A long time ago I wrote a crossover Fanfic of this same nature "The Boy and The Witch". Honestly in retrospect it wasn't a very good story. I'm ashamed I wrote something so bad. But then I had this thought to rewrite something a bit better, maybe even good. So I write this tale to make amends for the literary travesty I've wrought.

The Red Woman

"… there is a condition so low and lost that at length the divine flame is quenched, and the soul is left dark and Godless, a human soul no longer…"

- Hermes Mercurius Trismegistus

There in some strange region of the vast realm between sat an even stranger land mass. Large enough to find itself a home to three denizens living in a castle found resting on a natural stone peak of that land. The castle was of a particular nonsensical design. Wider at the bastion and narrow at the bottom; it preformed a balancing act on the peak. The only reason the manor stood at all were due to the gold chains that anchored it to nearby hills.

The master of the castle, and by proxy the master of the land, was a traditionalist, proud and just, unyielding in the practices and teachings he's so eager to preserve. He shares his knowledge with us, his two apprentices, whom he sees great potential. We were adopted by him in our early youth by no circumstance but coincidence—though he argues it was the work of fate./p

We are siblings sharing all but blood and hardly knew the difference. Never did we question why our hair, skin and eyes differed in such extreme ways. The master, who is softer than his look would allow, loves our ignorance and smiles when we called each other "brother and sister".

I am the lad of the castle, of a very serious sort not unlike the master himself. I seek to emulate my adopted father in kind. I keep to myself so rarely often, meditating my able body as best my young discipline would allow. Committed in that regard to being strong, so I can one day succeed the master in his duties./p

My sister, my guiding light, is almost as aloof as myself. Curious and spirited—Aqua spends time reading the vast collection of tomes infesting the study. She loves the illustrations and commits them to memory for her own artistic inspiration. She is a talented artist and sketches for me whom she fancies more than her most favorite prose or epic.

We are distant in our hobbies and understood this well. Did it not once occur to us to tease or jest the other's antics? When together we cherished the time away from our obsessions and played as all children do. And of all the things we did together: laugh, explore, lounge; nothing gives more pleasure or giddy than chess.

The master oversaw his children's bouts of skill, and on excited occasion would propose we test our mental against him in separate simultaneous matches. Without meaning to inflate we were quite prodigious and if he was unaware the he would loose a piece emen prise/em. But the two of us would never beat him, much to our frustration.

Chess was as much a lecture as it was a game, and without dwelling his play the master would ramble. He would speak of morality, of stars and other worlds, and of the nature and duality of the heart—One might believe such complicated topics would be too much for such small minds. But the master had faith we would understand his complex theorems. And we did. His teachings were like gospel to my sister and me. Each word was a new truth to us and with awe and admiration we dare not speak against it.

The master's teachings were strenuous. Not only was lecture of the mind important, he advocated discipline of the body. We were taught swordsmanship and sorcery, skills the master had learned from his predecessor; passed through generations, refined. As devout apprentices we took care to practice the forms and incantations religiously. We would spar with one another out behind the manor where the open grounds were leveled. The wooden swords we used, made from some weird flora, functioned also as staves for spell casting.

Without our current notice the master would watch us on high from the window of his study guiding our growth day by day with the proud gaze of a father.

One evening before the sun had fully set the master invited our attention to the main hall. My sister and I stood attentive in the large room, before our fraternal figure. The wonder of this congregation perplexed me to all ends. The old master looked to both of us and smiled, ruffing her hair and mine with his worn hands. He knelled down to his adopted children—his frame so much larger than our own. Then suddenly with quick and deliberate action he embraced us both tightly, his beard tickled my face.

The hold lasted for a long while, and when his loving grip was pried he stood. "It has been seven years since you two have lived here—" He spoke, trying to hold back his strong emotions. "and you two have made me so proud, giving me happiness like no other. Now I would like to give you a gift, something you shall carry with you always."

My sister twiddled her feet trying to subdue her excitement of an unknown surprise. Yes, today was the anniversary of our adoption, but a gift was an uncommon deed for such a minimalist man. We received wisdom and shelter, I felt that was gift enough.

The master held his hand outstretched as if to grab some invisible thing. Then suddenly from that single act a silver glow enveloped his extended hand and with it appeared a giant key. A sight I could never expect to anticipate. He held it like a sword by a hilt at the base and was humored by our shock.

"This is a keyblade." He said with a smug tone. "It is formed from the very heart of an individual and it can only manifest if summoned by its wielder."

I asked of the purpose of the weird blade.

"It has many. A key to open any door. But what is a door? A blade to slay any foe. But what is a foe? Once you become a wielder capable of being called Master, the keyblade becomes a tool to achieve any goal."

I was not convinced. How could such an absurd looking weapon do anything useful?

"Wait, are you a master, Master? Do we get one too?" Aqua chimed, her eyes filled with bright anticipation.

"The master gave a hearty laugh. "Yes. Yes, you do. But not this one, it is mine. You can have your very own. How's that?"

"She responded with a cheeky grin and nod. The master instructed us both to take knee for a moment as he presumed to knight us with the emkey-blade/em and recited a mantra:

In your hand, take this Key. So long as you have the makings, then through this simple act of taking, its wielder you shall one day be. And you will find me, friend no ocean will contain you then. No more borders around, or below, or above, so long as you champion the ones you love.

When the small ceremony had reached an end, the key-blade vanished from the master's hand the same way it appeared.

I bowed in respect, my elder humbled.

"Yes, thank you, sincerely!" My sister yelled, excited. "Once we wake up tomorrow we'll have one too?"

The master wagged his index finger to her.
"Understand, the first summoning of this weapon is not one of haste. Exercise patience and in time it shall appear. Now hurry off to bed you two."

Then with a small gesture of his hand he dismissed us.

When I retired to my quarters I was met by the most peculiar dream. In my mind's eye I was never a dreamer or at least never remembered the images seen. But tonight as the lure of sleep fell upon me I was met by a massively vivid vision:

A thick blackness was all I could perceive. It advanced like tar, intentional and sporadic. Trickling deliberately into any orifice of my person. Anchoring me deep in some unknown direction. No bodily sensation felt. It was a blanket covering reality. I couldn't struggle not that I even tried. The chaos wormed and wrangled until finally I dissolved in its mud—and I was content.

I woke. The gibbous moon in bloom. My eyes trying to adjust to the mundane room I had been so acquainted. And when I revived some semblance of my physical senses, it hurt. Pins and needles dancing in my skin. Everything hurt! (But perhaps, maybe, it had always hurt.) In all this suffering I could not muster a scream—the pain had arrested me; my voice frozen by this terror. I kept my eyes open for the remainder of the night, avoiding that subconscious abyss...

When the dawn arrived I could function once more.

After sometime to gather myself and reflect on my fancy, I went to fulfill all my morning rituals, then I proceeded to the dining area where my family awaited my arrival, food already prepared. "You're late." Said the master, a tad worried. "How very unlike you. Did you sleep well?"

I responded with a half nod and sat in one of the open chairs of the island. The meal was oat porridge, soft, slightly fluid with local berries of all shades garnishing the top. A breakfast of champions or so I had been told. The three of us became silent then preformed a small prayer, a passage from a emlost prophetic book/em which the master held in his magnificent memory.

When the prayer ended we ate carefully; I more so than normal. Very queer, I could not taste the berries or the spices in the oat. Though I ate the food as cantankerous as I was, trying my best to ignore the strange nature of my nose and tongue.

While continuing his meal, the master inquired us about our dreams. He exclaimed the soul and mind were connected with the bequeathing of that thing, the emkey-blade./em And the dreams of those who wield these kemeys/em are avenues to a new mode of awareness. I ignored the question. Yet my sister responded, her small hand on her head trying to contemplate what events had happened in her other-mind.

"I did have a weird dream, master. Let's see..." She examined herself internally. "Well it was rather odd, you know? I was on this stained glass floor. I don't fully remember but I had a wand with me." She shrugged her shoulders and presumed to eat not thinking much on her fantasy.

The master shook his head in approval. "And you, my boy?" He asked. "Did you not have a dream?" It was only for an instant that the hellish dark came boiling to the surface of thought. My face began to contort. My sister and father both saw the distress the small question had brought me. Disturbed, they chose not to pry and continued to devour the porridge.

After the meal Aqua called out to me in the west hall. So sincere, she knew her brother was ill. I responded with the same half nod he had given before. Yet she would not suffice with such an answer—quite the persistent girl. I responded with a loud fury denying any such need of consul. With this her face became uncharacteristically sad. I had done many things in my youth told tall tales to my father at times, even broken precious things out of mischief. But my sister—my guiding light—was the one I could confide only my most positive—today I raised my voice to her. She did not ask any further and with a small hug she retired to the study. I went back to my room feeling terrible remorse.

When the sun entered midday she came to collect me for sparing, but the door wouldn't budge, I couldn't allow it. This trend lasted days. I stopped showing for meals, which were instead placed in front of my door. Even chess was soon seldom played between us. It seems this barely worried the master he had little reason to believe his strong son would beaten by what ailed him, and left me to heal in solitude.

Aqua would always pass by my door and knock. Although she wouldn't know what to say it was simply an act of love to know she was there thinking of me. She could not have ever guessed the myriad of horrors that plagued me mere feet away.

In my self-made asylum the dreams continued. When I sleep I am met by a void of inconceivable sights and sounds. It tears my being in two, then fours and continues this forceful assimilation—yet calms me also. (If hell had its lullabies...) When I awake my lump of flesh convulses wanting to return to that bliss. It wasn't long before the nightmares needed no medium to appear and with awful frequency. Crawling all over; leaking from me like blood, dripping—it keeps dripping. The walls and floor and ceiling are always pitch black now, our own hole in time and space...

One day by some an act of benevolence I felt like myself. I could tolerate my own mind and my body belonged to me alone. The haunting hour had stopped. It was at this time in fact familiar sounding foot steps were passing through my wing. O, dear sister I want to see your radiance once again! I couldn't stand the prison any longer and released the door of its arrest. The clang of locks shifting were sweet to my ears, and with a heavy squeak the door was open. I had revealed myself for what seemed to be an eternity and I saw my sister once again, beautiful and delicate, completely opposing the sorry state I had assumed. And for a moment, a quick, sharp moment, she gazed at me with interest and confusion, almost like she could not make out my mug. But as fast as the moment came it passed and she hugged my tight, she didn't care how dreadful I looked she was just happy to see me as I was her.

We talked for hours in the hall about little things, just spouting words for the sake of conversation, weather, creaky floorboards, jokes—When the amusement of speech wore thin she proposed we train. She had advanced in my absence and wanted to impress me with how far she'd come. I agreed in a dry voice. My sister, grinning, pulled me by my closest appendage and lead the way to the training grounds, she was still very persistent.

Before I knew it I had already been carried outside and could not help but feel somewhat refreshed by my surroundings. My sister, already well prepared, was energetic as she had ever been. She gave me my wooden blade it seems it suffered the dust of disuse—no matter, a quick swipe of the hand did wonders. Yes, good as new. We stood at the ready, bowed and the duel began.

She had improved indeed, her magic had far surpassed my own, even in the sword her skills evolved. And for some strange reason that angered me to no end and I pressed harder with my assault. The gap in skill reeled with my raw strength. I found it annoying she would not step down. Did this girl still want to impress? I started to lose myself in the moment, forgetting whom exactly I was fighting or that this was a friendly match in its entirety. Then suddenly as if summoned by my frenzy, the black miasma from my dreams sizzled from my blood pink palms, enveloping the sword. I swung.

"With that mighty swing, my sister, try as she might to parry or avoid, was downed by the corrupted blade. When realizing what I had done threw the weapon to the grass and became small, urging myself to stay calm—focus.

From the manor entrance the master came running. Had he seen what happened? He was in a panic to aid his little girl. He screamed my name, holding his adopted daughter in arm. His eyes met mine for the first time in a long while, and he stared with same confusion as Aqua. Then he looked to the sword I had used still encased in the black substance, the wood crackling as if thrown in flame. The master said nothing, never had I seen him in such a way, never so disappointed. Turning his back to me, he walked into the castle to treat his wounded daughter.

I cried out to him too upset to say anything decipherable. Yet the master—my father—never looked back.

All my emotions came rushing, it bred confusion. I was alone again with my thoughts. It was dangerous to think these days. It became hard to move and even harder to breath. The air is poison—it is choking my lungs dense. The dark, my old friend, came pouring from me like rotten sweat, covering, shielding me from the outside. The calming violence soothed the aches of this world. (We can breath here!) And I drowned in the black womb like a dreg in mire.

...

When I had came to my mind was once again clear, no physical withdrawals or spasms with which I was so . The dark slime that had seized me faded, leaving me fetal on the ground. I stood, my composure more or less regained. But where specifically was I standing? I had been taken; my setting foreign, was of no location in the land I spent most of my life: It was a small concrete gated property with old trees and shrubby filling the front yard where I cautiously took stand. And in the center of the lot, not too far from were I was, towered a house, about two stories, decorated with symbols of the crescent moon.

That main structure infatuated me like lightning bolts striking my very core. I walked closer, made dumb by the forces swaying my body sore. Hypnotic vibrations were compelling me to approach the—It seems I have reached the front door.

I was just shy of the maroon bark door when it swung open as if aware of my nearness, and from the hollow shack waiting there in the doorway stood two particular looking twin dolls. They took me by utter candid surprise. One wore white with short salmon hair and the other in black sporing long azure pigtails. They stared with awkward soulless faces. These lolita twin things were that and only that, just things.

"Welcome." They said with a sudden blast scaring me half to death.

"Would the guest like to come in?" The pair became naturally animated, acting in perfect unison and expressing each word with an uncanny bend of spine and limbs. They were as organic as I, yet they were missing some human element—that intrinsic spark of life. Before I had time to answer the homunculi had seize me by my clothes, much stronger than they appeared, dragging me into the hallways, the door shutting behind us. With each step inside my collect started to fold as I was led deeper into the wooden halls, like an innocent being sent to the gallows.

We stopped our journey in short of two large conjoined sliding doors, colored purple with black butterflies. The twins loosened their grasp and each walked to a door, laughing with a counterfeit innocence. "The mistress will see you now." They said in their uncanny unison, then pushing the two doors apart revealing a partitioned room full to bursting with scented smoke; too much to see the confines within. But when the smoke started to air I could begin to make out the colors and dimensions of the room. It was a rather spacious yet quaint tan box with cherry carpet, and there in the far most center of the chamber leisurely laid a slender woman upon a couch throne. She was garbed in a loose flowing red dress matching the drapery that aligned the wall behind, her hair was a ravens nest clashing with the cold snow of her skins. She held an odd pipe, from which I assumed suppressed the room in gray, her long pale legs stretched outward taunting the clouds with a whirl of her nude toes. Her head tilted in my direction and she looked at me with a beautiful indifference. I forgot how long I stared into those eyes of a red purer—and darker—and brighter—than any shade I had ever seen before. (Beating and beating went my heart.)

"Why are you staring boy?" She said with a velvet voice. "Come here let me see you. Yes, you. You are a guest, please join, sit."

She prostrated herself and placed the pipe on a small circular desk near the throne. I hesitated, still on edge, but the twin girls nudged my back to shoo me into the tan cherry room, and with a few stiff steps I was in near the far back center of the room, where the woman sat tall. She asked for my name, so I told her like the fool was. She commented my name's tone and meaning; speaking with a unique excellence. She could swallow wise-men whole with that philosopher's jaw.

Her soft speech put me at an ease, I sat cross-legged before her. As the room had now finally been clear from all remnants of the gray vapor I felt a need to ask her of my location.

"This is a shop." She answered. "You see our product is wishes, if you believe that sort of thing… You came here for a reason, no doctor, specialist, or god-man has been able to alleviate your problem and so—" She waved her hands up showcasing the area with slight playfulness. "you're here."

"I was under complete confusion—this was strange. I had never seen this shop before yet here it was as if it always within reach. She noticed my silence and assured me I was safe. "Oh? Would you like to know why you're having those horrible visions?"

I paused. How could she know? I ignored the statement turning my head to avoid any messages my expression could convey. I could hear her start to move, and I turn back. The red figure began to walk delicately towards me, her dress skimming the floor as if leaking color. She pressed her warm ghostly hand to my cheek like a mother would her newborn. She came closer and whispered in my ear words of comfort—undefinable words that I only heard in those dreams. She was spouting them like poetry. I felt a rush down my spine, a sudden twitch—and for the first time since I arrived here I was calm.

She backed away a bit. "You see," She said, her speech returning to its normal wave. "Every living thing is different, every being must inhabit a body appropriate for its manifestation, defined in the physical nature. Yet your soul is different. There are many forces in this world that exist in the law of polarity, two prominent examples are of the positive and negative energy, more commonly refereed to as light and darkness. Individuals are born with an affinity for one of these two, some light, while others… well then there's you." She pointed to my chest with her painted finger. "The things you see and hear, maybe even taste or smell, feel; that is the darkness trying to whisk you away body and soul. It's part of you, you know? If left neglected you'll fade. And we wouldn't want that, we just met." The woman pouted comically trying to liven the tone she herself set.

My master said similar truths during his teachings, he told me never to be held by the lure of that dark abyss. But I did, I submitted to that calling, and was deafened to the screams of my own sister.

I became sad. She noticed and asked me what I would like to do. I sat and pondered, fidgeting with my hair trying to think of a proper wish. The woman patiently sat on her throne continuing to smoke in wait. After some time had passed I told her to remove the darker aspects from within me. In response she gave a rather disappointed look and told me the very act of removing something is impossible, it would only be channeled into some other being, and refused the request. But proposed another: to subdue my inner chaos on the grounds I give up something important to me, something of equal grandeur to the wish. But I have nothing to give—little to my name. What possibly could I give her? As I was lost in thought the woman began inquiring of me my favorite activities and things that gave me pleasure, I told her of my love of chess.

"Ah, chess it is such a wonderful game, no?" She clapped in excitement then offered if I would like to play a game before I had my wish granted. I accepted with rather slight hesitation. I'd be lying if I said I'd did not miss appeal of strategy. With a snap of her fingers the twins entered the room a gilded chess board and pieces in hand. They place them between the gap of the woman and myself, then took a seat on the floor in quiet observation.

The two of us began to set the board and I felt a rush of happiness, my hands touching of the grooves of each well crafted figure was an ecstasy in itself. She sat there studying me, then puffed her pipe. The board was finished and our bout began. I led with my queen's pawn, and she followed with her king's knight- At the 72nd move I had lost, but I felt no shame in losing to such an opponent. Though the twins seemed upset at the result as if they were betting on my victory. (Sorry to disappoint.)

The woman in red gave a wide grin, congratulating me on my prowess, then in an instant became serious. "It's time." She said with ice in her words. "The energies that torment you will be sealed, but it is only a seal. One day it will bubble up and break, and when that day arrives you're price will be paid in full. I cannot say in what fashion, but a price will be paid." I nodded, I understood the implications but didn't care. I wanted freedom from this curse even if artificial. She leaned over the chess board to my person and placed her fingers to my lips and whispered once more—I became tired. As I drifted into a sleep I was able to gaze at her one last time, her raven hair which roosted on a sea of snow, those eyes that gleamed like vermilion jewels, and that chilling apathy as if bored with life's wonders. That Goddess would be burned into my memory forever...

(I dreamt of the sweetest things... Yes, it was the most pleasant dream I ever had.)

When my eyes opened I had arrived back to the sight of grassy grounds of the castle. I felt empty, half-full yet at ease; emthey/em were gone. Still I was plagued with question upon question, whether meeting the woman was part of that lovely dream or the cause of it, how long since my departure and most of all—if Aqua was still noncontinuous.

I walked into he manor, to my sister's wing, then to her door, knocked and entered. She was looking out the window of her bed, her right arm and shoulder wrapped in bandages. Words, a sentience, an apology, something—I had to tell her something! How could I make amends?

She turned from the glass to me with no malice or anger for what I had done and smiled the sun blind. My sister, in kindness and love told me my eyes had returned to their normal luster—and, as if those words were of the sweetest poetry, a sensation compelled me to cry. I was sobbing, my composure stripping with each tear drop. A sad sight and in front of my little sibling no less. But Aqua didn't judge, instead she touched my sobbing cheek with her warm hand and kissed a tear away, then offered we play a game of chess—She was still persistent..