A Smile For Kefka

				Jessica

				douceviolette@yahoo.com



	 Eighty-five....eighty-six....eighty-seven.....

 

	 Another pounding vibration of irritation grated across the

faded blue eyes of the pale, sweating man lying in the ancient bed. He

had fallen ill yesterday, his body tossed in a gloomy tempest of

nausea, chills, and fever. He awoke, breath short and mind

strained. Surrendering himself to the fatigue, he now groggily and

hypnotically counted the narrow stripes of the wallpaper decorating

his room; his head occasionally struck by a lightning jolt of pain. 

	 Kefka Pallazo, over nine years, had grown reluctantly

accustomed to such violent spells of illness, coupled with weeks of

depression, paranoia, and sensations of severe isolation. The attacks

lurked beast-like in the recesses of his scarred body and mind, eager

to mutilate the remains of his former self. Thus, he had allowed

himself slowly and methodically to drift into madness. This, he felt,

served a dual purpose; first, to avoid his inevitable desire to

destroy himself, and two, simply to demonstrate to all of THEM what

horrid curses they had woven upon him. He had positively gloated at

the thought of THEM dealing with the new "Kefka." 

	 Now, he squeezed his eyelids fast shut, as concentrating on

any image even briefly made his retinas seem to bulge and scream with

dazzling, ink drops of colorless flashes. He had nearly erased the

pain when a gentle and timid knocking came upon the door. He started

convulsively, and yelped helplessly. He wanted to shriek, to banish

whatever creature had invaded his dreary privacy. And yet, he only

clutched the bed covers closer and groaned loudly, 

	 "What do you want?" 

	 Silent, the figure at the door seemed to consider the

question for a long, agonizing moment. He detected the fearful

clearing of a throat, and grew entirely angry with himself and the

cruel demon that crouched at his door. His fury divided when the

awkward, feathery voice simply said: 

	 "I'm here to bring your breakfast, Sir. May I....come in?" 

	 The latter half of the request, he decided, had been uttered

in pure doubt. Kefka felt his nerves instantly retract, and the

workings of his battered conscious slowly began to turn their

gears. He propped himself up a bit against the fat, generous pillows

and half-answered, half yawned a lazy  Come in.</i> 

	The iron handle rattled, and the door gracefully slid open and

cautiously the young snippet of a girl crept into the room, her arms

stiff, as her hands tightly gripped the handles of a glossy silver

tray. She seemed to dread looking anywhere but straight ahead, but

perhaps morbid curiosity bested her and she glanced at Kefka, and then

stood there as rapid, noiseless gusts of breath left her. His face

drawn in a tired and puzzled frown. 

	 He cocked his head slightly, and muttered, "Well, do I get to

eat, or will you go on standing there until I starve?" 

	 She heaved, and then blinked several times, and approached

him. As she came closer, he examined her manner and appearance. Her

face was certainly plain, and very young. Her eyes a tepid shade of

brown, not very dark at all, and absolutely brimming with an

expression of melancholy loneliness. He stayed with them a moment, and

then glanced at her body. Again, nothing special seemed to stand out

in her shape, although she was very slender, her steps tiny and bare

of any charm. She wore a loose, beige dress that brushed her

ankles. Her shining brown hair pulled back casually. All of this he

did very quickly, before she reached the bedside and nervously, though

softly placed the tray on the covers. He smelled the sweet fragrance

of lilac, and then looked at his breakfast, which he had no hunger for

now. 

	 She lingered there, watching him. He shot a hawk-like eye at

her, and then sighed emphatically. She rubbed one arm with her small,

delicate hand. Impulse begged him to sling an insult at her, and

still...he looked at her again and frowned, he couldn't bring himself

to speak. And then she did, 

	 "Are you all right, Sir?" 

	 He now raised himself, so that he sat very erect, the

contents of the tray shifting. He hadn't expected her to ask that. Her

voice, with such a natural sound of concern, he scarce believed she

had mustered the courage. It frustrated him and pleased him. He forced

his gaze into hers, searching blindly for sarcasm, deception,

stupidity. He only found a pitiful, quivering fear, and something

else, something akin to hope. 

	 "It's nothing. I get like this once in awhile, that's all. I

suppose I will feel better later, thank you for bringing...." he found

himself searching those strange, sad orbs again...he needed to reveal

hatred and repulsion in her mournful stare. His paranoia now flared

and he locked himself in mid sentence. She nodded and turned. She went

to exit, and paused at the door, she projected a weak smile, her voice

failing and dry. 

	 "Well, I hope you'll feel better by lunchtime." 

	 The image of that motherly, innocent smile painted itself

into a foreign memory that would haunt his soul for eternity. 

	 The hours that passed, he solemnly picked and nibbled at the

breakfast that rested warmly on his aching legs. Everything had such a

bland flavor, but the presence of substance in his stomach seemed to

provide for some energy. Random exposures of thought processed

themselves in the core of his mind. Meanwhile his fever rose, making

his attempt at eating impossible. So he removed the tray, laying it to

his side and broiled beneath the down quilt. He sunk down very low in

the bed and curled himself childishly facing the wall. He settled into

the sleep of a tortured body, one deep, labored, and black. 

	 His eyes finally parted, as gauzy, phantom shapes turned into

reality. His fever, he sensed had broken, and his body felt glazed in

a thick, sickly sweat. He scanned the room, and near the window,

looking out at the pastel sketch of the sunset, stood the girl. At

first, he could not remember where he had seen her, then that vivid

picture of her smiling floated before his imagination's eyes. He

didn't wish for her to know he had awaken, he fancied her turning

around, her face distorted and demonic. A new wave of paranoia slipped

over him, grappled his throat tightly, and squeezed his heart

equally--he now felt as if all the blood within the vessel had been

wrung out. He must have rustled the cover a bit, because she now

glanced over her shoulder, he felt relief when those hushed, reaching

eyes touched him again. He almost smiled in spite of himself; however,

the cool nature of his will presided and he simply looked ahead. She

seemed disappointed, as if she knew he had aborted the smile

purposely. She faced the window, casting her eyes downward. 

	 He began to honestly wonder what on earth possessed this

girl. She had most likely been waiting for him to wake hours, perhaps

even watching him a great deal of the time. Hadn't she been harassed

and filled with all the rumors that clung to the name of Kefka

Pallazo? Or was she simply ignorant, unaware that she had been keeping

her uninvited vigil over a man more people sneered at than

admired? The latter seemed the most likely, for she had the appearance

of a person who walked the path of life in miserable solitude,

ignoring the blaring noise that rang about her ears. Trying to suffer

through life one ticking minute after the other, gaining nothing,

impressing no one. Remorse flowed over him, and trickled between the

angry shell that encased his idle heart. He had subjected himself to

guilt before, always flying into a raging tantrum of self

loathing. This time, he simply sighed. He summoned the memory of her

smile again, now it seemed comfortable and antique, a sort of prized

possession. 

	 "How long have you been here?" he inquired impersonally. 

	 She paused, and spoke, her eyes now staring

ahead. The feathery quality of her voice now wavered, "Off and on all

day." 

	  Is she crying? he thought in dreadful surprise. The

whole situation now tumbled into a state of pure confusion and

queerness. She now faced him fully, her fingers laced together in a

gesture of worry and her eyes free of tears, but burdened by some

awful emotion. 

	 "Do you need anything, Sir?" she asked in robotic staleness. 

	 "No, you may go now," he replied in parallel tone. 

	 She paced quickly towards the door, with the air of having

just been severely scolded and rejected. For the third time, the smile

materialized in his thoughts and he called out to her in a kind voice

that sounded so very odd to him: 

	 "I'll see you tomorrow morning." 

	 She nodded a bit, and exited. 

	 The following days, Kefka progressively left the misery of

illness as the girl tended to him periodically throughout the

days. Through very brief and uneasy conversation he learned her name,

Olivia, and that she was actually much older than he had first

perceived, being 22 years of age. She never once initiated the words

between them, and always answered shyly, almost eagerly. 

	 By Thursday of that week, he had recovered enough strength to

at last leave the bed, and rose very early just as blurred shafts of

light filtered through the linen draperies that hung stately over the

windows. He peeked through these draperies unto the vast and smoky

streets that stretched out below. He detested the staid city, and yet

today he found the view to be almost pleasant. His muscles welcomed

the light exercise of moving about the room, and he indulged himself

if a particularly hot shower, that seemed to improve his overall

feeling. He now dressed in his unusual attire; every piece dyed

frightening hues of reds and greens. He slung an oversized cape over

his shoulders, and pulled on immaculately clean, leather boots in the

same ghastly hues of his clothing. Without thinking, he sat himself

down before a large, oaken framed mirror and began applying face

paint, drawing intricate patterns of lines upon the whitened pallet of

his face. He worked busily, as a performer preparing for the next big

scene. He examined his work, and began tucking and fixing various

trinkets of lace into his thick blondish hair, and two soft blue

feathers into the back. He neither smiled, nor grimaced. He merely

left the mirror and paced around as if something were to

happen. Fifteen minutes later, Olivia arrived and knocked gently upon

the door. He gave word of admittance and she stepped into the room,

nearly dropping the tray that now trembled between her tiny hands. Her

eyes now coated in disbelief and terror. His mind wandered in circles

as he searched for an explanation to why she now stared at him with

even more sadness and fear than ever before. He felt as if she were

slipping far away, as she put the tray down on a table and backed out

of the room, not once taking her eyes off of the motley jester that

now stood before her. She fluttered her eyes before turning to the

corridor, seeming to beckon to him,  where have you gone?</i> 

	 She hadn't even bothered to shut the door; this added to his

perplexed fury. Had she become on of THEM? Surely not, he couldn't

accept it. He impatiently closed the door, and marched with predator

speed to the mirror. He then realized why she had received him so

oddly, he had taken the guise of the new "Kefka." The image struck him

so strongly, he practically fell on his knees. He now growled quietly

to himself, and thrust his hand out to the surface of the mirror, not

hard enough to fracture it, but enough to send a stinging bite into

his hand. He brooded the whole morning in his room, and felt as if he

could have completely let himself dive without struggle into

insanity. He at length oppressed the idea, as that simple smile

caressed his mind once more. He felt an enormous, crashing wave of

loneliness wash over him, as the smile melted into that terrified look

of surprise she had thrown brutally at him. He knew he had obliterated

any chance of future kindness from her, and especially any sense of

trust she might have one day grown towards him. This thought tasted

most vile and bitter. 

	 However, around noon, she returned. This time she made every

effort to keep her composure, she even stayed a few moments after

placing the tray on the little dining table he kept in his room. He

noticed that she made absolutely sure that she looked at him as often

and as naturally as humanly possible. His heart jumped a little when

his eyes met hers, and he detected that something else again. Perhaps

she had reconsidered the situation, and forgiven him for giving her

such a nasty, ugly fright. He hoped so, sincerely. She softly excused

herself and left him alone once more. 

	 Clouds had now devoured the sunny morning, and that afternoon

frigid rain charged at the glass, swirling winds hunting each other as

they howled their war cries. He focused his conscious on Olivia,

fretted at moments, and rejoiced at other times. Within hours he had

backed himself into a frustrating, unrelenting web of contradicting

emotion and reason. He could feel his stability wane thin, he fought

valiantly to gain control of his mental motions. Evening descended,

and he now felt more exhausted than all the days of his

illness. Dinner time was approaching, that meant she would be coming

soon. He panicked slightly, and meditated on everything but the

concept of madness. He wanted so dearly to hear her gentle knock, then

open the door. 

	 She came down, just as the crimson blush of the evening sun

hatched from the dusky storms, and sent a rosy light into Kefka's

room. She entered warmly, and he spoke suddenly, just as she had

released the dinner tray from her grasp. 

	 "Olivia, please..don't." 

	 She raised her face in question of his words. He felt

everything crumble, and then shrieked loudly: 

	 "This isn't me! This isn't me! I hate myself! I hate this..." 

he smeared his fingers over his face roughly, causing the make-up he

wore to smudge. He looked at her, then at his hands, and then to her

again, "I hate this!"

	 Two acrid tears emerged from his tormented eyes, and he stood

there, in an infantile fashion. She bit her lip in a gesture of

sympathy, and then felt her strength suddenly bolstered. 

	 "Why don't you try to sit down? I, maybe I should leave you

alone?" 

	 "Please...stay." 

	 "All right, I promise I won't leave." 

	 He now seated himself at the squat dining table and pulled

his dinner close to him, taking fork and knife in hand, he gingerly

cut at the piece of meat that lay silently upon the fine ivory plate

and inserted it into his mouth. She pulled out the chair across from

him and took her place. She observed his every action; he rapidly

finished his meal. 

	 "You really are a gentle girl," he said quietly. 

	 "Thank you," she replied in that feathery voice. 

	 "I didn't mean to scare you today, just now..." 

	 "I know you didn't, Sir...I just wish..." she looked up at

him, studying the red and white streaks that stained his face. 

	 "Do you want to leave?" 

	 "No." 

	 Such timid phrases, each spoken by a person carrying the

weight of a thousand griefs and sewing a plethora of intangible dreams

each and every day. She, a misplaced spirit, with no attachments and

no identity. He, the unfortunate result of Man's infatuation with

experimentation and greed. Now they sat face to face, ready to mend

each others wounds. More than anything he desired to touch her, to

know he had not conjured up this waifish angel of sadness in one of

his saner moments. He had never known affection since childhood, and

those lost sensations had been burned to ashes years ago. And now he

wished so desperately to reacquaint himself with all of those human

privileges. He had found equality in her marked loneliness, he had

comprehended every glance, and now he wanted more than anything to

replace that dark, unstirring sadness with the secret beauty he sensed

was hibernating beneath the shadows that imprisoned her eyes. 

	 The shuffling hands of the time now brushed past nine

o'clock. Little by little, sentences of every shade of emotion filled

the air; the average observer would have rolled his eyes

disdainfully at the two, as they unfolded the poignant events of their

lives. On his part, he told her of his career in the Imperial army. He

explained in hurtful detail his recollection of the first of his

infusions with the forbidden and deadly force of "magic." How these

exposures had deteriorated his natural immune system, and locked him

in an unbearable fist of emotional and neurological ruin. He also

addressed why no one ever seemed to bother him, even during his

illness. Because every inhabitant of that dirty city, including his

"comrades" and soldiers, even the Emporer himself positively loathed

going near him. They snickered at societal events as he passed by,

they pelted him with insults the moment he exited a room, he had even

on several occurrences overheard the young general Celes Chere call him

"General Psycho." Even that snide remark from an insipid teenager had

embedded itself into the mocking kaleidescope of his his memory. 

	 Her story, though not as dramatic, wound depressingly

from her first years after leaving the toddler age. She had begun her

schooling, and had difficulty finding a niche in the circle of

children that she studied with. Soon on, her peers noticed little

Olivia hardly spoke, was well-behaved and always floating on a cloud

of dreams. These qualities, though very thrilling to her teachers, sat

less agreeably with her classmates. The older she grew, the more and

more aggressively she had been teased, jeered at, even attacked once

physically. Every friendship she had worked so hard to attain had

failed shortly after birth. By the end of her years as a student, she

had tried to petrify her emotions, but being so sensitive could scarce

keep from going hysterical each afternoon after classes had

finished. Her family tried to provide for as warm a reception as

possible, but even they had betrayed her on occasion. Her own mother

had given up on the pathetic creature after a certain point, at least

Olivia had perceived things that way. She shed tears when citing particular

moments of her life, and Kefka found himself unable to react, only

capable of listening and silently mourning the wasted years they were

both trying to inter. By the time they had run out of words, Night had

spread her inky, sapphire cape over the skies and the hateful city

below had gone to bed. 

	 They now spent an elongated minute just staring vaguely

ahead, each ruminating the exchange, and then it seemed,

simultaneously they began to laugh, they stared right into each

other's faces and positively giggled under the heavy pressure of the

sadness. The noise exploded and resonated hauntingly in the walls,

though with an undertone of pity. They eventually calmed down, and

traded relieved and hopeful smiles. 

	 "We're just a couple of crazy idiots, aren't we?" he said

matter-of-factly. 

	 "Maybe," she grinned. 

	 "Hmmm..." he now intently and intensely found her eyes and

possessed them, "I don't care if we are." 

	 "Neither do I, now." 

	 "It's getting late, perhaps we should call it an evening," he

suggested in a disappointed sigh. 

	 "I am a bit tired," she even yawned as if to prove she was

not lying.

 	 She now pushed back on the chair, and it scrapped backward

and she rose, rubbing her back for the evening's conversation had

physically worn her. He followed her lead and she trapsed dreamily to

the door. He kept a safe distance, as if afraid to disturb her six

feet of personal space. She opened the door, and entered the hallway

of the living quarters for the Imperial elite forces. She turned

around and they spoke a few uncomfortable phrases. Before departing,

he awkwardly grabbed her hand and lifted it slowly, giving it a soft

and gentlemanly kiss. Her cheeks blazed with womanly embarrassment. He

released the hand and she drifted down the way until reaching the tiny

room where she slept. He watched until the door shut silently, and

returned to his room in a cloud of confusion, wonderful and miserable

confusion. He didn't even remember getting into bed that night, for

all his concentration leaned upon that evening.

	Miniature specks of rain drizzled and streamed down his

window, as Kefka awoke the following morning and stared blankly at the 

gloomy weather outside. He tossed his eyes around the room, and then

stared a very long time at the dining table. The tray and plate still

lying there, for in those hazy hours last night, she had forgotten her

responsibilities. Now he fixed his mind upon Olivia, and pulled out

the cherished memory of that first smile she had directed at him. He at once

felt a cutting pang of hunger, and laughed to himself:  Kefka, you

villain, you made your stomach growl just so she'll come sooner!</i>

He chuckled aloud, and then smiled. The sensation of this expression

felt so light and,  human</i>. Perhaps he hadn't lost all connection 

to humanity after all, the mere idea seemed such a distant and

beautiful gift. Yes, this monster wanted to be liberated from his

filthy cage and walk amongst the mortals again, as a man, not a

freakish beast.

 	In the middle of this soliloquy of thought, that familiar

whispering knock came upon the door, Kefka nimbly slid from the bed,

and turning the cool, iron handle revealed the little figure, thinking

how lovely she looked today. She cast a sweet, timid smile upon him,

her face now pink with blushing. Every gesture, every motion she made

encircled his soul, as if he had fallen into the soothing violet

tissues of some cliche desire. She had no sooner set his breakfast

down, that he put his need into realization; perhaps he approached

this new task with unrefined instinct, but he could not bear to live

another moment without knowing. He roughly pressed the girl to him,

his lonely arms closing snugly around her. She gasped a bit from the

sudden shock of this profound gesture. Her thin, fragile body locked

abruptly to his, she couldn't even budge her arms. Kefka kept her to

him, as a young boy might cling possessively at a teddy bear. He

finally loosened her, and now flushed a bit, overcome by his impulsive

behavior. She simply blinked and curled her lip in a budding

smile. Though surprise kept the bloom from expanding entirely.

 	His lips moved without uttering a single word, as he rode the mighty

crest of emotion that had moved him to embrace her. He searched for

the exact and proper phrase that would explain what had driven him to

take her so rashly into his arms. He failed to piece together the

words, and now regarded her with a gentle sense of knowing that she

hadn't been disgusted by his actions. She enforced this by stretching

her slender, trembling fingers out to his, wrapping them tenderly, he

felt the clammy moisture of her nervous hand as her palm brushed

his. They stood in awe of the moment, saying nothing, feeling

everything. Though in their childlike state of mind, neither of them was able 

to cope with the true impact of what had just occurred between

them. And so after the first wave of fascination died down, they grew

impatient and worrisome over what would happen next. He didn't know

whether to hold her again, or simply take his seat and begin eating

his breakfast as if nothing had happened at all. Was he being a fool?

He felt dizzy suddenly, positively sick with confusion and spun by his 

hurtling want for such beautiful, ethereal things such as affection

and dare say it, love. The word fluttered translucently through his

soul, had he really considered and dreamt of loving someone before? He 

groped determinedly towards the answer, and then looked at the frail

creature whose warm fingers laced his with such assurance and

doubt. He turned within, and found the dancing, sputtering essence of

love trying so pitifully to ignite his heart's parched and withered

ruins. He released her hand softly, and pulled out the chair.

    	He needed patience. She looked at him and understood

everything within an instant.

	In the balmy, hushed glow of Monday afternoon, Kefka decided

to at last venture out amongst the living again. He had spent nearly a

week confined to the echoing walls of his room, though the experience

had ultimately bestowed more joy upon him than all his years in

society. The sprouting relationship between him and Olivia still green

and fresh; though for the meantime they had mutually and silently

agreed on taming the wick from rooting itself too securely in the

virgin soil of their souls. Neither had danced to the bewitching

melody of love before, and so each remained still, only eyeing each

other timidly from within the safe obscurity of the shadows.

	Even when she brought his breakfast up to him that morning, they had

already presumed the false roles of a general and his loyal

servant. He hadn't embraced her once since that initial, mesmirizing

moment. Certainly, they exchanged fond smiles and conversed a bit, even

laughing when he made a humorous comment. She had dutifully delivered

his meal, and then in like etiquette had pardoned herself and

exited. A virtual curtain fell, and the spotlights promptly

dimmed. The actors each melding into reality, hearts sunken and yet

unwilling to acknowledge the sweet emotion each kept innocently for

the other. 

	This dismal facade settled unfavorably with Kefka; he had always been

a man driven by his various and sweeping passions, from his former

admiration and enthrallment for the Imperial forces, to his fiery

contempt for cruel demons that had strapped him to a lab table and

violated his every aspect--body, mind, and soul. THEY had clutched at

their metallic clipboards, noting in heartless scientific dialect the

curious, unexpected transformation of a talented and respected soldier

into the twisted, moaning wretch that wailed and rocked before them in

puerile angst. He recalled those days wincing, and a burning tear

itched the corner of his eye. He had barely stepped out of his room,

and now his knees seemed drained of support, he hugged the wall

miserably, and took painful, crushing gulps of air into his lungs. He

rested, begging for stability, and shortly mastered the weakness and

headed towards the administrative headquarters for the Imperial

army. He had premeditated everything precisely; he would enter,

resign, and leave. If they wished to mock him, or stamp him as a

coward he didn't care. He only hoped they wouldn't strip him of his

rights and lure him into an asylum. He had a gut feeling things would

end up in a hairy, awful mess, but he had to escape that familiar and

torturing environment. 

	For Olivia.

	He propelled himself with newfound dignity and determination, and as

every passerby viewed him, they cupped their hands over their gaping

mouths, stopping in dumb shock when they dissolved the riddle of Kefka's

identity. His face had been clean of any decoration for days, and he

had rummaged for hours that morning to discover an ancient, though

noble uniform dating back to his very first weeks as a general. He

attracted more attention now than when he had first donned the

mischevious disguise as a mad fool, and sauntered haughtily and

boastfully in front of his humiliated and nauseated audience, THEM. He 

considered his plan again, checking and evaluating the sensibility of

his judgment. He would speak directly with the Emporer himself, and

then immediately upon the acceptance of his resignation, he would fly

joyfully to his Olivia, embrace her and when everything had been

worked out and terminated, they would travel half a world away on the

rosy, pacific breezes of freedom. He let himself smile today, at least 

for the time being. Step by brisk step, he approached the Emporer's

throne room, his eyes sharp and yet softened in a way. He swallowed his 

every anxiety when the stone-faced guardians permitted him entrance,

and he had bowed gracefully and fearfully before the stern, revered

old man. The reception he received less than warm, and littered with

suspicion and gritty mistrust. He fumbled for the words, and hadn't

the gall to give up his post, instead he requested a two weeks

holiday; now the wrinkled and ruthless devil regarded him with

hopeless pity, approving and secretly delighting in the soon absence

of Kefka. He hadn't even bothered asking where he had been the past

days. For the present, Kefka's use equated nothing in the collective mind

of the military. They thought of him as a quaint novelty to harass and 

belittle. As he left the cold, iron palace he sighed despondently,

cursing his pressure-induced cowardice. He reflected with bittersweet

disappointment in how the situation had played out, but cheered up a

bit as the faint, glowing image of Olivia entered his head.

	He swiftly headed for the girl's door, and just as he had lifted his

hand to knock upon it, a flash of horror shook him. In his rush, he

had failed to consider how Olivia would receive the news. He had

thrown together an improvisional Plan B, a few steps after recovering

from his anger. He would inform her of his upcoming vacation, and then

discreetly and gently invite her to join him. His intentions

had been born of childlike romance; pure, free of lecherous

undertone. He now worried that she would reject the idea, his heart

falling leaden and moribund before her. He hesitated for three whole

minutes, and then wishfully tapped upon the door. She cautiously

slid the door open the tiniest bit, and upon recognizing her guest,

pulled it completely ajar, and invited him inside.  

	He glanced around nervously at the miniscule chamber. The only

furnishings included a bed of moderate quality, a lovely mahogany

chest of drawers with antique pewter handles, a feminine and low chair

fashioned in the same style as the chest , and a tall, silver framed

mirror on the wall opposite the bed. The cozy tranquility of the room

had a relaxing effect on him, and he placed himself in the chair with

ease. She perched herself informally on the bed, dangling her legs

daintily over the side. He dusted off his trousers half-heartedly and

then looked her with honest eyes, giving him a more youthful

impression. 

	"I've just come back from a session with the Emporer, and have

declared a two weeks recess from my duties. I wish to depart Vector as 

soon as I allocate the proper means of travel." 

	The idyllic smile she wore wilted; she let a mournful little wisp of

breath leave her and then looked away. He straightened up, and leaned

towards her a bit, his voice growing feeble.

	"Olivia, I would be very happy and grateful if you would come with me. I, understand 

if you refuse."

	He internally criticized the political manner in which he had

proposed to her. He had been hoping the phrases would flow poetically,

dreamily into her heart, touching some idle hope buried beneath her

depression. She jerked slightly and then slowly faced him. Her eyes

shaded in mixed emotion. Her cheeks now flared with heat and color,

she seemed on the verge of fainting. 

	"Sir..."    

	He readied himself to catch her, should she actually faint. He

courteously offered his arm to her, that she could clutch it until she

regained her sense of balance. He had devotedly kept himself in fine

physical condition, even in the darkest points of his life, and so he

felt confident in the sturdiness of the limb. She looked to him with

coy sweetness, his face seemed so sincere. She realized that in those

few and precious days, she had revealed the rare and priceless gem of

kindness in that strange and abused man.   "I would be honored to

come with you, Sir."    There was no cinematic embrace at that

moment, no sentimental score to enhance the mood, only her acceptance

of his offer. For each clung sadly to the countless failed friendships

he and she had endured for almost their entire lives. How then could

either feasibly surrender themselves to such a vulnerable, delicate

emotion such as love? He nodded politely to Olivia, she escorted him

the short distance to her door, wishing him a pleasant evening. The

melancholy play had unfolded in such a bizarre and endearing manner,

one quite possibly might have written both leading man and lady off as

odd, desperate fools.  

	As dawn peered arrogantly over the dirty city, the general and his

servant departed on a holiday whose experiences would compose Kefka's

fondest memories of life. He had arranged lodging for them in a

secluded, quiet little cottage on the outskirts of Vector. There, the

two miserable creatures could relish in perfect stillness, far removed

from the sneering faces and garish lights of the city. They left

almost anonymously, as only a handful of people knew they would be

gone. They arrived towards the fading hours of the afternoon, the sky

a sea of crystalline azure splendor that spilled out eternally

above. The proprietor, a burly, middle-aged man with a craggy

countenance, greeted the two, handed Kefka a gothic wrought-iron key,

and then wished them a fine vacation. Then the haggard tree of a man

turned, trudging powerfully up a pebble trail until he vanished over a

distant hill. Kefka led Olivia inside the weather-beaten building with

the highest degree of gentility. The interior of the cottage satisfied

both the eye and the spirit of the beholder, the furnishings

constructed from various, natural materials. Every article crafted

meticulously by hand and preserved impeccably. Five rooms composed the

lovely cottage: two bedrooms, a kitchen, a sitting room, and

bathroom. Separately, each explored the place and arranged their

belongings; after about an hour of this, both he and she entered the

sitting room. Kefka moved first, electing to sit upon the small,

navy-blue sofa that rested beneath a large, picturesque window near the

main door. He leaned back against the plush cushions luxuriously and

sighed. Olivia softened a bit, and modestly settled down on a wide,

padded chair and crossed her nervous hands neatly in her lap. They

glanced around casually at the refreshing, new environment. Neither

could escape the mounting tension and uneasiness of the

situation. Though they had been virtually isolated together for the

week of his illness, they had felt an invisible presence, the aura of

the bustling city around them. She finally penetrated the opaque

silence by offering to prepare dinner. He agreed to her hasty

suggestion kindly. 

	He watched her with doting eyes as she floated busily around the

kitchen, her body shifting lightly from one end to the other, her

slender fingers working industriously, as an enticing aroma perfumed

the air. He fell into an adolescent trance, playing contentedly with

the notion of Olivia becoming his wife and then conjured up charming

visions of sharing meals, strolling peacefully on winding, rustic

trails in this heavenly countryside, and the like. She darted a

bashful eye at him occasionally, and then returned to her work just as 

he caught her glance. She readied the table in exquisite taste and

order, and then approached him, smiling with an air of servitude.

	"Dinner will be finished soon, Sir."

	"Great. It smells wonderful, really."

	"Thank you, Sir."

	"Olivia? Please, you don't have to call me Sir anymore. Kefka will be

more than suitable."

	"Sorry, I just, I see you as Sir. Would you be angry if I didn't use

your name, at least for now?"

	"I understand. Well, don't feel as if you have to, I only want you feel

comfortable, for both of us."

	"OK."

	He tried to relax the girl with a smile that bore the affection he

harbored uniquely for her. She returned the favor with a 

meek and trusting smile of her own. He seated himself at the dining

table, that reminded him very much of the one he kept back in

Vector. She brought the various dishes in carefully and habitually

commenced in serving him dinner. He stood up before she had time to

act.

	"Allow me, you are my guest now and so you should be the one being

served. Don't argue, I won't take no for an answer," he said with a

slightly humorous tone. He put forth every effort to free the child's

mind of anxiety and confusion. He offered her the chair directly

opposite his and she accepted, her eyes shimmering with sudden

enchantment. He felt the rigid bonds that harnessed his personality

sever, and he danced merrily around the table, as he served her

dinner. He filled a plate of his own, and they ate in total, blissful

amity.  

	Afterwards, they reclaimed their old positions in the sitting room, he

illuminated the oil-stained lamps that protruded from the beige stone

walls. The soft, fuzzy radiance soothed Kefka and Olivia alike, as he

introduced her to the hidden, repressed man that crouched pathetically behind

the somber cloak of his present self. He possessed a clever,

intriguing mind, he spoke fluently and enthusiastically about his

first days as a private in the vast Imperial army. He even made

wickedly hilarious impersonations of his former generals, and Olivia

giggled ferociously at each one. The laughter continued far into the

night, until each fell exhausted, ribs aching. They retired to bed,

and before Kefka entered his room he turned gently to Olivia, 

	"Sweet dreams, Olivia." 

	"Good night," she replied wistfully and then added softly, "Kefka." 

	Olivia crept from her bedroom very early the next morning, stuffing

her narrow feet into warm, white slippers and wrapping a thick, woolen 

robe around her closely. She saw no sign of Kefka, and so she acted

with hushed, subtle motions, preparing some strong, pinkish tea and

sipped at it silently as the silver light of day streamed through the

pale, lace curtains that shrouded the windows. She pondered again and

again the way everything had drastically and swiftly changed in so

very few days. Kefka broke her train of thought, as he lazily drifted

towards the dining table and flopped yawning into a chair. He rested

his head drowsily upon his upturned hand, and asked how she had

slept. She confessed to never having enjoyed a more restful and solid

sleep in all her life. His face expressed complete joy at her

words. 

	They decided to step out of the cottage that day, and visit the lush,

wide fields and hills that stretched out for miles around

them. Gorgeous, wavy grasses carpeted their path, as they wandered

side by side without direction or care. Wildflowers peppered the

way, each petal tinted the softest shades of every color imaginable

and their scent lingered seductively in the cool air. They talked

incessantly as the sun traversed the cloudless sky; time became a

forgotten element. She carried a pretty, wicker basket on her thin arm

that rocked rhythmically in the low breezes. Around noon-time, they

settled down for lunch, selecting a shady spot under spindly though

elegant trees. Olivia spread a tawny cotton blanket over the ground,

and set out a variety of tender delacasies to nibble on. They dined

and gazed around in awe of the grand spectacle of nature that engulfed 

them entirely. Soon the breezes rushed into invigorating winds; the

old trees in unison began shedding billowy, white tufts, each

holding a seed that would travel the world in search of some fertile

ground to nestle into. The dancing swirls of these tufts fell

snowlike, affixing themselves to every object they landed upon. Olivia

rose and tiptoed distractedly through the magical storm of white, her

eyes closed gently. Kekfa waited a long while before following her,

for the girl seemed to lost and involved in some fantastic dream. He

trailed silently behind her, edging closer and closer as Olivia headed 

further and further into the wilderness. He finally overtook her,

passing her stealthily and then aligned himself before her, opening

his arms in a romantic trap. She walked blindly, tumbling

into his arms, her eyes snapping open instantly. Her enclosed her in

his embrace fondly, and she lay her head tenderly at his heart. He let 

his hand caress the shimmering brown fall of her long hair and

relished in how perfectly things had turned out. He then stared out

aimlessly at the marvelous foliage, and then turned his eyes upon the

girl. He trembled now, placing his hand firmly beneath her tanning

cheek and sliding it gracefully under her chin, lifting Olivia's face

until she looked directly into his eyes. He smiled at her with

kindness and respect, for he felt it suited the lady to give her such

an honest smile. He bent softly, and brushed her lips with his in

whisper softness. He hadn't planned on kissing her that day, for he

still struggled with the idea of affection and feared both giving and

receiving it. Nevertheless, in those cheerful hours they had grown

undeniably close, and now he couldn't suppress the urge to express all the

beautiful emotion that permeated every fiber of his being. He finished 

the silken touch and they returned to where they had enjoyed the

lovely picnic, cleaned up the area and headed back to the little

cottage. Neither spoke a single word. 

	Behind them, the brilliance of day slowly dimmed into dusky, crimson

stripes that stretched tirelessly across the heavens. Kefka's calm

expression soon melted into one of dread and loathing. For in front of 

the cottage stood a modestly sized entourage of Imperial soldiers, each

equipped with a talon-headed spear. The master of the cottage stood

helpless to the side, thick in interrogation from a rude-looking

officer. Olivia clung tightly to Kefka's arm wishing deeply they would sprout 

wings, both she and he, and soar into the evening before anyone could

recognize them. A wiry private caught sight of them and waved his

hands frantically, as he ran prattling on about seeing them in the

distance. Kefka approached the group, feigning confidence and strength, 

and inquired what business they had with him. The officer answered

smugly:

	"Emporer Geshtal has requested you to return to Vector immediately,

please prepare your things and we shall escort you back promptly."

	"What?" Kefka spat angrily, "I specifically declared that I would be

absent for vacation! The Emporer himself approved it! This is

ludicrous, I won't hear of it!" 

	"My apologies, Sir. However, we have orders to use force should you

refuse to comply." He grinned fiendishly at the girl and then cocked

his head mockingly and added, "Wouldn't want this frail little wench

to get hurt, now would you General?" 

	"Intolerable! However, I cannot put the lady in danger, we will ready

our things and join you as soon as possible." 

	Kefka swiftly led Olivia inside the cottage and shut the door

heavily. He placed his hands on the girl's tiny, quivering shoulders

and spoke with heart-broken tones. 

	"My sweet Olivia, you treated me as no other person ever has, or

perhaps could. We probably won't ever see each other again, I have the

feeling. I guess this will be our farewell; so please, take care my

precious friend."   

	He lightly kissed her forehead, slid his finger down her nose and

sighed. She hurried to her room and haphazardly threw her belongings

into the cheap leather sack she brought and they exited the cottage

sadly. The faceless soldiers pushed her into a cart, led by two giant,

muscular birds called chocobos, each adorned with engraved gold

trappings. Kefka rode in a separate cart and they raced towards the

hard and sooty capital. At the gate, Olivia was let down and abandoned 

there. They quite literally let her to her own devices, not even

offering to arrange a room. She shivered miserably in

the heartless night, and sought refuge in a  sleazy, dank

inn. Thankfully, Kefka had given her some money in case of an urgent

matter such as this. They admitted her grumbling, and she lay awake

the remainder of the night, consumed with loneliness and

confusion. Kefka was dragged into the scientific facility located in

the military quarters of the Imperial palace. They pushed him

mercilessly into a cramped, dark room and locked him up for the night, 

as some revolting, wild animal. So the final grains of happiness fled

from Kefka's life forever, in sudden, cruel horror. 

	Geshtal himself visited Kefka mid-morning the next day. He waltzed

arrogantly into the sparse cell and stood menacingly before the

cringing man. He kneaded his chin philosophically, and then

administered the fatal verdict. 

	"So Kefka, you thought you simply run away from me, didn't you? Ha! I

knew your intentions on that day, when you groveled so pathetcially at 

my heels. But you see, my dear General, YOU are not in charge of

yourself anymore. I've invested far too much time, capital, and energy 

into creating you, even if you are a complete and utter waste and

failure. However, I believe I have a worthy task for you to

accomplish. You remember the young witch I adopted? Well, I would like 

you to train her in the ways of a soldier. I hope you will find her a

suitable replacement for that ugly creature you were trying so hard to 

conceal from view. Don't worry, Kefka, we have prepared a long,

painful series of treatments especially for you, so you don't get the

foolish idea of leaving Vector again. That is all, I will see you when 

the hypnosis is complete."

	He departed with the same serpent coldness he had entered with, and

Kefka wept dismally at his cursed fate. 

	Reality had dealt the two outcasts a numbing, breaking blow. Olivia

was inevitably dismissed from her position as Kefka's servant. The

kindly proprietor of the cottage sent for her within a week, and

employed her as caretaker of the quaint establishment. She accepted

the offer with strained gratitude. Kefka, on the other hand, suffered

a devastating series of experiments that would drive the ephemeral

sanity from his weakened mind permanently. Week after week following

his arrest, THEY continually injected mind-altering chemicals into his

blood, exposed him to massive degrees of psychological "reformation"

with harsh verbal abuse, and endless taunting. THEY leashed him on a

short chain of control, jerking and teasing the man until he bowed

before them shrieking in mad laughter, and swore false alligence to

the Imperial command. Though internally he latched greedily to the

concept of extracting revenge upon each and every living creature when

the time arrived. Thus began the morbid days of "Kefka."   

	Eventually, he discovered the supreme power he had relentlessly sought

after for years. He quite furiously ripped the world assunder, and

then gleefully observed the squirming, burning masses below as he

cowered gloomily in his tower. However, in the buried recesses of his

ravished soul, his childlike love for Olivia still breathed, though

wounded and feeble it lay beneath the wretched hatred he dealt upon

the world.  

	Upon a certain brisk and sunny day, Olivia awoke from a disturbed and

empty slumber. She lay still in bed, and a forlorn sentiment filled

her soul entirely. Suddenly, without the least morsel of doubt she

thought of Kefka, and realized that today he most certainly would

die. She had been the unfortunate witness to the terrifying

metamorphosis of her one and only love into that foul and ruined

demon. She had cried mourning tears when the rumors of Kefka's inhuman 

deeds spread to the desolate cottage. She had survived the chaos and

flames that incinerated the world and left it withered and staid. And

despite all the abhorrent news she had been subjected to, she never

once ceased loving him. 

	She visited the old man that day. She had found early on he was named

Warren Mallory, he had retired from the Imperial army years ago and

now rented the little cottage to anyone who needed some time away from

the filthy city. Though in those times, a traveler rarely had the

means of paying for such grand luxury. He greeted her with his

customary kindness, and sensed something was weighing upon her with

unbearable pressure.

	"Tell me, lass. What aches so cruelly in your heart, I can see in

those dark eyes of yourn something is eatin' you terrible." 

	She pressed her lips together with difficulty and then jetted a girlish

look of question upon the old man, her voice feathery and weak.

	"Do you think....he loved me?"

	The old man frowned with pity and a sort of disgust. Then he gave her

a sincere and reminiscent smile that eased her troubled mind.

	"Aye, miss. I know the man loved you with all 'is heart and

soul. 'is eyes nar lied, I swear to thee. Call me a fool, but I've

seen many a man pass through this place, and I testify to you Livy, I

never saw a man with more love for a lady than he did."

	She nodded dreamily, without control of her actions. She returned to

the lonely cottage and stared wistfully upon the scorched and ghostly

scenery that had once flourished with beauty and hope only months

ago. She thought of Kefka for hours, remembering every detail of their

carefree days together. She smiled when she envisioned his face, and

then captured the image of his haunted blue eyes for a long, endearing

moment. She paused and a solitary tear emerged from her eye, sliding

upon her youthful cheek in gentle silence. 

	The cackling angel of destruction had fallen at last. 

	Three hours after Kefka's death, the girl sat motionlessly in the

sitting room, upon the same chair she had the first night of their

holiday. Her cheeks glistening and raw from the deluge of tears that

had streamed with burning ache over the time she sensed her love had

passed away. She had been crying in a bittersweet mix of relief and

depression. Questions echoed phantom-like between her ears, and behind

her eyes. Had he suffered greatly? Could she survive knowing they

would never meet again? All questions she hadn't the will nor ability

to answer for the present, perhaps never.

	She turned her attention to the open window that now seemed to

call to her. Olivia fluttered her worn eyes in disbelief, as thousands

of enchanting tufts of white floated past the window, some

entering the house and spiraling delicately upon the sofa that still

rested beneath it. The manner in which they danced and whirled upon

the fresh breeze seemed almost magical; some impossible image from a

fairytale. She leapt with surprise and curiosity from the chair, and

opened the door as if a long-awaited friend had just arrived. She

looked around with dazed anticipation , and a voice emitted from

within the cottage:

	"Over here, Olivia." 

	She shuddered a bit, and turned her head in the direction of the

sound. Her heart throbbed deeply, ardently and she knew exactly where

to look. Upon the navy-blue sofa sat a faint, though definite figure

that could be none other than Kefka himself. She rested upon the

threshold of the door, and cast him a smile that reminded him so very

much of that motherly, innocent smile she had given to him on the

very first day of their acquaintance. Though his body and mind had

been racked with pain, and consequently had soured and rotted away,

the purity of his soul that loved the girl remained concealed and

healing inside silently and surely. And so, he had finally resigned

his role the hounded, bruised fool for that corrupt and gnarled

Empire, and flew to his Olivia at long last. 



<END>