Diary,

That's what madness is to me, endless cycles of energy and exhaustion. The deeper you go, the more energy you have, the longer it lasts and the worse you feel when you finally come back down.

They wonder what's wrong with me. I don't care. I've lost the ability to express myself. It's all vague hand gestures sometimes. Lethargic. Must be on a downhill slide, I guess. Because that was my night yesterday. God, how I hate those artificial lights in there! It's like a bunch of neon lightning bugs hovering over a fish tank.

That's where I was when I collapsed. Don't even remember how I got there. I remember the cold glass pressed against the side of my face, the neon lights the neon lights always the fluorescent neon lights so pretty sometimes when you're in that kind of a void or fog or whatever you want to call it.

But yes, I feel that energy surging again as I write this. And I was there, in the laboratory. Don't even think I could feel my legs or feet. Just the cold, and the muttering voices. I think that cold was trying to say something to me. Shiva. It wasn't just the glass containment vessel, it was deeper.

Numb from cold and drugs and experiments. But I can still hear. They haven't silenced them. So I stood there in a numb haze, just petting the glass, listening. I'm always listening to them. Then Cid grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around. "What are you doing here, Kefka?" As if it's any of his business.

But when I feel that energy building it's not as if I can do anything about it. And when it leaves I can barely move. Can't feel the world around me, can't connect with the people there. I can't even feel myself sometimes. Am I even real?

Cid wiped the drool off my chin. I was staring at the ceiling, laughing, just a little. A morbid chuckle, feeble. I felt the hand that held me but not the floor beneath my feet. Not until it hit my knees and my palms felt cold steel, cold rivets. Hated that cold. Couldn't stand it. Hate hate hate

It's always so cold here why I never liked it. I despise all of humanity. If he had left me alone, if I hadn't been so goddamn tired, enough to harness a single spark of what I felt. That's why I like the fire. The cold is isolating. It is alone. I wonder why she likes to play with it.

~Kefka

P.S. I probably left a smudge. Go clean your tanks, Cid!