Are you aware there is more than one person in this body? There are two here, two girls.

One is the only one you notice, the one who matches the body, matches the given name. The one with the red hair, sometimes loud and boisterous, smile quirking. Kairi.

But there is another. You probably haven't noticed her, occasionally peeking out of the eyes, face with a milder expression, darting away again before anyone can notice. Girl with the blonde hair, the artist. Naminé is her name.

Sometimes they slip up. Sometimes they try to tell people. But they're doing both of those less and less, because people have been rather unpleasant about it.

Naminé takes it especially hard, because.

You will be told you don't exist. Frequently. They will call Kairi (your only friend, the only one who accepts you're you, that you're real) rude things. Call her crazy. Delusional. Pretending. Making things up.

And you? Don't exist. Are not real. Nothing. No one; a nobody. A figment of Kairi's imagination or symptom of a mental illness at "best"; a lie at "worst". Often inexplicably all of the above, even. (People never could seem to make up their minds.)

It was a bad day, so Kairi went to the cave they had found exploring one day. It was a secret place, a comfortable place. It was the place Naminé felt safest, other than their room at home. Kairi pulled the crayons and pencils out of her bag, and the notebooks out from their place hidden behind some rocks.

Because sometimes there is an art to existence. Others may have different ways. Naminé's way was this:

You breath in, and (surfacing, it feels like, like coming up from the ocean) slowly fade into control, while Kairi distances herself into the background.

You feel the small weight of the crayon in your hand, the weight of the notepad on your lap.

You press the crayon down. You draw.

You draw yourself into the world, yourself full of color, yourself as you are. You draw yourself into existence. Drawings, signs of your passage through the world, memories, imaginings. Details about things you notice that Kairi doesn't. (It often amazes her that you notice so much, see things when she didn't think you were paying attention.)

You draw, and you are. You are. That's really all there is to it, isn't there? It can be hard, true; but surely there is proof in this.

(Kairi never was all that great at drawing, herself. She was glad Naminé had things her own.)