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He Doesn't See Me
Strange to enter the delicate webbing, a fabric of another reality beyond the
reality Lulu had grown accustomed to. She wondered what it was like, to be in
this place. Did one simply hover, cradled in memories? Part of her held hope for
it, while the far more practical side of herself ground her musings to a halt.
The Farplanes were like a graveyard, souls housed here after being Sent. It was
a sacred place, and not something she should be so irreverent over. Someday, she
too would come to rest here. Just as he was.
The others had run up ahead of her, but Lulu wasn't so eager or quick to seek
the edge of the precipice. Yuna had already wandered over, eyes closed and hands
held in a prayer to Yevon. With her thoughts came the forms of her parents, High
Summoner Braska and the wife he lost to Sin. Together, forever. Lulu smiled
faintly despite herself.
But the expression died as she glanced toward Wakka. Standing as Yuna had, his
arms then fell to his sides as the ethereal form of his brother slowly
materialized. Of course he had to know. All this time he had prayed, and hoped,
and dreamed that Chappu was still alive, somewhere. Even if he were hanging
around Al Bhed and using their forbidden Machina. It was a glimmer of hope that
Lulu refused to nurture time and again, and yet the blitzball captain never let
go of it. But, now he would. Chappu would never have appeared, were he still out
there somewhere.
Lulu knew he was dead long ago. He would never have stayed away from her for so
long were he alive. Yet, even with that knowledge in her head, her heart fell to
see him floating there at the edge. She couldn't hear what Wakka said to him,
just the faint sound of the blitzball captain's voice. His shoulders slumped, a
hand reached back to rub at the base of his skull and he even scuffed his foot
along the gritty stone at his feet. His disappointment was as readily evident on
him as every other emotion. Wakka simply couldn't hide his feelings from anyone,
he wore them openly on his sleeve.
She left them alone, there, for Wakka to speak to the wraithlike form that could
no longer hold a conversation. It was useless to waste her emotions on it, and
yet even then she couldn't help but indulge herself, just a little. The arm
clutching the Mog in her arms lifted slightly to brush at the side of her eye,
to halt that one little tear before it could fall and be noticed. He couldn't
see her standing there, couldn't hold her or kiss her ever again.
But that was ok, she realized with fleeting melancholy. She could see him, one
last time.