Author's Notes: I'd like to take a moment to thank Zusizu for bringing me out of my self-critical spirals. She read some of my excerpts and gave me feedback in thoughtful and encouraging ways. I'll never forget what she told me in the beginning: "This story's crazy," promptly followed by, "Keep writing."
My friend is absolutely right. This story's crazy. But it's also very me. If I had to choose a single work to represent myself as a writer, it would probably be this one. And Death Shall Be No More is a marriage of my favorite genres: children's books (faith, magic, wonder, and innocence!) and the classics, especially Existential literature (pondering the meaning of life!) and Gothic literature (the emotional extremes of a dark and brooding romance!).
As you can discern by the title and description, death is a prominent theme in this story. I will do my best to portray various aspects of death in a respectful manner. I will not be writing any scenes that require me to issue Trigger Warnings. Please note that there will also be humor spritzed throughout, but if you've read any of my other fics, then you would probably feel right at home.
One last thing I would like to mention is that the Great Hyne is portrayed in a more God-like manner than is suggested in the game, so this story will present some light canon divergence in that regard. For those of you who are following along on AO3, you can see that I've added the Faith & Spirituality tag.
Thanks a million for joining me on this adventure.
Sincerely,
Garden Gal
An excerpt from Peter Pan (1911) by J. M. Barrie:
She also said she would give him a kiss if he liked, but Peter did not know what she meant, and he held out his hand expectantly.
'Surely you know what a kiss is?' she asked, aghast.
'I shall know when you give it to me,' he replied stiffly, and not to hurt his feeling she gave him a thimble.
Chapter 1:
A Kiss For Seifer (Prologue)
When Balamb Garden first got word of Seifer Almasy's demise, not a single person could believe their ears.
The orphanage gang was still occupied with the never-ending media coverage following the victorious conclusion of the Second Sorceress War. The announcement about Seifer caught them by surprise like some kind of terrible prank. It just didn't seem possible for the ex-knight to die—not now, not after the worst was already over, and definitely not from something as mundane as physical illness. How could strong-willed, larger-than-life Seifer fall prey to pneumonia when the world was finally imbued with a spirit of peace…?
Quistis and the others were in a staff meeting at the time. Squall was rendered speechless. Zell jumped up from his seat and exclaimed that it felt "like Galbadia Garden all over again!" Selphie rallied the group to think of ways to support Matron during this difficult time. That was about all that Quistis could remember from that chaotic day, for the voices around her soon scattered into shards of unintelligible noise.
In truth, the news wounded her heart with unerring aim and pulled her into a state of dissociation.
She temporarily avoided social gatherings for fear that others would discover just how deeply affected she was by his death. She knew that she wasn't completely alone in her sentiments; she could have shared her aches with Rinoa or talked about her regrets with Irvine. But in the end, she chose to grieve by herself.
The one gathering she permitted herself to attend was Seifer's memorial service. She was grateful for the intimacy of the affair. She did not have to worry about unwanted schmaltz. Neither did she have to work so hard to gulp back her unspoken apologies and unexpressed praise for the man who had left an indelible mark on her life. The small number of attendees accepted the sorrow in their midst and cradled each other in their loss and treated it all with the utmost tenderness.
Outside of that gathering, the majority of people spat upon his memory, their harsh words braiding into a scornful mantra that echoed in every corner of the globe. Granted, the particulars of Seifer's history were more convoluted than most, but Quistis knew that he wasn't all bad. Nobody was all bad. And now, nobody would ever have the inclination to honor the good in him.
Not when Seifer Almasy had been immortalized as a sinner.
It was Quistis' first time visiting a columbarium.
Though it was a place that housed the cremated remains of the countless dead, she was amazed to find that it carried a noble aura of life—not death. It felt like sacred ground, as if she was tapping into a force that was bigger and deeper than anything she could ever imagine in her eighteen years of existence.
An overcast sky spilled through a majestic skylight several stories up. Doves fluttered about in the great heights like tiny messengers sent from Heaven. It was a sight that could heal the darkest night of afflicted souls.
What a tranquil setting Matron had chosen for Seifer!
Quistis passed rows upon rows of glass-front niches filled to the brim with urns, photographs, and personal mementos. Some displays were simple and others were colorful, reflecting the personalities of those who had passed. Each item told the story of someone who had once been a child, a lover, a parent. Someone who had made an influence on others, for better or for worse.
Her careful search came to an end when she finally arrived at the proper wing of the building. She spotted Seifer's niche tucked away at the end of the aisle.
White marble urn.
His silver necklace.
Smiling photo of him and his posse.
Miniature replica of Hyperion.
Glass figurine of an Angel.
Faux potted plant with glimmering flecks of gold.
Other keepsakes whose significance she did not know.
She took a careful look around her. Nobody was in the immediate vicinity; nevertheless, she felt the need to speak in her best library voice.
"Seifer," she whispered conversationally. "I have something for you."
Quistis pressed onto the glass cover of the niche and it popped open with a soft click.
"When we were young, the first story I remember getting hooked on was Peter Pan. Of course, you stomped all over my precious interest by telling me that it was sissy and stupid and unrealistic. But one night, I heard you sneak into my room."
Her fingers secured a miniscule object hiding in the recesses of her purse.
"You stole, or should I say borrowed, the book from my bedside. By the time I woke up the next morning, it was back in my possession with wrinkled pages and chocolatey smears," she chuckled softly. "I know you must have read parts of it! Maybe you were just curious. Or maybe you were captivated by the magic of Peter Pan. Of a world waiting to be discovered with its dangerous fantasies and swashbuckling adventures."
Quistis deposited a ruby-studded thimble into the niche: a shared secret between her and Seifer.
"You were as much of a dreamer as I. No, even more so." She smiled wistfully. "And I'll always remember you as the boy who dared to dream big—even when it cost you everything."
She took a shaky breath and hugged herself.
"If we ever meet again by some divine act of Hyne…"
Her eyes thickened with involuntary pain.
"…then I think I would take it as permission."
A plump tear rolled down her cheek.
At no point since Seifer's death had she been able to shed such a tear, not even a single drop of moisture at his memorial service. But this moment was worthy of her undiluted anguish: the kind that bore no timestamp and split her heart like light through a prism.
"Permission to do things over. Another chance to get to know you, to try to understand you, to forgive you and be forgiven by you."
A minute passed by in silence until Quistis gathered the courage to finish her declaration.
"Most of all, it would be another chance to love you."
She let the rest of her tears fall freely.
And the clouds revealed the glory of the noonday sun, flooding the columbarium with breathing, living light.