My childhood ended at that moment. It is rare, perhaps, that a six year old is an adult, but I can think of no other word to use for my state of mind. I didn't cry when they buried my mother, but I did cry when my father beat me that night. He kept repeating that I had driven her to kill herself, that I had said bad things about her and shamed her so much that she couldn't bear it. When he was done he threw me in a closet and told me to think about what I had done. He left me there for a week I think. He took me out once a day only to beat me again. I begged him for food on what I think was the third day and he beat me more.

These days turned into years. He didn't always throw me in the closet; sometimes it was just a beating. They would last for hours sometimes. Ghestal didn't come by anymore. Sometimes I wished he would, I thought maybe he would protect me from my father. The only thing, however, that saved me from him was his job. He worked ridiculously long hours for little pay, but it was enough to support us, and the habit of stuffing his veins with drugs he had acquired. As I grew older I learned something. I learned that pain could be ignored. Pain is only physical after all. I began to go out when father was at work or too messed up to know what was going on. I just walked through town at all hours of the day and night. I didn't know anyone because Mother and Ghestal didn't like me going out, but that had been when going out had been more dangerous than staying inside. Some people had heard about my mother's death and looked at me with pity, knowing my face from a few brief encounters attached to my mother's side. I looked different though, and some of them didn't recognize me. I was older by three years. My eyes were dark and my hair was never tied back neatly anymore, always in a loose tail that I had thrown it into on my way out the door. My cloths were starting to get old and small in the years after her death, but father did not notice and did not replace them. I had to beg clothing off of merchants or sew two outfits together to make a new one.

It was on one of these outings that I met her. I was walking with my eyes to the pavement and she was running through the street crying and we ran into each other, toppled and rolled onto the street. I didn't see the carriage coming, but thankfully the girl did and she grabbed me and dragged me out of the way just as it clattered by. We sat panting for a long while. I looked up at her when the shock wore off. Her hair was a tangled blonde mess, very short for a girl's, her little outfit consisting of shorts and a tank top was smudged with dust from the road, her eyes were strange and stained with red, her cheeks wet. I held down the urge to laugh at her knowing I must look equally ridiculous.

"Are you alright...um...girl?"

She took a deep breath and nodded, "Yeah, I'm okay. How about you?"

"I'm fine." I began to vehemently wipe off my cloths with my hands, scared of what Mother would say when she saw me before realizing that she wouldn't see me. The girl stood up and held out her hand to me, "I'm Celes, who are you?" I took her hand and she pulled me up with surprising strength. "My name's Kefka." "That's a weird name," she looked me over, "but it kinda fits you."

"How?"

"I dunno."

"Why were you running around like that, crying."

Her cheeks turned red and she turned away. "I was not crying!"

"Yes, you were."

She flung herself back around and slapped me hard on the face. I didn't flinch. She blinked at me.

"You can't act like that didn't hurt!"

"It didn't."

Her face got even redder and she slapped me again, using all of her strength, which was more than a girl of her age should have. Still, I didn't feel it, it was nothing compared to my father's fist.

"Why are you just standing there?! Shouldn't you yell at me or something? Or hit back or...or..."

"Why would I want to hit you?"

"I-I..." She got the most hilarious look of confusion on her face, her eyebrow raised, her lips contorted into a strange sneer.

"So, why were you crying?"

"I wasn't! I..." She took a deep sigh that seemed to deflate her. "My parents told me that in a few years they're going to...to...."

"To...?"

"To sell me! They told me there was this guy that came when I was born and they were really poor and he offered them all of this money." Tears started trickling out of her eyes again and she promptly wiped them away.

"The man's name was Ghestal?"

Her eyes got wide, "How did you know?"

"I'm to be sold as well."

"Wow...really? Doesn't it make you sad?"

"No. I hate my house...and my father."

"Oh...well, I want to stay at home. I don't want to go live with some man I don't know!"

"How old are you?"

"Eight."

I wanted to talk more with her. Something about her made me want to know her better... but Father would be home soon and if I didn't get back before him, I'd be in the closet for a very long time. Perhaps we would meet again when we worked for Ghestal.

"Um, I've got to go! Nice meeting you." She opened her mouth to say something, but I ran off at full speed toward my house.

---------------------------------

Before you ask, yes I do know the age difference between Celes and Kefka. Just be patient. You'll see.