This actually started off with the intent of being an oneshot, but it sounded like a perfect prologue, so I came to the conclusion to convert it into a multi-chapter story and replace that other story I had in mind.

EDIT: I did some editting to crop out some of the plotholes I found while reading over this file on my computer.
EDIT (ver. 0.1): Had to edit yet again because has a bunch of morons who can't seem to get the system to accept simple symbols which I regularly used to indicate scene change or even the classic (...)s. Their excuse? It's just incredibly difficult to manage a simple (...). Yeah sure I "really do hear" you on that, but I can't help but wonder, how is it that you guys can manage the (...)s in the text, but your system can't seem to pick it up when it's standing on its own. Well, this isn't the place for a rant. If you want to hear anything of the sort, click on the link to my profile for access to my LJ. The rant is coming very soon.

Multicolored Mirrors
Thordis Valentina

Rating: PG-13 (T)
Genre: Action/Adventure
Pairings: N/A (For now)
Summary: The events of Kingdom Hearts through the eyes of Sephiroth and Zack Fair.
Disclaimer: Wait! I never said Sephiroth or Zack were mine! Go away Lawyers! Shoo! Back I say! BACK!

- Prologue -

I can see my face very clearly against the surface of the mirror. It is smooth and perfect like that of a statue so I reach out and stroke the silvery surface. Though my hands are gloved, the coldness seeps through the tough leather and sends shivers down my fingers and up my arm: they are shivers of which I cannot control.

Standing there, in this world of mirrors, I gaze at my reflection, at my pale skin, angular face, the glassy green eyes, and the curtain of silver that streaks off my shoulders in greasy and stringy sheets. It has been so long since I last washed my hair and I cannot remember if it has grown out or not. Looking in on my battered self makes me want to cringe because so much has changed from what I once was. Something about me is off but no matter how long I search for the answer, I cannot find it.

So I lean in and my eyes narrow slightly as I squint and scrutinize: to catch that mar, that imperfection which I think I've seized earlier. Yet no matter how long I search the features of a hollowed-out man staring back at me, caked in dried blood that isn't his, the answers do not come. It is difficult to comprehend how the rusty-red came to smear across my cheekbones, jaw, and neck; nor can I explain how it got into my hair. But it is there and for some reason I feel apprehensive as if the blood that cloaks me was something that was not supposed to coat my fingers and arms.

I want to believe that the blood got on me because I was trying to help a dying person, but a little voice at the back of my head tells me otherwise. When I look down at my hip for a confirmation from my Masamune. It is not there. Even so, I am aware of the unawares. My conscience knows and my sub-conscience knows even more. Little-by-little it eats away at my rationale.

Wherever it is I am in, I cannot tell for sure, because it is dark here and there is no light to brighten my barren heart, only a small bit of silver glow emancipating from the great walls of looking glasses. On these, I can see my duplicates slithering across the glowing surfaces and my anticipation heightens more than I can control myself. I see and feel my body shaking, and my eyes are sunken and ringed with dark spots. Most of all, the stench that rises off me is abominable.

There is nothing in this world, which I want more than to soak into a hot bath and cleanse all traces of my transgressions. But sinners such as myself are not given the privilege of repose. Somehow, I had lost my way and crossed the line that sets right apart from wrong. All the thoughts of the steaming waters and the lathery soap with which to wash off my darkened history become nothing more than a mere coveting of mine.

Who I am today is no different from a madman, a serial killer who enjoys the bloodlust. The only difference between these foul creatures and myself is that I cannot remember what it was that I did. All I can do is assume the worst because the stench of death rolls off my shoulders and I can almost taste the darkness on my tongue. It smothers me because I cannot accept it. I like to believe that I was far too strong to succumb to it and this was merely a test I have to pass…

Complacency.

I wonder: does this put me on a completely different level? Does it better my position or does it make me a monster?

Closing my eyes, I pause with one hand covering my reflection's face because I cannot bear to look at it. Something in them haunts me. Is it guilt? Anger? Sorrow? Despair? Fear? Hate? It is difficult to fathom. Trying to make sense of what was right and what was wrong of my unknown circumstances gives rise to a migraine into my already throbbing temples. Then does this mean that I am only dreaming? I cannot tell.

Although looking at who I am now disgusts me, I want so desperately for this to be a dream and I need my confirmation. Slowly, my eyes crack open again with the vain hope that I might be lying in my bed with the sheets tangled around my legs. Maybe I might be on the floor of my home and Radiant Garden would be slipping into the early stages of twilight…

Disappointment.

Between the cracks of my fingers, I catch my eyes staring back at me. They are empty and devoid of the vitality they once held.

I am still here and slowly, and though it is not all of it, some of the events of what had passed are rushing back to me. What I remember now is that everything I once had was striped away from me. The darkness took it all away and then offered the medicine with which to cure myself. I was furious and I hated it, but accepted the proffered power it brought with it because I was too weak to stand on my own two feet. The blood that coats me is the fruit of my inability to control my anger. It is the blood of friends whom I trusted but slaughtered without a moment's notice. It is also the blood of the people whom I tried to save. It is the haunting shadow that I let my anger consume me.

'I am a fool.'

I try to laugh out loud, but my voice comes out in dry, cracked hackings.

My sanity teeters on the edge ready to fall over and shatter into a million pieces against the rock-hard bottom. A small chuckle escapes through my compressed lips and it scares me because it sounds iniquitous and dark. I am a walking paradox: a hypocrite. I am a fallen hero with no hope for redemption. These hands with which I am trying to support my sagging body had both killed innocents and attempted to save them. So I avert my eyes to my toes, because gazing into my own iris and surfacing the truth is too painful a task to accomplish.

That is when I feel it. There are icy fingers creeping up my arm as if to consume me and swallow me whole. Though I know that I am not the man I once was, I do not wish to fall into the darkness: I want to fight it and break away from its vise-like grip. My eyes fly to where my arm is still extended and touching the gelid surface. Instead of seeing my own face, it is distorted and blurred into a multicolored mirror. I witness the lustrous mirror slithering up my arm like a molten metallic snake, except it is cold. The coat I am wearing does little to protect my warmth. It is, after all, tattered and dirty.

My mouth is slowly falling open as it slithers under my sleeves and I let out a cry that sounds alien to mine ears. There was never a moment in my life in which I was truly afraid and I hate myself for becoming what I am now.

I try to pull away from the prying spindles of the semi-liquid, but its grip is stronger than anything else I have encountered. Despite my fighting its pull, I am drawn closer and closer to the argent surface. By now, my whole arm is submerged in this strange silvery liquid and I feel icy waters saturate my arm. I am face-to-face with the blobs of colors. Quite suddenly, they become pellucid and I can see my countenance twisted in terror.

Seeing that, there is nothing more that I wish to do but to shatter the glasses with my fists and break them to relieve me from my overwhelming shame and the guilt that has mounted up to my crown.

There is nothing I can do to stop my guilt from consuming me. Sometimes I wished I could have fought the darkness in my heart or merely accepted it and moved on, but I have realized that I was too weak and far too drunk on my own ego to put up a good battle. And thus I loosen my body and close my eyes, letting the silvery waves envelop me and pull me into a grave of multicolored mirrors where my sins are reflected at me and I am forced to re-watch something I cannot bear to look at again.

When I awaken I find myself submerged in icy waters. Whether I am lying on my back or standing, or if I am dead or alive, I don't know. My hair billows around me flashing and winking as it tantalizingly waves in and out from my vision. Water bleeds into my clothes and douses me in its ice so that I feel as if I am sinking and drowning and living all at once. The invisible hands of waterlogged weight are pulling me deeper and deeper into my deep turquoise grave and I think I am sinking, but everything appears to be the same.

I've stopped counting the time. How has it passed? Was it minutes that have elapsed since I accepted my wretched fate? No? If not, then perhaps hours or even days and weeks… months maybe? I try to shake my head, but it does not move. Should I be afraid? I do not care. Is this what death is like? I am slightly surprised because I was expecting something different, something more along the lines of eternal heat that is so hot that people's souls melt like butter left out on a sweltering summer's day, but their bodies are left to experience the burning and the wild pulsing of their blood winging through their veins, ready to explode at a moment's notice.

I feel tremors run up and down my spine, but have grown so accustomed to it so that it no longer bothers me. The bloodstains have long gone, having dispersed like clouds of deep crimson and I cannot see anymore. They have faded into blue and are gone forever. My shoulders feel lighter as if someone had come along and lifted the heavy stones that had once laden onto them. In spite of this, my anticipation still lingers strong.

The deep dark spider of unpleasant premonitions continues to crawl around my sub-conscience and my guilt had not faded because it is not over yet. My punishment will stretch out unto eternity and I will suffer and suffer and suffer until my body and my mind splinters into so many pieces I can never pick them up and put them together again…

Lost.

I am truly lost. If I cannot destroy my sins with these murderous hands, then perhaps—given that I can move them—I can use them to slit my throat and end my own life. The warm ichor that I want to see blooming like little puce poppies in this world of blue will be my sacrifice for all my misdeeds. I am willing to give up my life, but I know I cannot. My hip still feels light and it is truly unfortunate that I do not have my sword with me. Forcing my own arms to move up and strangle the life out of me is out of the picture as well for I am a cowardly fool and cannot live through a slow and agonizing death.

My body feels heavy and limp as if an outside force had seized it and is controlling my body much like that of a puppeteer tweaks the strings on his marionette. There is little I can do aside from lying here and wallowing in my own self-loathing and my guilt.

The lids are falling close now, and I try to move to rouse myself and fail. The world of blue nothingness fades into black, and my despair begins anew. I am sinking and falling lower and lower and lower into the darkness of my heart. This is something I do not want, something I want to pulverize, but it is intangible and thus impossible of breaking. Yes, I admit that hate it, but what else is there for me to do?

There is no redemption for the likes of me. If this is my punishment, if this is the cross I must bear for having become the malicious man that I am today, then I will suffer the consequences of what I have done and let it destroy me.

/endprologue/