This is a Kingdom Hearts Fan Fiction. I would consider this chapter to be suitable for all ages. It is written in limited third person, which means while there will be an omniscient narrator, they (I) will mainly focus on the thoughts and feelings of only one character--my OC. If you do not like the style I apologize; if you do not know what it is, feel free to read and shop around. As you may already know, I do not own any of the characters featured in the Kingdom Hearts games, or Manga series. However, I would like to ask that you do not use any of the OC's (original characters) that will be inserted into this story without first obtaining my permission. 3 Please enjoy.
---Chapter One: The boy with silver hair---
Gently curling tendrils of light pour through the cracks of the eggshell-colored blinds. Each delicate ray brushed and swayed across the wooden floorboards, breathing new vibrance into the rich mahogany's texture. A disgruntled huff broke the mystical serenity of early morning as the rays finally rose, sweeping over the lump of fabric and mussed hair. Needless to say, she did not want to get up.
The gentle chill that had been sustaining her sleep was sucked out of the tiny room when the door swung open. There, standing with feet firmly planted, was a figure she knew all to well. The lump on the bed grumbled something in a soft, whining tone before rolling away from the second glaring source of light. How was she expected to sleep if her lids were the color of flames? Even as the girl snuggled comfortably into the familiar scent of the down comforter she could feel her bad shaking against the floorboards as heavy foosteps moved over them. In a manner of skill only aquired with experience the heavy boots navigated the many obstacles littering the half of the bedroom facing the door in order to reach the teenager still snuggled stealthily inside her caccoon. Only slight traces of black hair could be seen peeping out from within the folds of the white fabric, but the boots knew better. She understood very well that the boots knew, and yet could not find it within herself to admit defeat. Not yet, anyway.
A section of blanket near her calves became taught, uncomfortable, and the girl knew she was caught. In a matter of seconds--"Yipes!" Analise yelped, pulling her body into a fetal knot as the comforter was ripped free of her person. A wafting air of warmth brushed over her limbs, slowly coaxing them to life as she pretended to shiver. Perhaps the boots would take pity. Then again, it was not likely. She ceased her exagerrated convulsing and sighed, crossing her arms delicately over her chest just in time to feel the plop of a perfectly folded blanket against the foot of her bed.
"Do I really have to get up now..?" The question was punctuated by the opening of one emerald-green eye in the direction of her assailant.
A pair of creamy crystallic blue orbs met her gaze evenly, if not a bit harshly. Only one word was spoken; the same word she had grown accustomed to hearing every morning at five-thirty, "Yes."
The boots creaked and groaned their ancient leathery sound as Krysta left the room. She knew better than to close the door, so with each passing second a fresh swathing warm glow of air passed over the Teen's body. She sighed, proppering herself up on one elbow in order to shuffle through the spikey mess that was her ebony hair. As usual it had gone through many stark changes in her sleep, and the girl was not thrilled about the task ahead: brushing through it. In one swift motion she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slid off the sheets to stand on the still chilly wooden floor. The cold caused her toes to curl, and skin to curve in rippling goosebumps. Each action quickly faded as her skin became accustomed to the shocking temperature. In all truthfullness she was not dressed for the wintery weather. Her pajamas that should have consisted of warm fleece and long sleeves had been replaced by blue and purple plaid flannel shorts and a white cami top. Quite obviously, though, she did not care. It gave her a reason to snuggle deeply within the recesses of her mattress.
Her door creaked, complaining about its open state. The hinges were weak, and it could not be left ajar long before it began to sag. The teen muttered about needed a hardware store on her way to appease the decrepit, though intricately carved, slab hanging in the doorframe. It closed with a tiny click and squeak, alerting Krysta to her movements. Analise shuffled to the foot of her bed and slid her feet into fuzzy violet slippers to keep her warm throughout her primping routines of the day. Under normal circumstances she did not put much effort into glamour, but it was a very abnormal Saturday indeed. There was a festival to be held in honor of the heroes returning from battle--Well, that is what Krysta liked to call them. They were really just firefighters returning from a peculiarly dangerous task. The rolling hills that smelled of pine had sprung ablaze four days before, and in their haste to protect the little town hidden beneath the vibrantly green swells, the firefighters had lost three comrades. It had been the town's decision to compensate them with food, and comfort them with the company of those they had fought so hard to protect. The teen personally felt they should be left alone. How would they ever mourn with all of the attention?
The time she had been putting off finally arrived. Wether she liked it or not, she would have to attack the jungle that was her hair. Her brush, a beautiful green-handled instrument of beautification, had been a gift from a girl that lived down the street. Her name was "Zee," no more, and no less. The two had been friends for six years; right up until Zee had moved with her parents. It was shortly after that the tragedy occurred. Ana twirled the brush between her fingertips three times; once to remember the past, one to hope for the future, and a final rotation to put painful memories to rest for one more day. Her next few minutes consisted of vigorous scraping motions across her scalp in an attempt to tame her mane. Little by little it became a decently appealing mop of feathery black spikes and richly curved bangs that framed either side of her face. With a lop-sided grin, she set the brush down on her bedside table, and reached for the green sash that hung over her bedpost. A few measurements later, it was fastened around her head in place of a headband with the two loose ends trailing down her back at the base of a double knot. It would have been wise to change clothes first, but she intended to waste as much time as she could, and one more round of fixing her hair fit the bill perfectly.
Her hands, now relishing freedom from the tingling chill that had wracked her only moments before, stretched in delicate motions that matched her gently flowing stride as she crossed the floor to a second table. Sitting atop the polished marble slab that served as the top was a radio, old-fashioned in nature, but modern in the sense of its popular use. She flicked the antennae up and pushed the power button, waiting eagerly to hear what song would play. "You're the Voice," an old song by Heart, rolled poppingly out of the miniature speakers. She did not seem to mind the age of the song, nor the ancient quality of the sound, but instead twirled her way back across the bare floor to the head of her bed, and the other table. As she reached for the first of four drawers and pulled it open, her delicate humming voice began to fill the room, molding perfectly with the instrumental aspects of the song. After the first round of the chorus, though, she heard a sound that nearly silenced her thoughts completely.
She felt the rippling energy through the floorboards beneath her slippers before the sound really registered. It was a thud, gasp, and then a sharp intake of breath following the most sickening snap she had every had the displeasure of hearing. The thudding did not occur again, but she could feel..something, some formless shape shifting positions behind her in an erratic dance, and she did not like it. A long, shuddering attempt at breathing send a chill straight from her toes and up her spine. There was a person there. Rationality attempted to take the reigns, but fear threatened to gain control. It occured to her then that the shuddering sounds she was hearing were not breaths, but rather raspy words. Analise noted that without her conscious order, every muscle in her body had tensed. One at a time she relaxed them, careful to tune her ears into what might be lurking behind her.
Finally, a comprehensible string of audio passed into her brain, "Run."
Every ounce of fear she had been harboring dissolved with that one word. Run. It was a warning. Nobody warned you before they attacked; at least, not unless they were truly twisted. Something about the tone of voice told her that was not the case. It rose again, the same voice, but more urgently. She could almost feel the syllables pushing against her back, trying to guide her to the door and out of the house. No. The intensity of her own resolve startled her. Never before had her thoughts been so clear. She could not leave.
In a matter of seconds that felt like hours Analise glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the noise. The sight that met her eyes was one capable of stilling the blood in even the most experienced of warriors. A great fanning shape of ever-changing form had begun to seep out of the cracks in the floor and walls just beside the radio table. It was dark in shade, and consisted of many coolor colors such as navy, violet, and even indigo. The material seemed to behave like a gas, but with the consistency of thick water or syrup. That, however, only captivated her attention for a few seconds. Even as the shifting mass began to expand, she could not tear her emerald eyes away from the center of the chaos. It was a boy--or at least, she thought it was based on the structure of the jaw. The hair was not exactly confirming any gender considering is lush, feathery composition. Her eyes did not rest on him for very long as she could clearly see he was unconscious. As the dark mass continued to grow his form was slowly enveloped, each tendril of the smokey liquid-esque plasma concealing a different part of his robe, then his arms as the seconds passed. He needed help.
Without another thought the girl dashed forward, ignoring the memory of struggled speech the unusual blobs had caused. When her burst of effort brought her within two feet of the stranger, something obstructed her path. Little forms made of a similiar material to the now whipping substance had seperated themselves from the main body of focus. The were black, solidly, and posessed eerily large yellow eyes. She considered giant ants only briefly, but her assumption was soon contradicted as one of the five now hovering beings lunged for her face. Her arms shot up instinctively as protection, and the slashing claws of the creature met the skin on her forearms instead of her cheeks. Analise pushed back, throwing the thing against the wall before she dove to her knees. With one final stretch she felt her fingers close around what she still assumed was a boy's arm, and pulled.
Only seconds after contact was made, she felt an odd sensation of warmth. It was pleasant, and in her daze, she failed to notice the creatures shrinking back in a twitching sort of convulsive fear. A pale, creamy glow emanated from her fingertips and palm, consuming the room in a wash of tingling light. All too quickly it was gone, and her room had returned to its previous state. The only obvious changes were a few scratches on her arms, and a sleeping boy with silver hair.