He was still there behind those innocent eyes, behind those scripted out words, behind that ambitious smile. The masked illusionist still waited behind the charade that was Light Yagami, a child free from guilt and death. Even she had to admit it was his finest masterpiece, despite what he had given up to create it.
Light was wary around her because he had forgotten why he feared her, what threat she posed—and yet the emotions were still there. He had forgotten that she amused him; she had forgotten where she came from. Now she was simply an odd, quiet girl, sitting beside the blonde model without a word of protest on her lips.
Misa did all the complaining for her, because unlike her, Misa did not understand just what game she was playing. Yes, she was winning the game—but only because she had an achievable goal. In the end, none survived playing with matches. The Notebook took no survivors, and it was as patient and cold as Kira himself. It had given her the key to her world only to take it away again when she least expected it.
Misa didn't understand that her dates with Light were nothing more than comic relief to a dimension that existed outside her own, that her pathetic whining labeled her not as desperate, but as an idiot to a group of people she would never see. In her confusion she was losing the power she had gained through the eyes, and she knew it. She wasn't quite sure what she had lost, but she knew she had lost something powerful; her hold on Light was slipping and she was frightened she wouldn't be able to find it again.
That was why she would take the eyes from Ryuk for a second time in her life—that was why she would risk her already depleted life span for a man she had cornered into showing her affection that he did not feel. She knew what he was, she knew he felt nothing for his people. And yet she wanted the fallen angel's power—she wanted Kira to kneel to her. The fairy tale she described was only the consequence of her true desire: power over god himself… not gratitude, and certainly not love.
After Misa had left Light's room all those months ago in a daze of hormones, a drugged smile on her face as she left, Light had turned to Cassandra. His golden eyes had seethed, watching her alien features, the calculation blatant in his gaze. Her words had come back to them both—it is far better to be feared than to be loved. He turned from her, brooding on the advice she had given him—and they both knew that Misa did not fear him.
But in the room L had given them, the two prisoners he did not care for, the ones useless to him, like broken toys to be tossed aside—it was in this room that she began to fear losing him. She hated the frustration in his eyes, the way he ignored her. Once, his world had revolved around her (for the few moments she had posed a threat); and now that threat was gone. She was reduced to the title of pawn. She would never be a queen, she would never be a goddess, and no one joined Kira on that pedestal.