In the mind of Seifer.
He often wondered to himself, am I really so bad? I did some wrong things just as any other person, I was pursuing my dreams just as anybody else. He looked out at his palms. Dry. Worn. Aging. Seifer, he thought to himself, what's wrong with you really? Now that was a question he didn't truly feel he wanted answering. He didn't have any friends. Dignity. It had been withdrawn, along with all his fondest memories. "It had been fun. For a while." He thought aloud, sounding highly nostalgic. It sure had been fun. Serving his mistress, the Sorceress, her faithful knight. His deepest desires come true. Still, was it all worth it? To live out your fantasies at the cost of so many lives, including partially your own? To Seifer, it had been worth it. His own choice. No way, he didn't want regrets; this was his one chance to be the knight he knew he was. Sighing heavily, he dipped his aching feet into the cool Balamb water, his palms propping him up as he sat lazily on the docks' edge. Voices haunted his sleep. The screams of those at his peril. The merciless ice of his eyes taking no prisoners. Nightmares still woke him at night. The questions. So many damn questions. Why the hell do I need the approval of strangers before I'm allowed to live my life? His eyes stung. Balamb town owned him. If I put one foot out of line I'll be homeless again. Again? Am I really so bad, so deep down wretched that I have no one place pf appreciation? No home? He laughed inwardly. Home. Yes. He wanted a home. How ironic. How all these years he'd been an orphan, trying to forget his life. It was something he thought he had, the feeling of belonging whilst under the Sorceress' wings. A great feeling of envy dries his mouth. Squall. Why does Squall have to be better at everything? Squall. Squall the hero. Squall the son of a president. Squall. Squall, everything I'm not. Could not be. Never could be. How could Seifer ever feel proud of his accomplishments when Squall so effortlessly bettered them? The pain of defeat burnt a million nerve endings. He kicked the water furiously. Gulls that had gathered squawked and flapped in a sudden fluster as the water showered their oily wings. Bastard Squall. Always second, only ever second place to him.
He often wondered to himself, am I really so bad? I did some wrong things just as any other person, I was pursuing my dreams just as anybody else. He looked out at his palms. Dry. Worn. Aging. Seifer, he thought to himself, what's wrong with you really? Now that was a question he didn't truly feel he wanted answering. He didn't have any friends. Dignity. It had been withdrawn, along with all his fondest memories. "It had been fun. For a while." He thought aloud, sounding highly nostalgic. It sure had been fun. Serving his mistress, the Sorceress, her faithful knight. His deepest desires come true. Still, was it all worth it? To live out your fantasies at the cost of so many lives, including partially your own? To Seifer, it had been worth it. His own choice. No way, he didn't want regrets; this was his one chance to be the knight he knew he was. Sighing heavily, he dipped his aching feet into the cool Balamb water, his palms propping him up as he sat lazily on the docks' edge. Voices haunted his sleep. The screams of those at his peril. The merciless ice of his eyes taking no prisoners. Nightmares still woke him at night. The questions. So many damn questions. Why the hell do I need the approval of strangers before I'm allowed to live my life? His eyes stung. Balamb town owned him. If I put one foot out of line I'll be homeless again. Again? Am I really so bad, so deep down wretched that I have no one place pf appreciation? No home? He laughed inwardly. Home. Yes. He wanted a home. How ironic. How all these years he'd been an orphan, trying to forget his life. It was something he thought he had, the feeling of belonging whilst under the Sorceress' wings. A great feeling of envy dries his mouth. Squall. Why does Squall have to be better at everything? Squall. Squall the hero. Squall the son of a president. Squall. Squall, everything I'm not. Could not be. Never could be. How could Seifer ever feel proud of his accomplishments when Squall so effortlessly bettered them? The pain of defeat burnt a million nerve endings. He kicked the water furiously. Gulls that had gathered squawked and flapped in a sudden fluster as the water showered their oily wings. Bastard Squall. Always second, only ever second place to him.