Author's Note: I'm currently replaying Final Fantasy 6 so that I can give this fic the ending it has long since deserved. I can't thank those who have followed and enjoyed this fic enough, and I apologize for the previously HUGE gaps in updates! Here's a little update before the big one~

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Out of her room and into one of the narrow halls, Terra could see that it was barely morning. The night watch was stumbling off to bed, some leaning against one another and reeking of alcohol. Even staggering like they were, they made great effort not to brush against her as they passed. It was safer that way, they felt, not to admit that they had even seen her in Kefka's presence, let alone touched her even to steady her walking or let arm brush against arm in a crowded hallway. She had been led to Cid's laboratory from the same room since she was a child, the steps easy and familiar. Sometimes, she had walked there with Leo, other times with Celes, but now it was only with Kefka, who never left her alone for longer than he could help it. Some glimmering of rumor had reached the Emperor's ear and, alone, the sorcerer feared that she would confirm it; confirm the destroyed records of a birth, of a death, confirm how she had gotten those burns and bruises, confirm everything. She wouldn't. She was afraid of being taught another spell. So they continued walking.

In the narrow hallways, she could feel like she was alone, walking behind Kefka instead of beside him; she could close her eyes and just focus on following the clicking footsteps. Sometimes he would talk to her, his voice soft and laced with menace when there was no one else to hear and bright, almost cheerful when someone was. It didn't matter if she answered, then. It was just important if she listened. In front of her, Kefka was walking in his usual, curious manner, his back and hips holding a slight, almost feminine, serpentine sway. She focused on the way the fabric along his back shifted as he moved, the way his hair -- free of the feathers, beads, and quills that usually decorated it -- slid against his shoulderblades. She didn't look at his hands, even though the nailtips that had been chipped at Atma's death had long since been pared away. Terra had long since learned to watch his movements, to know when he would turn or stop. Pain was never very far from disobediance.

Once, she would have never thought that she would have to divide those she loved, those she cared about, into public or private deaths; how easy they would be to lose, how much and by how many they would be missed. Each morning, she awoke to the roster. There was something strangely comforting about it, to wake up and know that all of those she couldn't protect would survive. Atma was too private, she realized, someone only a handful of people would ever know about. She knew that she hovered between a public and private death. But, Leo was public. Celes was public. Cid was public. She took comfort in that.

Once, she had been asked if she loved Kefka. The rumors were everywhere among the soldiers, some more kind than others. The beery leers from the balconies and from the marching ranks of perfect soldiers. 'You have to like it,' their eyes would say. 'There can be nothing else. Come, look how pretty you both are. Did the Emperor plan this?' Men and women marching, with their close cropped hair and expressionless faces, it was nearly impossible to tell one from the other. 'The Emperor is a genius. He planned this all along.' Rank after rank of perfectly regimented denial.

Kefka paused briefly, then continued down the second of two branching tunnels. The walls were slick and shiny with moisture, scabrous rust turning the walls to a patchwork of muted grey and a dull, bloody red. These were among the least-used areas of Vector castle, leading to all but abandoned outside storage rooms and hangars for scrapped IAF crafts. There was a single guard posted at the door to the outside, placed there to redirect all who had gotten lost and found themselves there. An easy post, he was sure. He could hear the soft sound of Terra walking behind him, she hadn't spoken a word since they had left her bedroom. He frowned. She had changed, hardly sleeping, eating little. She was so obediant now, silent and pliable. The sorcerer wondered if the device was still necessary and if disobediance was still an issue.

The device, something that Ghestahl had named the Slave Crown -- though Kefka doubted that he even remembered issuing the project now, it was so long ago -- was made by the late Dr. Eileen Palazzo to control the espers. It had never been used and instead sat in a dusty box in what had been her old room, now Kefka's. The scientist had despised the idea of the device, arguing that she had no knowing that it would even work on the minds of a true esper, it having been built using specifications from dissections and experiments conducted prior to the War of the Magi. Similar devices had halted the captured espers in place, their horns, claws, and magic capable of being turned against them with a simple command. So it had to work, Kefka was sure of it. His mother would never lie to him. He could feel the slender crown, concealed in a pack, tapping against his hip as he walked. Soon now, soon.