'Silence.
T'is the sweetest fruit to be had, no? To have the blessed opportunity to press one's ear upon the dying earth and to hear nothing: not a whisper, nary a breath, not even the steady beat of one's own heart to interrupt the emptiness.
One cannot help but be made quite painfully aware of its uniquely fragile existence, and – if one were to have a care for such things – t'would offer one an excellent opportunity to indulge in a bit of mild introspection. To stoically ponder the finer peaks and duller edges of one's own life, the sombre melancholy of the inevitable death that follows after... and the pleasant surprise of any life to come – if the dredged pseudo-existence of something so hideously self-titled the 'Unborn' could truly be considered a life. Ah, but such is one's lot in the grand scheme of things, and t'would be terribly remiss of one to complain about it now, after all has been said and done.
Besides, isn't it such fun?'
“... fun, eh..?”
As if a magic spell had been broken, the eerie silence shattered into innumerable fragments, and suddenly the world around Harmonia seemed to regain its vigour. A gust of wind carrying the sweet scent of honey on its back once again whistled its whimsical, pensive tune – an old melody the land and her children learned young and mimicked as well they could, chirping and bleating along happily to their own unique lyrics – while the gentle cerulean waves lapped against a beach speckled with diamonds by a generous afternoon sun; the haphazard crash of water upon earth providing an impertinent yet strangely consistent base note to the winds muted cry. Marvellous, really; the music of the world. It was a vintage that seldom lost its savour.
But one sound ruined it all. A quiet sound – inconsequential, when compared to the grand, never-ending symphony of life that paraded around it – but grinding and persistent; much akin to the incessant yapping of a small dog.
Unfortunately, the flailing heartbeat of a dying keyblade wielder was much too erratic to permit Harmonia the full enjoyment of a world's swansong.
He picked himself slowly up from the sand – his taut, muscular arms stretching ever so slightly against the tight black cloth of his robe – and quietly brushed off whatever vestiges of the beach that still clung to him; his deep-set jaw slackening to release a wearied sigh of annoyance.
“I still do not understand why you want her to live.”
'Oh, let us not begin this old dance again, my dear Harmony,' the Other snickered; a dry, heartless laugh echoing out from within the deepest caverns of his mind. He did enjoy that nickname so. 'Why, one had even dared to presume you knew one well enough to do without such banal, pointless entreating. One is so very disappointed in you, old friend.'
Slowly making his way up the sloping beach, Harmonia gave no answer; steel-grey eyes focused now on a lone oak tree that broke the horizon a few paces from the beach, it's stubborn form offering a wide berth between it and it's brethren to the north. It was a large, sprawling thing – as oaks were so fond of being in fairytale lands such as this; its branches and leaves splayed out in a wild explosion of green. Although the young teenage girl with the hilt of a keyblade protruding from her abdomen was a rather unusual ornament, even for something as heinously gaudy as an oak.
Harmonia did not even need to examine her to know her time was short, so much could a single glance and a receptive ear tell. Multiple organ ruptures; massive, continual blood loss; the spastic beat of a fragile heart... not to mention the three-foot metal pole of legendary renown Harmonia had used to skewer her flimsy frame to the tree in the first place. But he continued to advance towards her nonetheless; treading softly across the earth on bare feet as he allowed one gloved hand to dance for a while among the thin tips of the long grass – tracing and curling them wistfully along each emerald blade as he made his silent advance before he stopped, peering down at her haggard, pale, broken figure from a few paces back.
She was, quite frankly, a mess; her cute, fashionable clothing as caked with blood and sweat as the rest of her was, with every inch of her lightly tanned skin lacquered with welts and bruises of varying sizes and intensity. As far as her face was concerned, well... her lip had been split open down the middle and had turned a bleak shade of purple, several of her teeth were to be found clinging to the blood on her face and the bridge of her nose jutted off sharply to the left, tearing through the skin and looking altogether unwholesome. But, all things considered, Harmonia could have settled for no less – for such was the fate of one who must wield the fabled keyblade.
'Show me her eyes, my sweet Harmony. I want to see her eyes...'
As ever, the Other lacked any form of subtlety. However, seeing no reason not to acquiesce to this request, Harmonia took another few steps forwards and seized the girl by the chin roughly with one gnarled hand, tilting back her head with a rough push so he might stare directly into her eyes.
Truly, her resilience was astounding. Breath passed through her ragged lungs in violent shudders and coughs; whatever blood she choked up mixing with the tears that blinded her innocent yellow eyes to create some murky paste that dribbled down her sallow cheeks.
But she fought for those breaths, and struggled for those tears; Harmonia could see it all in those golden eyes of hers. Right until the very end, she would continue to strive. Every beat of her fragile heart was the dawn of a new struggle for survival, and every cough that racked her body the sombre toll of inevitable defeat. She was destined to lose her life this day, but she clawed for every second with the tenacity of a wild beast.
The keyblade, as ever, chose its owner wisely.
'Where is it,' the Other muttered, the rhetoric nature of his vacuous question allowing Harmonia the joyous opportunity to answer the monster in his head with silence. But, of course, the Other was much too fond of talking to leave it at that, even if it was only to Harmonia.
'Where's the anguish, the agony? Where is the pain, the suffering, the outrage? Where is the fear in her eyes? She's just looking at me – at you... she just looks... ugh...'
“...resolute?” Harmonica mumbled with a thin smile, taking the briefest of moments to experience the true pleasure of finding the Other at a loss for words.
'...oh, one tires of this meaningless digression, Harmony. Shall we watch this girl slowly die for the next few minutes, or shall we finally get around to accomplishing what we- wait! What are you-!?'
When he heard her brittle neck snap like a dried twig a mere second after he'd gripped her by the throat, Harmonia couldn't help the vacuous grin that danced across his face. Repercussions be damned; that girl had fought her heart out 'till the very end... and it was worth it, just this once, to lose his powers for a moment if it meant spitting in the face of the bastard in his head.
Besides... it wasn't like he ever needed to use them, anyway.
“Give me a moment longer to rest, Deimos. The Hundred Acre Wood will burn shortly.”
T'is the sweetest fruit to be had, no? To have the blessed opportunity to press one's ear upon the dying earth and to hear nothing: not a whisper, nary a breath, not even the steady beat of one's own heart to interrupt the emptiness.
One cannot help but be made quite painfully aware of its uniquely fragile existence, and – if one were to have a care for such things – t'would offer one an excellent opportunity to indulge in a bit of mild introspection. To stoically ponder the finer peaks and duller edges of one's own life, the sombre melancholy of the inevitable death that follows after... and the pleasant surprise of any life to come – if the dredged pseudo-existence of something so hideously self-titled the 'Unborn' could truly be considered a life. Ah, but such is one's lot in the grand scheme of things, and t'would be terribly remiss of one to complain about it now, after all has been said and done.
Besides, isn't it such fun?'
“... fun, eh..?”
As if a magic spell had been broken, the eerie silence shattered into innumerable fragments, and suddenly the world around Harmonia seemed to regain its vigour. A gust of wind carrying the sweet scent of honey on its back once again whistled its whimsical, pensive tune – an old melody the land and her children learned young and mimicked as well they could, chirping and bleating along happily to their own unique lyrics – while the gentle cerulean waves lapped against a beach speckled with diamonds by a generous afternoon sun; the haphazard crash of water upon earth providing an impertinent yet strangely consistent base note to the winds muted cry. Marvellous, really; the music of the world. It was a vintage that seldom lost its savour.
But one sound ruined it all. A quiet sound – inconsequential, when compared to the grand, never-ending symphony of life that paraded around it – but grinding and persistent; much akin to the incessant yapping of a small dog.
Unfortunately, the flailing heartbeat of a dying keyblade wielder was much too erratic to permit Harmonia the full enjoyment of a world's swansong.
He picked himself slowly up from the sand – his taut, muscular arms stretching ever so slightly against the tight black cloth of his robe – and quietly brushed off whatever vestiges of the beach that still clung to him; his deep-set jaw slackening to release a wearied sigh of annoyance.
“I still do not understand why you want her to live.”
'Oh, let us not begin this old dance again, my dear Harmony,' the Other snickered; a dry, heartless laugh echoing out from within the deepest caverns of his mind. He did enjoy that nickname so. 'Why, one had even dared to presume you knew one well enough to do without such banal, pointless entreating. One is so very disappointed in you, old friend.'
Slowly making his way up the sloping beach, Harmonia gave no answer; steel-grey eyes focused now on a lone oak tree that broke the horizon a few paces from the beach, it's stubborn form offering a wide berth between it and it's brethren to the north. It was a large, sprawling thing – as oaks were so fond of being in fairytale lands such as this; its branches and leaves splayed out in a wild explosion of green. Although the young teenage girl with the hilt of a keyblade protruding from her abdomen was a rather unusual ornament, even for something as heinously gaudy as an oak.
Harmonia did not even need to examine her to know her time was short, so much could a single glance and a receptive ear tell. Multiple organ ruptures; massive, continual blood loss; the spastic beat of a fragile heart... not to mention the three-foot metal pole of legendary renown Harmonia had used to skewer her flimsy frame to the tree in the first place. But he continued to advance towards her nonetheless; treading softly across the earth on bare feet as he allowed one gloved hand to dance for a while among the thin tips of the long grass – tracing and curling them wistfully along each emerald blade as he made his silent advance before he stopped, peering down at her haggard, pale, broken figure from a few paces back.
She was, quite frankly, a mess; her cute, fashionable clothing as caked with blood and sweat as the rest of her was, with every inch of her lightly tanned skin lacquered with welts and bruises of varying sizes and intensity. As far as her face was concerned, well... her lip had been split open down the middle and had turned a bleak shade of purple, several of her teeth were to be found clinging to the blood on her face and the bridge of her nose jutted off sharply to the left, tearing through the skin and looking altogether unwholesome. But, all things considered, Harmonia could have settled for no less – for such was the fate of one who must wield the fabled keyblade.
'Show me her eyes, my sweet Harmony. I want to see her eyes...'
As ever, the Other lacked any form of subtlety. However, seeing no reason not to acquiesce to this request, Harmonia took another few steps forwards and seized the girl by the chin roughly with one gnarled hand, tilting back her head with a rough push so he might stare directly into her eyes.
Truly, her resilience was astounding. Breath passed through her ragged lungs in violent shudders and coughs; whatever blood she choked up mixing with the tears that blinded her innocent yellow eyes to create some murky paste that dribbled down her sallow cheeks.
But she fought for those breaths, and struggled for those tears; Harmonia could see it all in those golden eyes of hers. Right until the very end, she would continue to strive. Every beat of her fragile heart was the dawn of a new struggle for survival, and every cough that racked her body the sombre toll of inevitable defeat. She was destined to lose her life this day, but she clawed for every second with the tenacity of a wild beast.
The keyblade, as ever, chose its owner wisely.
'Where is it,' the Other muttered, the rhetoric nature of his vacuous question allowing Harmonia the joyous opportunity to answer the monster in his head with silence. But, of course, the Other was much too fond of talking to leave it at that, even if it was only to Harmonia.
'Where's the anguish, the agony? Where is the pain, the suffering, the outrage? Where is the fear in her eyes? She's just looking at me – at you... she just looks... ugh...'
“...resolute?” Harmonica mumbled with a thin smile, taking the briefest of moments to experience the true pleasure of finding the Other at a loss for words.
'...oh, one tires of this meaningless digression, Harmony. Shall we watch this girl slowly die for the next few minutes, or shall we finally get around to accomplishing what we- wait! What are you-!?'
When he heard her brittle neck snap like a dried twig a mere second after he'd gripped her by the throat, Harmonia couldn't help the vacuous grin that danced across his face. Repercussions be damned; that girl had fought her heart out 'till the very end... and it was worth it, just this once, to lose his powers for a moment if it meant spitting in the face of the bastard in his head.
Besides... it wasn't like he ever needed to use them, anyway.
“Give me a moment longer to rest, Deimos. The Hundred Acre Wood will burn shortly.”