yea, so it's random one-shot time. I had an annoying urge to write a Naminé one shot so I did.

I realized I accidentally put implied Sora/Naminé. whatever. :D

Disclaimer: I don't own KH, OKAY? STOP PATRONIZING ME


The Puppet Girl

She was called the Puppet Girl. It's all she ever was to them. They treated her as dirt beneath their black knee-high boots. They jeered at her, laughing even more as she did nothing to defend herself.

All she did was draw.

Draw in her sketchbook, sitting alone in the empty white room. No color ever invaded its stark interior. She was the only splotch of color, marring its marble perfection. She would sit there all day, never moving, never speaking. Only drawing.

They controlled her. They made her do horrible things. And she felt selfish doing those things. Those terrible things.

She had special powers, that Puppet Girl. She could manipulate memories. Twist them, warp them, to however she saw fit. They used her powers for their own benefit. They didn't care how she felt. They only pretended to care, to encourage her to do those terrible things.

It started when He came. The Keyblader. His name was Sora, and The Puppet Girl played with his memories. She wanted to belong. It's all she ever wanted. To be loved by someone. To be part of anyone's life. To be somebody. And they told her she could. So she complied, but felt worse and worse as his memories slipped away, as she changed them to include her.

She considered him to be her savior. He was the one who released the bird from her cage, and let her free of their clutches. He had killed them. The white corridors were soon empty, no sound echoing through their majestic yet frightening halls. The white castle showed no remorse for its keepers. The marble flowers and pillars stood in indifference, not caring that the castle was now empty. Almost empty, that is. She was all that was left.

She continued to draw. And watch over him, her savior. He had made her a promise. A promise of remembrance. And so she watched over him in his magic-induced slumber. She watched him with crystalline tears running down her cheeks.

But they were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of joy.

She finally felt like a somebody.

Even though the halls were empty. Even though they were gone. She felt better than she had ever felt before.

She would never have to see them again, with their black cloaks that seemed the epitome of mystery, and their silver trinkets that jingled mockingly when they moved. Never again, would she be called the Puppet Girl. She would be called Naminé. Just Naminé.


HOORAY FOR DRABBLEZ :D. This was from listening to way too much Nightwish, over and over and over some more. One of the lyrics were "Puppet girl, your strings are mine." and that's where this spawned from.

reviews are quite nice, by the way.