Namine sat silently at her large white table, staring down at her blank notebook with a box of crayons sitting untouched beside it. 'Why can't I draw? Where is everything?' she thought, plucking a single red utensil from her set. Pressing the tip to the paper, she began to let all her creativity flow out effortlessly. However, when she looked down again, the paper was still clear. She released out a soft sigh, before taking a deep breath. She'd try again and, this time, it would work.

Starting once more, she pressed the crayon hard against the sheet, inhaling. Upon doing so conversely, she suddenly let out a difficult cough, leaving a long, dark red line on her paper. She stared at the floor, with her hand cupped over her mouth, confused. When had she become ill? Furthermore, why hadn't she noticed?

The small Heartless, assigned to remain with her at all times, peered at her through yellow eyes, antennas twitching with curiosity. Namine leaned down, "Report to DiZ that I have become unwell."

Bobbing his head and flattening onto the floor, the Heartless crawled along the very horizon of it out the room. The blonde sighed as she turned back to her notebook, trying to make something of her sickness. Nevertheless, before she could come up with much of anything, a dark shadow flooded her floor.

A hooded figure now stood before her.

"What ails you, witch?" The figure asked, tone heavy with annoyance. Namine pushed her chair back as she stood, a hand resting upon her table.

"I've caught a bug, it seems." She said, her blue eyes cast downward.

"And where could you have caught such a thing when you're cooped up here all day?"

"Perhaps a breeze..."

"You do realize you're just causing more trouble for the Organization, right?"

Namine's stare at the floor softened, "Yes. I do realize this."

"Good. DiZ has ordered that I remain here to take care of you for the time being, but don't get too comfortable. I'm not your friend." The figure said, as it lifted a hand to lower its hood.

Beneath the cover, short, unkempt raven locks hid, along with a pair of dark, teal eyes. Namine shifted her gaze to him, a look of indifference upon her pale face.

"Who are you?" she inquired, with a raised blonde brow.

"Number VI."

"Do you have a name, perhaps?"

"Yes."

Though the male had been dragging it out, Namine seemed rather calm, "What is it?"

"That's none of your concern."

"I figure I should know the name of my caretaker."

"Very well then, you may call me Zexion."

Namine smiled pleasantly at finally having gotten his name, "I suppose you know mine?"

"I'll call you Witch, if you don't mind."

"Just do it politely and I'll have no complaints."

With this, Zexion gave a disapproving grunt, his eyes slowly scanning the room, "And just what confines you to this dingy room, Witch?" he questioned.

"It seems to be the purest room in the castle and the solitude is nice." She explained, striding over to the window. With her back to Zexion, she evaluated her being; her temperature was rising and she was beginning to feel dizzy - further proof that she was, in fact, ill.

She gradually slid onto her window seat, pressing her warm forehead against the cool glass pane.

"Need I get you a cold compress, Witch?" Zexion mumbled, distaste for the girl obvious.

Namine breathed against the glass, condensation creeping across the surface.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," she said weakly, turning to lean against the window frame, "perhaps a blanket as well."

Zexion grumbled, but without further complaint, left the room. Namine sat staring out the window, thinking over the situation.