Author's Note: Heh heh. Don't question the time, don't question the place. One of my newer ones; an unfitting assortment of agony?
Hm. Quite. Alternate universe felo-de-se, anyone?
Yes. It is Kuja. (Though terribly out of character, I regret to admit.)
He breathed.
The air was cool tonight; the apocalyptic fire wind that always seemed to blow was not present, and the sky was oddly clear. The moons shone so high above - did they even exist in this realm?
Not that it mattered, anymore. This world was dieing; and he with it.
His optics scanned dourly across the mirage-waters that seemed, at once to him, so innocent. So pure.
So deceitful.
He grinned a mad grin and stepped forward, a resounding splash echoing after him.
How odd it was to see the stars; how sickening it was to see the moonlight.
He stepped farther; every inch, the water rising.
This world was nothing, not nearly as graceful; nor he. It was a contradiction to it's prior self. (A disgrace.)
The water reached his cold, perfect lips and he cackled gleefuly -
The stars are beautiful. They are beautiful like his tears.
How had it reached the top of his perfect cranium so quickly? No matter, he would never know;
He had exquisite pain. (How lovely; lovlier than lovely.)
And when had the clearest sky turned so dark? When had the purest water filled this once-empty once-barren land? Perhaps the truth was that it never had.
The stars are blue. (But the moons are red.)
He gasped, water filling his lungs; his elegance was now his enemy.
I do not understand you; nor your false motives.
Pain was a non-existance for him; for he felt nothing, for he needed nothing. The very water that asphixiated him was his desire. (Yet not in a metaphor.) The mirage-waters rippled occasionaly; for his defeat was also residing in non-existance.
A sigh reverberated; "Eternity is but a metaphor relentless... soliloquy your need for more, lovely."
Apathy will become as precious as death.
... Why is the sky so clear?
(end)