Number XII of the Organization loved toys. She loved playing with them, and she especially loved breaking them. She always, always broke her toys, but it wasn't her fault. It was never her fault that her toys just couldn't handle her play- never her fault they broke so easily.
She laughed softly to herself as she pulled her coat back on, abandoning the limp blonde form of the tiny witchling. The memory witch had broken too quickly. Number XII wanted a toy that she could take her time with, a toy worthy of her. She wanted something the others had mentioned- a princess.
Number XII did not bother to tell anyone where she was going. She never did.
She went to Wonderland first, of course- where else to find a toy than a world that had 'Wonder' in its name? She never even got close to the princess of that world, though. Animated cards and a funny rabbit got in her way. Cats, however, liked disemboweling rabbits every bit as much as Nymphs did, so Number XII ended up with a new toy- but cats were no more durable than witches, after all. A caterpillar found the bloated, twisted body of the Cat the next day, but by then Number XII had already portalled away.
Agrabah came next on her twisted sightseeing tour. She had no problems finding the princess of this world, a beautiful mocha-skinned girl with deep night-dark eyes. She reminded Number XII of a thing called chocolate, and she tasted almost as good. Number XII laughed to herself as the toy's eyes widened and widened, as the toy's hands clawed at its neck, as the toy's body thrashed and writhed and finally lay still. Chocolate princesses were no more durable than cats or witches, after all. Number XII licked the sweet taste off her lips and portalled away.
Then she found- stumbled upon, really- a snow princess with blood-red lips. Number XII loved the crimson colour of blood, and she especially loved how the red looked as it trickled down pale snowy skin. Number XII murmured soft, meaningless phrases to the princess with ebony hair matted by blood. She whispered empty reassurances to the toy as she slipped a ribbon around its neck- Calm down, it won't hurt a bit, this feels good, I promise… But the toy's bright blue eyes slowly faded, then stared emptily out at the world. Snow princesses were no more durable than chocolate or cats or witches, after all. Seven short men found the body, and Number XII pulled her coat back on and portalled away.
A beautiful dancing princess attracted birds and Number XII to her. She sang so sweetly, her voice pure and clear. Like liquid sugar, Number XII thought. The toy tasted of sugar, a sickeningly sweet submission to Number XII's games. It made no moves to struggle as its air supply was cut off, as its body arched up, as it moaned in pleasured pain, then slumped back to the ground, silent forever more. Sugar princesses were no more durable than snow or chocolate or cats or witches, after all. The birds saw it all and began to keen, but Number XII paid them no attention as she portalled away.
The next world Number XII stumbled upon was a stone castle, in which she'd heard a beast resided. She never found a beast in that castle, but she did find a library, and in it a princess with a pale yellow dress. The princess-toy was reading, and she never saw Number XII before it was too late. There were some very interesting ideas Number XII had gotten from books over the years, and she tried them all out on this fragile yellow toy. The toy struggled against the tight grip of her hands around its throat, even as it was hit with a wash of ecstasy from what Number XII did to it. The toy ceased to move after Number XII electrocuted it. Book princesses were no more durable than sugar or snow or chocolate or cats or witches were, after all. A howl of rage shook the castle when the body was discovered, but Number XII had already portalled away.
A prison of thorns kept the next princess safe. The thorns got into a sharpness contest with Number XII's kunai, though, and her kunai won. She let herself into the thorn-covered castle, finding the delicate body of a sleeping girl. Since her games were no fun if the toys were already asleep, Number XII kissed the toy until it woke and blinked its eyes at her. A prince? it asked sleepily, and she shook her head and kissed it again anyway. It was unprepared for what Number XII did, stroking it and licking it and strangling it until it came, then letting it go back into a sleep from which it would never wake. Thorn princesses were no more durable than books or sugar or snow or chocolate or cats or witches were, after all. No one would ever wake to find the broken toy, so Number XII portalled away again.
The last princess lived on an island, and Number XII had heard much about this princess. The Keybrat and witchling had spoken of her, and so she had been saved for last. A slender girl with a key of her own and pretty sunset hair. She looked like the witchling had, Number XII thought, but the sunset princess had all the fire in her the sun implied. She did not let Number XII surprise her, but instead surprised Number XII by whirling at her with a key already in her hand.
They fought for some time, Number XII quite taken with the lithe movements and fighting style. She let the sunset princess win in the end, tired from her tour of the worlds. The sunset princess found the ribbon Number XII carried, the one that had broken so many of her toys. She wrapped it around Number XII's neck, violet eyes gleaming as she licked at Number XII's skin. Finally, a toy that could actually play. Number XII let the princess continue, curious as to what she would do.
It grew harder and harder to breathe as the ribbon tightened, but the sunset princess made it impossible to concentrate on that as her tongue lapped at Number XII's flesh, delving deep inside of her and making her moan with the little air she had left to her. The princess hit a spot that made Number XII's body spasm, and the lack of air gave this all a surreal quality. She came in a rush, spilling her fluids into the sunset princess' ready mouth, and she could have sworn she was flying. Number XII soared high above the islands, high above the sunset princess-toy, soaring towards a bright white light on wings of her own pleasure.
Back on the islands, the sunset princess let go of the ribbon and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, gagging slightly. She stepped back from Number XII's body, watching the black-clad form slowly dissolve into the nothingness from whence it came. Nymphs were no more durable than thorns or books or sugar or snow or chocolate or cats or witches were, after all.
The sunset princess looked out at the ocean and whispered, "That was for you, Naminé."