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[pastel_memory]

[Naminé has made her way to the library in one piece, passing through one of the mirrors. Slipping in through the doors and finding no one, she carefully heads over to some of the bookshelves, looking up at them.]

It's...exactly like on the other side, only the opposite.

[She looks around.]

It's a little dusty, though. I don't think anyone's been in

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[madeinmirrors]

[But someone IS in fact here, and using the library precisely because it's good alone-and-quiet space...only Zexion, or perhaps the Cheshire Cat, will bother occupying the library from time to time.

He's at a small table in the corner of the room, half a wastebasket's worth of salvaged drawing paper smoothed and stacked carefully...most of it's half-finished. And today, having some time where he's supposed to be keeping off heavy physical activity...

Replica's decided to try his hand stubbornly at finishing them, a small box of crayons at his side. And slowly, a deliberate but far more crude hand, he's filling them in...a Roxas on his right, a schemer on his left, a pale golden haired girl far, far up in the corners, seated and looking small, head hung.

At the sound of her voice, he hurries to hide them all, gathering them up, the noise of crinkled paper an obvious clue to movement.]

[pastel_memory]

[She hears it, turning around towards the noise and moving over to look, glancing from behind one of the bookshelves. She's not sure, at first, which one it is, but if one is named, then...]

Arland?

[But he didn't follow her, so she frowns, unsure. If this isn't him...then this one...He's the one that hurt her anyway, upset her, and she keeps her distance, watching him rush to put papers away. She spots the box of crayons, and looks at him. Is he drawing? If they're opposites, then is he drawing because the real one doesn't?]

[madeinmirrors]

[The name makes him tense, because that's what his fake's calling himself, and that can only mean one thing...

Wrong one. This is the one that is either taking his poor, oblivious pretend-self for a ride, or...or she really does care, which makes something in his chest tighten with jealousy.

He folds the stack and about to tuck it into the sidebag on his belt when he catches her looking, and for a moment their eyes lock. And oddly enough, he almost looks helpless hurt, mouth hanging open a moment, and if he's about to say something-

But then he pauses, decides to play at her own game and bends back over his 'work', smoothing the back of one sheet blank and beginning again, carefully this time, the view from her bedroom mirror, on most evenings.]

[pastel_memory]

[She watches him, not fully scared but not overly curious. He looks so much like hers on the other side, and she stares for a moment, then looks away from his wide-eyed gaze. When he moves and sits down again, she finally turns back, unsure. What is he doing?

It takes her several minutes, but she slowly approaches him, walking a little around the table so she can see what he is working on. When she comes to the table, an arm's length from him and to the side, the memory Nobody peers down at his work, curious as to what he's making.]