![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
FFVIII: Oh, Talespinners
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Seifer learned the truth.
Oh talespinners, tell me of the sorceress. Tell me of her and her anger, her fury, and her loneliness. Tell me of the deep dark before morning and the hero who stumbled through it. Be not too harsh to me, who fell before temptation, but tell of my anger, my fury, and my lost love. Tell of the light in me and the dark in my adversary and tell of our scars, because you are poets.
Or don't, because that's all bullshit.
Sometimes, the poetic urges get to me, like cravings for a drug I've long given up. Then it's time to call Fujin and wait for her in the dark corridor outside her room, and then we go to the training center and fight, and then I smoke and she watches me, and I talk to her about everything, talk the poetry and the prettiness out of it. I know what I did. The blood, and the pain, I knew it'd happen from the moment I looked into my sorceress' eyes.
But I follow her still.
Why? Because she promised me glory? Immortality?
No. Because she looked in my eyes in a single moment and understood. And then she showed me. She showed me what fucking liars the storytellers are and how even the victor, the prince, is twisted in the very act of winning. She showed me the emptiness behind every victorious face, the meaninglessness to every victory, the disaster that comes after every fairytale love story. She showed me what I'd wanted to know without knowing it.
I knew then. I'd known before, a little; it was never the victory I wanted. It was the fight.
And Leonhart gave me one hell of a fight.
So, storyteller, speak of me with venom if you like. One day, she might take you. And then you'll be brand new, something else, bitter and twisted and yet more alive than anyone else. And you won't care about the blood on your hands. It's all worth it, to know truth.
And don't put words in my mouth. I don't regret a moment of it.
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Seifer learned the truth.
Oh talespinners, tell me of the sorceress. Tell me of her and her anger, her fury, and her loneliness. Tell me of the deep dark before morning and the hero who stumbled through it. Be not too harsh to me, who fell before temptation, but tell of my anger, my fury, and my lost love. Tell of the light in me and the dark in my adversary and tell of our scars, because you are poets.
Or don't, because that's all bullshit.
Sometimes, the poetic urges get to me, like cravings for a drug I've long given up. Then it's time to call Fujin and wait for her in the dark corridor outside her room, and then we go to the training center and fight, and then I smoke and she watches me, and I talk to her about everything, talk the poetry and the prettiness out of it. I know what I did. The blood, and the pain, I knew it'd happen from the moment I looked into my sorceress' eyes.
But I follow her still.
Why? Because she promised me glory? Immortality?
No. Because she looked in my eyes in a single moment and understood. And then she showed me. She showed me what fucking liars the storytellers are and how even the victor, the prince, is twisted in the very act of winning. She showed me the emptiness behind every victorious face, the meaninglessness to every victory, the disaster that comes after every fairytale love story. She showed me what I'd wanted to know without knowing it.
I knew then. I'd known before, a little; it was never the victory I wanted. It was the fight.
And Leonhart gave me one hell of a fight.
So, storyteller, speak of me with venom if you like. One day, she might take you. And then you'll be brand new, something else, bitter and twisted and yet more alive than anyone else. And you won't care about the blood on your hands. It's all worth it, to know truth.
And don't put words in my mouth. I don't regret a moment of it.
no subject