A/N: Again, not sure where this came from. I'm not sure if it even makes sense.
Naminé likes to watch the stars.
Or, she imagines she would, seeing that she's never seen a real star to begin with.
But she's drawn them; sometimes twinkling in the night sky overhead, sometimes in a strange boy's hand, sometimes in the eyes of a girl who looks like her, but isn't.
They call to her; they wink at her from yellowed pages hanging on a white-washed wall. They sing in joyous harmony, beckoning her to join them in the darkness.
Naminé's chest aches as she hears it, because she can't (shan't, won't, mustn't) float timelessly along with them. Her feet are chained to the floor by invisible hands around her ankles, forcing her to keep herself planted firmly on the ground. It isn't fair. It isn't right.
So she shines. Or at least, she tries to. Because maybe if she shines bright enough (I wish I may, I wish I might) she'll become a star herself. A beacon of light in a vast expanse of darkness. And then the hands will release her, and she'll shoot up into the air and she'll grant people's wishes and guide people home when they're lost and-
But sooner or later, that light gives out. It fades to black on a telescope's lens, and no one will miss it; not really. Because there is another star exactly like it that shines on far beyond itself. And unless you've been paying attention, you won't even notice that it's gone.
As Naminé flickers in and out of (non)existence, she tilts her head to the sky…
Because she knows that she will live on in another star; a brighter star. And while she won't remember Naminé or the white room filled with crayon-covered paper, she'll remember the boy. The strange boy with the star in his hand (and his mouth and his grin), and together they'll shine.