Shorter, I know, but I kinda changed the plot halfway through, so . . .
Enjoy it anyways! :)
Unfolding the Paper
mem·o·ry mem-uh-ree –noun 1. the mental capacity or faculty of retaining and reviving facts, events, impressions, etc., or of recalling or recognizing previous experiences.
Colors fly across the paper, swirling and blending to form new colors. The pencils slide over the paper in an intricate dance, creating the memories that would chain a heart.
Aquamarine eyes flash angrily as they watch the pictures form, pictures of memories she would give to him. "Why?" he asks bitterly. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because," she says quietly, never stopping her drawing. "I must. He needs me."
"What about me? I need you!" he exclaims.
She pauses for a moment, and turns to give him a small smile. "I'll always be here for you."
"But you're not now," he persists, gripping her shoulder. "You're obsessed with him, you never think about me."
She winces slightly, but does not push him away. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I have to finish chaining his memories. Otherwise, both he and Roxas will disappear."
"Let them disappear! I promised I'd take you away from this place, but I can't do that if you don't even pay attention to me!"
She shakes her head slightly. "You don't understand."
"No, no I don't understand," he snaps, throughly vexed now. "I don't understand you at all! Why do you care so much about him?!"
"I don't know," she says quietly, letting her hand trace over the drawing of a brunette boy with blue eyes. "Maybe because my Other is in love with him."
He stops, and slides his hand off her shoulder, staring at her numbly. "Does that mean . . . you're in love with him, too?"
She whirls around, horrified. "No! That's not what it means at all!"
He doesn't seem to hear her, taking a step backward, still staring at her with wide, aquamarine eyes. "You do, don't you? You love him. You don't want me any more."
The sketchbook falls from her hands and clatters to the ground. "No . . . no!" she cries. "No, that's not it at all! I do love you, I do, but–"
"But you love him more."
"No! I–"
"Love him more. You . . . love . . . him . . . more," he whispers, backing up some more, aquamarine eyes staring blankly through her.
"Please, listen to me–" she pleads, desperately trying to make him understand.
But he does not hear her. He backs up one more step, shaking his head and mouthing indistinguishable words as he stares with wide eyes. Then, not being able to take it any more, he turns and runs.
And all that's left behind is a broken heart that the golden-haired girl wasn't supposed to have, and an unfolded silver crane that she clutches close to her non-existent heart.
One more to go . . .