Phoenix of Ice: Rebirth

The red brought color to the room, Saix realised with some satisfaction, and her body, seeped in its own blood, brought life to the shell. He stood for a moment, like a single mourner who arrived late and stands over the grave of the one he will never see again. Then the black wisps began to rise and Saix watched with a mix of remembered pity and present satisfaction as the atrocious mists swirled around her head and body until they obscured his view of her entirely. He knew that her heart would not be satisfied with leaving.

He waited until she stirred, lifted her head, looked around for a moment without recognition and fingered her new clothes. They fit well, he thought. Her simple blue-black dress had become, in part, a billowing white skirt, lapping around her knees in the front and pooling on the ground in voluminous curls behind her bound and slippered feet. The bodice of her dress was a dark turquoise, tightly fitted around her chest with an opposing pair of crescent moons in the center of it. Lines of stars topped the ribbed sections, fading from turquoise to pale blue where the bodice ended in wisps of cloth. A heavy jem hung at her throat where a large section of cloth had been cut to reveal her pale skin, like a harvest moon above a winter field. An appropriate ensemble for her, Saix thought.

He even marveled at her hair, once black tinged in purple, now red like the dried blood on the walls, its darkest color almost black. She stared at him and he realized with a shudder that her eyes held the same quality of depth as before. Black was now replaced with a green so pale as to be called transparent, like the rainbow off the sheen of a knife blade.

"You are empty," She stated in a voice like the depths of the ocean, filling the room with promises of nothing-left-behind. She paused for a moment, putting a hand to her chest. "Just like me." Saix smiled, realizing with little regret that he had given himself a wound that would never heal and always know that it was hurting him. He would have laughed, had he a sense of humor, for he knew that her Nobody, just like her, would never bother to stop the pain. How hilarious this would be if he had a heart.
"You are Xasira." He intoned, passing his hand in front of the glowing letters before her. "Your title shall be the Callous Oracle." She frowned, lighting chasing itself across her eyes.
"I don't like it." Her voice again echoed like thunder on the horizon and he smiled back at her as he began down the stairs.
"I knew you wouldn't."