Looking out over the water doesn’t feel calming—not without a paopu tree on the horizon, or the shouts of familiar people running about. Nothing Riku can see feels all real and he hates that. After years of wanting to get away from the old island, he can’t stop comparing all the otherworld sights to it. And that alone upsets him.

Kairi is unconcious in his arms—he should put her down but he’s really so scared that the ship just might shake and break her. She’s a puppet now. A doll or a mannequin or a shell.

And of all shells, she’d be a Thylassa, he thinks, though she can’t be of much luck to sailors when she’s not even breathing. But he’s going to fix that, he swears it.

Her eyes are shut so light, like they could flutter open any second. It’s one twisted fairytale.

“What manner of poison apple have you swallowed?” he whispers half-jokingly.

But his smile dies quickly.

—

Originally posted at requiempathic at livejournal; 12-01-07.