"Serenity"
A short 411 fic by Lady Jack
Author's Note: First of all, I don't own anything related to Kingdom Hearts, and that includes Marluxia and Vexen. This was simply a gift for a friend, inspired by the song "Nemo" by Nightwish. Now then, this is a short fic looking at the idea of ice being a prison and warmth being freedom. It's big bloody metaphor. Yay metaphors! *shot* okay enough of that. Enjoy!
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Snow. Soft and yielding in almost every aspect. Such white serenity. And yet it was not without its own horrors. Ice. Sleet. Freezing winds and biting chills. Even the smallest of storms could catch any small heat, locking it away deep within the ice and cold. Trapped like this, held away from any heat. Never to feel the lick of sunlight, never to breath the warmth in the air or smell the crisp scent from gardens leaning into precious sunlight.
How had it come to this? Such a terrible feeling, to be so very alone in the world. The prison itself ever changing, allowing the sight of everything in, but never the interaction, never the warmth, and then later blanketing all vision with blinding white that stretched on and on forever more. The former was worse than blindness could ever be. To see everything, every laugh, every smile, every last touch, and never to be able to feel any of it. Never to enjoy those simple moments.
The form may change, but the prison stays the same. No compassion can penetrate its perfect fortress, no warmth hot enough to melt the icy walls. To be surrounded by others just like him, without feeling, without purpose, not one being able to move past their own minds. Nothing could feel more alone in the world; nothing could feel more isolated. And the isolation builds, and the loneliness grows to add to the prison and lock him farther and farther inside, suffocating, crushing.
Hours turn to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months. No change around him, nothing to break up the monotony. It is fruitless to find a change when it could not be felt regardless. At times he wants to scream, to shatter the ice that surrounds him and crawl out into the light again. But even these cries are frozen within his throat, and he forces himself to adapt, to welcome the cold and accept the ice. It's easier that way. The cold doesn't fight if he doesn't fight first. No, it welcomes him into its chilling embrace, freezing away the terror and pain and leaving only pure calm.
Soon he is the only one alone. The only one left within this internal prison, keeping out even the most temperate hand. He is forsaken not by the others, but by his own doing. The prison walls no longer stand on their own: the ice seeped so deep within that his very blood freezes inside, until he makes his own walls to smother and cover. No longer a thing of terror filled minds, it becomes his safety, his haven, the escape he has to void himself. Deep down, though, he can still hear the small voice that still demands to be heard, to be acknowledged, to be allowed back into the warmth. No matter how willingly he accepts his prison, the cold cannot sink low enough to silence it.
One moment of clarity. One simple moment of giving time to the small voice is all it took. The ice smashed, the cold warmed, he watches as his prison falls to pieces around him. For once he can feel the warmth on his skin, feel the sun kiss his cheek as it does the morning flowers. He feels himself open once more, feel the numbness leave as he takes the offered hand behind the warmth. It seeps beneath in moments, erasing the chill in a wash of heat, warming him and offering him a new home. A once silenced hope flutters within him like a bird recovering its wings. He is not alone anymore, and he is wrapped in warmth, safe from the prison forever more.