The pleas of the blond boy shrouded in midnight’s cloak increased with time; Naminé could hear it worlds away, the scratchings of pencil on paper not enough to drown out the constant worries of Roxas’ mind. The fixation on Axel was enough to form into a tangible figure of the redhead himself, transcribed on paper to hang on a wall and display almost proudly. Hidden under a mane of flames he towered above his new-found partner, only slightly aware of his meaning but finding more with each passing day.
In the left area of the picture was the desperate Roxas, expression set neutral yet easy to twist if one thought about it hard enough: concentration, anger, unease, despair. It flitted through an immobile face at breakneck speeds, and the artist wondered if her own face could display those many emotions as well.
' Nice to meet you…'
To the right of the shorter male, encased by the familiar company, was a person under obsidian garb, hood drawn so low over their face all one could see were shadows. The picture crafted with the eternal lowlights of the town’s sunset as her guide all those months ago held a sense of foreboding, in that the person with no face was just that but also so much more.
" Naminé, are you able to see my face? "
'Xion…'
One could find it to be ironic, if they were so cruel.
…Would she remember that name once she was gone too? She owed her that much. It was Xion’s 349th day of life beyond the machinery that had created her, and the things Naminé had pushed her to do were nothing but selfish.
And had she tried to find a different solution. Past the days where she would huddle under Sora’s memory pod and mark his life on textured pages she’d also gather information from mage’s books. Days were spent pouring over literature thicker than her arm’s width all for naught. There was nothing she could do but lead Xion in the right direction, and how she hated to do that once she foolishly found a friend in her.
" What should I do, to go back? "
If Naminé squeezed her eyes shut enough she could vividly recreate her face in her mind. It was like looking in a mirror.
Xion found her, a grim air of resignation around her, and grabbed the blonde’s hands, swaying all the while. She had spoken her words in whirlwinds that would have left any other in the dust had they not been aware of the information rushing in torrents from her artificial mouth. Legs quivering, Xion had released all she knew and collapsed, painted lips set in a firm line.
It was that firmness that Naminé pressed a light kiss to, sending memories of emotion she didn’t have to the one who was stored with bountiful loads of it.
' So you're going back to Sora? '
'I wish there was more I could do,' the incompetent witch murmured once catching the falling body, leaning down to the now resting girl with her face nestled in her lap. Raven's-feather tresses against the silk softness of her dress, wrinkles loosely caressing her cheeks, and she appeared to be a made-up corpse in coffin's coziness. Not caring where her lips landed, she made her eyes drift shut, another soft kiss to what felt like Xion's chin.
'Please feel what I cannot say, Xion. Can I really say I am sorry, when I have no heart to convey this “feeling” with? I tried all I could…' A hand nudged hers, and Naminé gripped it tightly without thinking. Her body slumped, tired eyes drifting shut, foreheads pressed against eachother, and she was a shell wasn't she? All Xion wanted was to exist in peace by her friends' sides. How she could empathise.
'Would it be presumptuous of me to say “thank you”, seeing as I can't muster gratitude to?
…No? Alright.’
With heavy legs Naminé rose, carefully assisting the fellow Nobody beside her, and sat her in a chair. ' If you return your memories to him, then you will disappear. ' Once assuring Xion was situated, Naminé quietly excused herself, giving the replicated girl time to think. Shutting the door behind her, the wretched memory restorer released a sobbing sigh she’d trapped in her chest. Under layers of tissue and blood she emptily filled the corridor with visceral streams of tears that wouldn’t rise. Closed veins lock bitterness better left un-felt, and the nothingness threatens to choke her.
Roxas is worried again, as is Xion.
Thinking of her (wasn’t enough), wherever she is (did not work), leaves the tingle of (dead) skin against her (trembling) lips and makes things so much worse.
There are things we can’t take back, no matter how hard we try to.
He wasn't fond to chat with humans, the black haired man most likely prefers to not talk but they were staring at him and he has manners."Need something?" Except for the part that Vanitas doesn't talk too much if he doesn't trust humans enough.
