Today Naminé is blue. Cerulean crayon colors in her drawing self's shadow. Finished with this drawing, she hides it. There are things now, that she is supposed to be drawing, and this is not one of them. It wouldn't do to be caught.
She knows the person she's a shadow of is a girl, solid in her gender. The knowledge is in the fact that Naminé can only color herself in as girl, girl, girl; when trying to shadow herself over her other in the memories she's muddling with. There is no wiggle room. No space to shade herself in as anything else.
Perhaps she should be glad of the knowledge, a little bit of proof that maybe she kind of is her own person, real in her own way, after all. But instead there is an aching sensation where she thinks her heart would be, if she had one. She feels ill, and a little bit bitter. Tired. She already wasn't sure she wanted to be doing this (no matter how much Marluxia said things about how she could become more than a shadow, no matter how Larxene taunted, no matter what Axel implied), it's feeling more and more wrong, the deeper she gets into it, and there's this.
hr
(You don't belong in this picture, her thoughts whisper. You don't belong anywhere, they say. Girl, and this time it's in Larxene's voice, and it trails off into her giggles.
Naminé shudders.)
(And she wonders if she'll ever be free of cages when there are so many of them.)