The moment he'd been released, Vanitas bolted. He didn't know where he was, but damn if that would last had he any say in things. He wasn't the type to just be moved; no, he made things move. He knew things. He had a fixed point in mind and wrecked entire mountains as long as it meant getting one step closer.
This place was just a detour. Vanitas had no idea how he'd come to be here, or why. He could smell light a mile away, however, and took that as initiative to map out the area. He finds himself spending most of his time in Tomorrowland; it's an easy place to hide that isn't as bright as the other more obnoxious attractions. But soon, even that grows tiring and Vanitas is migrating again when he catches wind of somewhere of much more interest. It's difficult to cover as much ground without the aid of the Unversed, but many here were just chatty enough to benefit from.
There's something irritating about the voice coaxing him into the labyrinth. He follows for the sake of it, for promised answers and perhaps access to more of his lost power. He's skeptical, but it's the first lead since he arrived.
And it isn't as though anything here could pose a threat to him.
But soon, even Vanitas is stupefied. Irritated, testy. It's getting the best of him, and he knows it. It's a strange sensation, having his essence poked and tasted like some sort of entree. He could feel it like someone far too close, right in his personal space. He has since heard his master--but it couldn't be him. He knew then that this place had some illusionary properties and put himself on guard. Xehanort wasn't ready yet; there was no way that old geezer was here. And he was far too crafty to be caught by these fools.
...not that Vanitas would ever admit to having any faith in him. After all, til the end he'd insisted on pursuing...that thing. And Vanitas knew all too well how that had gone. No, he only had faith in his master's ability to shield himself from harm; otherwise Vanitas spared no thought for him.
It was easy to ignore his master's berating; sharp lashings of "you're an abomination, you're incomplete, imperfect" had long since ceased to have an effect. It's when the walls leading him begin to change into mirrors that things become interesting. He first sees himself, but without the sanctity of his mask. Vanitas has to stop, to touch his face just to make sure the mask was still there.
Another illusion. He blinks, lips pressed into a thin line as he attempts to ignore it--his disgusting face, unable to disguise what he truly was; if he was afraid, you could see. If he was angry, it was obvious. He hated it so much.
At first, it was a minor annoyance. Vanitas is practiced in willing himself numb; otherwise, the sharp agony of destroying the Unversed--invariably parts of himself, would make him break too easily.
Still, time does eventually begin to erode his resolve. Irritation alone felt like pinpricks on his skin; the normally repressed feeling of vulnerability made it harder to breathe.
When his cool exterior cracks, so does a mirror as Void Gear is sent crashing into it. Vanitas continues his journey onward, the reflected face tight with wordless rage. He refuses to be bested by this, but being reminded of what he chose to ignore for so long was infuriating.
The further he walks, the stranger it becomes. Now he not only sees his face, but something more familiar. It is inhuman and revolting; it's the form he took before he adopted this face--black, with three red eyes and lips twisted into a scream.
He is able to ignore things for now thanks to his training (and these were meant for those with a normal heart, so he has some resistance), but he's wearing thin very quickly.
Another mirror shatters.
