Jaded Heart

By Kirjava Deamon

I have waited for thousands of years.

I have wondered for countless hours.

I have died, but I am forever thirteen.

I am but a vassals, kept alive by my brothers' wills. One in death, one in life. I feel nothing; I am blind and deaf but see color around all. Music's melodies mean nothing; a flower's delicate touch is nothing. My heart does not feel.

I wear a heart of jade.

I've heard Kuja was like this until the day he died, so says my living brother, Zidane. He isn't really my brother, but another genome of the same type of Class IX types and with a soul. Though do I really have a soul? I feel nothing anymore, it's like I'm covered in ice. I'm tired of being numb. I wasn't always numb. I once loved.

I wear a heart of jade.

I used to love Kuja, maybe more than I should have but nether less, I did. I also found a strange feeling with the black mage boy, boy no longer. He was Vivi; a thousand years ago I met.

They say never to wear your heart on your sleeve, but that's exactly what I did when I first was given a soul, my sin to the world. I would laugh, love, scream and lie. But I never cried that's one thing that I could never do, why I could never be quite human as my brother. I lived in his friend's castle; we were sisters for so long. I, in the swirling wine colored dress and she in the pale blue. We were never sisters, I never loved her but yet felt the need to companion her.

Not anymore; it's been over a hundred years.

I was the one that always stayed by the shadows at dances, even when I was alive. I count being alive not being numb. I feel nothing now.

I would giggle to myself –I cannot imagine that now—about the male humans to Vivi's wench, the Eiko Carol. At the time, nothing I had was against her and now I'm what I am, bitten and twisted with jealousy.

I wear a heart of jade.

I'm in a room, away from everyone else for it was my brother who imprisoned me in this tortured room so many thousands ago. The room never changes, but from a window the world has. My tail swishes and ashy-white hands rub my tangled hair that can never grow below my shoulders. I am forever thirteen, immortal but dead. I died thousands of years ago.

My room is sealed, sealed because I lost my soul, only sharp glass edges remain of a soul, bitter and numb. I was sealed for my core, for what my old master made me do. I did not mean to attack the Lady Garnet. I did not mean to spill blood on my favorite dress. And I did not mean for Garland to take my soul away to replace with sin. But nothing matters anymore, I'm dead.

I wear a heart of jade.

My room is in the castle of Alexandria, though I believe is now part of Lindblum or something. In is a plain white room, bathroom quarters and a single bed. I do not sleep nor do I eat. I need nothing now, nothing can help me. The window to the northern part of the room that is sealed with a spell for me to not exit but for the wind to enter. How I envy wind, wind of all things, for its freedom. I feel it taunting on my face as I writ this. I'm scratching with a metal rod my dead fairytales, hopes and dreams onto the white-wash walls. My prison.

I Mikoto, prisoner I scratch with it, as I have so many times on my flesh. I cannot die, but I did so long ago.

A bird has entered the room, squawking loudly until my patience runs out and my core instincts take over.

Must kill it.

I jab with the rod, creating a blow on the first try. I can almost hear the agonized screams for mercy as I dig harder and harder, though do I hear the noise or is it my mind only? I have wondered for many eons.  Finally, blood in on my hands once more, a dead bird in m room. I consider devouring the carcass but decide against it. It will be my friend now. I'm not alone. I smile for the first time at my dead friend. We are both dead.

I place the bloodied animal gently on the ground and take my dagger, Zidane's dagger, and cut at the walls some more. For so long I've been here I've recorded the days over and over again, thousands, millions of days. Hours, minutes, breaths; all have been spent in here. All alone.

I name the bird Kuja…after my beloved "brother".

I am forever thirteen.

So I wait, sitting silently. Watching the shadows dance on the walls, taunting me to join their games. Still watching as the bird's soul finally run free from earthly-emboundment. Be free, Kuja.

I feel nothing though, maybe this was an attempt to feel for the first time in a thousands years. But nothing changes. Maybe I've gone insane, the bird, blood, carving, craving. Maybe, maybe.

But insanity makes you feel.

My heart is made of jade.