A/N: This story worked its' way from the depths of my soul; just my reflections on some things, and a look into Namine's thoughts.
The wrods sliced through the air like a knife, and her 'protector' fell to the ground, lifeless, moionless... and her soul screamed inside. Even as the power left her to shatter the hear she had created, she tried to call it back, because whatever the Replica was doing, it was wrong to realease that power.
She felt the shock from Sora behind her, and she looked down at her feet.
"N-Namine? What... what did you do?"
She flinched, couldnt' answer, couldn't turn to meet the eyes of her Hero, couldn't tell him what she had done, but... she had to. She had opened her mouth to speak, when a familiar laugh cut through the room. The voice behind the laugh materialized, then set about explaining to Sora everything that she herself could do... would do... had already done. And even though she stood in front of him to protect him, she wondered if it was only because she couldn't turn to face him.
And then she was thrown through the air to slam agaisnt a nearby wall... and Sora was in front of her, fighting to save a girl with no heart who had done what she had, on the basis of a promise that had never been made and a love that had never existed.
It was then that she truly realized the power she had - how, with a word, a thought, she could take it all away from him, how sshe held in her hands the key not just to his memories but to his soul. How she had given herself the power not only over his existence, the way she had had over the replica, but over his heart. And it sickened her. She could almost see the traces left on her, feel the pain, from one shattering - how dare she hold the key to another, real or emotional?
As a Nobody, she could not feel the pain felt by those with hearts to give to others, but she had held in her hand such a heart, and tossed it away. She held in her hands now another, and ferventl wished she would never again have to do the same. It wasn't her place; it wasn't her right. She would give him back what she'd stolen...
...for the pieces of a shattered heart have sharp edges, and always cut the careful hands the worst.