vvielding ;   "It’s so beautiful.”

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         _{There was no way to say what had happened—what had been happening. Somewhere, somewhere deep inside, a part of her had known that everything would fall apart—simply crumble to pieces in their hands. In her hands. In the hands of everyone who had even the barest, smallest role in all of this. Crumble into pieces so small that there was no way to hold them together, to glue them back into a whole thing. Like glass sifted into sand, there was no way, not without a catalyst, not without something to forcibly shove everything back together.}

         _{And a part of her wondered when it began. Was it at the very beginning? Was it when the destiny that he was not born for was suddenly thrust into his hands and he started off on a journey—so innocent, just wanting his friends back, to be besides them again? Or was it later than that? Turning into a form of pure darkness, losing his heart, was that when it began? Or was it—}

                                                               _{Was it her fault?}

                                                      _{( It wasn’t hard to imagine. )}

         _{The wind rustled her blonde hair and she lowered her eyelids against the onslaught of wind and dust and things that she did not want to know. Everything had fallen apart and there was no way to deny it, no way to deny the way that darkness had stained the pristine white that had been her dress, ate away at the shoes on her feet. Her hair was haphazard, wind blowing it everywhere and off of its perch on her shoulder. Too much had happened, too much had been taken away from him and then forced back, and somehow she had always known that it would always dissolve into this.}

                           _{In the end, she could not bring herself to be surprised.}

         _{”Sora,” she called out softly, continuing to step forwards even as she knew that that was a bad idea—that it shouldn’t have been done, that she should turn back. Turn back and not do the thing that she knew she had to, because she would never be able to live with herself after this, how could she? There was no way to reconcile her logic with what would be fair and just, because her logic was skewed, twisted, dampened into something so dark that she knew. She knew that people would hate her, in the end. It was the kind of hate that she welcomed with open arms, and a smile appeared on her face as she stepped towards the form of the familiar boy. Of the boy who had been something of her light, all that time ago.}

         _{That light he had emitted was marred though, no longer light but rather a shadow. Not quite darkness, but something absolutely twisted. Darkness was not something necessarily evil or good, just as light was not particularly bad or helpful, but this type of darkness—the darkness that had eaten away at him had been something malevolent, and she had come to terms with that long ago. This was always meant to happen, perhaps from the moment he took the keyblade, perhaps from the moment that he had taken his own heart, perhaps from the moment that she had begun to take apart his memories. Naminé would never know, and a part of her was sure that she could live with that.}

         _{All around them were shadows, bodies that were perhaps people, perhaps Heartless that had not disappeared as they should have, perhaps Nobodies that may have been humanoid or grunts. She did not look at them though, she did not think about the smell that lingered in the air or every time her foot brushed against something on the ground that was not a rock by any means, and she drifted towards him as darkness stained her and blood seeped into her clothing. She still moved onwards, towards him, towards the boy who, maybe, made her feel like she had a heart—yet at the same time made her feel like she was the most heartless being on the planet.}

                                    _{To her, he was a paradox.}

         _{Reaching him, she reached out with a steady hand and placed it on his arm, stepping up close to him as he turned around. The hero’s eyes were wide and somewhat manic, yet darkened by everything that he had seen, had done, had had done to him. There was a smile on his face, twisted and not quite right, and she smiled at him in return, eyes softened because they always did, around him. This was the boy she had taken a year from, had ruined and tried to fix, the boy who had been messed up for so long and she knew—she may have been the only one to know, in the end. And there he stood among those bodies and among the carnage, keyblade in hand and smile on his face, as if there was nothing and everything wrong.}

_{”It’s so beautiful.”}

         _{As foreign as the expression looked pasted on his face, his voice was the same as ever, and a part of Naminé weakened, a small piece of her resolve fell away. Yet she knew what she had to do and she nodded agreeably at him, still not daring to look at their surroundings. Not wanting to know what he had done, what his darkened mind had made him do, and she squeezed his arm gently. ”The most beautiful sight of all,” she whispered softly, voice faint, and she was not even aware that she had spoken, as if detached from her own body and from the reality that surrounded them. No, not true reality… not the reality that would continue on.}

         _{Leaning up slowly, she strained her neck—when had he grown so tall, when had she had stayed so short, things had changed and altered and there was no way to deny—and pressed her dry lips against his cheek. The barest of touches, before she leaned her head against his shoulder and rested there for a few moments, simply breathing before leaning away from him. Still he smiled down at her and she smiled up at him and brought a hand up to ghost her trembling fingers across his other cheek.}

                                                               _{When had she started to shake?}

         _{The exalted hero leaned into her touch innocently, eyes wide and happy and so twisted that she wondered if the eyes that she had seen, imagined, thought, were truly his. Was this the Sora that she had called out to desperately? Or was this some other person, with his face and his eyes and his heart that had taken his place? But those thoughts were useless, pointless and intangible and idiotic to linger on, because this was the true Sora. There was no excuse, no loophole, no other way. And it just made it harder.}

                           _{”Good night, Sora.”}

                  _{Confusion flashed in his eyes for only the barest of moments before she reached out for his memories, sunk deep inside of them once more, touched the chains that surrounded and made up his heart, made him who he was. She caressed them gently, feeling the warm in her hands as she held them carefully, just barely touching them before she took them in her hands firmly. There was only a moment of residual hesitation before she shattered the links, took them apart and watched as they fell deeper and deeper into Sora.}

                                                               _{And she caught his body in her arms as he fell.}

                                         _{The most beautiful sight of all.}