Out from the endless, black void, I found myself in a world of darkness and flame. Smoke filled the air, and the barren ground was blanketed in white ash. Red volcanoes glowed in the distance, shooting fire and soot into the sky of a dying land. It was a place destroyed by endless battle, and it still exhibited the ancient remains of fallen civilizations.

To this hellish world, I had been summoned. Reborn into this foreign world as a child of darkness, to fight for the god of discord, Chaos. One of the sole, sentient inhabitants of this depressing realm, he was a large, devil-like creature with both the features of a man and of a beast, a fitting deity for the forces of the dark.

I was the eighth soldier to be ripped from my home world by the god. There were ten of us in all, and as we stood before Chaos' twisted throne of skulls, I observed them. The three faceless fools in armor, a listless wraith, a mad harlequin, a soldier fallen from grace, a temperamental bard, a bulky simpleton, and a tyrannical king, who was more like myself, than either of us desired to admit.

It was this calculating ruler, who immediately caught my eye. The Emperor and myself were the exception to the others, who were solely obsessed with destruction in some form or another and easily manipulated into the merciless battles set before them, despite being stripped of their native worlds and memories.

The Emperor desired control and power over the others, labeling the majority of the Chaos warriors as witless 'destroyers'. I, too, wanted the broken world for myself. Not to destroy and not to rule, either, or at least, not in the same respect as the Emperor.

I wished for a timeless world of isolation. A living tomb for myself and all those around me, where I would be feared and adored for all eternity. I had a dream, an ambition to fulfill, and unlike the others, I would not be so easily enslaved by this arrogant and assuming god.

The gleam of fire glittered in my predatory, gold eyes, as I received my first orders from Chaos. Realizing that none of us, even together, would be a match for the deity, I decided to bide my time and wait for an opportunity to arise, while pretending to be an obedient servant. It was this sense of defiance that immediately drew me to the Emperor and his schemes, for he, as well, was not satisfied with being merely a pawn.

It was the birth of a fragile alliance and the instigation of countless battles, that would determine the struggle to wrest the reigns of control away from the gods of harmony and discord. This world would be ours, and then, after a few more necessary eliminations, it would be mine.

It was always apparent to me, that to be born was to be in agony, even in this new world. Looking upon all the warriors of discord, these dark souls twisted and tormented in their own worlds of origin, was a reminder that the meaning of life was to endure an endless cycle of disappointment and pain, and the same was true for my own existence.

The spark of my life began long ago in a faraway world, veiled from this one by the countless other dimensions within the endless void. My birthplace and home was near the ocean. Cape Hope was what they called it, but for me, it was a cape of despair.

Once long ago, it had been the childhood home for a group of heroes, who saved the world from an evil sorceress, though when I was born, the only structure left from that time was the lighthouse, standing high upon the ocean-side cliff. After the ancient war, my ancestors, Squall and Rinoa, had built their home from the ruins that had once been an orphanage. Yes, you read correctly. That boy, my most bitter enemy, is, in fact, my distant relative. My father, their descendant, had inherited the manner, through his lineage, but his honor was but a shadow of what theirs had been.

He was a greedy weasel of a man, hungry for power and recognition for accomplishments that were not his own, and my mother was no better. She was superficial and petty, caring only for the value of 'things' and titles.

The start of my life was long anticipated, for they had tried, for years, to conceive, but as I emerged into the world, I was an immediate disappointment. They had wished and prayed for a son, someone to carry on the family name, but instead, they received me.

Shunned by those, who should have loved me, from the moment I took my first breath, my existence was unwanted, and in that hatred, I grew, absorbing the darkness, like a seed does water, though for a time, I did attempt to cling to the light.

As a young girl, in the spring of my youth, I was fearful and awkward. I excelled academically but was still an outcast to my family and peers. Persecuted for my glasses and unfortunate speech impediment, I was friendless, and in order to fill the void left by isolation, I turned to the only activity that afforded me some measure of happiness.

Every evening after school, I would journey to the ancient lighthouse, just as the setting sun was painting the world in the colors of twilight. With my worn easel and set of paints, I would sit and let my mind soar high above the lavender and apricot sky, until all color was gone from the world and the twinkle of stars and the silver light of the moon spread across the velvet blackness. It was in this silent sphere of darkness that my ideal world was born.

So alone, I waited, knowing that no one at 'home' would anticipate my return. I was comforted only by my solitude, while dreaming of the day, when power would find me, power enough to realize my ultimate dream.