Puppetry
Possession is not as I would've expected; it is more like being a puppet than having someone else in your body. I can hear my former self shouting at me, begging me to stop, but I ignore him and continue to obey. I obey orders and commands without a second thought, but my former self is always there, always plotting. He knows we will get out of this. He knows we will survive. There are times when I doubt him, when I see my own yellow eyes gazing at me through the Darkness and feel the pull of a disembodied force.
I'm considered with high regards in our Superior's eyes; I'm a 'perfect' vessel, according to him. I comply with the orders given to me and submit myself to Darkness, now without struggle. I remember not what happened to cause my downfall, only that I am different to how I was before. I was not Saïx then, not a servant. I was someone else—someone better. A duel scar is all that remains from the destruction of that lifetime—that and scattered memories which I can do nothing but grasp at desperately. Axel was there, but he was not Axel either; he was happier and livelier, nothing like the man who treats me with such hatred today. I cannot blame him for being bitter. I miss what we had too. I'm unsure if we can get it back.
Isa stays in my mind and watches through my eyes, but he has no control over my actions now. I ensure the collection of hearts is steady and watch beneath the heart-shaped moon as it glows brighter with each eve. My powers dwindle beneath the surface but they are in control now, ready to be unleashed at my will—or rather, Xemnas's will. Isa was not like this; Isa would not harm others.
Despite my later number within the Organization, I am second in command. Perhaps something in my past life led to this—a connection, a promise—and it is all I know now. It consumes every day; I rarely sully myself with these mundane missions but cannot help loathing each trivial task I am forced to carry out. I must maintain the perfect cover and pretend there is nothing bubbling within my mind; the doubt, the shame, the regret. Nights are filled with dark dreams and screaming voices, whereas the days are occupied with an act, a charade. I cannot let it drop.
As the days blur together and I can no longer separate one from the next, I notice a subtle change. Axel has a 'friend' and is imitating emotions once again. We cannot feel so I know it's not real. He doesn't agree with me when I point this out to him and it only acts to further distance us from each other. However, he starts looking at me with something other than bitterness; regret, perhaps? Regret for the friendship lost and burnt to ash. Regret for the memories wasted and the feelings long forgotten. He is pained, I know, but I cannot bring myself to care. I am not Isa.
It's ironic, when I think over it now, that I belittle XIV for being a puppet when it was really I all along. She chooses her fate; I accept the path chosen for me by Darkness. My multitude of plans to escape this place and regain my life go wasted. I recall my first, confused days in the godforsaken castle, when the new-born Axel and I would plot to our 'heart's' content and conjure up detailed plans on how to escape this place. His plans never work; it's what got us here in the first place. I take matters into my own hands.
The Superior most likely knows of my ulterior motive for allowing myself to become his tool, though he is evidently confident in his own abilities. When the time comes, I battle the 'chosen one' without hesitance, though he somehow betters me in battle. It could've been my arrogance or perhaps I really knew. Perhaps I knew of my later transformation; perhaps I knew of my fate; perhaps I knew that I would be reborn once again, now whole, but lacking control of my actions. I accept death without pride but with the knowledge that my chance to free myself of this burden is gone. This time there are no plans of my own and the distrust fades from my mind. Everything is seen through a filter that prevents me from seeing the truth; I can no longer decipher one face from another and each command is carried out unprompted and with ease.
I am strong. I am whole. I am lost.
And then he appears. Had I been in my right mind, I would've seen it coming. Of course he would show up; he never misses trouble. If I had been reborn along with my fellow vessels, how had I not expected Lea to also return? He resembles his younger self more than he had in his previous existence. He jokes and laughs, but there is now a ferocity and purposefulness to his actions that his Nobody had only encountered in his final days.
I watch as he appears to save the boy from the clutches of Darkness—that damned boy who is the catalyst for everything. I watch as he wields his weapons with no fear. I watch as my own body leaps forwards, obeying a silent order, my own weapon materialising in my hand. I feel my hood fall, allowing my face to be seen. I watch the hope drain from his eyes—they are much brighter than I remember, much brighter to me than anything else in the room—and his face grows slack from shock. I can hear myself screaming inside my head to stop, to disobey my orders, to not kill him. I cannot convey my inner thoughts aloud; I cannot tell Lea to save me too. It is a selfish thought, I know. He moves before I have the chance to strike again. I am thankful.
My only wish is that he survives to become great—greater than he ever could've been with me. I wish for him to grow stronger and more heroic. I wish for him to return to me and save me from this fate I have condemned myself to.
He is the light to my dark, the sun to my moon, the Lea to my Isa.