Roxas closes his book and sighs. What a terrible ending. He stands from the chair and walks over to the bookcases, sliding it in place. Demyx sits on Roxas' bed, a scattering of papers once again nearly covering the entire surface like a sheet of parchment. The sitar instrument has now become his favorite instrument as it lays spread across the lap of his folded legs. He strums the strings, giving off a flurry of notes correlating well.

They've made it into a habit of Demyx coming over during the hours of lunch of which Roxas uses to escape to his rooms and to his books. With Demyx seemingly wanting a similar time alone to work on his music, they've arranged to meet and order a bunch of food brought up from the kitchen instead. They spread out around through different parts of Roxas' spacious suite, sometimes collaborating in the same space such as Roxas' bed, the plush couches or out on the balcony. Other times they spread out, giving each other their private space and Roxas would sometimes suggest Demyx to music to play, and to his surprise, both he and Demyx know a far variety of the same composers.

Sora has only stopped in once while Roxas was getting ready for breakfast and he laid out a shirt and pants for the day. Roxas had left him simply gathering the dishes and sweeping the floor. Sora reports that the other servants haven't given him much discussion on being captured in the dungeons, if they even knew.

The experience seems to have shaken Sora a bit as he is sadly more quiet, and it takes nearly all of Roxas energy and resources to try and pry the simplest conversation out of the boy. Roxas had offered Sora a chance to speak with him about it, but Sora is quick to refuse. He understands; unlike Roxas, Sora most likely hadn't even set foot near a jail for his entire life. Then for him to just be taken and dragged for at least three to four days. Roxas doesn't want to push the boy to speak, despite him knowing how much Sora wishes to rid himself of the pressure of the experience. He doesn't bring the matter up to Roxas, but that doesn't deteriorate the boy from conversing enough.

As Roxas adjusts his shelf of books and random reads, he turns to Demyx and finds him once again off into his sacred zone where he hears nothing but the music created by his fingers and the gentle hum of the guitar.

Unsure where to do with himself, and walks out of his bedroom. Hunter and he were supposed to meet up during the morning training, but he never showed. In fact, Roxas is ashamed of himself for not keeping tabs on his members and seeing on how they're adjusting to their lives among the Faceless. Perhaps he would search for Hunter and they can go to the game park for some much needed time outside. Roxas actually misses the bite of the winter evening and the sniffling of his nose when it's kissed by the frost wind. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, shaking off a shudder even though he has on a thick sweater; the sleeves reaching past his hands.

He strides into the music and gaming room. He cannot play billiards or cards by himself, not while Demyx was off in his own little word of beautiful music and melodies, but . . .

Roxas eyes the pianoforte. He used to play – oh, he loved to play, loved music, the way music can break and heal and make everything seem possible and heroic.

Carefully, as I approaching a sleeping person, Roxas walks to the large instrument. He pulls out the wooden bench, wincing at the loud scraping sound it makes. Folding back the heavy lid, he pushes his feet on the pedals, testing them. He eyes the smooth ivory keys, and then the black keys, which are like the gaps between teeth.

He had been good once – perhaps better than good. His father made Roxas play for him whenever they saw each other.

Roxas wonders if his father knew he was already in the Faceless. Would he leave them alone if he did? Roxas doesn't dare face the possibility of his parents meeting each other once again. Things had been such a blaze when he had escaped – in two weeks, he'd lost Ventus and his freedom, and lost something of himself in those blurry days, too.

Ventus. What would he make of all this? If he'd been alive when Roxas had fled the city, they could've been living together in the warm halls of the Faceless, and not buried in the heat of smoke, or the cold dirt of the earth. But Ventus, like him, had been betrayed – and sometimes the absence of him hits Roxas so hard that he forgets how to breathe. Roxas touches a lower note. It is deep and throbbing, full of sorrow and anger.

Gingerly, with one hand, Roxas taps out a simple, slow melody on the higher keys. Echoes – shreds of memories arising out of the void of his mind. His rooms are so silent that the music seems obtrusive. He moves his right hand, playing upon the flats and sharps. It is a piece that he used to play again and again until Cloud would yell at him to play something else. He plays a chord, then another, added in a few sliver notes from his right hand, pushes once on a pedal, and is gone.

The notes burst from his fingers, staggering at first, but then more confidently as the emotion in the music takes over. It is a mournful piece, but it makes him into something clean and new. He is surprised that his hands had not forgotten, that somehow in his mind, after months of darkness and slavery, music is still alive and breathing. That somewhere, between the notes, is Ventus. Roxas forgets about time as he drifts between pieces, voicing the unspeakable, opening old wounds, playing and playing as the sound forgives and saves him.

Leaning against the doorway, Demyx stands, utterly transfixed. Roxas has been playing for some time with his back to him. Demyx wonders when Roxas would notice him, or if he'd ever stop at all. Demyx wouldn't mind listening forever. He was merely mingling with his sitar when the clock had struck five in the evening. Demyx was going to tell Roxas he is leaving to go back to his own chambers, but instead found the young assassin pouring his secrets into a pianoforte.

Demyx peels himself from the wall. For all Roxas' assassinating experience, he doesn't notice Demyx until he sits down on the bench beside him. "You play beau –"

Roxas' fingers slip on the keys, which let out a loud, awful CLANK, and Roxas is halfway to the rack of cue sticks when he beholds Demyx. Demyx could've sworn that the assassin's eyes were damp. "I had forgotten you were here." Roxas glances to the door. Was he planning on using one of those cue sticks against Demyx?

"I came to tell you I was leaving." Demyx says with a quick smile. "I apologize if I interrupted." He wonders at Roxas' discomfort as Roxas turns red. It seems far too human an emotion for Twilight Town's Assassin. Though, by now Demyx should be accustomed to seeing Roxas as more than that, though with his presentation of a severed head to the Dark Mistress, it was a cruel reminder of what Roxas was and still is. "But you were playing so beautifully that I –"

"It's fine." Roxas walks back over towards the bench. Demyx stands, giving him the entire space of the bench. As he rounds to stand off to the side of the instrument, he can see part of the scar on Roxas' shoulder poking out from beneath his tunic. If his calculations are correct, that's the same wound that Vexen had sewn for him back on their ship. The event feels like an eternity ago. "So are you really going?"

Demyx smiles roguishly. "Unless you want me to say."

"I don't care."

"Well I wouldn't mind. Your room is far more commodious than mine."

"Look at you using big words." Roxas says, but the corner of his mouth drift upwards.

"I may be an idiot, but I'm not stupid." Demyx smiles, joy pulsing through him when he sees the blonde's shoulders bounce from a chuckle. "But, am I allowed to be here outside out time?"

"If you're comfortable being in the same room with Twilight Town's Assassin."

Demyx wouldn't be intimidated, even if Roxas could grab that billiards cue and skewer him with it in a matter of seconds. "From your playing, it seems that you're a great deal more than that."

"What do you mean?" Roxas turns to him, his blue eyes can melt any woman with the way the blue seems to curl and dance like ink in water.

"Well," Demyx says, trying not to get lost in those strange, lovely eyes. "I don't' think anyone who plays like that can be just a criminal. It seems like you have a soul." He teases.

"Of course I have a soul. Everyone has a soul."

He is still rather red. Demyx fights his grin. For a deadly assassin as he claims to be and demonstrates to be, he is so adorably bashful. Demyx walks up and wraps his arms around the boy's shoulders. Roxas stiffens as Demyx rests his chin on the top of his head.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Roxas asks.

"It's called a hug. Embrace it." Demyx says, tightening his arms for emphasis.

Roxas laughs as she tries to elbow Demyx. "Knock it off."

Demyx grips tighter and laughs. "Come on, enjoy it. Feel the love of my friendship!"

"Stop!" Roxas yelps with a laugh, still lamely attempting to wriggle himself from Demyx's arms.

"Feel my friendship! It's colored with rainbows and unicorns!" Demyx laughs.

"You're so weird." Still, Roxas settles enough to pat Demyx's arms to satisfy him. Finally Demyx releases him and trots over to one of the chairs.

"So, how are you and Maleek getting along?" of course, it is a totally innocent question.

He shrugs, and Demyx tries not to read too far into the gesture. "Fine. I think he hates me a bit, but given his position, I'm not surprised."

"Why do you think he hates you?"

For some reason, Demyx couldn't bring himself to deny it.

"Because I'm the son of their Mistress, and he's her second in command. Despite how I already out rank him, in a sense, he's probably worried I'll steal his title."

"Well I can assure you that he doesn't hate you."

"Really? Are we really going to talk about this?" Roxas closes the lid to the pianoforte and leans his elbows on it, facing Demyx.

"What?"

"You really want to gossip like those pathetic school girls we see on the streets?"

"Oh come on, don't pretend you don't think it's interesting." Demyx defends.

"Oh, of course. I completely think that the Crown Prince looking 'absolutely, achingly handsome' in his newfound jacket is worth a conversation." Roxas belittles.

Demyx holds his hands up. "I'm just saying, he doesn't hate you, I just think he's jealous."

"That's just a sugarcoated way of saying he hates me. Like it's masked hatred."

"There really is a difference." Demyx assures. "I'm sure he really does admire you in a way."

Roxas shrugs. "I can't say I blame him."

"Hey, I haven't seen that side of you in a while." Demyx smiles as he leans back into the chair, draping one leg over the cushioned arm. "But do you wish it were otherwise?" He gives Roxas a lazy grin. That question wasn't so innocent.

Roxas pushes his elbows off of the lid and leans forward resting them on his knees. "Well, who wants to be hated? Though I'd rather be hated than invisible. But it makes no difference." He isn't convincing.

"You're lonely?" Demyx says before he can stop himself.

"Lonely?" Roxas shakes his head. "No. I have Axel. And I can survive well enough on my own – if given the proper reading material."

Demyx looks at the fire, trying not to think about where he's been mere months before – and what that kind of loneliness might have felt like. "Still, it can't be pleasant to be one's own companion at all times."

"And what would you do?" Roxas laughs. "Play away your troubles away on any stray instrument you find?"

"Not away, but merely to make the pain bearable. I can tell you'd want to as well."

"I'm already a notorious assassin – I don't particularly feel like being notorious as a bard." Demyx dramatically chokes, but Roxas goes on. "Would you like me to explain why, or is it enough for me to say that I prefer cowering rather than applauding fans?"

Demyx frowns, though Roxas can see he's slightly offended. "I'm not going to debate morality with an assassin. But, you do kill people for money, you know."

Roxas' eyes become hard and he gets up from the bench. "I didn't mean to offend. You may leave."

"Oh great, now I'm the bad guy." Demyx doesn't know whether to laugh or yell.

"It's not that, and I'm not mad. I'm not throwing you from my rooms for stating the truth."

Demyx adjusts his position in the seat. "Tell me about your life."

"You already know about my life."

"I meant the littler details. Not how you were raised by the 'Lord of the Douches' and can ice a man's soul with just a simple glare. But about your hobbies, what you do in your spare time." Demyx says with a smile.

"I feel like I should be asking you those questions. I've barely caught a glimpse of your back-story apart from what you've spoken in training and out times out Axel's ship."

Demyx shrugs. "How did you learn to play the pianoforte so masterfully? And what was that piece? It was so sad; were you thinking about a secret lover?"

"I practiced." Roxas strides, walking towards the door. Demyx gets up and starts to follow. "And yes, I was." he adds. "Of a sort."

"In that case I'm really sorry I interrupted." He stops a foot away, but the space between them feels strangely intimate. "I had no idea you had someone else before the Captain."

A small tingle of happiness tickles Roxas' chest, and a corner of his mouth upturns. He hasn't heard Axel be referred to as 'Captain' since his ship sank, arguably losing his title. Perhaps if Roxas were to call him that once again, it'll trigger a form of reaction; perhaps a positive reaction.

"I didn't have anyone before Axel." Roxas crosses his arms. "And the person who . . . inspired that song wasn't exactly a lover. But the love was just as unconditional. To say he was merely a friend would be putting it mildly."

Demyx tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowed. "What? Then who –"

Roxas stalks past him and drops into the armchair. At least he isn't leaving. "I'd rather not talk about it. It still hurts, and I'm sure it will forever no matter how much time passes or how many good things I try to do to make up for it."

"Did you both at least leave on a, good note? And I'm sorry for wording it that way –"

"No, don't be."

"– But, did you to at least say what needed to be said?"

Roxas is leaning his cheek on his hand, and his eyes flick off to the side for a moment. "I presume. Though, I feel he said more than I should have."

"I must go now," Demyx says at last. "But I shall be back tomorrow."

"I look forward to it." Roxas says dryly.

"Good night, Roxas." Demyx looks around the room and grins. "Tell me something before I leave: this mystery person of yours . . . he doesn't live in the castle does he?"

He instantly knew he'd said the wrong thing when some of the light vanishes form Roxas' eyes. "Good night." He says a bit coldly.

Demyx shakes his head. "I didn't meant to –"

Roxas just waves him off, looking towards the fire. Understanding his dismissal, Demyx strode to the door, each of his footsteps sounding in the now too-silent room. He is almost to the threshold when he Roxas speaks. "He was my angel."

He is staring at the fire. Was his angel . . . "What happened?"

Roxas looks to him, sadly smiling. "He died."

"When?" Demyx gets out. He would have never interrupted him like that, never said a damn word if he'd known . . .

Roxas' words were strangled as he says. "Four months ago."

A glimmer of pain flashes across Roxas' face, so real and endless that Demyx feels it in his gut. That was . . . so soon, so sudden. "I'm sorry." He breathes.

Roxas shrugs, as if it can somehow diminish the grief Demyx still sees in his eyes, shining so bright in the firelight. "So am I," Roxas whispers, and faces the fire again.

Sensing he truly is done talking this time, Demyx clears his throat. "Happy early birthday, by the way." Roxas doesn't say anything as Demyx leaves the room.

Four months. How can that have been so recent, and Roxas still in one piece? Something feels familiar about the time span, urgent. Demyx thinks back. When Roxas first came upon their ship, that was nearly a year. When they escaped Twilight Town . . . that was two months. Then they joined the Faceless, supposedly that's another month and then –

Ventus . . .

Demyx's throat tightens to where he nearly chokes for air. Coughing and gasping greedily for oxygen.

He can't banish Roxas' heart-wrenching music from his mind, even when he burns his first three copies of his newly written songs, even when he plays his sitar long into the night, even when he finally falls asleep.

The next morning, Roxas wakes up and relishes in the silence.

There is something inherently peaceful about the day, despite the darkness of his encounter with his mother. Would she still host his party? Logically speaking, perhaps. If she was using the party as a way to meet with her clients, she wouldn't cancel it because of Roxas' bad behavior. For the moment, the whole castle has quieted to hear the falling snow. Frost laces each windowpane, a fire already crackling in the fireplace, and shadows of snowflakes drift across the floor. It is a peaceful and lovely a winter morning as he can imagine. He wouldn't ruin it with thoughts of his mother's cruelty, or of Ventus, or of Sora's timidity.

No, it's the morning of his birthday celebration, and he will be happy.

It doesn't feel like a day to celebrate the darkness that gives birth to the spring light, nor does it feel like a day to celebrate the anniversary of his birth. It is simply a day where he will be excused from training as well as given a large feast for all meals of his day, with extra sweets slipped in. Roxas smiles and rolls over. But something gets in his way. It is crinkly and harsh against his face, and has the distinct odor of –

"Candy!" a large paper bag sits on a pillow, and he finds that it is filled with all sorts of confectionary goodies. There is no note, not even a name scribbled on the bag. With a shrugs and glowing eyes, Roxas pulls out a handful of sweets. Oh, how he adores candy!

Roxas issues a jolly laugh and crams some of the candy into his mouth. One by one, he chews through the assortment, and he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply as he tastes all of the flavors and textures.

When he finally stops chewing, his jaw aches. He empties the contents of the bag onto the bed, ignoring the dunes of sugar that pour out with it, and surveys the land of goodness before him.

All of his favorites are there: chocolate-covered gummies, chocolate almond bark, berry-shaped chews, gem-shaped hard sugar, peanut brittle, plain brittle, surgarlace, frosted red licorice, and, most importantly, chocolate. He pops a hazelnut truffle into his mouth.

"Someone," he says between chews. "is very good to me."

Roxas pauses to examine his bag again. Who had sent it? Maybe his mother. Probably Axel, maybe even Vanitas. Nor the Frost Elves that delivered presents to good children. They'd stopped coming to him when he'd first drawn blood room from another human being. Maybe Maleek? He liked him well enough.

"Master Roxas!" Sora exclaims from the doorway, gaping.

"Good morning, Sora!" Roxas says. "Care for a candy?"

Sora storms towards Roxas. A smile tugging at his lips and a laugh mingling through his breaths. "Good morning indeed! Look at this bed! Look at this mess!" Roxas winces.

"Your teeth are red!" Sora laughs. He reaches for the hand mirror that Roxas keeps by his bed and holds it for the assassin to see.

Sure enough, his teeth are tinged with crimson. He runs his tongue over his teeth, then tries to brush away the stains with a finger. They remain. "Damn those sugar suckers!"

"Yes," Sora snaps. "And that's chocolate all over your mouth. Even my cousin doesn't eat his candy like this!"

Roxas laughs. "You have a cousin?"

"Yes, and he can eat his food without getting it on the bed, on his, and on his face!"

Roxas pushes back the covers, sugar spraying into the air. "Have a candy, Sora."

"It's seven in the morning." Sora sweeps the sugar into his cupped palm. "You'll make yourself sick."

"Sick? Who can get sick from candy?" Roxas makes a face and expose his crimson teeth."

"You look like a demon." says Sora. "Just don't open your mouth and no one will notice."

"You and I both know that's not possible."

To his surprise, Sora laughs. "Happy Birthday, Roxas." He says. Hearing Sora call him by his name sends an unexpected burst of pleasure through him. "Come," the boy chuckles. "Let's get you dressed – breakfast begins at nine." Sora bustles toward the dressing room, and Roxas watches him go. His heart is big and as red as his teeth. There is good in people – deep down, there is always a shred of good. There had to be.

Roxas emerges a while later, clad in a solemn-looking blue suit that Sora had deemed the only appropriate attire for breakfast attendance. A translucent cape is clasped to the gold epaulettes on his shoulders. Roxas' teeth are, of course, still red, and now he feels queasy as he stares at the bag of candy. However, he quickly forgets about his sickness when he sees Vanitas sitting at the table in his bedroom with crossed legs. He wears a beautiful white-and-gold jacket.

"Are you my present, or is there something in that basket at your feet?" Roxas asks.

"If you'd like to unwrap me," Vanitas says, lifting the large wicker basket onto the table. "we still have an hour until your breakfast banquet."

Roxas laughs. "Nice to see you too, Vanitas."

"And Happy Birthday to you, as well. I can see that I – Are your teeth red?"

Roxas clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head in violent protestation.

Vanitas grabs Roxas' nose and pinches it closed, and try as he might, he cannot dislodge his fingers. Roxas opens his mouth, and Vanitas bursts into laughter. "Been eating candies, have you?"

"You sent those?" Roxas keeps his mouth closed as much as possible.

"No, your mother picked them out, I just made the delivery." He picks up the brown bag of candy on the table. "What's your . . ." he trails off as he weighs the bag in his hands. "Didn't she give you three pounds of candy?"

Roxas smiles impishly.

"You ate half the bag!

"Was I supposed to save it?"

"I would've like some!"

"You never told me that."

"Because I didn't expect you to consume all of it before breakfast!"

Roxas snatches the bag from him and puts it on the table. "Well, that just shows poor judgment on your part, doesn't it?"

Vanitas opens his mouth to reply, but the bag of candy tips over and spills across the table. Roxas turns just in time to see the slender golden snout protruding from the basket, inching toward the candy. "What is that?" Roxas asks flatly.

Vanitas grins. "A birthday present for you."

The blonde assassin flips back the lid of the basket. The nose instantly shoots inward, and Roxas finds the strange golden-haired pup quivering in the corner with a red bow around her neck.

"Oh, puppy," Roxas croons, and pets her. The dog trembles, and he glares at Vanitas over his shoulder. "What did you do, you buffoon?" he hisses.

Vanitas throws his hands in the air, "It's a gift! I almost lost my arm – and more important parts – trying to put that bow on, and then she howled all the way up here!"

Roxas looks piteously at the dog, which is now licking the sugar off his fingers.
What am I going to do with her? Where did you get her from?"

"Your mother as some kennels out back. One of her hounds gave birth to a litter of pups. They were about to put this one down until I convinced them to give them to me."

"What? Kill it? For what reason? What did she do to them?"

"They didn't think it would make a suitable pet, which is what all of those dogs will become."

"So they'd kill it because of its temperament? It can't help being that way!"

"Maleek also remembered how the hounds followed you when we traveled. Perhaps she'll trust you enough to become adapted to humans. Some people have those kinds of gifts." Roxas raises his eyebrows. "It's a lousy present, I know. I should have gotten you something better.

The dog peers up at Roxas. Her eyes are a golden-brown color, like molten caramel. She seems to be waiting for a blow to fall. She is a beautiful thing, and her huge paws hint that she might someday grow large – and swift. A slight smile spreads on Roxas' lips. The dog swishes her tail – on, then another time.

"She's yours," Vanitas says. "if you want her."

"What shall I do with her if I'm sent off to a job?"

"I'll worry about that." Roxas stroke her folded velvet-soft ears, then ventures low enough to scratch her chin. The pup's tail wags in earnest. Yes, there is life in her.

"So do you want her?" Vanitas mutters.

"Of course I want her," Roxas says, then realizes what the implication would be. "But I want her trained. I don't want her urinating on everything and chewing on furniture and shoes and books. And I want her to sit when I tell her to and lay down and roll over and whatever it is that dogs do. And I want her run – run with the other dogs when they're practicing. I want her to put those long legs to use."

Vanitas crosses his arms as Roxas scoops up the dog. "That's a long list of demands. Perhaps I should've gotten you weapons after all."

"When I'm training, or on missions"– Roxas kisses the pup's soft head, and the dog nestles her cold nose against Roxas' neck– "I want her in the kennels, training as well. When I return in the afternoon, she may be brought to me. I'll keep her in the night." Roxas holds the dog at eye level. The dog kicks her legs in the air. "If you ruin any of my shoes," he says to the pup, "I'll turn you into a pair of slippers. Understood?"

The dog stares at him, her wrinkled brow lifting, and Roxas smiles and sets her down on the floor. She begins sniffling about, though she stays far away from Vanitas, and she soon disappears beneath the bed. The assassin lifts the dust ruffle to peer underneath. Thankfully, the pup hadn't lifted its leg. She continues her exploration, sniffing everywhere. "I'll have to think of a name for you," Roxas says to her, and then stands. "Thank you," he says to Vanitas. "It's a lovely gift."

Vanitas is kind – unnaturally kind, for someone of his upbringing. He has a heart, Roxas realizes, and a conscience. He is different from the others. Timidly, almost clumsily, the assassin strides over to Vanitas and kisses him on the cheek. His skin is surprisingly hot, and Roxas wonders if she'd kissed him properly as he pulls away and finds Vanitas' eyes bright and wide. Had he been sloppy? Too wet? Was his lips sticky from the candy? He hopes Vanitas won't wipe his cheek.

"I really like it. Thank you." Roxas says.

"I'm glad you do. I was really worried if you didn't like pets or not." Vanitas clears his throat and looks at the clocks. "I have to go. I'll see you at breakfast, and tonight at the ball. Be sure to save me a dance, and maybe I'll protect you from the possible court ladies. Though maybe Axel will do the same, so we'll be competing, I guess."

Roxas has never seen Vanitas babble like this. "Enjoy yourself." Roxas says as Vanitas takes a step back and almost crashing into the table.

Vanitas blushes madly, clearing his throat again. "I'll see you tonight then."

Roxas hides his smile behind his hand. Had his kiss thrown him into such a tizzy?

"Goodbye, Roxas." He looks back when he reaches the door. Roxas smiles at him, flashing his red teeth, and Vanitas laughs before he bows ad disappears. Alone in his rooms, Roxas is about to see what his new companion is up to when Sora comes back into the room.

"I'll see to it she doesn't nibble on your clothes." He smiles.

Roxas strode into the bedroom, wringing his fingers. "That was honestly nice of him."

"And it's your first of many gifts today."

There's another knock at Roxas' door and in steps Maleek out of his uniform and wearing a simple grey vest over his black tunic. The curls of his tattoo poking out over the collar line. "Come to escort me?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't do this if I had the choice." Maleek says. "But, happy birthday."

"Such pleasantry coming from your voice." Roxas says, and as he's about to go on, Maleek side steps and Roxas' mother steps inside. His voice hitches.

His mother's hair, like that of a sorceress, lies curtaining around her head. It draped over the sides of her shoulders in long, coiling tendrils. It's possible she might have bangs, but Roxas can't tell as they're held back with a headband. Her navy blue dress, heavy and flowing, like the inaugural gown of the queen she is, spills from either sides of her covered feet while the embellished train fell in gentle folds along the rug. The pleats and endless ripples in the lavish garment gave the illusion of softness, her face the illusion of life. The soft, sweeping lines in her dress and gentle arm movements emphasize her cheerful, sweet disposition and her joy for life. Her large, brown almond-shaped eyes capture the sense of wonder.

Roxas sighs through his nose. Their clothing matches; like mother and son. She gives a timid swallows before she speaks. "Good morning, son."

"Morning, mother." Roxas hasn't spoken to her since he barged into her council meeting and placed the severed head of her guard on the table after he found Sora chained in the dungeon. Though he will make an acceptation since it is his birthday, and that she is still throwing him such an extravagant celebration, he still won't apologize, and she knows it.

"Happy birthday." She steps forward into the room and hold out her hands, revealing a small, flat, post-card box, uncertain whether he should accept it. His mother continues to hold the box steady. At last Roxas' curiosity outmuscled his indecision. He takes it.

"What?" she says. "Don't look at me like that. It's not a tarantula. Would you just open it already?"

Roxas clasped the box between both hands and carefully opened the hinged lid. Inside, the thin chain of a silver necklace glimmered. A tiny charm in the shape of an open hand rested in the middle of a black velvet cushion, its fingers with delicate filigree. In the center of the palm, a tiny iridescent opal lay nestled in the dish of a circular setting.

The necklace sparkled like moonlight on water.

Roxas let out a small sound of surprise. The pendant was so beautiful and intricate that he had no doubt the stone it held was genuine. It struck him as an extravagant token. At the same time, the well-worn state of the box gave him the impression that the charm was old – an antique, if he had to guess. Though the pendant has five fingers, it looked different from any representation of a hand he's seen. It had two thumbs, the tips of which curved outward on either side. It hung from the chin so the fingers would aim downward, toward the wearer's feet on an intricately designed silver pendant made of a dozen interlocked circles.

"It was my great grandmother's." Tifa says.

Roxas looks up. He clamps the box shut with a sharp snap and, shaking his head, held it back to his mother. "I can't accept this."

"Take it sweetie. It's called a birthday gift for a reason. And while I now it shouldn't make up for what I did, I'm hoping you'll still accept it."

Roxas looks to the necklace and back to his mother. He inhales through his mouth and sighs through his nose. "Thank you, mother. It's beautiful. And I am truly honored."

He bows before he wanders over to the hutch located by the table. Setting the box down, Roxas flips pen the lid once more. He then plucks the necklace free of its velvet bed. The chain untraveled like a silver snake. The star dangles at the end, the opal gleaming, as iridescent as the sparkling snow that coats the world in winter.

Roxas unlatches the necklace and walks over to his wardrobe, opening the panel revealing the long mirrors on the inside of the door. Roxas lowers the chain over his head and latched the clasp in place.

The pendant rests against his chest, glowing like it was always meant for him.

He exhales and notices the corner of his lips curl upward.

"How'd you like the books?" Tifa asks as she folds her hands in front of her.

"They were very nice." Roxas says quietly. "They were wonderful, actually."

"I'm glad." Their eyes met and Roxas adjusts his jacket as he approaches her. "Now, while I adore your attire, picked out well, I'm afraid I must ask a favor of you."

"What is it?" Roxas asks, aware of the footsteps of Sora behind him. They falter slightly, but they continue on.

Tifa bites her bottom lip and takes a deep breath and her demeanor shifts to acting like the leader that she is of the Faceless. "I must request to you, to change your hair color."

Roxas goes rigid momentarily, and he can hear Sora pause behind him. The only thing keeping his expression neutral is Maleek's placid face, he knew. "Why?" Roxas practically growls, his tone comes out snappy. "What's wrong with my hair?" he says as he brings his fingertips to the blonde ruffles of his hair.

"Oh nothing, nothing honey." Tifa steps forward, grasping Roxas' shoulder, despite him instinctively pulling away, her hands stay, and he doesn't try any further. "It's beautiful, kissed by sun. All natural color you can't get in any beauty shop." He pets his hair like Roxas petted his new pet. Still he can see the simply sadness in her eyes as if she's really afraid to see his hair go. "But, you have to understand, it's what easily makes you recognizable, to anyone."

"Precisely why I like it." he defends.

"But it also makes you more noticeable to your father." Tifa adds.

Roxas droops his shoulders. "I suppose, but I haven't heard from my father in a while. Whether he knows I'm here or not. So maybe he found out and left."

It's a stupid assumption, since Roxas knows his father doesn't give up easily. And so does Tifa. "You know he will try whatever he can. This is just a precautious step. And don't worry, dye washes out. It's a new look, and you of all people should be used to trying new 'looks'."

He couldn't deny that. He's done more extreme changes in his appearance while living with his father. He remembers how Cloud himself had shaved off all of Roxas' hair one summer when Roxas was assigned to infiltrate a guards' barracks. Cloud took the tip of his knife and sliced open several deep scars on Roxas' scalp to make him look much older and experienced in fighting. If anything else, at least he looked like a bloodied civilian in need of aid. Roxas couldn't sleep on his head for weeks the cuts hurt so badly. He can still feel one that Cloud had made, nearly cutting off Roxas' ear. The scar stretched from the back of his ear and down the side near the back of his neck.

Roxas lifts his fingers to the scar, feeling the puckered skin bump underneath his fingertips.

"The dye doesn't hurt, and it'll wash out, when not reapplied." Tifa continues. "I'm doing this for your own good, and I understand your hesitation, but at least you'll get to keep your hair. Hopefully it'll take off the attention of your red teeth."

Roxas folds his lips in, but snorts. Well, at least he gets to keep his hair on his head this time, what's the difference if it's a different color?

"Uh . . . very well." Roxas submits. "Better than having my head shaved."

Tifa smiles brightly and kisses Roxas' forehead. "Oh thank you honey, I promise, once we know you're safe, we will wash it out."

Roxas nods as his mother wanders over to the other servants and ordering them to prep a basin of water.

Roxas sighs, ignoring Maleek and Sora's stares as he wanders over to the mirror and ruffles his spikes. He stares at himself in the mirror, savoring the last few moments of his blonde hair as a servant calls him into the bathing room.

"Will you not even smile on my birthday?" Roxas asks Maleek as they walk down the wide stairs and towards the grand dining room.

"If my teeth were crimson, and my hair brown, I wouldn't be smiling at all." He says. "Be content with an occasional grimace." Roxas flashes his teeth at Maleek, then closes his mouth as several courtiers strode past them, servants in tow. "I'm surprised you even let her do that."

"It's not so bad. I've been through worse. At least it makes my eyes look better." Roxas takes a piece of his now brown bangs and feels them through his fingers.

Maleek glances sidelong at him. He seemed surprised when Roxas walked out of the bathing chamber with a towel wrapped around his head. And then when he took the towel out to reveal his newly brown hair, his eyes were wide, and his cheeks pink.

"Who knows, maybe some of the men will like brunettes instead." Roxas smiles. "I can tell you do."

Roxas playfully elbows Maleek whose cheeks turn pink and Roxas laughs as he links arms with him.

Still, it isn't until they reach the hallways of the dining room, guards on duty, does Roxas feel his stomach clench. He resists the urge to pull his blue cape up over his now brown spikey hair as the doors open.