(no subject)
Challenge: [60] Sanctuary.
Title: In The Twilight
Word Count: 242
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Notes: Wow, I'm cutting the deadline really close here. This is my first post here, I've lurked for a little while though. I'm not used to posting what I write at all, so constructive criticism is definitely welcome. This is Naminé-centric, set around the end of the prologue of KHII. Spoilers are there only if you squint.
The mansion is her sanctuary and prison, the definitions melding together to create the White Room. She sketches feverishly, afraid of the sound of clinking silver chains and billowing black fabric on the other side of the door. When she completes a drawing, she tapes it up on the walls, creating scattered collages of people and places and events that could have happened; she never really knows anymore. When the days near their end, she rests and begins to sketch from her own imagination. Her sketchbook becomes her refuge, where she shades and colours and erases and even tears out pages until she has created what she can see in her own mind's eye - visions of three children playing on bleached sand in the white-hot sun.
In the afternoon, she draws back the curtains and lets the pale twilight filter through the windowpanes. In her prison, she can see what freedom looks like to others. She can see the clock tower, and the children that often climb up to the clock face to survey the town and its perpetual sunset. Occasionally, she can hear laughter drifting from the sandlots, where children tumble and roughhouse and play until they are called home, sweaty and dirty from their efforts.
As the sun stains the sky shades of orange and violet, Naminé pulls at a loose thread in her immaculately white dress and wonders what it would be like to have had a childhood.
***
Title: In The Twilight
Word Count: 242
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Notes: Wow, I'm cutting the deadline really close here. This is my first post here, I've lurked for a little while though. I'm not used to posting what I write at all, so constructive criticism is definitely welcome. This is Naminé-centric, set around the end of the prologue of KHII. Spoilers are there only if you squint.
The mansion is her sanctuary and prison, the definitions melding together to create the White Room. She sketches feverishly, afraid of the sound of clinking silver chains and billowing black fabric on the other side of the door. When she completes a drawing, she tapes it up on the walls, creating scattered collages of people and places and events that could have happened; she never really knows anymore. When the days near their end, she rests and begins to sketch from her own imagination. Her sketchbook becomes her refuge, where she shades and colours and erases and even tears out pages until she has created what she can see in her own mind's eye - visions of three children playing on bleached sand in the white-hot sun.
In the afternoon, she draws back the curtains and lets the pale twilight filter through the windowpanes. In her prison, she can see what freedom looks like to others. She can see the clock tower, and the children that often climb up to the clock face to survey the town and its perpetual sunset. Occasionally, she can hear laughter drifting from the sandlots, where children tumble and roughhouse and play until they are called home, sweaty and dirty from their efforts.
As the sun stains the sky shades of orange and violet, Naminé pulls at a loose thread in her immaculately white dress and wonders what it would be like to have had a childhood.
***