By Astarte
I'm staring at the mirror again. Whenever I see one, the same peculiar thought strikes me. Do mirrors lie? Do they show you the truth or only deceit? When I look in the mirror, I'm always struck by how wrong the reflection seems. The woman that glances back at me wears the same pink outfit I do and has those same blue eyes and golden hair but... that is not me. Mirrors reflect a warrior to be feared, a deadly force to be reckoned with. The woman behind the glass is haughty, icy cold and utterly professional.
I know I'm not her, that woman on the other side of the mirror. She is a conqueror of worlds, an empress that strikes terror in her enemies. Wherever she walks, the adoring masses follow in blind devotion. Her merest whims are their fondest wish to fulfill. She is a queen of queens, a goddess of beauty and death, and a ruthless hunter of man. She is someone that mere mortals cower in fear of. She is too human to be a god, too much the god to ever be human.
How could anyone possibly be like the woman in the glass that's watching me with such distain? This is a superhuman creature, a demigod that conquered both time and sorcery; me, I'm just a normal human being. I'm a seventeen-year-old teenager who happens to be a SeeD and an instructor. The image that looks back at me with such supreme confidence frightens and repels me. She's as awful as she is angelic. She's an archetypical expression of everything that a woman can be. I don't want to be anybody's archetype; I just want to be human. I want companionship, not groveling worshippers. I want to be a person, not a queen.
I can almost hear her laughing at me. The queen that watches me from behind the glass would never have had so much bad luck as I. She would never permit it, nor could it happen to that so-perfect creature. She could have handled Seifer easily, guiding him in the right direction. She would have known exactly what to do and say to make Squall fall in love with her. She could have saved both Seifer and Squall from themselves. She could have thawed their frozen hearts.
I could only watch in helpless confusion while Seifer nearly destroyed himself, unable to think of what to do or say to protect him from his own fragile ego. I could only stand and watch as the man I loved more than life itself gradually fell in love with someone else. Rinoa appeared out of nowhere and captured the affection that I so desperately desire.
I dream of him frequently, unsatisfying and heartrending nightmares. How many times have I dreamt that we were together, melting into his strong arms and feeling the warmth of his skin against mine? How many times have I dreamt of our wedding day or just hearing his soft voice whisper 'I love you' into my ear? Too often judging by the number of times I've woken up to the crushing realization that it didn't happen. Then I do something in the privacy of darkness that I would never do in the light of day: I cry.
The absolute worst part of it is that I dearly love Rinoa. If only I could hate her then perhaps some of the hurt would go away. I don't even have that much. She didn't steal him from me; I never had him in the first place. He was never interested in me; in fact, he seemed to want to get away from me. Rinoa did something that I was never capable of doing: breaking down the walls around Squall's heart. She did it by sheer stubborn persistence and unrelenting faith in him. If I had had the same courage, I might have succeeded in winning him. I didn't, I was too weak.
Again, the queen behind the mirror sneers at me. Where I am weak, she is strong. Where I hesitate, she leaps into action. Where I make mistakes, she makes none. Pathetic, she seems to laugh derisively, pathetic and feeble. Looking at her I realize that however much I want to be strong and courageous, she's too frightening for me to want to be like her. She's too inhumanly perfect, too much like Hyne. Hyne had no compassion for human beings either. They are both too high above mortals to see them as anything other than insects.
So why is it that I see her whenever I look in the mirror? I know that I'm nothing like that and yet there she always is, looking back at me through the mirror. Why does she haunt me from behind every piece of silvered glass? Who are you, Queen of Queens? Your titles are endless: Empress, goddess, queen, warrior, savior, lover, devil and saint. You aren't me. Who are you?
Could it be that you are nothing more than the world's image of who I am? Am I that very intimidating? I'm not a deity; I am not you. I'm a young woman that wants to be loved. I'm someone who wants to hear my name spoken in loving tenor tones. I want to be held not feared. I want to be swept off my feet by a knight in shining white armour. I want to be romanced like any other girl my age.
So perhaps mirrors don't lie after all. Sometimes it's just not easy to see what they're trying to tell you. I must seem so very unapproachable to others. It seems strange that they might be seeing her when they look at me. I've always tried to hard to be professional and dignified, trying to live up to everyone's expectations of me. Talented, they called me, demanding far more than should ever be expected. Somehow, I have become everyone's image of the warrior goddess. I am the queen then, the one who stares at me from every mirrored surface.
I don't want to be her, even if she is the ideal SeeD, but I can't be my friends either. I can't wear my heart on my sleeve like Rinoa and Selphie's perpetual cheer has simply never been a part of me. I'll have to find my own way, some new path that lies between the queen in the glass and insecure me.
Looking back at the mirror, staring my nemesis in the eyes, I disarm her. Soft yellow hair tumbles down past our shoulders and fingertips rummage through that gold, eradicating some of that harsh perfection. Off come the gloves that separate me from human contact, stripping her of even more power. The pink warrior's garb is next, pulled off and deliberately scrunched up into a ball; a parting kick is all it deserves.
In its place I wear a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a little black lace-up camisole. The shorts are really too short and the camisole top is slightly more daring than I'm used to but for once in my life I don't care. Every girl wants to feel sexy at least once in her life and right now I really want to feel attractive again. A pair of sandals and a little gold chain with a rhinestone heart is the finishing touch.
I hold the whip in my hand, wondering what to do with it. It's my weapon, an extension of my own hand but glancing up at the mirror I realize that it's hers as well. I let it slowly slither from my grip, suddenly not interested in it at all. Perhaps tomorrow I'll reclaim it but right now all I want is to be me and not her.
I look up into the mirror and smile. She's gone, at long last all I see is a pretty young woman named Quistis, not the warrior goddess. I'm here with all my imperfections and mistakes and flaws. I'm actually happy for the first time in a while.
The Queen is dead. Long live Quistis Trepe.
FIN.