I looked in the mirror one day and saw my own fate, glossed over by the glare of the sun, so like me--so close, so far away. And it was watching me, as well; through that thin veneer of glass and time, I saw the doom of all things.

What words exist for such a vision are incomplete, sterile without the charge of wrath and terror that they embody but do not contain. The reflection is a silent eidolon, a doppelganger, a beast of the flesh and semblance but never of the soul. What ideas haunt those empty eyes? What motion, slight, or sleight of hand could that apparition make but would shrug the tides of sanity from cowering shoulders? I am not she, but she is I--a mockery, marionette, and master.

-

I see you.

The resonance was a palpable thing, pushing in on all sides like an audible fog. But there was something else in the darkness--an unmistakable sense of presence, like a pair of invisible, watching eyes.

Who are you? asked a voice that was not a voice.

Quistis could have thought the same thing, herself.

She tried to speak, but she was suddenly well aware that her vocal cords wouldn't work. Instead, she concentrated as hard as she could, and thought (Who are you?) back at the Presence.

I see, the not-voice said. You are late.

(What?)

Bide your time, the not-voice continued, charged with suspicion. While away the hours. We will have you in the end.

(I don't understand--)

There was a violent tug, and the sensory world reasserted itself with a vengeance. Light burst into her eyes, sound burst into her ears, and she jerked upward against the steady pressure of a hand on her shoulder.

An aide was holding her down, muttering something reassuring as he checked her vitals. Cerberus was growling intermittently in the back of her mind--it seemed like he was as uncertain of what to think of the most recent developments as she was.

"What happened?" she asked, settling back down--the world was swimming in front of her eyes, and she had a feeling that the aide was right in not letting her sit up.

"You know, I could show you charts and graphs for hours and not be any closer to knowing," the aide said absently. "Everything spiked, and then everything normalized, and then as far as we can tell you slipped into a coma, and now you're awake again and everything is reading as fine."

(A coma?) Quistis shook her head. "How long was I out?"

"Half-hour, all told," the aide said. "Dr. Odine is looking at the results of the scan, and if any of us can catch his attention for a minute or two we'll see what he has to say on the subject."

Quistis nodded. "I see," she said carefully.

"Lie there for a few more minutes," the aide said. "If nothing happens, I'd say you're well enough to go--I'm not a medic, but in any case I don't see what keeping you here would do."

"All right," Quistis said.

These things were getting more worrying by the minute.

-

I can't save her.

Seifer had been walking down the Skyway toward his apartment, but he stopped when he heard the voice--and turned, scanning back down the way he had come. The Skyway was more-or-less empty at this time of day, and there weren't many people on the adjoining streets or the ones passing over or under it--he didn't know who had spoken, but it didn't seem likely they were speaking to him.

Writing it off, he moved on.

...only to be stopped after a few steps as the voice, somewhat louder, said You can't save her.

"The hell?" He turned around again, scanning the area for anything he had missed.

There was nothing.

She's too far gone, the voice continued, and if the Sorceress is as good as her word then--

There was an odd sensation--as ifhe was being watched, as if the owner of this voice had placed fingers on the back of his neck and was whispering into his ear. Seifer shook his head violently--this was no time to be having delusions or communing with the GFs or going insane, whatever was happening.

You know it's all ending, the voice said again. Seifer turned back to the road, walking as fast as he could toward his home.

(The hell?) he shot back, honestly not anticipating an answer.

Hell is a good word for it. Hell is a good word for the world, now.

He tried to walk just a little bit faster. (Who are you? ...what are you?)

Nothing responded.

Seifer put a hand to his forehead. He must have hit his head pretty badly when he fell--it seemed like the most reasonable explanations.

(Or maybe it's--)

He put the thought out of his mind before he could finish it. He wasn't going to think about her--because the more he did, the more it seemed like he could still hear her, whispering in the back of his mind. (come with me to a place of no return bid farewell to your childhood....)

With a fierce effort of will, he noted he could barely see the outline of the shopping mall from here, and started to juggle all the different ways of getting there. the Esthar street systems were confusing--it should be enough of a distraction that--

It's not good enough, the voice returned. It's gone too far just to run.

It wasn't her--it was a masculine voice, gentle and sorrowful. He pushed it away, anyway.

It didn't work. She'll die, and I can't save her, the voice lamented, and like an echo her voice rose up below it: (no return no return return come with me to a place of no return bid farewell....)

Seifer resisted the urge to find the nearest wall and beat his head against it. Did the universe not think he had enough troubles, as it was?

But you can kill her first, the voice whispered.

And then it was gone. No more fingers on his neck, no more words--nothing.

He was alone.