1) The Making

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A brown-haired little boy stood atop a circular platform, his ocean-blue eyes gazing up at the small, floating light source.

"Hey! Can you hear me?" he called out to the glowing orb that floated down towards his way.

"I heard your voice. It cut through the darkness around me."

The boy's eyes widened as he heard a voice speak to him, "huh?"

"All alone, I followed the sound, into a sea of light..." the orb placed itself in the little boy's open hands, "and found myself here, with you."

The boy nodded, looking at the orb in his palms with curious eyes.

"You gave me something back when I needed it most. A second chance."

"I did?"

"But... now I have to go back to sleep again." the orb spoke.

"Are you sad?" the brown-haired boy asked, his face swarmed with worry.

Dodging his question, the orb continued, "would you mind if I stayed here, with you?"

The boy smiled softly, "sure, if it'll make you feel better!"

"Thank you."

The orb floated slowly towards the boy's heart, shining brightly as it made contact with his chest.

He found a home.

Ventus found a home.

He was alone. Warm, comfortable, and safe- but alone.

He knew he needed to stay till his heart mended, yet his loneliness and impatience grew by the second.

It didn't make him feel better knowing that his only friends were either stuck in darkness or completely lost in it.

Ventus sighed, his back falling to the circular platform. His thoughts were taking over him.

He was alone, his brain was the only thing that kept him company.

When a person reaches a point of utmost isolation; A figure is created by the figment of their imaginations.

Truly, when a person is exposed to such immense feelings, an outcome destructive or mending can take place.

And for that, she was born.

She mended.

A vessel, bare of a heart or a soul. Yet she houses so much warmth, she herself doesn't know her true identity.

And for sure, the boy doesn't know it either.

Every figment has a purpose, a purpose unknown to the creator or the creation.

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