey him as I once tried before. He ripped the shirt from my arm, making sure it skidded across the burns as he did and I bit my lip.
"What? Not even going to whimper? What a shame," He sighed and plopped on the couch in the corner.
I kept my eyes downcast as he threw the shirt somewhere far away. I noticed the window letting the sunlight through made the white tiles gleam like snow on a beautiful winter morning. Everything in this room was white. The walls, the furniture, even most of my clothes. The only things with some color were my art supplies scattered about the room, the blood still trickling down my arm, my blonde hair falling in my eyes silently, my now dimmed cerulean eyes, and him.
"Can I at least wipe the blood off?" I asked softly with a glare.
"Go ahead."
I got up and hurried over to the bathroom down the hall and turned the faucet on the sink, letting the water run freely against my burns. Water was supposed to feel soothing against injuries, right? Scratch that, doesn't feel so 'soothing' against burns, I guess.
At this point, you're probably a little bit more than lost.
My name is Namine Forgrove. I'm 20 years old, living by myself- in a sense- and I'm an artist. Somehow it pays surprisingly well; people would pay for my work back and forth every time the gallery I worked for hosted an auction.
Although… I haven't gone in as much as I'd like to lately.
I turned the water faucet and carefully dried off arm as best I could without irritating the burns any further. Opening the cabinet underneath, I pulled out a small spray bottle of disinfectant. While it may not do much right now, it's the best I can do at the moment. Spraying the wound and wincing each time it made contact, I put the bottle back and dried my arm again and stepped out.
The golden eyes were watching me again when I came back, though he seemed distracted by something. He stood and went to the corner of the room where that painting still stood on an easel separated from everything else.
The painting was probably the darkest thing I've ever done, and ever will do again. A cemetery filled the canvas with a dark mist enveloping half the scenery, a skeleton with bits of skin still clinging to its bones stood in front of one of the graves.
His pale fingers slid across the dried canvas. "This one will always be my favorite," I could tell he was smirking once again. "When you painted me. Created me."
He came towards me, his spiky black locks bouncing ever so slightly with every step. He lightly wrapped his hands around my waist. I'm sure for most girls- this would make them swoon with pleasure. But not me, not for him.
"And no matter what you do, I'll always be here. We cannot be damaged. But you, Namine," He moved his hand to brush my bangs out of my face and I shivered. "I'll always exist to create your damage." He grabbed my arm where the burns were, but I couldn't hide the pain this time; he smirked again.
After a few moments he let go of me and strode around the room slowly and aimlessly.
"I never wanted to create you," I growled and he scoffed. "I just want you gone."
"Yeah, I know," He faced me when he stood by the painting again. "But you can't get rid of me either. Face it, Namine, you're fated to be stuck with me forever."
One thing I should explain first. You see, I have this one ability. One that I now wish I never had. Some things I paint, draw, sculpt, you name it; they manifest themselves into living, breathing beings. I've never had any control over it, no matter how hard I tried; it manifests things whenever it wants. And he is one of them.
This man. No- this thing, this monster.
He is my vanitas.
My vanitas has been following me for the past year, so I've grown accustomed to refer to him by that name. Vanitas.
Ever since he manifested, he's been doing whatever he can to keep himself amused at my expense. Hence the scars, since he likes to me in pain. If I don't do as he says, he'll take control and make the injuries even worse than I ever could. These times when I fought back have sent me to the hospital on more than one occasion, so I don't bother anymore.
Luckily, he stays at home, but only plaguing my mind every so often just to annoy me at work or when I'm running errands.
It's like there's some spell on that painting, if I touch it my hands begin searing with mystic burns and pain shoots up my arms and I'm flung back, away from the work. I've tried throwing it away by grabbing it with giant pliers so I myself wouldn't be touching it. But when I came home later that day, there it was- resting on its easel like a curse.
Perhaps Vanitas' manifestation has to do with my client that requested the painting. He seemed normal enough, just a college professor that taught at a med school. But just before I finished the commission, the professor died. I should've stopped as soon as I heard the news, but me being the perfectionist fool I was- I finished it anyway.
How stupid I was…
"Good morning! How may I help you?"
"Just a hot mocha, please. No whip."
"Aw, are you sure? The whip is what most of the people love anyway." The cashier poorly attempted to persuade me made Vanitas next to me scoff.
"What a moron. If she thinks an upsell like that is going to work than she's the worst employee ever." I growled under my breath at him and the cashier flinched.
"U-Um, never mind. Here's your total. Your mocha will be ready momentarily." She punched in the numbers on the cash register and I handed her the requested amount and headed away from the growing line.
"Do you have to be such a prick all the time?" I sighed, earning a few glares from people I passed on the way.
Vanitas just laughed. "Please, it's not like she can see me. You're the one she heard growl at her."
I sighed and took my steaming, hot mocha off the shelf, taking off the lid in an attempt to cool it off a bit so I wouldn't scorch my tongue off like I do every other time. Stepping back into the cold, winter air, I wrapped my scarf a little tighter around my neck and slipped the lid back on my favorite caffeinated drink.
I turned to find Vanitas had decided to disappear again for the day.
It's true; no one else can see my manifestations but me. No one can feel the icy touch of his pale hands. No one can see his demonic, golden eyes. So, naturally, no one would hear his insults either.
I passed a small park bench and decided to sit and do a few quick sketches of the scenery, seeing as I didn't have to get to work for another hour. I made myself as comfortable as I could on the hard and damp wooden bench, setting the still steaming mocha aside as I pulled my sketchbook and some graphite with an eraser from my tote bag and set the bag next to me. Taking another sip and letting the chocolaty scent fill my nostrils as I scanned the park for some inspiration.
Several little details caught my eye- an elderly couple on a bench across the park, two white and chocolate Labradors sleeping over each other peacefully, some of the different types of flowers or arrangements of trees. Deciding on one of them, I let my hand be guided by the graphite moving swiftly and smoothly across the paper.
I was too lost in my world of pencils and mocha to see someone stand a foot away in front of me.
"Hey." The voice asked; it was a smooth, melodic male voice. His tone of annoyance shook me from my happy place and I looked up at the boy.
The most noticeable traits were his bright, brilliant blue eyes and strangely spiked blonde hair. He was averagely toned and yet still very slim, he also a thick, black and white checkered jacket with a red collar and an x-shaped silver necklace and a large canvas messenger bag draped across his shoulder. He was looking at me like I'd taken the last cookie from the cookie jar.
"Um, excuse me?" I started, curious as to why this boy was breaking my focus. He frowned at me.
"You're in my seat," He pointed at the bench I sat on and I looked at him incredulously.
"'Your seat'? It's a public park, I can sit where ever I damn well please." I shot him a glare through my tired eyes.
"Ooh, am I sensing some anger from my dear little toy?" Vanitas' voice echoed from my mind and next thing I knew, he was standing beside the boy with a grin on his face.
I sighed heavily; I wanted to fight for my freedom to sit where I pleased, but I didn't want Vanitas breathing down my neck the whole way through.
Not wanted to deal with two annoying men, I stood from my seat and gathered my things. "Fine, whatever." I muttered, grabbing my mocha off the bench and walking away.
The boy then grabbed me by the wrist- I flinched as his grip tightened around my fresh wound under my sweater. "Hey, wait a-" He stopped short and let out a gasp when something seemed to flash across his vision and he jerked back.
Vanitas let out a cry of pain and he fizzed slightly like data corruption pixelating the image. He shot a dangerous glare at the boy before me.
We stared at each other with certain shock and confusion, both thinking the same question. "What…"
My Vanitas forced cold chills to run throughout my body to remind me of existence. "Shouldn't you be getting to work now, little Nami?" He growled.
I shook my head and hurried away from the boy as quickly as I could before Vanitas could try anything. Glancing back at the blonde still staring at me then his hand as if we were foreign, a constant thought spun around my skull.
What was that?
I shuddered as I stepped through the sliding automatic doors into the art studio. The one thing I hated about winter was the numbness it gave my fingers no matter if I'm holding my favorite warm caffeinated drink or not. Although that wasn't the only coldness in the air.
Ever since our run-in with that irritable blonde boy before, Vanitas hadn't said one word; in fact, he was seething the whole way. Whatever happened when that blonde touched me, really had Vanitas angry.
Well, like that was anything new.
"Well if it isn't Twilight Town's favorite little blonde artist. Right on time as always, Namine."
I turned with a smile at the welcoming voice belonging. "Morning Pence, how's it going?"
Pence was a photographer- and a fantastic one at that. He was a little on the chubby side, but not too much, and had dark hair held up by his headband and looked somewhat like a palm tree at that point.
"I was going to go get some shots from the clock tower soon, wanna come with?" The dark-haired boy suggested as he stretched.
I shook my head. "No thanks, I have some projects here still." Pence frowned slightly.
"You sure? You always used to come along. Is everything okay? You've been… I dunno, distant? Something like that."
For a moment I actually considered telling the poor oblivious photographer about my haunting vanitas. But then the temperature-lowering chilling emanating from my creation's growing anger made me bite my lip.
Shaking my head again, I waved Pence's concern off. "N-No, there's nothing going on, really. I've just gotten more ideas and inspiration than normal and I wanted to get them all down.
"Hm, well okay, if you say so. I'm heading out," He said, obviously not fully convinced but thankfully didn't press on as he gathered his equipment. "See you later Nami!"
I inwardly flinched at that nickname; it was after all the one that Vanitas favored.
Pence was right though, things have changed since Vanitas came into being. He's changed many things about me in the past year as well- things my coworkers seem to notice as time goes by. They try to help me, but I always turn them down.
Vanitas has changed me too much- my personality for one, I was once happy and outgoing and occasionally even loud, but now I'm introverted and quietly raging. He controls my sleep, as I haven't had a good night's sleep since he was manifested- and he plagues my sleep with vicious nightmares, hence the bags under my eyes as well. And then there's my eating habits, for the first two months of Vanitas' creation, I was unable to eat for fear he may have done something to my food, therefore I would only eat things my coworkers shared with me or what I got from fast food restaurants. This made me skinnier and my clothes hang loosely from my shrinking frame.
The ones who cared were concerned, but I can't get rid of Vanitas no matter what I try.
I set my bag on my desk after scooting my chair towards an open canvas and taking my sketchbook along with me. I had begun drawing the outline of the elderly couple I had drawn from the park when the studio's director made her entrance.
"Good morning all. Everyone please stop whatever it is you're doing for just a moment, please." She said politely but still loud enough for us all to hear.
The most noticeable thing about her is her vibrant blue hair that only spiked in a few areas. Her name is Aqua Gainsborough, she's married to Terra Gainsborough- who was adopted- and his sister Aerith actually works here as well. Anyway, along with Aqua's blue hair that stopped just past her neck, she has beautiful blue eyes to match. Now, being our director, she's able to assist us in any of our works- no matter the medium we're using. Although she doesn't specialize in one specific medium, she still dabbles in just about everything.
Mrs. Gainsborough stepped aside to allow someone to pass to the front and I nearly dropped my pencil. That head of blonde hair… It was the boy who bugged me in the park!
"We have a newcomer in our midst starting today, he's an especially skilled painter as well. Say hello to Roxas Strife."
So what do you think so far? Good? Bad? Eh don't even bother sdjrskdfkfg?
I like to think as Namine being somewhat- well probably a bit more- like myself. Both being artists of many mediums(as most people do for her, too bad in KH she only does weird crayon drawings that are still awesome in their own way), both a little bit more than troubled at most times, that, and my mom thinks I look like her(whut?). So I tend to portray her a bit more like myself(hence the mochas, and other things here and there). Trust me on the mom thing though, it's weird, if you see a pic of me you might think she was crazy? idk, depends on your point of view I guess.
Anyway, please review, and to those of you who are reading Rite Of Passage, I'm working on it when I can, I swear!
Bye nii(meh)