A/N: Originally, it was so much shorter. Just kind-of a blither thing I wrote at midnight. Then, I started thinking, and adding, and came to this.
If you are reading: Congratulations! Fae finally decided she was happy with 'Vanilla'.
Classification: Namine-centric tragic love; implied SoraRiku
Disclaimer: I wish I owned Kingdom Hearts, but I don't, and so shall not and do not make any money from this fiction. It all belongs to SquareEnix.
Whipped white on cream.
He scared me.
Florescence of cobalt, and auburn, and rustic red, his composition: so much more different than mine, couldn't take the absolute colorlessness of me.
He'd look to me, —gaze, really—admiring an apparition without corporeal dye.
He thought it was funny.
I feel those hardened hands shroud mine own and guide them from that page.
If I put them to my nose, he still lingers.
I can't purge that.
I guess he loved me—just not in that way.
I try to be for him: only him.
Smooth the ancient folds of dress; touch my discolored hair.
Then he'd smile at me.
I never quite understood what he meant.
Maybe there was a spark, a gentle question in his eye; something like pastels and just as easily blended.
I made him into art: huddled and pensive; young and skeptically curious; riddled, ridden; sketches and stances and unnoticed amounts of egocentric drabble.
And he loved the boy the most.
Even before the picture.
In Envy's shadow, I erased her; slid my slender toes into the soles of her footsteps.
I will embody that which you so firmly desire.
Severing her from him was wrong.
She was not the one he sought.
I'm scratching again.
Highlight on substance that refuses to decide.
Plagued by giddy darkness.
Hands, claws, sharp caresses; the throngs of his flesh glaringly blister.
He is sick and starved.
Drunk with unbearable lucidity.
Sora will never see…
I touch myself, nursing those stains he cut into me.
If I eclipse my eyes, I won't hesitate.
Even though I can't forget.
I only use two colors.
One for me, and one for him.
They make me write more.