Okay, guys... I just realised something while writing this chapter... every "Jyscal" from this chapter backwards was supposed to be "Trommel," and thanks to Alex for pointing it out and J.D. for smashing it in my face... I will kill you... yes, you Uncle John...

Anyhow, review!

Diary of a Madman's Son

11/15

Mother woke me up this morning earlier than sunrise playing Carmen on her four-string. She's amazing, really, with her bow and fiddle, and her voice is angelic especially on the opera part. Thankfully, she wasn't in a big play-forever-and-a-day mood, but she was in a happy hyperactive state of mind. She was playing so loud that Father, all the way over at the temple, sent over a messenger to tell her to, "...lay off the forteissississississimo." He had heard her several yards away from our house, but nothing beyond that. He only sent the messenger because he knew she'd still be playing.

He leaves too early. I only get to see him at night and sometimes when he doesn't have to be there. I wish I could spend more time with him…

We look a lot alike, Father and I… I have his hair, claws and stature, as well as the funny vein-like marks over our eye, but I only have one on the left side of my face. I also keep my hair back in a ponytail, but that annoying little strip of bangs that keeps hanging in my face… Mother's quite entertained by it, but more entertained by Father's, who doesn't have a problem with her suddenly leaping into his lap and batting at it like a little kitten. I think he enjoys that, actually, especially when he captures her around the lower chest and shoulder and holds her to himself like a giant teddy bear, resting his forehead against her cheek and kissing and suckling at her throat. I think she likes that kind of affection from him, because every time his sharp Guado teeth rake across her sensitive human neck, she shivers and giggles, rubbing his head and stroking his hair.

Today, after one of these bouts, I asked Father if the stories Trommel told me were true, especially the one about him marrying a Summoner before Mother. He took me aside and showed me book he had. It was full of letters he had written, copies, he told me, of ones he sent to Mother. Between each page was a folded up, perfumed piece with different, feminine writing on it- the replies.

Apparently, as the story goes, Grandfather Jyscal sent Mother, an orphan he allowed to inhabit the guest room, away to a different place for his own reasons. Father had been told that Airella, my mother, with her different views on Yevon was a danger to his studies and it was "risky business keeping her around," or so he said.

As young teenagers, best friends since Mother came to the home of Jyscal Guado, half dead from starvation and being beaten by her parents, the two tried everything they could to keep in touch, and apparently they've done a good job of it. I was allowed to borrow a few notes and copy them in here, so here we go:

Airella,

Greetings again. I hope you're faring well where you are. Father has limited me to a few letters a year, possibly one a month, so pardon the length between hearings from me. In your last letter to me, you mentioned something about contracting a sickness. What is it? Where did it come from? Is there a cure, or medicine, for it? Will you be okay? Excuse my questioning, but I want to know what is going on with my best friend. The parents think they can keep us apart, but little do they know…There are Summoners passing through here each and every day, almost, so even if I'm not allowed to use the postal service, I can at least have one of them toss it by your house on their way to fight Sin. They literally pass by your house, anyhow. Please, write back as soon as you possibly can. Be strong.

-S.G.

The next letter is dated almost a week after.

Dear Seymour

Hey. Yeah, I'm doing well. The people I'm staying with are nice enough, though we are constantly arguing about the teachings. They keep trying to change my mind about it, but I know it's nothing more than a crap load of… well…crap…Whatever. I don't care. When Pappi (Reiko's note: this is what Mother uses to refer to Grandfather) steps down and turns the title of Maester over to you, I doubt it will take you long to make it to the top. You're a great, awesome young man with exceptional leadership skills and a very charismatic way of doing things. I can't wait for your rule! It's going to be awesome! Just call me to be your "maestress" and we'll make it the best dynasty ever. You asked about my sickness… I know not the name of it, and I've been told there isn't any cure for it. It hurts like all hell…as an analogy, think of being hugged by a creature the size of Bahamut, the strength of Sin, and the flame of Ifrit and you have a slight understanding of it. It comes and goes, but has been coming more than going lately. It hurts. It's brought me several epiphanies, though… like… death. You know I feared it before, but… lately I've found myself praying for it. Yes, Seymour, praying. Imagine… me? In a temple of Yevon, praying to past High Summoners and even Yevon himself to end my life. You see, Seymour, life is pretty much just pain and suffering and more pain and more suffering. Death, as a defined term, is the end of life, thus the end of the pain and suffering and the pain and suffering that brings. I haven't had this sickness for just a short time, but I contracted it when father…whatever… it was a long time ago, even though recently it's been becoming more and more frequent and more and more painful with each attack. I can't breathe during these spells of hurt. My chest collapses on itself, or so it feels, and my heart seems to stop pumping blood and my nervous system seems to stab itself repeatedly and repeatedly. Well, I suppose I shall speak to you later, friend.

-Airella

Father kept the letters from this point to the next from me, saying they were personal and between him and Mother, and not to be shared with me. Insulted as I am, I'm also grateful that I've gotten what I have now. The gap between the previous letter and this one is, so I'm told, three years.

Airella, my dearest love…

Forgive me. I know you wish for me to completely give up this idea that I've got, and I know you wish for me to repent for killing father and I know you want me to come and claim you as my own, my wife, and my bride forever and ever, but… life sucks and things just aren't always fair, you know? You of all people should. Let me explain myself, please. The Lady Summoner Yuna- I've proposed to her. Airella, I love you deeply and with the greatest portion of my heart, but listen to me! Do not put this down! Read it thoroughly! Please, for me. It will all make sense in the end, I promise. I didn't marry for love, only for power. She's a Summoner, and as you've found out through your countless outrageously deep hours of study on the subject, you know that the Final Aeon of every Summoner to face Sin becomes Sin. Sin destroys and brings death to all. You yourself said that death was a release from pain and suffering.

I wish to end what pain and suffering you are going through. I want you alive by my side, wearing the garnet- and opal-set pewter ring you've always dreamed of and wielding the Guado surname passed to me by my father and his father before him, and on and on down the line, but more than that, I want to see you out of the world of hurt in which you live continuously. I love you! That is why I am doing this. My darling, I have dreamed of nothing more than holding you in my arms and claiming your lips as mine since you expressed the love for me you were afraid to show last spring, and in return, I showed the love that I was withholding, frightened as to how you would react over it. However, for your sake, I will take this woman in my possession and come to your rescue.

I know it will make you feel better to know the only way I can even touch her is to imagine you in her place, with your soft, silky hair that, as you say, has not seen the sight of scissors since we were parted. I bet it's so long now… flowing over your back like a cascade of chocolate. Your hazel eyes, though clouded over with tears of anguish are burning brightly with resolve and hope for a brighter day where your body will not be racked with the inferno housed in your skin and nerves.

I bring that day, Airella. I bring it for you and none else. For the very love of my life, I will become the next Sin- the next destroyer of life, bringer of Death, ender of Misery, Sorrow, Pain, and Suffering. I will become the next Sin and deliver you from the torture that is your life.

Don't write back, my love, for I will not receive it. Just hold this note close to your heart, and don't let it go for the world. Your savior and betrothed is on his way to bring you from torment into happiness where we can be together forever.

-The Mercy Killer,

S.G.

I am, truthfully, disturbed by this… I don't know why, and I don't know how, but I am. I don't have any more letters from them, and the ones I have copied have been given back already. I seriously need sleep. Reading this has given me one massive headache beyond everything.

A few hours later,

I can't sleep. The note still worries me somehow. I don't know, exactly. I'm scared, I think is the word for it.

Whatever… as the leather bound book of Mother's says, "This too, shall pass."

I continue to write, laying in bed with nothing more than a single candle to light the pages. Mother and Father are up, also. It has to be midnight! They are still out in the family room together? Doing what?

I can hear them singing… it's a long, beautiful song, but the best part is when they harmonize together…

"After all the stops and starts,
We keep coming back to these two hearts-
Two angels who've been rescued from the Fall.
After all that we've been through,
It all comes down to me and you.
I guess it's meant to be, forever you and me, after all."

I've seen them dance to it before, embracing so tightly as to be one. Mother will be pressed skin close to Father, whose proportionately massive arms will fold over her shoulder and the small of her back, his claws of that hand curling gently and the only time ever non-lethally against her stomach. Both of their eyes are closed, if they dance now as I've seen them dance before, Father's lips resting gently on the top of Mother's head while he intakes her scent over and over while rocking back and forth with her almost hypnotically.

After several moments of listening to his heart beat in his tattooed chest, Mother will look up into his azure eyes bluer than the noon-day sky and stroke his markings, tracing them ever so gently with her fingers while his own digits trail against her jaw bone, causing a smile to crease her lips. He will whisper lovingly how much she means to him, speaking in that seductive charming voice of his while she begins to blush and turn away. His fingers will then direct her back to face him, and while his hand is where it is, he will lift her up with only three fingers- the strong half Guado he is- and bring her to his height which she is lacking about a foot and a half. While he holds her elevated, and in a way, hostage, he will invade her mouth with his tongue and the two will be trapped like that for ages upon ages until finally returning to their room where all will be quiet, except for the occasional gasp of air, and the next morning they sleep curled up in each other's arms, Mother resting on Father's comparatively large chest with her head against his heart and her hand on his six-pack abs.

The singing is hypnotic… time for sleep.