kingdom hearts: com - cold this december
title: cold this december
rating: pg
wordcount: 674
characters: riku replica, sally
notes: for euphonious_glow as part of the 2008 kh_drabble secret santa. ♥ thank you, syvia, for idea help~!
She watches him trudge through the graveyard, a funny little figure all silver and black. She is not sure what he is - not pale enough for a vampire, nor ephemeral enough for a wraith, though there is something of both about his drawn face. Still scary, though. That's good. She swings her legs and waits.
It is cold this December, Halloween now a month past - and how terrifying it was, she thinks, though she cannot recall much beyond that. It worries her. She considers other memories. Moonlight on the Hill. White, fine powder that fell from the sky and made Jack smile; he had a surprise for her, he said. Out in the hinterlands. He would show it to her tomorrow. She doesn't remember when he told her about it. This morning, obviously. She takes out Dr. Finkelstein's bottle, spins it slowly between her fingers, the last few glowing green drops turning over and over in the glass. A potion of true memories.
She thinks it's been cold for a long, long time.
The white that covers the ground makes small crunches as he walks towards her. He is young, like Sora. A little older, maybe. Perhaps he trick-or-treated last year - maybe longer? She is not good with faces. Hers needed a touch-up yesterday. Maybe the day before. There was a loose thread-- he is looking up at her, perched on one of the half-buried crypts, still swinging her heels. His eyes are wide, but he is surprised, not frightened. He must belong here.
"Hello," she says. "I'm Sally. What's your name?"
"Not Riku," he says. His face still bewilders her. She is better with the open honesty of a skull.
"Nottriku," she murmurs, and he smiles. There is something of her loose thread in his smile.
"Just not Riku." His eyes close down, board up for the winter. "If there was something else they called me, I don't remember what it was."
She tilts her head. Her hair flutters in the wind - cold, so cold. "Who are they?"
"Those who created me." His fists clench, voice beginning to unravel. "I don't remember their names, either. Just hers - Naminé--"
There is an almost audible snap like a thread splitting. Or a heart breaking. She wishes she could stitch him back together. She likes to think she knows something of sewing.
"Just Naminé," he repeats, and looks away from her, towards the white-shrouded Hill. "But none of that was real."
She might know what he means. She looks at the potion in her lap, remembers pulling the petals from a wilted daisy, one by one. He loves me, he loves me not. She thinks of long picnics in the graveyard. Holding hands on a moonless night. A thousand other memories that weren't.
"Things that never happened are the hardest to forget," she whispers.
He stares. He is looking at her now, her soft cotton skin, her carefully-stitched joints. Piecing together what she is - and he swallows, and nods.
She tucks the bottle away, holding her hand out to him. "Do you want to stay?"
"There's something I need to do." His gloved fingers tuck tentatively in hers. She hops down, lands to her ankles in the chill blanket of white. "Sally--" He hesitates, looks away, eyes flickering past the graveyard wall as if tracing a door. "I'll remember you."
She smiles, a sad little smile that tugs at her seams. It's been cold for a long, long time. "I'm not real either, am I?"
"You're more real than you know--" His voice cuts off, and he squeezes her hand once before letting go. "I have to leave. I'm sorry."
"Be careful," she says, and he turns away. She lifts her face to the sky. The soft white rain is beginning to fall again, landing on her eyelashes. Tomorrow she will go see Jack's surprise. She will need another layer of quilting, she thinks. She untucks her needle and begins to sew.
It is cold this December.
rating: pg
wordcount: 674
characters: riku replica, sally
notes: for euphonious_glow as part of the 2008 kh_drabble secret santa. ♥ thank you, syvia, for idea help~!
She watches him trudge through the graveyard, a funny little figure all silver and black. She is not sure what he is - not pale enough for a vampire, nor ephemeral enough for a wraith, though there is something of both about his drawn face. Still scary, though. That's good. She swings her legs and waits.
It is cold this December, Halloween now a month past - and how terrifying it was, she thinks, though she cannot recall much beyond that. It worries her. She considers other memories. Moonlight on the Hill. White, fine powder that fell from the sky and made Jack smile; he had a surprise for her, he said. Out in the hinterlands. He would show it to her tomorrow. She doesn't remember when he told her about it. This morning, obviously. She takes out Dr. Finkelstein's bottle, spins it slowly between her fingers, the last few glowing green drops turning over and over in the glass. A potion of true memories.
She thinks it's been cold for a long, long time.
The white that covers the ground makes small crunches as he walks towards her. He is young, like Sora. A little older, maybe. Perhaps he trick-or-treated last year - maybe longer? She is not good with faces. Hers needed a touch-up yesterday. Maybe the day before. There was a loose thread-- he is looking up at her, perched on one of the half-buried crypts, still swinging her heels. His eyes are wide, but he is surprised, not frightened. He must belong here.
"Hello," she says. "I'm Sally. What's your name?"
"Not Riku," he says. His face still bewilders her. She is better with the open honesty of a skull.
"Nottriku," she murmurs, and he smiles. There is something of her loose thread in his smile.
"Just not Riku." His eyes close down, board up for the winter. "If there was something else they called me, I don't remember what it was."
She tilts her head. Her hair flutters in the wind - cold, so cold. "Who are they?"
"Those who created me." His fists clench, voice beginning to unravel. "I don't remember their names, either. Just hers - Naminé--"
There is an almost audible snap like a thread splitting. Or a heart breaking. She wishes she could stitch him back together. She likes to think she knows something of sewing.
"Just Naminé," he repeats, and looks away from her, towards the white-shrouded Hill. "But none of that was real."
She might know what he means. She looks at the potion in her lap, remembers pulling the petals from a wilted daisy, one by one. He loves me, he loves me not. She thinks of long picnics in the graveyard. Holding hands on a moonless night. A thousand other memories that weren't.
"Things that never happened are the hardest to forget," she whispers.
He stares. He is looking at her now, her soft cotton skin, her carefully-stitched joints. Piecing together what she is - and he swallows, and nods.
She tucks the bottle away, holding her hand out to him. "Do you want to stay?"
"There's something I need to do." His gloved fingers tuck tentatively in hers. She hops down, lands to her ankles in the chill blanket of white. "Sally--" He hesitates, looks away, eyes flickering past the graveyard wall as if tracing a door. "I'll remember you."
She smiles, a sad little smile that tugs at her seams. It's been cold for a long, long time. "I'm not real either, am I?"
"You're more real than you know--" His voice cuts off, and he squeezes her hand once before letting go. "I have to leave. I'm sorry."
"Be careful," she says, and he turns away. She lifts her face to the sky. The soft white rain is beginning to fall again, landing on her eyelashes. Tomorrow she will go see Jack's surprise. She will need another layer of quilting, she thinks. She untucks her needle and begins to sew.
It is cold this December.