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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Figments
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Ultimecia/Seifer
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Golden-haired knights with honour don't really exist.
When she was young, she dreamed of a knight. A knight with golden hair, with sharp green eyes and a sharp tongue and honour he held as dear as anything. Reaching back in time, later, when she was older and cynical, it felt like fate. Seifer Almasy. The idea resonated still -- the name, for the briefest of moments, was a charm, and there was something in his sharp green eyes that pierced what might once have been her heart.
He wouldn't love her. Not really. There was something in him that wanted power: yes. But that thing was not stronger than honour, or conscience. There would be a moment when he would leave her.
The younger Ultimecia might have bound him with love. She might have found a way to keep his name a charm, to keep parts of him a sweet mystery while still binding him close.
But now she didn't believe in such fairy tales. She didn't believe in golden hair or green eyes, or the honour, or the charm of the name. She believed two things: one, that he was hers, and two, that he would be her tool now to bring her the power she craved as she'd once craved the love of a knight with golden hair.
It was surprisingly easy to creep into his mind. There was anger, yes, arrogance, yes, pride, yes. All of it could be twisted, bent. She clung hard to his mind, and forced him to surrender. But, at the end, when her control was slipping but before they were parted, he said, he said --
"You didn't have to," he said. And he might as well have said, his eyes said, 'I love you.'
And he was lying, lying, fairy tales were lies and golden knights with honour and fidelity were figments, but the words rang in her head, to the end, the very end, to her end.
Pairing: Ultimecia/Seifer
Warnings: None
Rating: G
Summary: Golden-haired knights with honour don't really exist.
When she was young, she dreamed of a knight. A knight with golden hair, with sharp green eyes and a sharp tongue and honour he held as dear as anything. Reaching back in time, later, when she was older and cynical, it felt like fate. Seifer Almasy. The idea resonated still -- the name, for the briefest of moments, was a charm, and there was something in his sharp green eyes that pierced what might once have been her heart.
He wouldn't love her. Not really. There was something in him that wanted power: yes. But that thing was not stronger than honour, or conscience. There would be a moment when he would leave her.
The younger Ultimecia might have bound him with love. She might have found a way to keep his name a charm, to keep parts of him a sweet mystery while still binding him close.
But now she didn't believe in such fairy tales. She didn't believe in golden hair or green eyes, or the honour, or the charm of the name. She believed two things: one, that he was hers, and two, that he would be her tool now to bring her the power she craved as she'd once craved the love of a knight with golden hair.
It was surprisingly easy to creep into his mind. There was anger, yes, arrogance, yes, pride, yes. All of it could be twisted, bent. She clung hard to his mind, and forced him to surrender. But, at the end, when her control was slipping but before they were parted, he said, he said --
"You didn't have to," he said. And he might as well have said, his eyes said, 'I love you.'
And he was lying, lying, fairy tales were lies and golden knights with honour and fidelity were figments, but the words rang in her head, to the end, the very end, to her end.