INTERVAL 1:

She wakes to the artificial sun shining through her translucent, pallid curtains. Slowly, each set of eyelashes flutter upon opening eyelids to reveal the immaculate, sapphire-tinted doorways behind them. Eyes so full of innocence, wonder, and deep emotion, you find it hard to look away. We begin with this.

Nudging her feet under, she pulls back the neutral bedspread into a corner on the mattress and stretches her toes to the floor. The sudden change in temperature causes her to recoil at first, then she steps onto the cold, tiled ground. She walks to the window and throws the hangings open, staring at the same sight she's woken up to for years.

A synthetic sun, breaking over no sky. There was no sky. Just emptiness, with the illusion of light in this bleak, darkened place. She closes those blue portals of hers again and whispers the same thing she's whispered every morning of her existence:

"My name is Naminé."

-*-*-*-*-*-

Naminé unfolds the creased bed-covering back into it's place, the bed looking like she'd never slept there. The whole room shared that quality. The eggshell walls, the bleached armoire (which served absolutely no purpose), the lack-luster bed.

A single thing proved she was alive there. Her sketches: the only things that brought color, brought life into the monochrome expanse. She loved colors, the reds, blues, greens, and violets, all running together to create amazing vibrancy. Naminé believed color was the root of life. Standing in the pale room did not make her feel very alive. Or like she existed.

She walks to her painted vanity and makes a quick conclusion: she doesn't like what she sees. Running an ashen brush through her tangles, Naminé speaks with her most precious friend: herself.

"Who are you?" The question comes out small and hushed; she clears her throat to begin anew. "Who are you?" she asks again. There is no response. She realizes she doesn't have one.

Without warning, her mouth opens and her reflection speaks; her stomach drops at the sound. "I am you."

As uncomforting as it is, Naminé doesn't want to leave the cold security of her room. She can't stay in her room all day unless she is granted permission. She knows that no one's opinion will really change if she goes out there versus her not being out there, but someone will eventually notice if she never appears. Nobody came to check on her much, except the occasional visits from Axel, so this will be the only way for them to report to Xemnas that she hadn't been kidnapped or escaped.

Holding her sketchbook in one hand and the doorknob in the other, she looks back once more at the cage she will most likely enter again soon.

Glancing around the room, she catches her reflection in the glass, remembering her sudden outburst earlier. She quickly closes the door with a small click and takes a deep breath to face the strange people she has spent her life with for the past odd years.

She walks down the hallway.

--
Hey, It's Tempest. I had to go through some heavy editing here, so everything's been on hold for awhile. But everything's fixed, so please continue reading! I promise the story makes sense now!

Please read!