Theme: #18 — smirk.

He watched her drawn in coloured-pencil lines on Naminé’s pages; she was always the first part of the picture to be erased. That was how it worked, he was told—you’ve got to draw the truth before you can change it. You’ve got to start with what’s already there.

He watched the shaking-leaf witch sketch three children on a beach, two boys and a girl. He watched her take it apart. She traded the girl’s red hair-strokes for blonde; a little-girl skirt and a little-girl shirt for a little white dress.

No more Kairi, in Sora’s memories.

He spoke with a smirk.

He asked, “Can you make her forget him, too?”

—

Theme: #21 — rash decision.

She hated him on sight—hated the ease of his coaxing voice and the smirk on his lips and the emerald-city lights in his goddamned emerald-city eyes while he stood on her beach, her island, like a visitor instead of an intruder.

She hated how she had his name memorized before he told her to commit it.

She hated the way he just knew what to say.

He said, Princess, what are you waiting for? You can’t just wait around here for no one at all.

‘Cause you know who’s coming?

No one at all.

She said, Sure? Are you sure?

She hated how sure he was. But between his offered hand and the portal across the sand—of course—she chose him.

—

Originally posted at requiempathic at livejournal; 12-03-07.