Kingdom Hearts Fan Fiction ❯ He Gave Me Roses ❯ Chapter 1

He Gave Me Roses

 

 

Naminé did not like to be alone with Marluxia. His presence was suffocating her, even when he was keeping his distances. Ever since he had brought her to Castle Oblivion, he made a point to spend at least an hour alone with her, and any other member of the organization who intruded on them would do so under pain of death.

 

One day, he strode into the room, at the usual time, but this time, instead of a single bloom, he was carrying a bouquet of seven roses, each of a different color. “How is my precious little artist today?” he asked, placing the flowers in a nearby vase, picking up the white rose and leaving the others where he had put them.

 

“I am fine, thank you”, she replied automatically, not looking up from her sketchpad. She avoided meeting his eye whenever she could, because she had once caught something in his gaze that had made her very uncomfortable, although she could not identify just why it had affected her that way.

 

Marluxia smirked at her, holding up the white rose and trailing it down her cheek gently, before tucking it under her chin, indicating that she was to look at him. She lifter her eyes hesitantly, afraid of what she would find reflected in those clear blue orbs.

 

His attention was focused on the rose, which was still tracing the contours of her face gently. “Do you know what this is, Naminé?” he asked her, stroking her jaw line softly with the bloom.

 

“A white rose?” she answered uncertainly. What was she supposed to say? He chuckled briefly and nodded, taking the flower away from her face, much to her relief. “Correct. And do you know what it means?” he inquired, pinning her to her chair with the intensity of his gaze.

 

She shook her head nervously in the negative. “Purity”, he said, dropping the rose in her lap and striding out, leaving a rather confused Naminé in his wake.

 

The next day, the Lord of Castle Oblivion made his usual visit at the usual time, stopping by the vase holding the six remaining roses. This time, he took the yellow one.

 

He repeated the ritual that had taken place the day before, but his time he was closer to her chair, and he was not kneeling, she noticed. “Do you know what this one means, Naminé?”, Marluxia asked while caressing her throat with the soft petals.

 

Once more, Naminé shook her head. “Caring affection”, he explained, and left once more. The following days passed in a similar fashion, and each day he would use the roses to touch her while he explained what they stood for, and each day he would step closer, the petals traveling lower on her body.

 

Pink for refinement, he traced her arms and shoulders with it; purple for majesty, her back; orange for pride, her hands; blue for impossibility, where her heart would have been… until only the crimson rose remained.

 

Naminé jumped when he teleported inside. He had always used the door these past few days, and she had expected him to do so again. He looked at her long and hard, reached in the vase to retrieve the now withered red rose, and walked to her side.

 

Naminé tensed when she felt him so near, but no words could describe how she reacted when she felts his arms wrap around her, one under her legs, the other around her shoulders. He picked her up and opened a corridor of darkness back to his own room.

 

He put her down gently on the bed, then sat down beside her, holding up the withered bloom. “Do you now what this one means, Naminé?” he whispered, his chest heaving, even though he had no reason to be out of breath. Naminé nodded tentatively, thinking that she knew the answer this time.

 

“Love?” she said, uncertain if he this whole charade meant what she thought it meant. Marluxia smiled in amusement, shaking his head. “Not quite, Naminé. The crimson rose stands for…” he began, leaning towards her.

 

“Desire”, he finished, grabbing her wrists and crashing down on top of her.

 

A few days later, Marluxia died at Sora's hands. Naminé went back to Castle Oblivion after she had restored the keyblade master's memory, as she had nowhere else to go. On the highest balcony, she found a rosebush that only held black blooms. The rose, his symbol, black, the color of death, the black rose, the mark on his grave.

 

 

 

 

Author's notes: If you are trying to figure out what the point of this story is, don't bother, because it does not have one. I just felt like writing it. Constructive criticism is appreciated, flames are studiously ignored.