He doesn't know her at all.
"Don't fuck with me."
She hangs limply, her cute little sandals pretty little inches from the white floor.
She almost slips right through, her white skin and white hair and white dress.
She doesn't say a word, so he says them for her.
"Don't touch my memories! I know what I am and what I'm not!"
"I love you." She replies, pretty little dying bird, rests her tiny hands atop his small wrist, just sets them there and lets him choke her to death.
"I don't know you."
She laughs, she smiles.
"I don't know you either, but what's the use of being empty if you can't fill yourself with what you please."
He doesn't like her logic.
He doesn't like the memories flashing before his eyes.
Of giving her things.
His love.
He suddenly can't remember whether he dislikes her or not and…
He gives her another shake, his hand clasping her throat.
"Don't," he warns like fire.
She warms, her eyes glassing over as her reserves of air disappear.
"I love you," she repeats at a whisper.
He lets her; she slumps to the floor, a pile of white that disappears against the tiles.
Her blue eyes are the same faded Prussian as his and something harsh tugs him.
"Think you can find me…" he hesitates a moment more, unwilling to say it, but knowing it won't stop until he does. Until he gives her what she wants, recognizes her threats. He gives or she takes, there is nothing else. "Sister."
She smiles up at him, reaching out a hand.
An instinct he's never had flares: he goes for her contact.
"You're hiding from me, brother?" she giggles breathily, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her tiny breasts to him indecently.
They're somewhere else before he can remember why.
The papers strewn here and there should feel familiar, except he doesn't know her.
Never met her before this day, before he got the first flashes of her in his dreams.
He doesn't know her, or her name.
Her ringing voice is nothing, she's nothing, he's nothing.
She presses her mouth to his, the corners turned up wickedly.
Something new shivers into him.
"Witch," he accuses, unable to stop kissing her in return.
"You hurt me, brother…"
He pushes her back and she cuts him.
His blood becomes her ink.
When Axel finds them, bodies wound together.
His blood caking on her skin.
She arches beneath him, looking at Axel with Roxas' blue eyes.
Roxas looks at Kairi with Sora's sea and sky.
Axel isn't sure who he is in this game, but finds kinship with the blood and cum drying across Naminé's breasts.
"A party, huh."
Roxas rolls off of her, watching without recognition.
Axel's surprised he doesn't mind.
"Aren't you going to ask what I've done?" Naminé inquires, disappointed with him, oh so disappointed.
Her body hair gleams fairly golden for one pretty moment of lies.
Axel shakes his head, throws his coat over them and smiles.
"I know you aren't just lonely, you bitch."
She giggles.
"We're playing my game now."
He kneels down beside her; she pets his hair and beckons Roxas to her with a crook of her finger.
"Bonds of blood, Brother," she says, kissing him, all the while pulling Axel's hair steadily until all of them are together at the same level.
"What are the rules, witch?" Axel growls, already lunging for Roxas like a wolf to a sheep and…
"I offer him to you, at a price."
He shivers to a halt, salivates for it and finally says. "As if I want your tainted goods."
She chortles. "Then it's decided who will survive."
"Leave his memories alone."
"You're going to die. He'll do nothing to save you."
"…I'll change is mind."
The dream ends before Naminé responds.
Axel comes to visit her late in the day, the pitying look on his face is…
She throws her head back and laughs.
She draws the picture for him.
"To help you remember," she laughs haughtily.
He holds it in his hand…
His face sharpens to see a Sora, with no one at his side.
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