I only just recently got into Pandora Hearts, but I adore Oz's characterization. This small piece started out as nothing more than scribbles, and quickly evolved from there. As always, no ownership claimed. Enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated. : )

paper thin.

For a moment, Oz is back in the Abyss.

It's a dream, perhaps, or maybe a memory (it is too hard to keep a firm grip on reality these days, and sometimes he finds himself fading between memory and reality, actuality and possibility). Sometimes, Oz feels less like Oz and more like Jack, and sometimes, when he wakes in the morning, he has to remind himself just who he is.

(--as if he knows who that is to begin with--)

Presently, in the familiar darkness, Oz frets that somehow while he slept, the seal had finally completed its revolution (too much too quickly), and the Abyss had swallowed him whole, arriving on the wings of some great black bird to drag him down into the deepest depths of its darkness.

But, with the uncanny calm that was both Oz's greatest asset and the pinnacle of his vices, the boy reasons that he would have been alerted had his time run out in this world, by pain or by Gil or Break or Sharon. That if it was so, and the seal had ticked away the last of his time, Alice would be here with him, too.

She was not.

Here it is cold like the Abyss, here it is empty and dark, and Oz rubs his arms self-consciously to warm himself. His footsteps are encased in the muffle of darkness, and from them come ripples, as if he were walking on water instead of insubstantial nothingness. Flashes of bright things flutter by, too fast for him to see, illuminating the void around him in a dizzying merry-go-round of sights just out-of-sight.

This is not the Abyss, but still, Oz feels his mind freeze with fear, his heart full of a strange giddiness that came so close to despair. He realizes (with something akin to pride—he knows this feeling, could tell you what it was with no one's assistance) that the cold is what Alice would call loneliness.

Oz shivers and imagines he can see his own breath.

"What are you?"

A voice resounds in the darkness, and Oz spins round to catch a glimpse of its source, something white flashing in the corner of his eye.

"I'm—" Oz swallows his fear, his heart beating fiercely in his throat, as if people could really die in their dreams, "—a human." He considers this a fair answer, if it really was the Abyss—designating himself a separate existence from a Chain. With a surge of bravery, he adds, "What are you?"

A pause.

"Who are you?"

Oz swings around, and, to his immense surprise, he sees the familiar white plush rabbit floating in the nothingness, its bow neatly secured around its neck, its beady eyes shining pleasantly, placidly, matching its pleasant, simple smile. A rounded innocent W is set below a button nose, betraying its volatile nature, as Oz knows well.

But it does not move and it does not grin its manic grin, so Oz answers hesitantly, "Oz. Vessalius."

(--as if you didn't know that already, you bloody toy--)

The rabbit titters vaguely and fades into black, only to appear to Oz's right, the whiteness of its artificial fur providing a stark contrast to the surroundings.

"How are you?"

The contractor scowls and takes several steps backward to put some space between himself and the animate toy. Ripples blossom outward from his steps in a storm.

A question like this from the Will of the Abyss is certain to be some sort of ploy, and Oz provides a calculated answer with a calculated smile. "Fine. It's a little chilly down here, though, isn't it?"

The rabbit's beady eyes continue to shine dully from its over-stuffed round head.

"Why are you?"

"Why?" Oz fumbles with his words, suddenly caught off-guard. "That's not really a question I can answer." He cracks an ironic, humorous smile despite the lack of humor in the question, the answer, or the audience. "I am here to...to..."

Oz stops, and runs a tremulous hand through his blonde hair. "I mean..."

"Where are you?"

The boy seems to shrink in the darkness, his vulnerability weighing on his shoulders, his uncertainty a badge on his chest. A badge tattooed just above his heart, continuously ticking away his time left in the world. He imagines he can hear it now.

(And now Oz realizes he is paper thin --so fragile-- and is buffeted about by the fiercest storm, paper tigers of his doubts and insecurities lashing at his heels as he runs from them, paper umbrellas tearing as paper raindrops plummet downwards through them.)

Oz folds to his knees and hugs them to his chest.

"I'm here," he says to no one, for the rabbit has long disappeared, having phased back into the darkness from whence it came, and Oz is alone. "I'm here."

(--as if you ever were, as if you know where that is--)

For a moment, Oz is in the Abyss again.