The Thirteenth Step
By MidnightWhisper7
A/N: These are a series of theme-based drabbles centered around Saïx. They were originally posted by me on the Kingdom XIII Community on Livejournal. Each chapter will be a separate drabble, and there will be thirteen total. The title of this collection, The Thirteenth Step, comes from the name of an album by A Perfect Circle. The whole CD fits the feel of these drabbles, and since there will be thirteen I thought it would be appropriate.
I. Shy away, phantom
The mirror was an elegant object, of a time and place long forgotten by the inhabitants of Radiant Garden. Its surface was dull with years of dust and debris, clustered between odds-and-ends and old indicipherable documents. Saïx lifted it to better get at the papers beneath, careful not to shatter the glass any more than it was already. Delicate cracks ran across its silver plane like pale spider webs. He traced them with his finger -- a black widow scuttling along in search of prey -- leaving a smooth trail in the dust.
He nearly discarded it in search of the important reports that Xemnas had sent him here to find, but paused, and bent down to peer through the window made by the line of his finger. An eye was watching him. It was narrow and glowing golden, with a small pupil, dark and endless. It was looking at him! He leaned closer, strands of hair spilling against the surface like indigo dye. He lifted a hand and wiped the rest of the dust away. A face stared back at him, eyes surprised and mouth slightly open. He shut his mouth, and the other face mirrored his action. Then the image in the mirror smirked back at him as he realized it was his own reflection. How foolish he was. That was the mirror's trick, reflecting the light of its surroundings and casting it back to its subjects eyes. He had never seen his reflection.
He scrutinized his face carefully. Blue hair, once inky black, long in front and cut untidily short in the back -- slashes of his broadsword -- framing his face, eyes that had once reflected the color of the night sky, turned Heartless gold with years dwelling the path between darkness and light, and twin scars criss-crossing the bridge of his nose (he could feel this). He stared into the mirror, through it, past it, and saw dim flickering silhouettes in the corners of his mind. He clutched his forehead, bent over the mirror and eyes shut tight against the reflection. But the images continued, pushing past years of living bordering on nothing.
The moon on a starless night. Colorful orbs dancing across a map of calculations. The sound of water (falling up). Moonlight-yellow, shadow whispers, glowing heart-shaped light rising from his chest as they pulled him under, falling-makeitstop-nothing but darkness... Empty and cold. Waking up to find rain against his face and a hollow nothingness in his chest. Anger (fake), rage (not real), tearing into himself so the pain told him he wasn't dead --
The mirror crashed into the far wall as he flung it away, wooden frame splintering like a spine against concrete, sharp moonlight-thin shards scattering in a broken web on the floor. The glass, continuing to reflect his dark profile, crunched under the heel of his boots as he stamped them even further into nonexistence. Some things, he decided, were better left forgotten. It was no use trying to make amends to the dead.
