I decided to tell the story on FF8's characters, excluding Squall and Rinoa, cause they're pasts are talked about.

QUISTIS TREPE

"Congratulations Mr. Trepe, you've a baby girl!" The doctor handed the blue- eyed baby to Greg Trepe. Greg looked down at the baby in his arms, smiling.

"Where's Molly? She alright?" Greg asked, referring to his wife.

"Mr. Trepe, there were some complications during birth and Mrs. Trepe has, sadly, passed." The doctor said.

"Then it's not my baby." Greg whispered.

"Quistis Trepe." The doctor pressed. "She's your child. Mrs. Trepe named her. You may take your child, Mr. Trepe, or we can arrange proper housing for the child."

Greg shook his head. "I'll take her, don't you worry." Greg took baby Quistis, and left the hospital.

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Two year-old Quistis tottered to her father. "Daddy?" She asked. "Daddy!"

"What? I'm up!" Greg jumped, sending papers flying to the floor. "Molly?"

"No daddy, silly!" Quistis giggled and pointed to the papers then to herself. "It's Quistis!"

"Oh, Quistis, baby! I didn't see you there." Greg rumpled Quistis' hair and Quistis patted it down again, worse than before. "Y'know, I used to brush your mother's hair all the time!"

"Mommy? Can you brush MY hair???"

"Sure can, baby! C'mon. Let's go get a brush and comb. I'll do it up for you." Greg was a hairdresser, and he had spotted Molly for her luxuriant blonde locks. The same locks that adorned Quistis' head.

"I wanna bun! Like mommy had in the picture! Okay daddy?"

"Alright, Quistis. A bun. How about with your bangs hanging out?"

"Okay!"

Greg spent the next hour brushing out Quistis' hair while teaching her to read.

"Once. Uh. Pon. Uh. Thyme. The. There. Was. A. Girl. Who. Wa. Want. Wanted. To. Fly. An. Air plan?" Quistis read in broken English. She sounded out the words and over-pronounced them.

"Airplane, sweetie."

"Oh. Alright!"

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Greg looked down sad-eyed on three year-old Quistis. "It's for the best." He reminded himself.

"What are you thinking about, daddy?"

"C'mon Quistis. You're going on a trip." Greg said. To Quistis' protests he picked her up and took her to her bedroom. "Can I do your hair?"

"Sure daddy!" Greg retrieved his brushes and combs and taught Quistis how to put her hair up.

"Take this comb and pull out your bangs, okay? Never use your fingers. It'll get uneven." Once he had her hair up, he undid it. "Now you do it." Quistis proceeded to put her hair up in the exact same way Greg did. "Perfect!" Greg beamed. "Now, let's get you packed, okay?"

"Okay!" Quistis pulled open her pajama drawer and pretended to think. She started selecting a few carefully folded garments and put them on the floor. She pushed the drawer in. "Will three be enough?" She asked.

"You're going for a long time. Bring them all."

"All? Okay, daddy." Quistis opened the drawer again and got all of her pajamas out. She did the same with all of the other drawers while Greg packed suitcases. Quistis grabbed her stuffed toys and a few books and put them into another bag. "Aren't you going to pack?" Quistis asked. Greg shook his head.

"No, baby. No." Greg said. He picked up all of Quistis' bags and pulled them out the door. The streets of Deling City were crowded, so Greg signaled a taxi. He piled the suitcases in and put Quistis in too. "We're going to your aunt's house!" He said. He climbed in and told the driver to go to a house at the other side of town.

When they arrived at Greg's sister's house, Quistis asked to play, which she did so quietly. Greg motioned his sister aside.

"I can't." He said. "Molly's dead and every day it's like a reflection. I can't handle her around."

"But you love Quistis!" His sister pressed. "And you loved Molly! I can't take her!"

"For a while?" Greg put on a pouty face.

"Fine. Quistis?" Quistis looked up. "You're going to stay here a while, okay?" Quistis nodded excitedly.

"Bye, baby." Greg said, swooping out the door before anyone could protest.

"Can I read to you, Auntie?" Quistis asked.

"Of course, Quistis. Go right ahead."

"Once upon a time, there was a princess. . ."

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Patricia dropped the newspaper in horror. Just like that.

"Quistis! Go to your room for a little bit, okay?"

"Yes, Auntie."

The newspaper didn't fade, didn't change. The words were there in black and white.

"No," Patricia moaned. "No, no, no." She picked up the newspaper again, reading the top heading.

'SUICIDE BOMB KILL THREE PEOPLE' The headline screamed. It went on to say that the three people were 'Ophelia Moist', 'Janna Crockspan' and 'Gregory Trepe.'

"Not Gregory, no." Patricia told herself. "No!"

"Is everything alright, Auntie?" Quistis asked.

"We're going on a trip." Patricia announced. "You're going to love where we're going!"

'But where ARE we going?' A voice nagged Patricia. Suddenly, a conclusion came. 'Edea's orphanage!'

Fin Quistis