Attack of the plot bunnies! That's my excuse for this odd piece of twistedness....
Have fun!
Love,
Siara

He is dead now. Has been for a long time. And as I sit here, his son in the next room, I close my eyes and remember. I loved him as no woman had ever done before. Ours was the love that came rarely, and when it did, it swallowed up all other cares in a mindless torrent.

I used to watch him all the time, out of the corner of my eye, as he paced through the hallways outside my room. He was -- there's no other way to describe it -- regal. Noble and arrogant and ever so magnificent. The finest specimen of Saiyan ever to live. And all I could do was admire him from afar, despite the fact that we lived in the same place.

****(who do you think the speaker is?)****

Women threw themselves at me, recognizing and hungering for my obvious power, and my prestigious position in society. A few men did as well. Yet, they feared me as well. I was a giant. Intimidating, immpressive. But they wanted me anyway. Alas my soul and body were already given. Body to the army, and soul to one of the few people who outranked me . . . namely, the King himself.

****(now who do you think the speaker is?)****

I was a model Saiyan, powerful, aggressive, arrogant, and never did I waste my time doing foreigner's work (that is, thinking). All for him. All so he might notice me in particular, think about me for a precious fleeting moment, note how well I was living up to the ideal he had set for soldiers. Of all the saiyans, he alone was unaffected by my size. But then again, he could have snapped me like a twig. This lured me to distraction. I so wanted to spar with him, just once. Even though I knew it was not my place, nor my right. Besides, King Vejita seemed to love almost no one. Not his wife, who died mysteriously after Prince Vegeta was born, nor even himself sometimes. I would occasionally catch him muttering to himself as he sat alone in the throne room, and I watched from the shadow of the door like some helpless swain. He'd berate himself for allowing Frieza to control him and his people, call himself a coward. The only person Vejita seemed to care for, was his only son.

It was easy to see why. Prince Vegeta had a phenomenal power. He was fast on the track of surpassing even his father, and most believed that he would one day become the legendary Super Saiyan. Vegeta was our hope, the only one who might one day beat Frieza. Few dared even to hope. But one could see that the King believed this with all his heart. He worked hard with his son, training him relentlessly, love and pride hidden beneath the stern demeanor.

If only he felt a bit of that for me! A single look like that, full of love and poignancy, would tear my heart in two. I would relish the feeling, ripping, shredding, sounds of destruction. I was raised to love it.

That is why, when he asked to see me, me personally, I was filled with an intense lightness, almost as delicious as fear. "King Vejita wants to see you," the messenger said, she was new, a mere chambermaid. I wondered why she had been sent instead of a palace guard, and voiced this opinion. She replied, trembling, that the King wished no one to know of this meeting, not even the guards.

Should I continue? Or is this just too strange . . . e-mail me: [email protected] or sign my guest book!