by melusine
Chapter Two
Frost curled on the edges of Terra's barred windows, chilly air seeping beneath the panes along with pale moonlight. The young woman was rocking her son, his tiny fists gripping the fabric of her blouse; his drowsy face framed by pale blond curls. She jerked at the sound of a key rattling in the lock, unconsciously gathering Atma closer to her body; hunching over to shield him from harm. "You're back," she murmured.
Kefka regarded her coldly as he shut the door behind him, his mouth set into a firm line. Six months had passed since the birth of his son; six months without even the tiniest glimmering of magic, of esper blood. He had seen how strong of mage Terra had been as an infant. She nearly burned down the coach they had carried her away in. He had hoped Atma would be capable of the same. "A failed experiment," he whispered to himself, wincing in annoyance as he saw Terra's back stiffen.
"He's perfect," Terra's tone was tight, blindly defensive.
"And still awake," Kefka replied as he locked the door, his dry tone concealing his annoyance. "Why is he still awake, Terra?"
The young woman said nothing, staring past him as if she were studying the grain of the wooden door; her face unnervingly placid. The sorcerer smiled faintly as he looked back at her, noticing the soft, yet steady patting of Terra's hand against Atma's diapered bottom; jarring the infant into wakefulness. So that's her plan, Kefka thought as he removed his gloves, his crimson nails glinting in the moonlight. Earlier, he had allowed her peace from his "affections" if Atma was awake and needed tending to, the sound of his son's crying an unwanted distraction. "I asked you a question."
Terra's back tensed further, yet she still stared calmly past him. Minutes passed without either speaking; the only sounds the even patting of Terra's hand and the ticking of the clock. The sounds grated upon Kefka's magicite-heightened senses, his fingers twitching into fists; his smile turning into an angry grimace. "Terra?" he murmured smoothly as he approached her, noticing that her eyes lost their distant quality at the sound of his voice. The sorcerer placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned close to her; his lips against her ear. "Why do you insist on ignoring me?" To his delight, he could feel Terra quivering with fear, her heart racing.
She was aware of her breathing, of the weight of her child in her arms, of Kefka's fingertips sliding against her skin in a pale imitation of a lover's caress. She was aware of the heat of his body and the bed that stood beneath the window, behind them both, its rumpled eiderdown offering her a perversely familiar routine. And she was aware of the door before her, offering another, more dangerous option. "He can't sleep," she finally whispered and her patting increased its desperate tempo. "It's been hours. . .I've fed him, rocked him, changed him. . .he can't sleep." Terra took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
In a childhood that felt too far away for comfort, Terra had been both entertained and terrified by General Leo's tales of sprites and witches, imps and faes, of ghosts and the demons that hid in the dark spaces beneath beds and behind closed doors. In those days, a candle by the bedside had been enough to protect her, no one had told her that these childhood monsters would someday become real: that they would no longer be content with sleeping in the shadows and would come in to lie beside you; that they were beautiful. . .and they knew when you lied.
"Is that so? Pity," the sorcerer murmured. "Such a pretty little pity, such a shame. . . " his fingers clenched against her shoulders, his nails digging into her clammy skin. "What game were you playing, Terra?"
Late at night, she and Celes used to creep from their rooms and explore the castle together, their small hands clasped together in the darkness. Things were different at night: full of faces never seen in daylight, such as the midnight watch, and, in the chill and antiseptic lab, a pale man picking among the vials of magicite. She had learned later that it was because the biological transfusions had temporarily made his skin too sensitive to bear even the weakest sunlight. Then, he had been an empty terror, as unreal as any of Leo's stories. Then, it had been a game to find him. . .she remembered hearing Celes's intake of breath as he turned to look at them, his dark eyes fixing on Terra's, and how they had ran. . .
". . .Terra darling, you're not funny anymore."
. . . Ran until they thought their lungs would burst, laughing while their hearts pounded in their chests. She remembered lying in bed, shivering as adrenaline flowed as electric as magicite through her veins; the thrill of the prey escaping the hunter. She remembered the feeling in her chest, years later, when she was taken from Leo and pressed into the service of Kefka. . .and looking back into the general's face as the sorcerer led her away into a world where nothing could protect her.
"Despite what you may think, my patience is limited. I am not going to leave and I am not going to let you sit there rocking him all night. Whatever are you planning? Do you mean to turn me over to the Emperor? To Leo? To Cid? Or are you planning to escape?"
Terra shook her head, her patting becoming erratic as Kefka's nails sank deeper into her skin. "No, none of those," she whispered, forcing herself to keep her voice from trembling.
"Oh? But what if you were? Let's play a little game, Terra. . .you do like games, don't you?" Kefka chuckled softly. "Say that you did get out -- with Atma, of course, I doubt you would leave him here -- what use is telling Cid and Leo? They know, my darling, and they haven't said anything yet. And perhaps you could tell that fat little nurse, I'm sure she would believe you that something was 'wrong'. . .but why would she hold any sway with his excellency Gestahl? The same goes for the night watch, Terra, drunkards all. But let us forget them. . .let's say that you went to Emperor Gestahl. Do you think that he would believe you?"
Another weak head shake.
"Of course not," the sorcerer smiled, kissing Terra on the ear. "Do you think he would suspect his favorite of such atrocities? But what if he did: whatever could he do? There are a multitude of options: he could jail me, he could expel me, or he could even order me executed. . .however, each of these has a vital flaw. The jailing would be simple, but it would keep me out of his sight.. .the Emperor is a vain man and he sees me as proof of his genius. . .the recreating of the Mage Knights was his idea. And the execution is also a foul plan: it would take them too long to safely, or even unsafely, bring another soldier to my level. Or perhaps he could have me turned out into the streets of Vector. You would like that, wouldn't you? Do you think that I would be a poor, pampered little nobleman shivering on the cold streets? You forget that I was born there, Terra, I know how to survive. . .and I would be welcomed there. . they need me: I'm their proof that they can move up in the world."
Silence.
"But I'm focusing too much on myself, aren't I? You could have escaped without telling anyone: you do believe yourself as brave as that frosty little friend of yours, however untruthful that may be. You could have broken the window and slipped out under the cover of darkness, thinking that the blankets would make for a long enough ladder. . .they won't. But, silly me: breaking the glass would make noise and the night watch would surely see you and your makeshift ladder -- that wouldn't work even if there were enough blankets! And I'm not taking into account how smart you think you are: you wouldn't do that, no, not at all, you would steal the keys from me as I slept, wouldn't you -- I have become foolishly daring as of late, haven't I. . .sleeping in your bed when mine would do just as well? Say you tried to escape that way: if the watch didn't catch you, where could you go? Do you think anyone would welcome the Imperial Witch and her magicless little boy, a boy she claimed to be the bastard son of Kefka Palazzo? At best, they would leave you outside their doorstep to freeze and starve. . .at worst, they would turn you back over to the Emperor. And back to me, my dear, you will see that I always win."
Terra nodded numbly. "I know. . .I'm sorry."
"Good girl," Kefka purred, standing up. "Now, shall we put this little matter to bed?"
". . .Let me put Atma in his cradle first. . ." she mumbled, forcing her shaking body to stand and face him.
The sorcerer put his hands to his face with an air of shocked amusement. "My dear, whatever are you thinking? Did you think that --? Oh my. . .tsk tsk. . .what naughty thoughts! You're right, though," he chuckled. "Of course, we mustn't forget the baby. . .hand him to me."
"What?" Terra stammered, taking a step backwards.
"Hand him to me," the amused tone left Kefka's voice. "The boy. . . my son . . .Atma. What don't you understand?"
"Nothing -- I, I mean -- why?"
"Why? I simply want to hold him, he is my child too, after all."
Terra took another step backwards. Something felt wrong. . .severely wrong. Ever since Atma had been born, the sorcerer had taken little interest in the infant, even less when it became apparent that he possessed no magical ability. Six months had passed, and he hadn't even asked to hold his son. . .never spoke to him. . .no interest. . .Why now? An icy feeling settled shuddered down her spine as she took another halting step backwards, and then another, and another until her back was pressed against the door. No escape.
"You're being ridiculous," Kefka stepped forward and plucked the boy from her arms.
A slow, sick feeling settled in the young woman's stomach, her arms falling limp at her sides. Mouth dry, she clenched her jaw and waited for what he would say next. Numbly, she watched as the sorcerer gathered his son to his chest, humming snatches of an old lullaby.
"You could try to relax," Kefka murmured, gently rocking the infant. "Look, Atma's falling asleep." He cocked his head, amused, waiting for her reply. Seeing the muscles move in Terra's neck as she clenched her jaw tighter, he continued. "It has been a long time since I last held a child, but I assure you I haven't forgotten how to. Why, last time, darling, it was you." Another pause, another silence. "They handed you to me while they went to finish off your father. . .except that they didn't kill him, no, a dead Esper is only useful as long as the magicite lasts, a living one can be bled and bled again. Did you know about that? How, when wounded close to the source, their blood crystallizes? It makes a fine staunch for their wounds, but an even finer drug."
Terra tensed her legs; if she could get him off guard, she could tear the key from his belt, retrieve her son, and escape. Kefka had said that she had no chance. . .but she had to try, to hope; hope and Atma were all she had left. And Kefka was planning something. . .and the results were never pleasant.
"When they handed you to me -- imagine, I was only a little older then you are now -- you were crying. So I sang to you, I really didn't know what to do at the time. I only knew one song, a simple lullaby, but I sang to you. And I hated you, I would have killed you if the Emperor hadn't wanted you alive," he smiled, hearing a catch in Terra's breathing. "But every time I walked by your cradle, I wanted to hurt you. . .just to see how you would bleed; how Esper you were. A pity our little Atma --"
"Give him back," Terra managed, her tongue sticking in her dry mouth. She looked up at him, her eyes feral, hating, her lips drawn up to show her teeth. "Give him back now."
"Oh?" Kefka bent to kiss Atma on the forehead. Straightening up, he smiled winningly at Terra, his teeth bright as knives. Calmly, he brushed his hair out of his eyes, then let his hand down hard on the baby's neck; driving his nails through the tender skin of his throat.
Terra made a weak moaning sound, her legs giving way as Kefka tore his nails from the wound. For a second, time ceased. . .shock closing fast. Squeezing her eyes shut, Terra tried to block out the sickly gurgling of her dying son and the bright jet of blood that spattered across the sorcerer's face.
Kefka opened his eyes, drops of crystallized magicite clinging to the ends of his eyelashes and a larger patch drying on his cheek and jaw. Looking down at Atma's limp body, he couldn't help but laugh: it was all too absurd! "Terra dear, did you ever imagine?"
"No," Terra replied, sounding hollow and distant. "I didn't."
"Hmmm? You didn't? Fancy that," he chuckled again. "It's almost funny. . . it is funny. Look, darling, do you think he'll become magicite once he's bled white? He's almost through - open your eyes - see?"
The young woman silently complied, trying to keep her vision blurry and unfocused. She didn't want to look, didn't want to see. . . Kefka made a warning sound and she blinked, her eyes first focusing on the sorcerer's blood-spattered face, then lower, onto the pitiful bundle he held in his arms. It was senseless, she knew; to do anything else. He didn't even. . .he killed Atma. All I have to do is watch. Terra swallowed thickly; she didn't want to give him the pleasure of seeing her be sick or of seeing her cry.
The infant's body was drawing in on itself, crystallizing unevenly at the crook of Kefka's arm. He looked at it with disinterest; it was no longer as fascinating as it had once been when it had bled crystals or had struggled weakly against his hands. He sniffed in contempt. Terra sat at his feet, her breathing uneven and shuddering, her face expressionless. Pathetic. Bored, he scratched at the patch of magicite on his cheek, the fragile crystals chipping off easily and breaking apart on the hard floor.
Terra drew her knees up to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut, her hands pausing briefly on her shins before she clasped them to her ears. She pressed her face close to her knees. She didn't need to hear the magicite breaking to know that it had been dropped or thrown, didn't need to see the look of depraved fascination on Kefka's face as his son tumbled, shattering and skidding, accross the metal floor and thin rugs. Seconds later, something sharp hit her in the leg and the faint sound of laughter filled her ears. She could feel Kefka crouch down beside her; a hand searching for her chin to lift it so that he could kiss her mouth. The night wasn't over yet.
to be continued