verisimilitude

12. nine ( muse – in your world )

Nine. An unlucky number that promises pain and distress, fear and despair.

He wondered why she is fascinated with him, a girl with the power of elusive lightning, her thoughts always a myriad of unsung melodies, a jaunty tune that holds a macabre beat, eyes of sapphire glinting morbidly at him, mischievously sticking her tongue out.

He wonders why she likes him. Him, a creature of the mad and ethereal sea that can not be held, that distorts with different names and aliases, the current constantly changing and dancing to an offbeat rhythm. Forever altering, promising tales of romance and secrets, while taking away the life of sailors cherished by their wives; flowing and ebbing, waxing and waning, weeping a sorrowful tune for being so benevolent and judgemental. He is unpredictable, slipping away like grains of sand beneath her elf-like feet.

The lightning too is a force to be reckoned with, one similarity with the swirling water, forging their paths. Unstable misfits, two peas in a pod, one who brings pain wherever they go, the other who inflicts it as a reflex action. Both knew they were disliked, but both refuse to reform to the demand – keeping their beliefs close to them, confiding only to each other.

Demyx wonders why Larxene never feared him, why she never draws away from him. What did his number, unfortunate as it is, mean to her?

Her mouth, cruel but witty and a lover of bending words, curves, amused by the very notion of the question. "It's a number that drew me to you. A number that made us meet."

"Above all," and the Nocturne can not help but grin, as quick as fleeting as lightning itself, their joke eternal. "The number nine…"

Cursed. It sounds like pain. It sounds like fear. Forever.

"… is my lucky number."

i

37. misery ( the calling – wherever you will go )

Demyx hates being alone. That is partly the reason why he focuses on the music he creates, perfecting it to his very best, trying to create his legacy – something to remember him by in the haunted grounds of white floors and white washed walls.

But when Larxene is with him, there is no need to spend time to harness his lyrical gift which he spent countless hours to write. She is loud enough for the both of them, ranging from her quiet breaths to loud gasps after an exhilarating time to 'inspire' him; her mockery often changed, varying in tempo, from quick to slow, and altering from forte to piano, acting whichever emotion which suits her best in that moment. Everything is precise in her presence, and nothing could destroy the ghostly waltz that flits from a blink, to a snap, to a kiss, to a twirl, to a dip, eventually resting in his arms.

But she runs, always loving the retreating options, not to break his heart, but to experience the freedom that the carnal desire in her longs for. She never guesses that she'll hear the melody wafting through the rumbling fields of ivory laced flowers, his voice humming a song that entrances her long enough to dance and graceful move to his beat, while maintaining her own beat, that rebellious twist of freedom. And when he lures her enough to stay, he would tempt her with a playful kiss, each one emitting a different sound, a different reaction.

Until she runs away again.

He would follow her to the ends of the earth, because as long as he is with her, the misery of loneliness disappeared through the drifting sea and shooting stars of lightning tangos that twisted and abruptly changed their direction under a brilliant night sky. She would run away with his heart, certain that he'd chase her, not for his heart, but for hers. He had no idea that he already had it, the very reason why she returns back to him. He holds her heart in folds of whispering sea shells and sediments, the sounds of waves overlapping each other.

So she runs, and he pursues, their very intimate game of cat and mouse.

And wherever she goes, he would be right behind her.

Because with her, he is not alone.

i

25. switch ( breaking benjamin – diary of jane )

She tries to convince herself that she hated him with all her being as the blue clock ticks by, seconds drawn out like kunais acutely changing their angles to reach her targets. She still doesn't know why she does this – sneaking out before the chimes of the grandfather clock strike twelve and boom through the echoing walls of the World That Never Was, and collapsing herself on the bed trying to immerse herself with his smell, musty and soothing, that smoothed out the erratic currents that resided within her as she tried to remember that she didn't like him any more. His room, which defied the white and cleanliness that their fortress held with its messy floor and painted walls, was the only thing she had to remember the rebellious Nocturne.

As each second passed, she forgot a little bit more; each time she inhaled his scent faded and her reasons crumbled to darkness.

The door quietly opened and Larxene sat up, holding her tongue, quivering in anger at what he had done. She was going to murder that sneaky—

"Larxene. I found you." And everything changed. Because it was Axel. "I'm… Something happened."

A crackle of lightning snaps in her eyes, narrowing at his words, barely veering off an apology. Why? What had he done? She restrains herself, trying not to reach up and grab that thick leather coat and shake him while sending volts of her volatile electrical anger into his skinny corpse, shouting into his bony ears. No, instead, she calms herself, recalling that Axel required patience and banter, treating him as if there was a strategic chess piece in a game. Axel was there. He brought news – good news, right?

"What?" Crisply, she asks, aiming straight to the point, enunciating every syllable. "What do you want?"

"Castle Oblivion has fallen." Axel pauses, shielded by darkness, his location unknown. "Marluxia… Zexion… Vexen…Lexaeus—" He cut to the point. Blunt and brutal. "Demyx is dead."

A pause. Far too long to be considered normal; far too long for the lightning to snap back, far too long for the thunder to howl. Axel said nothing, awaiting her words, bitter, tortuous, angry as they might be. He had played his part in the stage, now she must play hers.

"Get out." She hisses, inhumane eyes flickering to luminosity, her tone unwelcome and out for blood – for death, to kill. "Get the fuck out, Axel." The Superior would have her head if she decides to plot treason, especially after this recent debacle.

"He was innocent—only Marluxia…" The fire Nobody tries to explain, weakly, before realizing that he had lost the battle, his shoulder slumping. "I tried… but he… it was too late."

Letting out a raw scream, the Savage Nymph forces an electrical bulb explode, the broken shards cutting across Number Eight's flesh, slithering in blood, an ironic resemblance of her broken heart. She knew Axel wouldn't lie, not to her, only confirming what she had suspected. She knew—

Axel is already gone, leaving her to her twisted thoughts. Furiously, she blinks, trying not to succumb to the torrid of tears that were to come. She'd still mourn, even if she didn't have a heart.

She knew she shouldn't have let Demyx steal away her fears and doubts with playful kisses, puppy-dog eyes and plenty of teasing. She knew she shouldn't have stopped herself from telling that she… as he left one last time, as her stomach churns in anxiety, something amiss.

She knew that she should have gone to Castle Oblivion instead of him.

i

96. catching dreams ( panic at the disco – she had the world )

She thought she had everything, until she met Demyx.

A cute nose, a pouty smile, eyes that glittered and resembled the bewitching night sky, skin as pale as the finest white rose, hair that was as soft as silk and as golden as butter. Wasn't that perfection enough?

She thought she could make everyone wrapped around her little finger – Marluxia with his promises of capturing the castle, Axel with his flare of saving her from the betrayal that was yet to come, Zexion with his love of literature and poetry recitals, men like those, varying in passion and power, but equally as greedy to have her – want her… were men. So…

Why didn't he want her?

"You're pretty." He said, but continued to play his tune. As she tried to match it with a dance, she tripped and stumbled, unused to the slow and rhythmic beat, expecting to falling face flat to the floor. Instead, he caught her, a soft smile on his face, head tilting in amusement, eyes sparkling with something that she had never known of. "But I can never love you."

She tried to kiss him, once, but like the water, he slipped out of her reach, fading away into the distance, the haunting melody still playing like a melancholic carnival. But she was drowning in his eyes, affecting her in ways that she had never known before. It might not have been torture, but it certainly was akin to that.

She had everything – men, power, looks, wasn't that everything?

"What about love?" Demyx asked her quietly, his eyes that captured different light staring into hers, while she avoided his. "Do you have love?"

"… no." She said with a broken smile. "How can I?"

"… believe?"

"I can't. That would be mad."

"Then…" He sighed, closing his eyes and tilting her chin up, pressing her glowing cheek with his lips, "… you can't have me."

She gazed at him with sorrowful eyes, but he shrugged, disappearing like ocean waves retreating from the sand. She never told him that she dreamt of him, or her, smiling and laughing while dancing in the rain with the way it's supposed to be.

And he was gone, but lodged in a non-existent heart that belonged to her, kept within a box hastily stuffed within her draws of memoirs of her previous life.

She thought… she thought she was perfect.

Who needs perfection when you can't have the man of your dreams?

i

78. spark ( bonnie tyler – holding out for a hero )

It was unlike anything she had ever encountered before, sending a shiver down her spine, and electrifying the nerves that tingled with excitement. It soared her spirit, quick fast rapid, but unforgettable for the rest of her mind. And she wanted to feel taste touch the sensation one more time.

It so different compared with Axel – the flames that burnt brightly on a starless sky could not reach out to her, as she flashed beneath him, twisting and twirling as the thunder shot off in haphazard directions. With fire she could not even begin to feel his warmth.

With Marluxia came nothing but soft petals that grazed her numb skin, floating further away as the fire ate the fragranced petal, licking it away as it came into contact with her flesh. The Graceful Assassin was disintegrated into dust while a flame watched her with eager eyes.

But him… Demyx of all people…

Her breath hitched; lost from the ephemeral contact. He gazed at her, one eyebrow arched ( usually something she did ) a smirk ( her smirk that she wore on her face ) touching the tip of his lips. There was something addictive about the way his lips toyed with hers, seductive with how he changed her opinions about his so frequently, haunting her long after midnight.

With narrowed eyes, Larxene stared at him, wondering where it came from; or had he always had it, kept in the undertow of his stifled emotions?

"Well?" Demyx asked, voice innocent, yet aware of the effects that it was having on her body. "Did you find it?"

Rolling her eyes, she half snarled, crushing her lips against him, she growled, "What do you think?"

With no other man… fresh from a fight ( with Marluxia and Axel no less ) had Larxene felt such a spark that fused their nonexistent hearts between them, mingling within her deepest fantasies…

She found that spark of life – her existence with him.

i

44. stealing hearts ( papa roach – getting away with murder )

They killed. They hunted. They slaughtered thousands of innocent people who they didn't even know.

They danced in pretty patterns of bloodshed which formed the basis of their macabre dance. His strum, her twirl; her laugh, his hand – a tango that relayed the emotions that they should not have, nearing them to their goals, their hearts' desires.

The more they killed, the more they became closer to life.

Eclipsed in half-lights of the pink sparkle that the heart carried, rising up in the air to join Kingdom Hearts, they watched them, the red splatter on the floor, their emotionless faces.

They were only killing people to bring themselves back to life.

To make their selves gain the emotions that were rightfully theirs, stolen from the darkness, which they hoped to have.

They might be going to hell, and the whole cause might be mad, but still…

With those stolen hearts, once they held them, alive and beating, and theirs, they could admit to each other…

With honesty. With passion.

That they loved each other.

i

81. ocean waves ( aqualung – strange and beautiful )

She sat, her head hidden from the sun by her large hat, hiding her face from the rest of the world.

Beneath the hat, silent tears fell, hidden from the rain, light drizzle, heavy downpour, and her whispered proclamations of love.

She recalled a time when she had enjoyed going to a beach, with skies filled with no clouds, the wind twisting her bug-like bangs that often made him, Demyx, smile in her direction, amused by her hairstyle. But then, she thought cynically, he always saw through her, never going to talk to her, never leaving the sea – his almost lover – to part from the surfboard in his hand, the sun making his skin glisten and muscles shine.

With the grains of sand that became magnetically attracted to her, a fusion of skin of rain, she remembered the last time she saw him, tall, smiling, casting a spell through his humming lips. She had never asked him to create an incantation – the creation of dreams that would spiral around him – that often contained him. But he had done it, regardless, with her waking up one day with the realization of something she had never wanted to consider.

And that very day, his almost lover took him away, under gentle caresses that the undulating current had, wanting him again and again, 'til the surfer could breathe no more, taking his very life in the throes of passion.

She hated the sea, but the waves of ocean reminded her of his eyes, gentle at most times, very rarely angry. But in a split second, those eyes could destroy anything in a fit of rage. He frightened her. He entranced her.

And so, as she gazed into the colour of his eyes, she walked in… swallowed entirely by him… drowning in his almost love.

i

53. romeo and juliet ( nickelback – saving me )

With pillow talk, as fleeting and rare as it was, came the most obscure ideas, shared unashamedly by the two Nobodies, resting in each others arms, tangible thoughts processing from their mind, floating just before they begin to fall, two angels of light and vapour in the embellished sky.

"We're like Romeo and Juliet, you know?" Demyx murmured, once, hands tangled in her inexplicable antennae, his lips brushing against her impish ears, fine features that he believed that lead role should have. Even angels, flying through risen golden gates, knowing what was wrong and what was right, should have features that resembled the beautiful Nymph.

"Really?" Larxene replied, mildly intrigued by the concept. "And I suppose… I'm Romeo?" She stole a small smirk as she sensed two lips curving, heating up her smooth neck.

"You would be the one who set out to rescue me. And I'd try, but… I think we know that poison doesn't affect us. So you wouldn't die by that. We'd still die by our own hands, though. Even if the two plagued houses aren't technically here."

"Why?" Lazily, she asked, eyes darkening at the very thought of non-existence, ignoring the latter. "Find it romantic?"

"In a way. But then, if you talk Shakespearean to me, I'll show you how a true palmer's kiss is like." Demyx grinned, tickling her ear with his hot breath. "And that way, Juliet could save Romeo."

"Moron. Juliet already saved Romeo. She just never knew it. Whilst Romeo still has to save Juliet."

"We'll be the new works of Shakespeare. A new kind of art—"

"You are already one, Julie-Demmy, baby." Larxene cut in, rolling her eyes.

"—with a happy ending." It sounded nice, and fulfilling the request that the one lead asked for another, they decided to 're-enact' the scenes which Shakespeare had decided to omit from his tragic play.

"Juliet, Juliet, where art thou, Juliet?" Larxene grinned, mischievously glinting in her electric eyes, never knowing that she had the lines and the characters wrong. Demyx wasn't to know that, mistaking it for something far more… saucy.

"Right here, sweet Romeo, asking for a kiss." Demyx played along, aroused, their 'play' only just beginning, hoping to be delivered to their true finally, without daggers or poison, forgotten in a flurry of kisses and passion.

Of course, the fated lovers did not die by their own hand, nor get granted their happy ending. The Prince killed them instead.

After all, there are no 'happily-ever-after' for those born from the darkness.

i

100. blues swindler ( the hush sound – molasses )

She doesn't know why she's developed a fascination with Demyx, following him under the cover of darkness, disguised by wigs and lip gloss and mascara and slim dresses that show the curves of her flesh quite graciously. She sits at the back of the bar, breathing smoke through her barely parted lips, a cigarette nestling through her thin and elongated fingers.

But there he is – the musician, dressed in black, a black hat, a black tight-fitting jacket, black trousers and black shoes that make his movements graceful. The only exceptions are his grey waist-coat, his white shirt barely seen, and that dash of red spun sickly sweet around his black hat.

He gives them an angelic smile as he plays numerous instruments, the piano, the violin, the cello, the trombone… each time he comes and goes to entertain his audience, there's always something a little bit different, a little bit more groovy as his hands touch those magical tools, his singing voice somehow otherworldly, inhuman.

And Larxene wonders, as the tunes end, the money comes chinking forth, pouring like a fountain, like honey or black treacle, another form of sickly sweet poison, if they'd offer their hearts just as easily, just as greedily, for the sake of hearing his jazzy tune one more time, before he leaves them wanting more.

Selfish humans. Always wanting more.

She never lets herself think that she's jealous because he lavishes his attention on the foolish audience and always leaves before she sees him take a naïve girl and lead her to the darkness…

But still, the Nocturne has already swindled her heart without her knowing, playing his tune of enchanting allure.

Disclaimer: kingdom hearts is not mine.