Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII. Fujin and Ultimecia belong to Squaresoft. I make no money from this. Insert witty comment here.
"Through A Mirror Darkly" by code_epic.
Rating: PG.
Word Count: 250.
Warnings: None.
Spoilers: Describes Ultimecia's appearance.
*
Through A Mirror Darkly
She is on patrol when there comes not the sound of footsteps clanking across
the metal floor of Lunatic Pandora, but the sensation of wind. Instantly
Fujin spins around, one hand pulling her shuriken up into an attack pose, and
comes face-to-face with her.
Time loses meaning. The other woman's lips curve into what might be a smile and
in that instant--accidentally? purposely?--her right eye fragments, revealing
itself as an illusion hiding . . . Hyne have mercy . . . the whole
universe, vast and dark and spiraling. Incandescent galaxies and burnt-out
stars wheel through her skull.
Fujin stumbles backward, for to go in any other direction is to lose herself in
the impossible power lurking behind that empty eye socket. "H-How?"
Her chest feels hollow, like instead of organs she has only fragile memories
fluttering around her ribcage. "No," she corrects herself,
slowly realizing and dreading. Some of these memories are from the future,
knocked loose by Time Compression. "Why?"
The eye resurrects itself, gold shards cohering into a black-edged iris. A tear
has formed--real or illusory?--and now it wends down Ultimecia's violet-scarred
cheek as she remembers ancient promises, friends long turned to dust, and
perhaps even someone's childhood. Fine strands of white hair lash up past her
horns to intermingle starkly against obsidian-feathered wings, which shudder as
if being tormented by a violent storm. But the air inside Lunatic Pandora is
still.
"Death beyond death for a world where knights lose themselves and their
dreams." Her voice is beautiful.
*
Reviews and feedback are appreciated, as well as--why not?--flames. This is my first FF.net offering. More of my writing can be found on my LJ, which is linked to in my author profile. I'm wackier there than I am here, don't worry. Or worry . . .