To clear up ensuing confusion, this is a Namine and Replica...thing. And I just made Shake Tramp mildly depressing. woot.
Disclamar!: Everyone should drink more coffee. Then the short people won't feel discriminated.

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"I don't know what I'm doing here."

And it's dark and frightening, not the place, but her words. And he can't tell her, even if she draws the words and his lips moving in tune, he can't tell her.

"Did I let you down?" He asks, bitterly, always, always bitterly. And sometimes she thinks that he did, like the way he lets himself get bruised and broken, to feel the kind of release you can only feel when you're alive. But he wasn't, and she could tell him he was, and he could believe it, but they wouldn't. Lying came second nature to her, she spun lies and fables with her pen, drawing deceit and drawing out the heart. But she couldn't speak in lies, so she drew him some.

And you needed some just to take you from

"Sorry but I tried." He can lie; it's part of his nature, the nature that was bred into him. He's honest and open and bare for the world to see but his lies drip like gold off his tongue and he can still pretend that his body is his own; though in some way it all depended on how she drew him that day.

One thing was still his, no matter how she twisted it and poisoned it and others prodded it and dissected it, his mind was his own, a mind that came with insanity, hidden away in a small pocket of his brain, insanity that was ushered forward by a pencil, and a small boy who knew no better, and a small girl who knew no worse.

I hate this room, so testify, but I still tried.

He didn't pity her, he didn't even like her, and he never would. They skipped that whole part and went straight to love. Looking back, it's understandable why he's insane. Was insane. Is no more.

The first time he ever touched her, was when she drew him love. He marched into her room, dressed darkly in clothes she'd never seen before, and hit her with all his might. Her face had bruised but that bruise healed.

And I can still pretend I guess it all depends I'm still a little crazy all the time.

And then he fell to his knees and screamed and cried until they came and beat him and tossed his broken body to the corner and told her to erase his memory so that all he remembered was the lies that had seeped into his brain.

And she drew chains around him, and she drew him a new heart and new love. She might've thought once, or maybe twice about what she was doing but it didn't bother her. She was the wicked witch, and it was her job to ruin the innocent's lives.

Just another piece till you need another sound.

She didn't really need him, she didn't really know him. He was just there to fight, and to die, and she was just there to draw and to kill. Her prince was coming, to rescue the damned and kill the rest; she had nothing to fear as she waited for him he would do nothing to her because he loved her.

Faze them out I know what you scream about don't let me down

When she was told to twisted around his heart she didn't think twice. She was selfish, but more than that she was lonely, and wanted to believe that the prince that was coming would save her from herself, and from Him. He knew too much.

He knew what caused her so much pain and drove her to put her pen to the paper. He nearly hated her, but was too kind to. So she did the hating for him when his eyes turned soft and his fist curled around her neck.

And the guilt in me is the hurt in you and the hurt in you is the lost in me.

She didn't feel guilty, she didn't know how to feel, until the Prince came and the Prince loved her but told her he wanted his real Princess. Then, she felt. She felt pain, and guilt followed that pain and suddenly she wished she had never felt at all, when she smashed the loyal boy's heart in the spare chance the Prince would rescue her. And he didn't. Just like he told her.

And the lost in me is the need in you and the need in you is the guilt in me.

She wondered, near the end, who really had been her Prince. Perhaps the boy she was told to love, wasn't her love. Maybe the twisted ruined boy who could beat her even when his heart overflowed with love for her, maybe he was the one she could've, or should've loved. She'd never know. They were both gone.

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