Tick Tock, a kingdom hearts fanfic

A christmas story! Not really, no. But a story nonetheless.

Disclaimer: don't own Kingdom Hearts or Disney's Beauty and the Beast

Larxene was not always so violent. Yes, violent was the best word.

"My little Larxene," Axel speaks. He looks back for a moment before heading into a dark portal, "Even a silly nobody like me is more alive than you".

The walls of Castle Oblivion were a stainless white. So stainless, it makes it hard to imagine the kinds of sins that will cover these walls.

Larxene hates it there.

The place where she was born. Or so she's told.

She goes to one world. Past the Disney Castle, which she has never been allowed to embark upon, and past Radiant Garden (some time ago, Axel had told her that it was once called Hollow Bastion…).

She's fond of this world. The mystic scent that underlies the dim castle. The ancient armor men that tweak their heads when she passes the hallway. The paintings that stared at her. The high flying buttresses that Cogsworth spoke of, boasted really, whenever he was given a chance. With anyone else, she would have ridiculed his vain conversation, but she can't and she couldn't. She knows the pain that lies deep within his clockwork heart. She knows that his clock hands do not function as well as they once did (she knows this because she has visited many, many times before –had the Superior noticed?). He's no ordinary clock. He does not tell time. She knows his time is numbered. As the hands tick away his life. Closer and closer. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

"What are you reading?" Larxene asks as she quietly sits on the edge of the sunken coach.

A woman looks up from her book. Stray tendrils of chocolate hair frame her creamy complexion. Even in the dim light, Larxene can see the spark in her bright eyes. "Jane Eyre."

"What's that about?" Larxene asks.

The other, older woman tucks the book between her lap and dedicates her attention on Larxene. Larxene feels a faint tinkle. Is there ticking?

"It's about a young, plain woman who falls in love with an older man. They have their differences, but, in the end, they love each other."

"If she's ugly and he's old…how does that work?" Larxene hasn't told Belle she doesn't have a heart.

"They're like…kindred hearts." Belle answers in her optimistic voice, as if she knows there is a happy ending for her. If only Larxene had a heart. But she doesn't. Then she doesn't have a kindred heart either then?

She knew, at Castle Oblivion, an unnatural hush would fall if she were to ask a question. There are no questions, only orders. To ask a question of another is to tie the beginnings of a thread. A thickening thread of intimacy, of relations. Threads of memory, hope…feeling. There is no intimacy at Castle Oblivion. There is no intimacy for those who do not feel. Only what they remember.

"This is my favorite part…when Jane returns to him." Belle sighs dreamily. "Love isn't always there between a couple, but when it is…" She looks overhead out through the stain glass window in the library. "I think it's probably feels like a strange ticking within one's heart…" Larxene remains at her side, tightly clutching the furniture's warm fabric.

Tick-tock.

A black silhouette enters the room. Larxene had rarely, if ever, seen this person within Castle Oblivion's secret library (Superior didn't need to know the minute details of what they did while they weren't planning to distort one boy's memories, right?)

"What are you reading there?" Demyx asks.

"Jane Eyre."

Demyx doesn't answer. Larxene doesn't think she's ever spoken to him before.

Zexion briefly looks up from his own book. He stares at Larxene for a moment. The briefest of moments, but the thread has connected. A thin, translucent line.

"Are you alright today?" Belle asks. She's anxious. For her, for Larxene. Belle is tiptoeing on a stool to the cupboard, reaching for Chip the teacup.

Belle finally finds Chip and places him in her palm. Belle wavers and stumbles backward. Larxene's gloved hands race to support her back. Her hands hesitantly reach to Belle's shoulders. Belle, rather loudly, says, "Thank you!" and sets Chip down on the countertop.

Mrs. Potts mumbles a "Thanks dear" before shuffling off with Chip wobbling in her shadow. Belle hasn't noticed, but Larxene has. There's a crack in Mrs. Pott.

Belle hasn't noticed because she has already left the room.

Recently, when Larxene visits Belle, she is always worried. Mrs. Potts has been disappearing commonly now (Belle notices with avid, yet dejected attention). Cogsworth has a quiet, demure attitude. He does not raise his voice to Lumiere's antics or slip a remark or two regarding the austere castle's refineries or architectural superiority. Regularly, he visits the courtyard.

In Belle's world, it's snowing. The castle is covered with a polish of pure white snow. Large, crystal flakes softly fall upon the ground. Larxene observes the surprising convenience of her organization outfit. The black leather gloves provide (for the first time in her nobody life) the useful purpose of heat and to keep her fingers tender from the frigid ice (as it turns out, though she may not have feelings, she can certainly feel the increasing numbness of her hands. Before, the gloves were a utility to keep the blood and venom from her white fingertips.

Cogsworth usually stands on the side of a sculpture or on top of a broken column and watches these small ice particles find their place on the floor. And on his mechanical body. He stands there until the glass door of his innermost workings is frosted with a layer of the substance and the clock hands on his face refuse to tell the time at all (was this a sign?).

Lumiere waits beside the ornate doorway. His hands and head hold no merry flames and his face is void of the sarcastic humour that was a trademark feature of his character. He no longer ambles down the hallways with a giggling Babette, the flirty feather duster. Babette is often seen mindlessly dusting at arbitrary objects with a crestfallen and apathetic sweep. Lumiere himself seems no better. Where had his once debonair, suave manner gone? Larxene observes his unwavering stare at Cogsworth. Larxene never felt much inclination towards Lumiere, no strong penchant to the candelabra. But now, she knows (she would rather say 'feels', but, of course, a nobody has no use for such explanations) differently. Not so much of a thread, but rather, a similarity. A sad, distant, similarity.

The sky further darkens as the grandfather clock inside strikes midnight. Larxene ushers Belle inside, who has convinced neither Cogsworth nor Lumiere to return to the castle.

Together, the two huddle beside the fireplace, as Belle slowly reads. Sweet, innocent love tales that gleam in Belle's eyes and rejuvenate her hoarse voice. Her pink lips begin to defrost as her speaking pace quickens.

Larxene cannot help but watch.

Castle Oblivion's miniature, pitiable imitation of Belle's magnificent library is empty today, except for one sole occupant. Member XII.

She scans the limited bookcases for a book of poetry. Her mind lingers on the poems that Belle had read to her. She comes upon a fitting volume.

She reads each poem with a delicate curiosity, a gradual consumption of the written word. These words hold a closeness, a morbid familiarity that Larxene cannot escape from with saccharine fables of love. Her hand falters upon the crisp page. However inescapable these words are, none hold the same resonance as the words she had heard emitted from Marluxia that day.

"Sora's coming."

---

"How is Sora?" She asks.

"What do you think?" Marluxia asks with a malicious grin on his face.

"Pining away for his dear princess Namine, I dare say," Larxene cackles viciously. Her knives are placed interwoven in my fingers. When's Larxene's at Castle Oblivion, she never go without her knives. Is it a compulsory action at Castle Oblivion? Larxene can't tell anymore.

"Soon will be your turn to play with him," Marluxia says. He walks away and raises his hand to create a portal. "Make sure Namine doesn't tell Sora the truth."

Larxene nods absentmindedly as she pretends to wiggle her knives. She doesn't have time. She's going to have tea with Belle today (But, as it will turn out, Mrs. Potts will mysteriously be absent).

Another day, some time later, but some time sooner than expected, Larxene passes the windowpane that provides a view of the court. Belle's body is behind a tree, her face obscured by her fur hood. Larxene steps forward to open the glass door, but hesitates.

He appears from the other end of the tree and playfully reaches for her. Belle laughs a gentle tinkle and races to the stonewall. He, the Beast, pursues her, but falls face first in the snow and creates his own unique snow angel. Belle returns to him and puts her hand to him. He slowly reaches for hers with his russet paw.

Larxene would have liked to return to Castle Oblivion (strangely enough) and continue reading the book of poems that Zexion had left lying on the desk when she had entered one day. But Belle had begged for her to stay the night.

That night, Larxene finds herself sitting some feet behind Lumiere while Cogsworth resumes his position in the courtyard (this time, on the top of a broken gargoyle). In the distance, in the deep confines of the castle, she hears the deep roar of the Beast and the naïve voice of Belle. Moments later, Belle's faint tap sounds on the marble steps and she softly places herself next to Larxene.

She sighs and leans, ever so lightly and slightly, on Larxene's shoulder. Larxene dares not move or even breathe. She could ask why Belle lives the way she does or does the things she does. But, and Larxene has learned this, that Belle is this way simply because she is Belle. The beauty, the belle of the wretched, collapsing castle.

Larxene has not told her this, but today, tonight, will be her last stay at the castle. With Sora's imminent arrival, Larxene knows the end of this life of ups and downs, of peace and silent chaos, of bonds and death, is coming to an end.

In the morning, before her departure, she punches the gate of the castle. She looks back and unconsciously prays that someone, anyone, will come and salvage the castle from its looming fate (and especially for one quiet, youthful woman with her head in the fantasies of many, many books).

Larxene can't do it. Not anymore. Now all that's left is to present her character in full splendor.

"The bad guys are holding her deep in the castle" Larxene tells Sora, the hero of this story. Her voice slightly trembles as she turns her back on the small boy.

"And you, thehero, have to go save her." Larxene tells him this with a sense of unexpected urgency. Can he tell? No, probably not. He has his own troubles to fight with, let alone those of the villain.

She has a certain…feel—thought that she can't shake off. Her mind lingers on a smiling Belle, a once cheerful Mrs. Potts, a happily bickering Lumiere and Cogsworth…

"But…" Larxene pauses. Those people don't fit in her life, her world anymore. She has to play her part and finish this.

"I'm a bad guy, so you have to go through me!"

"I'm fading…" Larxene's voice shudders with disbelief. Suddenly, she thinks that maybe she should have said goodbye to Belle. Not that she had not, but a special, meaningful farewell.

Belle's favorite blue dress rustles through her memories. Belle's smile, her attentive voice…her thoughtful nature…Her memories outline all the characters, even the Beast.

"This isn't…the way I…" Larxene cries out as her body dissolves. Her face cringes in apprehension. What will Belle do? She can't be strong with the almost sure future of Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth…the collapse of the string that ties them together….Lumiere, the Beast…

She sees Sora's face curiously watch hers, with an inkling (Larxene may be imagining this) of pity and sorrow. Her last thought rests on the hope, the possibility that one certain brunette boy that may resolve and bring serenity to the Beast's castle that Larxene could not.

After a sleepy year and several more adventures at new worlds, Sora finds himself cornered by heartless. Donald and Goofy cry for help, and suddenly it does arrive.

In the most peculiar of ways.

The Beast crushes the doors open and barges inside, striking both the heartless and Sora's company alike on the way to retrieve his precious rose. He then retreats back to his domain without another word to his past allies.

"Gee, do you think he maybe forgot who we are?" Goofy sincerely asks.

"With this many heartless around, something must be up," Sora confidently answers.

But somewhere inside his heart, there's something that tells him that maybe, just maybe the heartless weren't the ones who made the castle the way it is today.

After all, there must be darkness in one's heart to attract the heartless…

Sora resumes his journey and progresses the story to the reunion of Belle (she seemed thinner…) and the locked inhabitants of the castle.

Xaldin smiles as he whispers devious thoughts to Beast. He finds it funny that these words he whispers were already in the mind of the beast, much earlier than his arrival.

"It's time you dealt with Belle…"

Xaldin knows that every time he persuades the Beast, the Beast feebly argues back, but it feels (and Xaldin uses this word in the most humble of ways) as if the Beast is arguing with himself.

And Xaldin cannot help but oblige the creature.

When Sora defeats the minions sent by this nobody and later the nobody himself. He watches the amusing antics of Belle and the Beast, he can't help but wonder if things were really alright…

As Belle dances with the Beast in the once snowing courtyard, she watches the gleaming faces of rejuvenated Cogsworth (who had mysteriously returned to normal when Sora had arrived..)and Lumiere who watch with high hopes alongside Mrs. Pott, fixed and content. Belle remembers a faint memory…

Of a girl who had asked Belle of how two, so different, could love each other…Belle looks up at the Beast. She remembers her answer.

"Love isn't always there between a couple, but when it is…I think it's probably feels like a strange ticking within one's heart…"

Oddly enough, she doesn't feel any ticking of the heart towards the one dancing with her, but sometimes, especially when it's snowing, when she thinks back upon that girl whose name she can't remember, the nymph that appeared to her like a fairytale character…

Belle feels the very faintest of a tick-tock…

To whip your joyous flesh
And bruise your pardoned breast,
To make in your astonished flank
A wide and gaping wound,

And, intoxicating sweetness!
Through those new lips,
More bright, more beautiful,
To infuse my venom, my sister!

The strange end to a strange beginning. I think the stanzas of the poem above, from the The Flowers of Evil, has a likeness to the sadism of Larxene. And that is the book of poems that Larxene was reading that Zexion left behind, accidentally, for her.