The Redefinition Of Tragedy

Notes: Well. Long time no see, . How have the lot of you been recently? I hope not as wretchedly lost as I am right now. Of course, this isn't me giving any excuses for not completing this fic, or improving upon it in anyway. After all, I haven't been around to update this since…2003 or so.

Who would have thought that it would have taken me almost six years to actually get off my arse and finish this bloody thing? Now I really don't have any excuses. None what so ever, except a desperate need to revisit the source material (the first game and the internet for the second), rework the whole thing, and rewrite what I had already done (as meager as it is now.). As I am with my artwork, I am a stickler for detail, and am my own harshest critic. (I gave myself many a written flame that never got put up here. That's how much of a critic I am.) The more I look at my old writing now, the more I cringe. I guess that's what happens when you put something down for six years. Makes you think a lot. And cringe. As a result of a lot of soul-searching and making friends with a thesaurus or two, I've been, for the last year or so, been in the process of rewriting this fic. Hence the new title, which I think is a better fit for the plot of which I was originally going for.

It's much more centered on the games' cannon, as it should have been before, but I'm still using quite a bit of creative license with it. Kakusei is still part of it, but she is more of a simple narrator who offers an occasional, skewed bit of insight on an already skewed and twisted world. The perpetual outsider, if you will, commenting on what he/she sees. (I'm leaving Kaku's gender up to the individual reader, but the term 'she' will be used for convenience.)

Anyway. I've wasted enough of you time and my page. I'm sure that no one here wants to hear (or…well read) me blather on and on like a certain, good-natured, but still horribly long-winded owl type…thing. (_;) On with the show, and thanks for your patience. (If you're still reading, that is.)

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Prologue: Douse the Lights, the Show's Starting

It has been said, in many different ways, that nightmares are merely the minds' way coping with difficulties. They are an unfortunate fact of life, but are mostly harmless. Just dreams gone horribly awry. Just dreams, and nothing more.

Allow one to assure you, and let it be on the record, that the ones who have told you these things?

They were lying to you. There is no other way of wording it. There is no sugarcoating it. You were lied to. A little white lie, but a lie regardless. Of course your nightmares have been more than just a bad dream, otherwise, why would your puny little brain put you through one in the first place. It sounds like a big waste of time to me, but then again, you're dreaming. Time doesn't mean all that much when you're dreaming. Or going through the motions of a nightmare, which is what you're doing, I would suspect.

Oh, don't give me that, the "why are you tormenting me" look. These are your insecurities you're suffering through. Don't look at me; I'm not the one who made these images for you to see. You made them yourself. I just uncovered them a little, dusted them off, and let them loose for you to see. You're making my existence quite a bit easier than most visitors, and for that I must thank you. My existence is contingent on your suffering and it's either you or me, and I'm not feeling all that suicidal, or self-sacrificial tonight.

Oh, look. Here comes the darkness again. You're scared of the dark, aren't you? That cold, lifeless void that makes you feel like you're drowning in ice water? The idea that there is no one around to pull you out, or even to share in your isolation? That's what scares you the most?

…. Have you no spine of your own? Must you be so…I don't know, so… codependent on others? Ugh. Visitors like you make maren like me sick. You make things too easy. Far too easy, and I don't like it. Easy means boring, and boring means useless.

And useless means that this dream of yours is over. So I think that I'll be taking your inner light now. You didn't have much of it to begin with, and you certainly didn't make anything with it. You just wallowed in your own self-pity, and look where it got you. Wallowing leads to drowning, and I must say, your face is quite a sight when you're gasping for the air that will not come.

Quite a sight, funny, sad, and irritating. All in equal measure. That's impressive. Really, it's impressive.

Well, anyway. I'll be taking my leave of you now, and I'll be taking your light with me. Do try not to be so noisy while you thrash about. A bigger show than you is starting soon, and I rather not miss anything….