A/N: This occurs during Quistis' unconciousness episode. Some different POV (might add more later). Guess who they are! Plus, find out Quistis' mystery... *oooooooh...* I may add more as I see fit; this story is not as smooth as I would like and adjustments to the many contradictions will be added!! Oh yeah, I edited the first part because Quistis just becomes hysterical too easily...

Disclaimer: Na, na, nah, you can't catch me, Squaresoft... *runs around hefting the full cast of FF8* (yeah, I'm strong!)

Also, contrary to many rumours, no Quistis' were harmed, physically, mentally or emotionally through the production of this story. Really!

INTERLUDES

She did not feel rough arms take her away, iron clad maiden, empty and hollow as rust. She relished the nightmares. A fresh relief from the pain, instinctively, she buried herself in them.

Edea. Ultimecia. Perfect white teeth, gleaming in smile. Malicious. Her hand reaches, and shudder away. Her hand grips tight! "Worthless child… did you really believe you could run from me? My protector… the way you never could be for Squall. For Zell. Irvine. Selphie. Even Seifer." A chuckle. "Worthless… imperfect… flawed child."

Her words follow me, mocking me, as I run… "Marred… blemished… disfigured, stained, worthless."

Insiduous. "Don't you want to know how your father died? Don't you want to know whose hand held the knife?"

Not a sound do I make. I need control. Breathing. Hold something.

There's nothing to hold.

Still, her words reach me. Liar, my voice whispers. Liar, murderer, sadist, killer. Not hers. Not hers, but mine.

She's reached me, curled in this corner. Her lips curl delightfully as she whispers.

Screaming. Screaming. "SHUT UP! Shut up! Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup…"

Words aren't enough, tears aren't enough, and my mind slips into cold. But not before I hear those damning words.

"And that's why, my dear, you will never be good enough for anything but me."

Flickers of memories, of a life she did not lead.

*

She awoke. Silent, emptyroom, its white walls seemed to stretch into infinity. She gazed curiously around, wondering for the purpose for which she was there. There seemed to be none. Bare white walls and a small dot of black.

Inquisitive, she ventured forward. A small step brought her in close proximity. A bed.

Not just a bed. A woman lay in the bed, sheets wrapped lovingly around her throat, caressing the smooth, white form. Her eyes were closed, blank windows. Her dead lips unmoving.

Gently, she moved closer, intending to wish the corpse some peace. Her hair was a dull, faded gold, burnished and beautiful in death as it must have been in life. Her windpipe was crushed. Livid bruises stained her elegant neck purple. Somehow, Quistis had a feeling she knew her from somewhere.

Frowning in sympathy, she touched the livid neck.

The eyes shot wide open, and she knew.

That deadly, dangerous blue.

Familiar screams of hatred.

'God, it's you…' Slow whispers. 'Are you glad? I bet you are. Cause of all this mess.'. She took a deep breath, sighing through a broken throat. 'You filthy, filthy person. Did you really think I wouldn't come back?'

Take a step back.

'Murderer. You filthy murderer.' Softly spoken, the words had the impact of a whiplash.

Two steps. Soft denials. 'No. No.'

'You killed him!'

'No…'

'Yes.' There was grim justice in the tone, a kind of rigid exaltation ringing in tune with her own sobs. 'No wonder you tried to kill your friends. You'd find it easy.'

'No!'

'Yes! You killed him and took him from me. And because of that, I hate you. Do you understand?' She suddenly stood. Her eyes blazed blue/purple. 'You poor, poor minsunderstood child. Did you think you could escape your past? Did you think you could be anything but flawed… blemished… stained…?' Laughter. 'No, my child. Never.'

'NO!'

The withered lips smiled, even as the words dropped snarling to the pit. Venomous, cruel words. 'I hate you!'

She was sobbing now, broken. The words kept coming from her.

'I hate you… I hate you. I hate you!'

She… it… was fiddling with a sheet. She held it up. A perfect loop. A noose.

She died, whispering words of hate. How she could never love a daughter who was stained with the blood of her father. Triumph staining the words. Knowing they would have hurt her. After all, she was her mother.

Thus, Quistis Trepe killed her mother twice in one lifetime.

*

Pretty little golden child. She entered the new house, feeling scared and a little bit lost and lonely. A lovely woman swooped down on her, hugging her, and she felt smothered. Her forgetting scars were rubbed up and beginning to hurt.

She tried not to remember, but the woman brought it all back. The other child too, the blonde one. Too curious by far. Hours shaping perfection in the form of a sandcastle destroyed. Unable to fit into her perfect family that she was forming with the children. And the dark haired one? Somehow, she reminded him of herself, and her quest for perfection. He did not disturb her thoughts. He'd often come to stare at the sea himself.

Hours spent staring at the sea, imagining herself clean and wondering if she could ever be… if that much water could wash away her sins. She'd loved to swim.

Hours spent at the sea, trying to forget that spot she could never wash away.

Misplaced pride at her achievements. Only the rarest smile would come if she was especially pleased with the perfection she had wrought. 'See, mother? What I can do? I can be perfect. I can be loved.'

Forgetting, she made a wall around herself in her unconscious quest for cleanliness and perfection. Few entered, but few left. She was lonely… but perfect. What else?

*

Pretty little golden child. She remembered her, small and solemn, always grave and seldom smiling. She was… torn, somehow, and broken inside. She'd fed herself with books and excelled, but to what purpose?

If she'd asked, perhaps she would've answered.

Quistis was… something else. Had always been. Behind that wall of perfection, there was something that she'd always kept hidden. Cantankerous sore that it was, it festered and grew to something else.

It was an instinctive feeling that sprang from her own intuition as well as her own experience with Ultimecia. Thick residues of dreams still plagued her. Remembering the straightness of the spine, the iciness of the blue eyes, the sudden affront and the tears. Quistis never cried.

She/Ultimecia had known, and played on it. And Quistis had fallen.

Tides of guilt swept her, and she would've cried if she could've. Her heart's mind fixed on the image of that lonely little girl, staring to the sea. As if she was seeking something.

*

"Quistis…" he said quietly, observing the tear stained face, dirty clothes, body stained with a foul mixture of excretion and blood. Looking at her, he felt a mixture of grief and contempt. He'd respected her, once… grudgingly. It satisfied his ego to know that in the end, he was right, than in the end, he'd turned out better than her. But the things that she had done were so… unlike her. He couldn't have believed it. Even when she'd stood in front of him, swinging Save the Queen mockingly, flinging his contemptuous words right back into his face. Only now, standing in front of her.

Her eyes fluttered, lifted. The same startling shade of blue, the intensity of the glare a vast contrast to the pale blandness of her own face. She said nothing, just let her eyes linger on his face. It seemed that there was nothing to say.

"Instructor," he said mockingly, turning and walking away.

If he'd stayed, he would've seen the tears that flooded her eyes before he left. Before unconciousness hit her like a brick between the eyes and forced the eyes closed and stopped the words that wanted to come out.

As it was, he thought he'd seen something. He shook his head mentally, remembering. Nah. Quistis never cries.

Anyway, he didn't like to think of what those tears could mean.