The Rift

Disclaimer- I do not own FF8 or its characters.

No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.

Eleanor Roosevelt

The cool September breeze softly blew a few strands of blond hair across a sea dampened face. Her tear-filled eyes stared out into the ever-growing darkness that was slowly engulfing the deep blue waters in front of her. Unable to hold the tears back, she brought her hands to her face and wished the night would swallow her as well.

The room was warm. No, it was stifling hot. Quistis shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench as the spokeswoman for the jury stood to announce their verdict.

Wringing her hands, Quistis cast a nervous glance at where Seifer sat with his appointed lawyer. The lack of emotion she saw on his face didn't surprise her. He looked up briefly when the judge addressed the jury. Their eyes met and she saw undeniable fear; both of them knew what the sentence would be. All jurors present had been harmed personally by the ex-knight and would seize the opportunity to condemn him.

Clearing her throat, the spokeswoman glared at Seifer. "Madame Judge, we, the jury, find the defendant Seifer Almasy, guilty of all charges.

Seifer's head was bowed with defeat and no matter how hard she wished Quistis couldn't make his head rise again. The bailiff walked up to him and roughly jerked him to his feet. Placing the metal cuffs on his wrist, the bailiff dragged him out the door.

As Seifer was walked by her, he dropped a silver chain next to her foot. Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered, "Shoulda locked your dorm."

Her heart ached as she bent down to retrieve the cross Seifer had given her so many years ago and mentally cursed herself for not noticing it was missing.

Birds flew overhead, whistling their content, leaving her with a feeling of emptiness. She wished she could share in their joy, but found it hard to express anything but sorrow. Deciding that she had better get back to Garden, Quistis stood and brushed her pink skirt free of sand.

The sunset lit up the sky and cast an eerie shadow across the beach. The shadow stopped not twenty feet away from her feet. Cringing slightly, Quistis turned her back on the reminder of her past and walked toward her own prison. Albeit Garden was little less confining, it was just as difficult to endure.

The bright lights of Garden winked against the pink sky and cheerful voices broke the silence Quistis had become so use to. She walked down the crowded corridor, watching the happy students converse. Silently, she cried for help, but her soundless sobs fell on deaf ears.

When she reached her room, it was all she could do just to sit with her back against the door. Burying her head in her hands, Quistis tried to drown out the muffled sounds of joy that echoed through the steel Garden walls.

Becoming irritated at the continuous noise, Quistis methodically searched her pockets for the one thing she felt she could depend on: Marlboro.

Grasping the cigarette in a trembling finger, Quistis rummaged around for the tiny green lighter she always carried. Not able to find it, Quistis felt her eyes fill up with tears and she threw the offending tobacco across her room. Tiny brown leaves fell out of its paper and scattered across the white carpet.

The pain inside her grew, not stopping as the pounding of her heartbeat grew faster. She felt as though she would drown, the increasing thumping of an organ she had long lost control of made her dizzy and left her breathless.

Unable to deal with the torrent of emotions that crashed against her soul, Quistis decided that she had to stop the pain. It had to end.

Ignoring the tobacco leaves that crunched softly under her heavy footsteps, she warily made her way across the small room. She came to a stop in front of her desk, still piled with upgraded papers.

A diminutive, and seemingly insignificant, picture was taped to the wall above one stack of the papers. Just barely visible, a small head of a young boy was depicted. In his hands a beloved toy, a tiny stuffed moggle, was safely clutched.

Twirling the phone cord around her index finger, Quistis stared absent mindedly out the window as the Garden floated toward FH.

Jane chatted happily relating all the things 'Michael' did today. "He even said his first word: mama!"

Quistis closed her eyes tightly and willed death upon herself. Her son was growing up without her. She should have been there for his first word, but she wasn't. She should be there when he took his first step, cut his first tooth, but she couldn't.

Jane continued to talk, unaware of the sharp pain Quistis felt. Her chest tightened and she found her breathing had become restricted.

Whispering goodbye and hanging the phone up gently, she picked up the most recent picture of her son off a stack of papers. The irony of the situation almost made her laugh. She, an orphan, had abandoned her child so she could go murder her child's father.

Fate was a cruel, cruel creature.

The picture would have brought tears to her eyes if she had not already been crying. With her heart aflame with desire, Quistis opened a small box and pulled out a sharp kitchen knife. A Chief's Knife. Squall had forced her to carry it around after they had acquired Tonberry and she had kept it as a souvenir. How fitting was it that a token of the crusade that destroyed her life would now end it?

Carrying the blade to the bathroom, Quistis turned on the light and stared at herself in the dirty mirror. Her face was covered with a mixture of tears, dirt, and unnatural redness. Her once golden hair was now a light brown and wisps had fallen out of a messy bun and hung down in her face. Her eyes were what startled her the most. They were crazed, bloodshot, and had a fear buried under all of her pain.

Placing the knife on the bathroom sink, Quistis perched herself on the rim of the tub. What am I doing? The pounding in her ears subsided slightly and she found herself able to breathe easily once again.

The tempest of emotions raging inside her took up a beat and Quistis saw herself in the mirror, standing and walking back to the sink.

Slowly, as if preparing a religious sacrifice, Quistis opened the medicine cabinet and took out a small bottle of cold medicine. She turned on the hot water as high as it would run and downed six of the small pink pills. It was just enough to quicken her blood flow but not enough to kill her. Not yet, anyway.

The steam rose up in clouds from the sink and quickly covered the mirror in a white cover. Though unable to see herself, Quistis' eyes remained fixated on the glass.

Quistis watched as her 'shadow' picked the knife up off of the marble counter. Sitting on the closed toilet seat, she placed the object on her lap and looked at it for a moment.

Funny how some things can change your life and be so small, so undetectable to others. If she collapsed under the weight of her guilt, all it would take to change her life would be two minutes in the bathroom and no one had noticed.

Irvine laughed at a joke the blond woman had told, then started on one of his own. Quistis had paused in the hallway for a minute to readjust her sleeves. The pink material slipped off hr arm and fell to the floor.

Irvine bowed and picked the cloth off the floor and offered it to his friend. He stopped short when he noticed the bright red scratches littering her arm. "Hyne, Quis, what happened to your arm?"

Quistis, flushing an interesting fuchsia color, grabbed her sleeve from Irvine and smiled. "I got into a bit of trouble with a . . . bite bug."

----Hell, couldn't you come up with something better then that, girl? ----

Irvine shrugged his shoulders. "Why don't you use a cure spell then?"

-----You think I didn't try? It's a reminder. A reminder of what I am. ----

Quistis grinned. "Good idea. I'll try that later."

Maybe that's what hurt her more then her love being thrown in jail, then being separated from her son. Just the fact that none of her friends noticed the change in her behavior, or seemed to cared. She didn't want to invite them to her private hell, so she kept her silence.

The excuses she made, most of them were a load of crap. They were so absurd, she wondered if her friends did notice her pain and just chose to ignore it.

Her resolve strengthened, Quistis pulled off her arm warmers. Already scaring her creamy skin were several light pink diagonal cuts. She ignored them as she picked the knife up again. They were sins of her past. A mistake she made that was about to be remedied.

Holding the blade delicately in her loosely gripped fingers, Quistis frowned at the deepest wound already on her arm. She had never cut deep enough to leave a scar like that, had she?

No matter. Now was her time to gain redemption. With an eerie grin, she brought the blade down on her skin. No longer worried about loosing the battle, Quistis let her tears fall freely as her blood splattered the ground and ran down her arm.

Standing up and walking to the sink cause her head to spin somewhat, but she had opened the door to hell and it was pulling her in. With a deep breath, she trusted her arms under the scalding water. The extreme heat burned her flesh and caused her to cry out involuntarily, but she never once removed her arms from the water flow.

The water turned a light red color, looking more like kool-aid then blood. Becoming unsteady, Quistis fell to her knees, keeping her wrists under the water at all times, washing the pain away and freeing her soul.

Her head slumped down and she slowly pulled her wrist out of the burring water and looked at the raw flesh. Feeling woozy, Quistis fell backwards, not even registering the alarm.

Death was on its way and no one could save the blond-haired instructor.

As she was swallowed by darkness, she couldn't help but smile at the release she had been given.