Flower petals and thick dark haze were all that remained of him. Everything was so thick and pretty and strange and Sora just had to tear his eyes away, had to help the victimized blonde-haired angel he sought to protect. But he couldn't forget; how pretty everything -- how pretty he looked, then and now -- was; the cherry blossoms, pink and peach and red and white, dancing and floating as if to commemorate the fight the Graceful Assassin had lost, and the darkness, the prettiest part of it. The disipating, transient clouds of purples and pinks and black, so much black, all floated away.
And just like that, the dark clouds, Marluxia's essence and remains, were gone, taken by the magical atmosphere, nothing but pretty cherry blossoms left in his wake, and Sora still thought he was very pretty.