The silver haired devil reclines against an obtrusive metal backing,
covered with electrodes and wiring, Dark shadows surround her body; the sun
is blocked by the rock around her, and above her. Her cave lies hundreds of
meters beneath the ruins of an old stone house, upon the westernmost tip of
Centra. Her body lies motionless. The cave is silent, save for the whirring
of the machine in which she resides. Her own breathing is inaudible.
The silver haired devil reclines within the body of the Sorceress Edea Kramer, affecting the world centuries before she is ever born. A black dress with a raven's feather collar ensconces the white body, and an aura of godliness surrounds the golden half circle that serves as a backing for the regal attire. Throbbing purple veins crawl up her cheeks, like the ghastly tattoos upon her real body. Her skin is cold to the touch, and all sensations are dull, absorbed by the noise in the background.
The silver haired devil, in her stolen body, reclines upon a small golden chair within the Southern Wing of the Deling Presidential Palace. Translucent curtains hang from the unseen ceiling, and murals depicting the legends and stories of ancient civilizations cover the walls. The great entrance doors are locked and hardened; only a powerful explosion could penetrate the magically reinforced gate. The curtains are blown by an unseen wind.
Before her stands an Aryan male, over six feet in height, trench coat clad, covered with crosses, scarred upon his brow, an arrogant smirk upon his face, and a sleek black gunblade by his side. Raised in childhood by the very woman she now possesses.
"I see that you are ruled by your dreams," she says. Her voice is unclear, tinged with an indiscernible accent, and clouds his mind like a scent of poppy, seductive opiate that it is. "How very like the wretched masses, you are. They scurry about, consumed by their dreams as well, but they tend to lose track, and settle for thralldom. Ambition and hope, however much the simple philosophers idolize them, will lead you away from your goal. Only the truly strong ever follow through on their dreams."
The blonde youth speaks for the first time since their initial meeting. His voice carries a high, noble air of infinite self-confidence. "You'll soon see that I am strong. I'll follow through on my dreams, and show the world exactly what ambition can do! They'll remember my name in the annals of time."
She expected as much. All are like this when they still retain their innocence. This trait will make him weak, and her entire plan rests on a strong leader. A strong Knight. His innocence will have to be killed.
"And what, pray tell, are these fancies that you have lifted on high? Relate to me the siren who pulls you to your destiny."
"This siren is the Sorceress, and I shall be her Knight. I shall devote my life, my sword, and my love to her and her cause, and serve her in every way. My triumphs and glory shall be nothing before her. Though she cast me upon the ground, I will rise and continue to serve her, even under her very scorn and hatred."
She inwardly scoffs at this. They are likely the only words he ever says with sincerity, and even then, they are obvious flattery. How very similar they are to the oaths previous Knights have taken to their Sorceresses. As if it was rehearsed, time and time again, within his head. It's time to test how he does in an unrehearsed situation.
"If all you say is true.then rise and continue to serve me, even under my very scorn and hatred!" Following this statement, she flings him across the room, into the locked doors. His body hits them with a crunch, and he does not get up. She can feel the rage and humiliation within him.
"Shall I take you to be a liar, then? You said you would rise, though I cast you upon the ground. It is the Sorceress' will: RISE!" She raises her hand, and he flies once again towards her, levitating above the ground, head towards the center of the earth. His face, like his mind, is twisted between anger and rejection.
"Such valor! Such bravery! Such impeccable obedience! Indeed, this man who hangs in the air like a bat, at the will of my hand, shall be the feared and respected Sorceress' Knight. By what right shall he do this? Is he of noble blood? Is he a Knight in law, as well as in his fantasies?" Her mocking words are like nails driven through him. His ego suffers greater pain than his body.
She brings her hand once more to her side, causing him to drop to the floor. By kneeling before her briskly, perhaps he can salvage some of her previous goodwill towards him.
"I.am an heir of the Ducal House of Almasy, and governor of the lands attributed me, the descndant of Serrat."
"Ha! Ducal house of Almasy! Your ancestor, Serrator, was exiled from the Dollet Empire, given land in the great Galbadian deserts, and forgotten. He fathered three lines, and one of them culminated in you. A pitiful legacy indeed."
If she succeeded here, he would be hers for eternity.
" It is even.tragic, by chance. Your claim to the line is worthless. You never knew your father. The only man to verify your heritage is the leader of the SeeDs. If you were to become a Knight.you could redeem your family name. You would be accepted. Loved, and remembered as the man who restored his family line. The shining star of Galbadia.
"Is that all the Knighthood means to you? A chance to glorify your family name?"
She kisses his forehead, and walks behind him. "You are nothing but a foolish boy."
He flinches as she says it. He knows in his heart it is true. His pride is trampled beneath her will. It amuses her, that vindictiveness and haughty arrogance would drive him to his feet before the most powerful man in the world, the ruler of Galbadia and it's invincible war machine, and yet be floored under her gaze, the eyes of a filthy devil's whore, a witch cursed by all around her.
And why not? She is the descendant of a God, and ruler of the world in her own time. This fool grovels beneath his own mother, accepts her beatings, and yet still yearns to serve her, to gain her respect and adoration, to live up to her expectations. And.he lusts after her! This golden fool beneath her, naïveté and innocence, a mere child, wishes to lie with her!
"It is not through your father's line that you shall stand beside me. No, it is your mother that is the goddess of your world. As I am your goddess."
"Tell me, boy.who raised you? Surely you were not a captive of the SeeDs your entire life? Did you know your mother?"
He raises his head to see her. His face has regained some of its customary confidence. Good. He will soon learn to take mental beatings far worse than her very presence.
"My earliest memories are of an orphanage in Centra, milady. There were other children there.I hardly see them. They are.obscured.clouds are everywhere. I remember a Stone House, surrounded by flower fields. Our matron.the only mother I have ever had.was a beautiful lady, garbed completely in black. Her face I cannot remember."
She is pleased to see that the Guardian's consuming of his memories was not permanent. His memory would return, in time. But she had not time. He would have to become a man, her Knight, very quickly. This swiftness would involve pain, and Ultimecia did not desire to mar such beautiful innocence and ambition.
The sorceress from the future, however, enjoys the crushing of dreams.
"Rise, o boy. Stand and face your mistress. Look into my eyes, if you dare."
He rose. The blue of wanderlust, devotion, filled with delusions of grandeur, looked upon the stolen, plagued yellow of the Sorceress. He cautiously, perhaps anxiously, kept his face blank. She placed her hands upon his face, clawlike nails digging softly into his skin.
He remembers words uttered by her haunting visage not long before. You don't want to be a boy anymore? Bid farewell..Bid farewell.Bid.
"Let us dance within the walls of your mind, boy. Let us raise the name Almasy unto the heavens. The halls of history will echo with your words forever. Bid Farewell to your childhood. . Come, Seifer." Come.
He is in the flower field, by the stone house. The beautiful woman stands before him, with her back turned to him. A river of jet cascades down her back, blending seamlessly into her like-tinted garb. He calls out to her, but no sound issues from his mouth. He has forgotten her name.
She turns, and walks toward him. He remains motionless. Her hand reaches out to a crystal around his neck. It is the SeeD symbol. He realizes that it had been choking him this entire time. Silent begging for her to release him. She crushes the crystal, and the steel around his neck dissolves as well.
She motions for him to go inside the house behind them. He enters, and sees a small blonde boy before him. It is himself. Images of his past, blinding bullets through his mind, flashes of memory speed past his eyes, accelerating, faster, faster, faster,
He is at the SeeD ball. The people around him blur into the walls. He dances with Rinoa -EDEA- He dances with the Sorceress. Her face is exactly like the woman in the flower field. The woman who raised him.
He contemplates this as he whirls around the Garden -CASTLE- Castle Ballroom. The cracking of a gunshot echoes throughout the room. The Sorceress has been shot. She is sprawled upon the floor, dead. Her shining, glowing blood spills across the marble floors. He looks up to the shooter. It is.
The trance is shattered. Before him is the woman with the white face. The Sorceress? His mother?
He is too shocked for emotion. He mumbles clumsily, blankly, like a child saying it's first words: "Matr.Matron? Matron Edea?"
Ultimecia forces the body to smile at him. She searches the bits of memory, knowledge, personality, that she had gleamed from the mind of the previous owner, before it had hidden away from her in impenetrable sleep.
It will take every ounce of her cunning to sufficiently replicate the actions and emotions of the Sorceress Edea.
But when she was done, she would own her very own, brand new, completely obedient lapdog.
The silver haired devil reclines within the body of the Sorceress Edea Kramer, affecting the world centuries before she is ever born. A black dress with a raven's feather collar ensconces the white body, and an aura of godliness surrounds the golden half circle that serves as a backing for the regal attire. Throbbing purple veins crawl up her cheeks, like the ghastly tattoos upon her real body. Her skin is cold to the touch, and all sensations are dull, absorbed by the noise in the background.
The silver haired devil, in her stolen body, reclines upon a small golden chair within the Southern Wing of the Deling Presidential Palace. Translucent curtains hang from the unseen ceiling, and murals depicting the legends and stories of ancient civilizations cover the walls. The great entrance doors are locked and hardened; only a powerful explosion could penetrate the magically reinforced gate. The curtains are blown by an unseen wind.
Before her stands an Aryan male, over six feet in height, trench coat clad, covered with crosses, scarred upon his brow, an arrogant smirk upon his face, and a sleek black gunblade by his side. Raised in childhood by the very woman she now possesses.
"I see that you are ruled by your dreams," she says. Her voice is unclear, tinged with an indiscernible accent, and clouds his mind like a scent of poppy, seductive opiate that it is. "How very like the wretched masses, you are. They scurry about, consumed by their dreams as well, but they tend to lose track, and settle for thralldom. Ambition and hope, however much the simple philosophers idolize them, will lead you away from your goal. Only the truly strong ever follow through on their dreams."
The blonde youth speaks for the first time since their initial meeting. His voice carries a high, noble air of infinite self-confidence. "You'll soon see that I am strong. I'll follow through on my dreams, and show the world exactly what ambition can do! They'll remember my name in the annals of time."
She expected as much. All are like this when they still retain their innocence. This trait will make him weak, and her entire plan rests on a strong leader. A strong Knight. His innocence will have to be killed.
"And what, pray tell, are these fancies that you have lifted on high? Relate to me the siren who pulls you to your destiny."
"This siren is the Sorceress, and I shall be her Knight. I shall devote my life, my sword, and my love to her and her cause, and serve her in every way. My triumphs and glory shall be nothing before her. Though she cast me upon the ground, I will rise and continue to serve her, even under her very scorn and hatred."
She inwardly scoffs at this. They are likely the only words he ever says with sincerity, and even then, they are obvious flattery. How very similar they are to the oaths previous Knights have taken to their Sorceresses. As if it was rehearsed, time and time again, within his head. It's time to test how he does in an unrehearsed situation.
"If all you say is true.then rise and continue to serve me, even under my very scorn and hatred!" Following this statement, she flings him across the room, into the locked doors. His body hits them with a crunch, and he does not get up. She can feel the rage and humiliation within him.
"Shall I take you to be a liar, then? You said you would rise, though I cast you upon the ground. It is the Sorceress' will: RISE!" She raises her hand, and he flies once again towards her, levitating above the ground, head towards the center of the earth. His face, like his mind, is twisted between anger and rejection.
"Such valor! Such bravery! Such impeccable obedience! Indeed, this man who hangs in the air like a bat, at the will of my hand, shall be the feared and respected Sorceress' Knight. By what right shall he do this? Is he of noble blood? Is he a Knight in law, as well as in his fantasies?" Her mocking words are like nails driven through him. His ego suffers greater pain than his body.
She brings her hand once more to her side, causing him to drop to the floor. By kneeling before her briskly, perhaps he can salvage some of her previous goodwill towards him.
"I.am an heir of the Ducal House of Almasy, and governor of the lands attributed me, the descndant of Serrat."
"Ha! Ducal house of Almasy! Your ancestor, Serrator, was exiled from the Dollet Empire, given land in the great Galbadian deserts, and forgotten. He fathered three lines, and one of them culminated in you. A pitiful legacy indeed."
If she succeeded here, he would be hers for eternity.
" It is even.tragic, by chance. Your claim to the line is worthless. You never knew your father. The only man to verify your heritage is the leader of the SeeDs. If you were to become a Knight.you could redeem your family name. You would be accepted. Loved, and remembered as the man who restored his family line. The shining star of Galbadia.
"Is that all the Knighthood means to you? A chance to glorify your family name?"
She kisses his forehead, and walks behind him. "You are nothing but a foolish boy."
He flinches as she says it. He knows in his heart it is true. His pride is trampled beneath her will. It amuses her, that vindictiveness and haughty arrogance would drive him to his feet before the most powerful man in the world, the ruler of Galbadia and it's invincible war machine, and yet be floored under her gaze, the eyes of a filthy devil's whore, a witch cursed by all around her.
And why not? She is the descendant of a God, and ruler of the world in her own time. This fool grovels beneath his own mother, accepts her beatings, and yet still yearns to serve her, to gain her respect and adoration, to live up to her expectations. And.he lusts after her! This golden fool beneath her, naïveté and innocence, a mere child, wishes to lie with her!
"It is not through your father's line that you shall stand beside me. No, it is your mother that is the goddess of your world. As I am your goddess."
"Tell me, boy.who raised you? Surely you were not a captive of the SeeDs your entire life? Did you know your mother?"
He raises his head to see her. His face has regained some of its customary confidence. Good. He will soon learn to take mental beatings far worse than her very presence.
"My earliest memories are of an orphanage in Centra, milady. There were other children there.I hardly see them. They are.obscured.clouds are everywhere. I remember a Stone House, surrounded by flower fields. Our matron.the only mother I have ever had.was a beautiful lady, garbed completely in black. Her face I cannot remember."
She is pleased to see that the Guardian's consuming of his memories was not permanent. His memory would return, in time. But she had not time. He would have to become a man, her Knight, very quickly. This swiftness would involve pain, and Ultimecia did not desire to mar such beautiful innocence and ambition.
The sorceress from the future, however, enjoys the crushing of dreams.
"Rise, o boy. Stand and face your mistress. Look into my eyes, if you dare."
He rose. The blue of wanderlust, devotion, filled with delusions of grandeur, looked upon the stolen, plagued yellow of the Sorceress. He cautiously, perhaps anxiously, kept his face blank. She placed her hands upon his face, clawlike nails digging softly into his skin.
He remembers words uttered by her haunting visage not long before. You don't want to be a boy anymore? Bid farewell..Bid farewell.Bid.
"Let us dance within the walls of your mind, boy. Let us raise the name Almasy unto the heavens. The halls of history will echo with your words forever. Bid Farewell to your childhood. . Come, Seifer." Come.
He is in the flower field, by the stone house. The beautiful woman stands before him, with her back turned to him. A river of jet cascades down her back, blending seamlessly into her like-tinted garb. He calls out to her, but no sound issues from his mouth. He has forgotten her name.
She turns, and walks toward him. He remains motionless. Her hand reaches out to a crystal around his neck. It is the SeeD symbol. He realizes that it had been choking him this entire time. Silent begging for her to release him. She crushes the crystal, and the steel around his neck dissolves as well.
She motions for him to go inside the house behind them. He enters, and sees a small blonde boy before him. It is himself. Images of his past, blinding bullets through his mind, flashes of memory speed past his eyes, accelerating, faster, faster, faster,
He is at the SeeD ball. The people around him blur into the walls. He dances with Rinoa -EDEA- He dances with the Sorceress. Her face is exactly like the woman in the flower field. The woman who raised him.
He contemplates this as he whirls around the Garden -CASTLE- Castle Ballroom. The cracking of a gunshot echoes throughout the room. The Sorceress has been shot. She is sprawled upon the floor, dead. Her shining, glowing blood spills across the marble floors. He looks up to the shooter. It is.
The trance is shattered. Before him is the woman with the white face. The Sorceress? His mother?
He is too shocked for emotion. He mumbles clumsily, blankly, like a child saying it's first words: "Matr.Matron? Matron Edea?"
Ultimecia forces the body to smile at him. She searches the bits of memory, knowledge, personality, that she had gleamed from the mind of the previous owner, before it had hidden away from her in impenetrable sleep.
It will take every ounce of her cunning to sufficiently replicate the actions and emotions of the Sorceress Edea.
But when she was done, she would own her very own, brand new, completely obedient lapdog.