That Which Holds Eternity Within
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kh_drabbleTitle: That Which Holds Eternity Within
Challenge: [071]: Castle
Wordcount: 531
Characters: Marluxia
Spoiler Warnings: For Chain of Memories, plus a smidge for KH2's plot.
Notes: Marluxia arrives in Oblivion Castle, and ruminates a little on why he is there -- and what he plans to do about it.
After the pain and the second breath in a never-world, it has come down to one single thing; assignment to a witchmind palace adrift in the very void itself, and a 'lordship' that was meant to be as full of worth as his own empty heart ... or so the nightmaster had no doubt reasoned to himself, the thought locked deep behind those burning eyes and their false sadness.
Alas for the hollow king and his maddened plans; he himself could not be better pleased with his fate.
Rough and untamed locks of rosy rust swaying lightly in measured rhythm with his predatory pace, the reaper-of-men surveyed his new-gifted little kingdom with a thorn-sharp gaze. He had not been within the ice-pale walls a single night – as such things were measured by him once – and already he could feel the gentle tugging at the locked and guarded secrets of his own memory.
Taking in the delicate translucent purity of the ice-white chambers, running hands encased in midnight velvet along a stony rose's close-furled petals, the flower prince allowed himself the indulgence of a faint and deadly smile.
Lord of this exquisite, forsaken palace, yes; sent to lose what shreds of himself remained in this husk now cut off from nature's verdant pulse, the castle's mind-eating nature pouring out his soul just as his heart had been bled dry.
But he had the knowledge of this lovely prison's power – as a shimmering plaque danced briefly between his fingertips, his past frozen in amber to be called forth as he wished – and, more to the point, his greatest prize he has spirited away to this empty place.
Snatched away from beneath the nightmaster's very presence as he chased down the child of light's hollow husk, that shadow of a princess would serve his purpose well indeed.
Let him have his key-bearing fragment.
I will claim the boy himself, and she will bind him to my purpose.
Here in the marble prison-palace, he would not allow himself to be a forlorn prince trapped in an ivory tower; rather, he would seize that chance to cast down his hollow king -- and show to all the web of lies that trapped them in a plan that served only the nightmaster in the end, no matter how cloaked in rhetoric and revolution.
There would be no end to the hollow hunger, unless he forced that end. In this unreal palace, with the pale witch's power, the flower prince had been gifted the means to rewrite himself, if only he dared; and he would be damned again if he allowed that chance to slip him by.
His shoulders itched like rough sand across silken petals, as these thoughts and more flew through his mind; and he allowed his hand to drop from the cold stone rose, dead reminder now of what he had become.
A mask of displeasure setting upon him like a cloak, he turned from the plinth and resumed his slow prowling of his demesne.
No matter, in the end; within these pure death-white chambers he would create a revolution of his own.
Challenge: [071]: Castle
Wordcount: 531
Characters: Marluxia
Spoiler Warnings: For Chain of Memories, plus a smidge for KH2's plot.
Notes: Marluxia arrives in Oblivion Castle, and ruminates a little on why he is there -- and what he plans to do about it.
After the pain and the second breath in a never-world, it has come down to one single thing; assignment to a witchmind palace adrift in the very void itself, and a 'lordship' that was meant to be as full of worth as his own empty heart ... or so the nightmaster had no doubt reasoned to himself, the thought locked deep behind those burning eyes and their false sadness.
Alas for the hollow king and his maddened plans; he himself could not be better pleased with his fate.
Rough and untamed locks of rosy rust swaying lightly in measured rhythm with his predatory pace, the reaper-of-men surveyed his new-gifted little kingdom with a thorn-sharp gaze. He had not been within the ice-pale walls a single night – as such things were measured by him once – and already he could feel the gentle tugging at the locked and guarded secrets of his own memory.
Taking in the delicate translucent purity of the ice-white chambers, running hands encased in midnight velvet along a stony rose's close-furled petals, the flower prince allowed himself the indulgence of a faint and deadly smile.
Lord of this exquisite, forsaken palace, yes; sent to lose what shreds of himself remained in this husk now cut off from nature's verdant pulse, the castle's mind-eating nature pouring out his soul just as his heart had been bled dry.
But he had the knowledge of this lovely prison's power – as a shimmering plaque danced briefly between his fingertips, his past frozen in amber to be called forth as he wished – and, more to the point, his greatest prize he has spirited away to this empty place.
Snatched away from beneath the nightmaster's very presence as he chased down the child of light's hollow husk, that shadow of a princess would serve his purpose well indeed.
Let him have his key-bearing fragment.
I will claim the boy himself, and she will bind him to my purpose.
Here in the marble prison-palace, he would not allow himself to be a forlorn prince trapped in an ivory tower; rather, he would seize that chance to cast down his hollow king -- and show to all the web of lies that trapped them in a plan that served only the nightmaster in the end, no matter how cloaked in rhetoric and revolution.
There would be no end to the hollow hunger, unless he forced that end. In this unreal palace, with the pale witch's power, the flower prince had been gifted the means to rewrite himself, if only he dared; and he would be damned again if he allowed that chance to slip him by.
His shoulders itched like rough sand across silken petals, as these thoughts and more flew through his mind; and he allowed his hand to drop from the cold stone rose, dead reminder now of what he had become.
A mask of displeasure setting upon him like a cloak, he turned from the plinth and resumed his slow prowling of his demesne.
No matter, in the end; within these pure death-white chambers he would create a revolution of his own.
