2 – The Priest – Spirituality
The spirit is a garden to be cultivated with love.

Lying in the earth, cheek pressed to it, hearing all the things that the ground can whisper as the man above presses close, searching for something which Marluxia finds only in that which grows, he knows that happiness is attainable, when ones pays attention to one's surroundings. The sultry comments of the world below ground is nothing short of wondrous, the plant tendrils moving, twisting, telling him of the dark secrets that live below earth, as Luxord takes his pleasure. Soon, they whisper, soon, all this will be yours.

In truth, it doesn't matter who's above him, it's someone different every other day. He fills himself with seed as he fills the ground with promise, he is that promise made flesh, and though he joins the land-walkers, his roots are deep, and drain all the goodness from the soil, making him stronger and braver with every passing day. The seeds whisper to him of rebellion, the petals of ownership, the leaves of dominion. He knows they would benefit from his triumph, too, but if he fails, they will simply use his body to prosper for the coming winter. They're pragmatic, the plants, and he's pragmatic with them, caught it off them as if his veins run with sap and the sun gives him life.

They don't see it as surrender, to be the vessel, because to them, whoever does the most work is the loser, and as he lies still, muttering to the roots that uncoil metres below the surface, he is expending little energy, saving it for winter, when he will need to burrow away for winter.

It's hard, sometimes, not to get wrapped up in the vines and tendrils which talk to him, hard to walk back into the stone tomb that they call a castle and remind himself that he's a man, not a plant, and that the stone has no power over him. Soon, nothing and no man shall hold power over him. He gathers those interested around him, like the wind moves dead leaves, and knows that he is strong enough to win.

With Zexion in the fold, there's nothing he can't do now, no secrets unknown to him. And so what if the smile drops off Demyx's face, so what if Zexion never visits him in the arbour at night, never takes walks in the rose garden. He doesn't need sexual subservience to feel superior, to know he owns the man – he's not like Xemnas. He doesn't need to fuck anyone to let them know they have no escape. He's dangerous enough, and his eyes hold enough of a threat, that no one would ever think of betraying him.

Shame the tactic hasn't worked, though. Zexion was supposed bring Demyx in, and instead, the two have split – that was surely the point of the couples, that they dragged in another member of the rebellion for free. Still, he reminds himself, there is always tomorrow, there is always another day, and soon, soon, Axel will join them, bringing the ultimate pawn with him. Axel has no qualms about visiting the arbour, about taking his pleasure where he wants, rather than keeping strictly to his lover. So there's no doubt about it, Marluxia thinks, sighing as Luxord finishes and ambles away into the hedge maze, soon, Axel will bring him the key to tear down Xemnas.