Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or Rule of Rose or any of the characters used or mentioned within the story. I only own this fanfic, and nothing more. So, like, don't sue me?
Dark Water
It is dark and raining the night they meet. She is cold and exhausted and thinks he is a shadow before she collides with him, finding he is very real and very warm underneath the leather coat. He catches her before she falls, her wrist in his gloved hand holding her up on unsteady legs. She brushes her bangs from her eyes as she looks up, damp locks clinging to long fingers stubbornly as she tries to see past the darkness of his hood to his face, but the rain is biting and falling into her eyes as she looks up, blurring her already failing vision. She searches the darkness once more, catching a flicker of a blue that reminds her of melting ice before the world begins to spin and she falls limp in his arms.
He lets her dangle like a doll for a moment, held up only by his hand wrapped around her thin wrist. Her head lolls backward, the rain pushing her hair back and he sees she is pale and peaked. He looks around to make certain he is not being watched then takes her into his arms and vanishes through a dark doorway, reappearing in an empty room in a rundown inn. He lays her down on the bed then walks to the window, sitting on the sill to watch the storm until she wakes.
She wakes up to the sound of rain pounding against glass and strange music coming from somewhere in the room. She rubs her eyes and pushes her almost-dry hair out of her face as she sits with her knees folded at her side, her weight resting against one palm. She finds the source of the music at the window; the shadow-man she ran into outside is sitting on the window sill playing what she mistakes as a guitar, the song slow and steady like a stream.
She slides her legs off the bed and folds her hands against her lap, clearing her throat. The song comes to a stop and the man looks toward her, the hood still concealing his face.
"Oh, good. You're awake," he says, his voice not quite what she expected. She imagined this tall, mysterious man would have a voice that sounded like thunder or creaked like rusty hinges, certainly not a light and chipper tone – a voice that made her think of the little ones back home and their naive ways.
She gnaws on her bottom lip, looking to the floor. "Excuse me, but where are we?"
"I believe it's called Denmark," he replied, letting the sitar rest against the wall.
Her hazel eyes widen. "Denmark. You must take me to the Prince," she says, pleading and he cants his head to the side, curious. He knows the Prince, the one who sailed the ocean and fell in love with a siren's song, the one who stalks the beach day and night hoping to find the beautiful creature that stole away his heart.
"Why do you want to see him?" he asks, swiveling to let his legs dangle from the sill, the toes of his boots scuffing against the wooden floor.
She fidgets for a moment before reaching into the pocket of her skirt to pull out a piece of paper, wrinkled and waterlogged and ruined. She frowns as she opens it up, red crayon smudged and the image faded. "Because of this," she says, running her fingertips over the sticky wax.
He sits up straighter and tries to make out the picture as she lays the paper on the bed beside her. All he sees is a mess of red on old, yellowed parchment. "And what, exactly, is that?"
"A mermaid," she replies wistfully. "I heard stories of this place – where mermaids dwell beneath the ocean."
He chuckles. "I see. So have you come for the Prince or the mermaids?"
"Does the Prince not know of these creatures?"
"Only what he's been told. Old fishermen's tales and the like," the man says with a flippant wave of his hand, then he chokes on his smugness when he sees the girl frown once more.
"He said," she says, voice low and grave, "he said one day I would be a beautiful mermaid. So I sought them out – only to find nothing."
"Who told you that?" he asks, lips curling upward in a smirk.
"Mister – " she bites her tongue, his name tasting like poison. "Someone I knew," she corrects herself, the scowl momentary but not at all flattering on her pretty face. "He said we would all be mermaids one day. I should have known Diana was right; he was a liar and there are no such thing."
"Hey, hey now," the man says as he stands and walks over to her slowly. "There are too such things as mermaids," he says as he sits beside her. She pushes over a few inches.
She scoffs and crumples the paper, tossing it away.
"There are," he says, reaching out to cup her chin. She flinches, jerking her head away quickly and he understands instantly that she is not one to be touched.
That explains the bruises on her thighs and the cuts on her wrists.
"I can prove it to you," he promises, reaching up to remove the hood from his head.
She backs up a little more, her eyes searching his for assurance. They are beautiful and blue and placid, but there's something in his stare – an emptiness she cannot quite explain. Brow furrowing, she asks, "just who are you?"
"Call me Demyx," he says, smiling sweetly at her, holding out a hand to her. "And you, Princess?"
She looks at his hand, the gesture innocent enough. But that's how it always starts; outstretched hands and kind words and promises that can't be kept. She does not shake his black-clad hand as she introduces herself, "my name is Clara."
She stays with him for a few days, and he comes and goes, each time returning with money and tossing it at her feet as though she were true royalty. She knows better than to question where he gets it; not that he lies to her, but because she knows his methods are wicked. He makes sure she uses that stolen, filthy money to buy pretty dresses and shoes and ribbons for her hair and a box of crayons that are all shades of red.
When he asks "why red?" as he watches her draw a girl sleeping amongst dead roses, she replies "I'm used to it."
But she isn't used to it, and she quite frankly detests the color. It makes her think of that dirty old man and that night her white sheets were stained with blood and Diana found her huddled in the corner, crying her eyes out and gagging on her own sobs. She only wishes to remain as faithful as she can to the Red Crayon Aristocrats.
And when she asks "why do you spoil me so?" one day after he's slipped her enough coins to purchase a dress the color of the ocean, he tells her "because you deserve it."
She doesn't think she deserves it and he knows. He can tell by the way she still flinches away and hesitates to accept his gifts. So one day, after surprising her with a dress the color of the ocean, he pulls her close to his chest and holds her. She tenses and her eyes widen as he presses his chin to her head.
"Trust me," he says, and it takes a few seconds before she relaxes against him. "Trust me and I will make your dreams come true."
"What do you mean?" she asks, breath hitching.
He eases back and smiles a smile that is cruel in the way it curves but kind all at once. She searches his eyes again and finds her heart beating faster and faster. She backs away from him, shaking her head and hugging the dress to her chest tightly.
"What are you?" she whispers, unable to ignore the darkness she senses within him any longer.
He cocks an eyebrow, the picture of oblivious innocence. "What am I? What do you mean?"
She throws the dress at his feet. "Don't you dare take me for a fool! I – you're not human," she says with a glare.
The smile vanishes and his eyes seem to darken a shade. "I beg your pardon?"
"Even imps have heartbeats," she says. "But I heard nothing as you held me."
He laughs, loud and bold and shakes his head, shrugging. "Cat's outta the bag, I guess."
"Tell me, what is it you want with me?"
He advances, dirtying the dress as he walks over it. "I am the King come to take you away, dear, Frightful Princess."
Her eyes become wide, then once again the world spins and he catches her unconscious body in one swift movement. He sighs and shakes his head; perhaps that had all been a bit too much. He had only wanted to be honest with her in order to gain her trust.
She wakes in the room she always wakes in and he's sitting on the edge of her bed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I didn't mean to scare you like that."
She edges away from him, drawing her knees up to her chest. "What did you mean, I am the King come to take you away?"
He smiles, and for a moment she believes it to be sincere. "Weren't you listening? I can make your dreams come true."
And he reaches into a pocket and pulls out the drawing she threw away nearly a week ago. She stares at the mangled image and then her eyes grow wide as she understands what he's saying. "You mean...?"
"Yes," he says. "one day, you'll be a mermaid. I promise."
And she wants to believe him because this beautiful, dangerous man has not lied to her once yet, but he isn't human and he is evil underneath the smiles and songs. But the promise is to great, to overpowering, and so she nods and throws herself at him with tears in her eyes as she thanks him over and over again.
Finally, she thinks, it will finally stop and she will be free and beautiful and all of the things Mr. Hoffman could never deliver.
He pats her back and kisses the top of her head, "there, there. Don't cry. It's alright."
"How?" she whimpers against his chest, that wretched, frightening hollow void. "How will you do it?"
"The sea witch," he replies as she leans back, wiping her eyes because she remembers that tears are unattractive.
She wants to ask, but again she knows better. She simply nods and asks, "when?"
"Tomorrow night."
She spends the day readying herself; putting on trace amounts of make up, tying her shoulder length hair back with elastics and ribbons, and putting on the dress Demyx bought her the day before after it's been washed and pressed.
He says she looks beautiful before he takes her by the hand and walks with her to the beach, to a shadowed cove. He told her to wait near near a boulder, then stepped into the shallows that were fed into a small cave, calling out "Ursula!"
And a chuckle sounded from the depths of the cave, deep and throaty and sinister. Clara edged backward as the water rippled with movement and the sea witch made herself known, dragging herself through the shallow water using her arms, crawling the way the men in the army did.
"Demyx, how nice to see you," the witch says, propping herself up against the boulder Clara had been near, tentacles slapping idly against the water as she eyes the young girl. "And what can I do for you?"
"She wants to be a mermaid," Demyx says, pushing Clara forward.
Ursula laughed. "A mermaid?"
"It can't be done?" Clara asks quietly, voice cracking.
"Oh, it can, my dear. But for a price."
And a few minutes later, Clara's knees buckle and she falls into the shallows as her legs are sewn together by dark magic; the flesh is peeled and bone thinned and muscles strengthened until the pale flesh of her hips meet with copper scales. She wriggles in the shallows, trying to ignore the pain in her lower half as Ursula slinks away, her laughter haunting and Demyx kneels beside her, a smirk on his lips.
"Was it worth the price of your freedom, Princess?"
Clara lays back in the water, lifting the tip of her tail, watching as the moonlight seems to shine right through the thin fins there. She is quiet as he takes her into his arms, opening up a dark doorway a few feet away. Her dress, soaked through, clings to her body, sticking uncomfortably to her skin and sliding off her scales. Slowly, she looks to Demyx's face, reaching out to cup his cheek, forgetful of her previous fears of evil men.
"I'm a mermaid," she whispers, breathless and tears in her eyes. "I'm a mermaid."
"Yes," he said, shifting her in his arms as he walks toward the portal. "You're beautiful."
He keeps her in a pool in the castle and plays music for her to sing to. She belongs to the Organization, and is there for Ursula to call upon should she ever feel the need to use her; she is by no means free, but she seems not to care. She is content with her fin and her songs and the way her human memories are being stripped away slowly by the castle as the days go by.
It hardly even phases her when another member of the Organization trounces in to watch her, to play with her. The man with the pink hair likes to put her in dresses and let her dry out on the side of the pool. Then he runs the tip of his scythe across her stomach, promising to one day gut her just to see her squirm and drag herself back to the water in a panic. And the quiet girl with the blonde hair likes to sit far, far away and draw her in shades of red on pristine white paper.
Clara never accepts the drawings of dead girls and roses and mermaid dolls with hooks through their mouths Namine gives Demyx to give to her. She hates them, they often give her nightmares of old, unsteady hands and rope and blood and pain, and she wakes up screaming so loud glass shatters because she doesn't want to remember.
She doesn't want to remember the orphanage or Stray Dog or that filthy, filthy man and his lies. She doesn't want to remember the other girls or red crayons. She just wants to be free of it all, a beautiful Mermaid Princess with her Shadow Prince to live Never-after in this dark Kingdom.
-End