:: reflections: miang's conflict ::

~ by reiciel reiciel@jpopmail.com
{written 04.30.00 | edited 12.19.01}
C+C is muchly appreciated

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or the settings/plot specifics of the game Xenogears. Praise Square for their existence if you feel inclined to, not me ^^;;. This work is written strictly for entertainment (if that's at all possible... ^^;;)

**Caution: *Spoilers ahead* for those of you who haven't played Xenogears all the way through. This monologue occurs after the 'transfer' between Elly and Miang. Actions are denoted by ^'s and thoughts/emphasis are denoted by *'s. Also, a note: I wrote this maybe a few days after I finished Xenogears, and edited and html-ized it oh, almost 2 years later as you can see from the above dates ^^; sooo, if there seem to be a few inconsistencies with characterization etc., then pls forgive them for the sake of coherency with my story ^^; **


I gaze upon a frosted lake, impenetrable, insensitive. Honest. Tapping my razor-sharp fingernail upon its icy finish yields not a chip, not a single crack; it prefers in its silent hauteur to merely stare back at me, undaunted.

Who are you? Who returns my gaze from beneath that icy blanket?

Not I. It's her... that wretched antitype. Her face, her body, her voice... all abhorrent. The only dissonant element is her hair, her lovely long hair - it has lost its fire. Can I count that as a victory? It is now stripped of all that... motherly warmth. It is the colour of chill twilight, the shade of solitude.

And misery. That, I claim to be mine. That, and these eyes... empty eyes. Dark and hollow, reverberating with listless echoes of too many lifetimes. This is all that remains of me... or would it be more accurate to say, all that I ever was - a murky wraith, with no face, no shape, no voice of my own?

...Could this truly be all that I am?

They think I have no emotion, no feeling. Oh, but how could I? All the warmth necessary for emotion belongs to her, the Will of the mother. She, the loving guardian of mankind, who shares her warmth to inspire all, so flowing, so abundant... so generous, and yet, she could never spare even a speck of that warmth for me. Of course not.

I am the Weapon.

My destiny is to keep this scythe edge sharp, to be the reaper for Deus' advent and the return of humankind to ultimate Paradise. The blood I shed... the blood of others... my blood... it is all for the achievement of a greater good. I only exist because I was programmed to fulfill that purpose, so why should *I* feel any emotion over it?

Why. Why. That same question could echo into infinity and never be answered. Look at the rest of them - Elly, Grahf, or Lacan, and above all, Fei - all so desperately *passionate* about their lives. None of them lack fervour any more than the others, despite their conflicting motivations. But *why*? Why do they possess such an infinite reserve of emotion for their damned predetermined lives? Why do they feel so much passion for a fate already written in stone?

I'll tell you why.

It's because they didn't *know*. They were granted the grace of actually *living*, as humans, as if their redundant stints of living and dying actually *meant* something. Over and over again, they've received the blessing of death only to be reborn again into a new, adventurous life... Lacan and Sophia, Fei and Elly, the Contact and the Antitype. Forever destined to be reunited time and time again, to rediscover their timeless love, to reaffirm it with the Antitype's beautiful sacrifice. Each time their sorrow blossoms into love, a love that binds them ever closer every time they are torn apart. And now, they are so tantalizingly close to the union from which they were originally spawned, just a breath away from their original bliss...

And where do I fit into this romantic fairy tale? As the keeper, the guide, the catalyst for all things, in my immense power, what can I do?

I watch. I can never feel that outpouring warmth of love, no, not I. I am the Mother's Weapon, the Keeper of Time, the only one who retains the memories of the distant past, as I have since the very beginning. It is my duty to carry those memories with me through the centuries, the millenia, in order to guide all these lost souls back to themselves. The opportunity... the blessing... the damned *capacity* to forget is not mine to claim. Not like them. They are allowed to be born, to grow, to have families, to know love and share love with each other... until I come along to darken their worlds and waken their consciousnesses to their true painful existences. How would they have ever known, but for me? How would they have traced the thread of their ancestry back to the genesis where their fates were determined? How would they have thus strengthened their love by that knowledge, and used it to generate enough courage to face their fates?

All that love, and none spared for me.

They think I cannot feel, that I do not care, that I was simply 'programmed to act this way.' That's what I said, wasn't it?

Then why do I strive so hard to see through her eyes? Why do I struggle to drown in the warmth of her soul? Why do I, behind this frozen facade, wish that through her, I could vicariously seize just a tiny taste of what this passion, this thing called 'emotion' truly is?

I'm... I'm just like them, in the end. Just as *human* as they are. We are all mere entities residing in human vessels, just floating consciousnesses, holding these lifeless bodies only long enough to fulfill their purposes. We are all the same, can't they see that? Just machines, devoid of emotion, devoid of *humanity*. In the end, that is all we are. The only difference is that they believe in this human charade. They believe in the brief glimpses of life they're given, because of their blissful ignorance. Because they don't know what they are... they are just like me.

...Aren't they?

What are we... what am I... I am a parasite. When my host dies, I shed her dry corpse and move on to the next woman in line. I corrupt her, turn her against the ones she loves, ready to destroy them for my purposes. It is so mechanical, so simple. Ideally, at least. If only it would work that way, then I would not have to wonder, worry about 'emotion', or 'suffering'...

Karen. That was her name, Fei's mother. She broke through just before the end, resurfacing to show him one last outpouring of her love... I saw it through her eyes, and it shocked me to my core. I... almost... *felt* something twinge inside. It was probably just the last flailings of her dying soul I was feeling, like the last piercing glow of a sunset before it dips below the horizon. With a ferocity of a raging wind she awoke from her slumber, to sweep in and protect her only son, and I sat back numbly, watching through her eyes.

I managed to catch a faint remnant of her anguish as I left her body. Just a remnant, though. I could never meld with her human spirit enough to truly feel that exquisite pain, a mother's anguish. I am not incarnate. I will never have a human soul.

...But they do, don't they. A soul of some sorts, a soul that can feel those human emotions. Even now, as Elly sleeps, I can sense it - her heart cries out for Fei, just as it has in so many lives past, struggling against me to reach her beloved once more...

I. Hate. Her.

Why is she blessed with all the endearing qualities of the mother? The compassion, the generosity, the forgiveness, that damned eternal *love*... it all belongs to her. The love she feels so abundantly for Fei... How many times have I seen it, and yet, still it sickens me... still it...

...breaks my heart.

...If only I could simply assimilate her. We could merge, in the same