I'm not that bad, you know.
The daisy chains that I would weave were the envy of my sisters. Their small fingers could never seem to tame the stiff stems of those laughing daisies. The silly girls. They tried so hard to braid the stems without breaking them, always saying that the angles of the broken stems left too much of that 'green stuff' on their foreheads when they wore their works of botanical art. Their faces remained white and pure. My forehead was stained with the lifeblood of the daisies before I could even admire my reflection in the stream by our house.
I snapped those stems, rolling them over my fingers before I tried to weave them into my chains. My crown would be a thing of beauty, free from harsh angles and unbroken stems. They would look upon my crown and smile, eager to bow down before the lovely flower queen, the princess of eternal summer. They would notice only the ivory of the daisy petals and ignore the broken and flexible stems.
When something is broken, it becomes much more...pliable. Once the spines of the flowers were broken, they were so much easier to mold. My daisy chains were beautiful. They were always beautiful and my sisters would weep in delicious envy.
Remember that. If you ever want to lead, to control...you must learn to break the things that you love.
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I met him when I was seventeen.
My father told me that he was no good, but my mother smiled and ignored the creaking of the floorboards when I snuck out of the house to meet him. He met me in the flower field just beyond my parents' farm, smiling that particular smile of his that knew so much.
That was our spot, you know. We had promised that we would always meet in that flower field, no matter the circumstances.
We walked and talked, laughing about our cleverness. He told me that he was going to be my knight and rescue me from the ogre that had somehow seduced my mother. At the time, all I could think of was the hours I spent bringing in my father's hay before the summer rains ruined the money crop. My skin always itched and burned after a hard day in the fields. My back always ached too, but that was just pain. I have always been able to ignore pain. After all, pain simply hurts. Itching...now, itching is another story altogether.
He told me that I was beautiful.
I believed him.
He told me that he would take me away to a castle in the clouds, where I would be worshipped and adored by thousands.
I told him that I didn't care for them. I just wanted to be worshipped by him.
So, he worshipped me.
As he grunted and moaned, tearing away my fairy tales and flowers, I hated him. I hated my mother. She knew what he intended. She was the ogress and my father was the noble knight trying to protect his fair lady.
Three weeks later, a fisherman found his body tangled in his nets. He was disappointed when he pulled in that net, thinking that he had finally landed a huge load of trout. Decaying noblemen didn't bring the same price at the weekly market as fresh stream trout.
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Another one came to beg me for mercy today.
She held the whelp in her arms, crying...yes, actually CRYING for my mercy.
Bitch, my mercy is only for those that deserve it. I told her that she need not concern herself with the well-being of her child. I assured her that I meant no harm to the mewling cur pissing and shitting as if there were no other people in the throne room. I told her that he had nothing to fear from me...
I am merciful and I am just....
Besides, I'm not interested in male children. I have seen the weakness of men and I know that they are nothing to me. The boys will grow to be men, rude and grasping and greedy, convinced that they hold all the power in the world. Fools. They know nothing. It is the female children that concern me. The little cunts can produce life itself...they can control those weak men with a simple twist of the hips or a quick glance.
I actually pity the males. The poor dears think that they rule the world, yet they would trade all of their power, all of their influence...they would trade it all for a few quick thrusts and that last bit of warmth. Bless them all...they truly think that they are leaving their mark behind when they so rudely shove themselves into the caverns of their 'conquests.'
If they only knew just how many women knew the witch secrets that killed their seed...
A few herbs and a few prayers sent to the right goddess, perhaps even the right sorceress; none of those blind bastards have a single clue that the women they try to subjugate are destroying their legacies even as they clean themselves from the fluids of their whores and wives.
Little difference if you ask me.
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There are quite a few to choose from now.
I like the short one. She has that madcap, slightly insane personality that reminds me so much of my youngest sister. I would always pick the white daisies, but my baby sister would always choose yellow. Yellow petals made her dance in the meadow, singing that song that made sense only to her. The lyrics were pitifully inane, but I liked to hear them. Her songs were always so silly...
I teased her about that...didn't I? I had a sister that liked to giggle and play with frogs...I'm almost certain that I did. She would capture them, then set them close to the stream, laughing madly when they would leap into the water. She giggled...and it made me smile.
Didn't she?
The blonde...there is power there. oh mercy yes. She can inhale the magic of the earth and release it without blinking.
No, The blonde will never work. There is something different about her. I've always had trouble with the golden haired bitches. Those fairy tales have gotten to their heads.
She has already been broken. My knight tells me that the blonde will bring me nothing but heartbreak. I have never had reason to question his loyalty, but after cutting that blonde whore, I think that I may need to have a long conversation with my knight. His hesitation disappoints me.
Hmm...that leaves the cute one.
Such a sweet darling. Charismatic and charming, bubbly and cheerful. But...Oh! How delightful! She already has her own knight! Why, the poor lad is as smitten with her as I was with...him. Well, well, well. I believe that I've made my decision.
I hope that they like flowers.
That's going to be the only happiness that they'll ever know.
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Note: Whoo! I was in one hell of a bitchy mood when I typed this one. I'm still celebrating Women's History month and I think that Ultimecia could be used as the poster child for feminism gone shitty wrong.
Just in case it's hard to follow, I tried to use the whole first-person as Ultimecia vibe. Review if you like, but at least let me know if this short fic made sense.
And yes, Seifer is that knight in part three and I wanted to have him try to defend Quistis against the Sorceress. Can't help it. I just like the idea of Q and S hooking up even though it pissed off his sorceress queen.