prompt:sense of justification
character-centric: naminé
STANDARD DiSCLAiMER APPLiED
summary: they're like paper dolls in a drawer
full of scissors
Naminé knows it's wrong. She knows creating false memories and ruining a young hero's life is wrong, but still, it must be done.
She picks a blue and draws the ocean, its waves roaring against the calm, sandy shore. She draws starfish and shells and kelp and castles and … and … and doing this is wrong, wrong, wrong, but she can't stop. His life is on the line and in a way, so is hers. They're like paper dolls in a drawer full of scissors -- one false move and it's snip!snip!death. She paints the sky a bloody red and moves on.
She picks a cream and draws him out, carefully sketching flesh onto paper. She gives him careful detail, gently defining muscles, cheeky grin, chocolate hair. She picks a cerulean blue and shades his eyes, giving him an expression of happiness and content. She draws his outstretched hand, and finds herself wishing, if only for the moment, that he really was reaching for her. She quickly forgets the thought and paints the clouds pink, never realizing she's slipping closer to and closer to those scissors.
She doesn't draw today; instead she opts for staring out her window, watching the Samurai Nobodies attack each other, one minute blades twirling in a ferocious dance, the next, slinking about, waiting for an opening. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices the Dancers twirl about, swaying back and forth in their methodical, deadly dance. It's a mediocre scene, but it keeps her busy enough to forget she's supposed to be drawing. She doesn't feel like lying today, and when Marluxia discovers this, it's an hour with Larxene. Later, as she emerges limp, broken, bleeding pretty red on white and cautiously makes her way to her sanctuary, her prison, her white room, she reaches a revelation. She gives a long, wishful look out the window and walks to her pastels. She chooses her truths cautiously this time.
Beside the boy with the chocolate hair, cerulean eyes, and cheeky grin, she draws another cream-toned figure with fiery tresses and violet eyes. She draws this one, this girl, with her hand almost clasping the boy's. She paints the girl an expression full of love and content, of happiness and peace. As a final touch, she picks a gold and sketches out a star-shaped object, a legendary papou fruit, into his outstretched hand. Painting it vividly and quickly, it's clutched tightly in the boy's palm.
Naminé knows it's wrong to defy those who took her in and gave her shelter and purpose, but she also knows that this, this murder of memories, is wrongwrongwrong, far more than defying those foolish beings who tempt fate by longing for hearts and souls they've given up. She can feel the impending snip! of those silver scissors edging closer and closer to her paper legs, but at the same time, she feels the immense weight of the lies lift, and for a moment, the colors burn and blur and she's the one who's on that beach and she's holding his hand and she can hear his laughter in her ears and for a moment, if only for the moment, she's her and she's in love and she's happy, and she's complete…
And she doesn't even notice those scissors making that final snip.
-le finis
this has been written out and
stuck in my psychology folder
for the past six or seven months.
it was unfinished, so I hurried up
and wrote the last paragraphs quickly
in english 102.
this is for no one because it's
not good enough.