game; Kingdom Hearts II
pairing; Sora/Naminé, RikuReplica/Naminé
warnings; none, I think
disclaimer; I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters used.
&&&
She's not dreaming - the throbbing pain (yes, pain) that has been so conveniently placed at the very center of her being, the left side of her ribcage, is enough proof for that.
But then again, she can't be awake, either.
Because this must be what it's like to feel. This unexplainable ecstay, this unstoppable wave of adrenaline, the blood in her veins pumping like poison, her chest on the very edge to explode into a million colors (stars, fireworks, lightning).
"Naminé! Look out!"
And suddenly there's a hand on her shoulder and she can actually feel the warmth radiating off of it before she's pushed across the room just before a fatal blow strikes above her head, making a nice and quite large hole in the spot she was standing mere seconds ago.
Sora stands, quick as ever, and his legs may look scrawny under those over-sized shorts of his but he stands on the concrete ground with more determination than Naminé has ever seen. Weapon clutched in both hands and brows furrowed deeply, running and running and-
(Marluxia laughs, surrounded by rose petals that look so pretty in all of their pastel-colored glory).
-he lunges through the air, timing the swing of the Keyblade just right before lifting it high above his head, prepared to slash right through the pink-haired Nobody if necessary.
Naminé can do nothing but watch-
(she feels so useless-)
-but her skinny fingers ache to reach out, to destroy, to hurt, to-
(kill? kill?)
She wants to be part of the tale too. She doesn't just want to be a damsel in distress or the onwatcher. She wants to get into the action, feel the rush and the sweat running down the side of her face.
Sora lands a few more blows and it's enough, really, because next thing she knows Marluxia's fading away-
(gone, just like that - part of her worst nightmare and at the same time, her whole world - gone).
His eyes are glittering with the thrill of battle-victory when he turns around to face her, ice blue and sky blue and deep blue blending together until she sees nothing but blue-
(and she gets this urge to lean in real close, capture that amazing vividness, the almost untouchable blue his gaze possesses).
This must be what feeling is like, Naminé thinks, but then the floor starts shaking and the doors are slammed open and-
(i've.. been having these weird thoughts lately).
&&&
Sora's a hero and it's not because his Keyblade shines so enchantingly when the sun hits its magnificent steel, nor is it because he can bang the Heartless around any way he wants to. It's not because his two followers were sent personally by the king to watch over him, nor is it because his outfit is flashy and his smile so confident.
He's a hero because his heart is so strong, so much stronger than what could ever be measured in muscles.
His expression is determined even when he's sleeping, Naminé notices, watching his body float inside of the capsule, lost in the dream state that has taken over his rapidly growing body. He doesn't look peaceful at all.
She sits down in front of the place where he dreams and forgets and remembers-
("Make me like I was".)
-and she draws countless of pages filled with his hopes and goals and pasts and futures, bright crayons scattered on the floor around her.
"He'll forget all about you", the Replica says in his ever-monotone voice, standing behind the sitting girl with his head slightly tilted to the side.
"Yes", she answers, running a hand through the stray golden locks that hang over her shoulder.
"And you're fine with that?" he asks, expression doubtful.
"No", she admits, a hollow smile playing on her lips, "but my feelings don't matter."
And the redheaded girl in her drawing looks so pretty, eyes a thousand times more intense and deep and blue and lovable than Naminés own.
"What feelings?" Axel asks from the door, laughter echoing in the blinding white of the room.
And if she had even the slightest trace of a spine, she might have stomped her feet and screamed at him or denied his accusations-
(that aren't accusations, really, they're facts)
-but a spineless girl is about just as useful as a heartless girl and so she keeps her rosy lips shut and her eyes distant when she turns her head, pretending that she can't hear his taunts.
(like.. is any of this for real..?)
&&&
The hero is on his way now, too big feet already walking the path leading to some unknown journey not very unlike the last one; it's what heroes do and so there's nothing wrong or unnatural about it.
"So what is this feeling inside?" Naminé asks no one in particular, pressing a tiny hand above the place where the blood-pumping organ should have been embedded into her had she possessed one.
The Riku Replica merely looks at her, gaze haunting and painfully aquamarine, but he doesn't know what to say; the personality resting within him carefully made out of loose strings hidden in Sora's memory isn't enough to cover for what Riku would say or do if it was really him standing there.
Naminé's met Riku once. She quite liked him, actually, but in her drawings his eyes remained concealed since she never learned his true eye color, always wondering what was hidden beneath that silky blindfold.
And when she finally did find out, when she pulled the chains of Sora's memories in different patterns, she thought the brilliance of the enchanting color fitted him all too well. Naminé actually ached to be able to put her masterpiece together; the perfect copy of the silver-haired boy.
"Nobodies do not have feelings", the replica eventually manages, and he's probably picked the phrase up from some Nobody that carelessly said it in his presence, but Naminé looks up, her eyes round and too sad to not have any real feeling behind it.
"That's true", she agrees, and it is. So why?
Sora doesn't remember her anymore; the only person of importance in his mind is somebody that Naminé actually could have been, once upon a time. It's probably just her usual bad luck; to pick the wrong side of the coin, to always be doomed as second best.
The Riku Replica has the same problem, though, and it's more comforting than it should be.
Her very body, the drained shell that she is, is a reminder of the Chosen one, the Keyblade-wielder. She can't change it; he'll always exist in some tiny place deep within her, if not in her non-existant heart then somewhere; where he's safe, where they can't reach him..
Naminé is not the damsel in distress, and she's not the hero; before she even had the time to blink, it seems that all of the roles were dealt, and she ended up without one.
It's okay, though; she can play the part of the onwatcher, of the quiet witness locked away in safety, high up and far away from the adventurous reality where people live and love and laugh and kill.
Naminé's not meant for that world - but Kairi probably is.
She'll just have to wait for her turn; for the day she just knows will come when blank pages are filled with scattered words of her very own tale, where the lead role is no one's but hers.
Riku's keen gaze staring at her from the replica's sockets doesn't look too convinced.
(or not..?)
enjoy the weirdness. hell, why do i even bother with these notes? it's not as if anyone actually reads my stories anyway. teehee.