a/n: not mine. yay. i rather like this, actually. hooray for nobody!fic.
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"Don't worry; your prince will come to save you. Isn't that right, Naminé?" Larxene's hand ghosts over her pale hair and paler skin, and Naminé does not answer, but waits for the older Nobody to leave, for the air to settle, for her nerves to settle, for the shaking to stop.
Her room is white-nothing but white and clean and clear and pure and sacred. A doll in a cage; she stares at her reflection in the glass globe; she watches her mouth move in a silent question. The air trembles again, threatens to invoke Larxene in her sharp brittle fury, and Naminé tries to still her thoughts.
Am I like them?
She could be Larxene's little sister, given the way they look. This is Axel's favorite thing to tell her, when he comes by her room and taps on the bars of her cage with his devil's smirk. The blood from his footprints is still by the door. Naminé wonders why no one has seen it yet- it is thick and dried in the perfect foot-shape.
It is fair to say that Marluxia only looks at her, however. She can feel his fingertips when she isn't careful, stroking and pushing and-oh! Naminé had to change dresses after the last time he was there; it lies in the corner of a closet, a crumpled, bloody reminder of what she is. He never saw the blood there either. She thinks he has stopped looking at his own hands.
Am I one of them?
Marluxia calls her pet, calls her doll, calls her many, many things. Larxene calls her witch, calls her hag, calls her bitch. Axel calls her Naminé. She doesn't know what this means.
But that her white room and her white dress and her white skin are stained. Stained with Axel's treachery, Marluxia's desire, Larxene's anger. She almost wants to say that she is one of them, but she is not. She is the tourniquet; she is the basin; she is the antidote. She is all that bleeds them dry of this poison in their systems. Doll-pet-witch-hag-bitch-darling-toy-Naminé. All words for the same thing-
placebo.