A/N: Written 1 November, 2009.
'I like feeling this way,' she thought, certain of the truth resting in her mind; it would be reassuring if she didn't find it so true.
Certainly any reaction save withdrawal would be alien and unsavory. A reason to be any other way simply wasn't; not with what had been, and would be.
Some might label this as loneliness; completely understandable, such a name, and one that would extenuate certain actions. Talking so intimately to that Fang woman, for example, or apologising to Snow for punching him at Lake Bilge.
But she would never admit to being lonely; she had been estranged for six years after her mother died, and she'd be damned if it couldn't stay that way after Serah died. Fate would have to allow it.
'And myself, for love…"
She was younger then. She knew now; you can't run away from yourself.
This voluntary aloofness had drawn her to Fang; she alone understood the plight of the pink-haired woman. They were too similar for this not to be.
That black-haired woman holding a crooked smile and novel accent tossed quick rejoinder with a wink of her eye; but the eye that always remained open was all-seeing. Beneath sun kissed skin, her heart beat to the same drum as the one belonging to the ghostly figure adjacent her.
Their confabulation had been brief, but would not be lonely for long.