Years after they defeated Kefka, Relm struggles to adjust to a normal life.
by dilly r
There is nothing she can paint that compares to the world before the fall.
Relm sits in her studio with a myriad of colors and a blank canvas and tries to find the perfect blue for the sky and the perfect green for the grass. Sometimes she'll pick out a color that she thinks will work, but on the canvas, it seems unbearably dull.
Somehow she manages to remember what the world didn't look like, but she can't, for the life of her, remember exactly how it did.
The sky was some shade of blue, she knows that much. It was not always the dingy yellow it is now. And the land was fertile once. Not rocky and barren. Fertile is green and vibrant.
Funny thing is that she never did landscapes before, except for a few when she was very little and worked with colored wax. Even then, she thought the sky was prettier if it were purple, and land far better pink. If she'd just had one goddamn landscape to work off of, she would know what color to use. But they used to bore her.
She can't think of anything as goddamn beautiful as a blue and green landscape.
Relm doesn't live in Thamasa anymore, but one day some guy comes up to her and calls her by name. She doesn't recognize him until he tells her his name. He's lived next door. He says she looks great, but she suspects he is just hitting on her. No one looks great anymore. The poisoned land infects them all. The scientists say that every generation will handle it better than the last.
The very old and very young died off after a few years. Grandfather had lasted four.
She sees the boy from next door two more times. Once for dinner, once for lunch at her apartment. He sees one of her paintings, left in the corner leaned against the wall.
"Don't look at that," she says.
"Why? It's good." He tilts his head to try and see it properly. It is on its side. "The colors are great. Is it a... a bird?"
She grabs his wrist, hard. "I said don't look."
He doesn't come back. She is glad.
When she can paint, the few times can manage to really paint anymore, she does not use blue or green. She paints in red and black and gold. She paints his eyes and his grin and his wings. Never realism anymore, always abstract. She doesn't want to see him in realism. If she can skew his face, blur his features, it is almost as if she is painting nothing at all. It is almost as if they are just blobs of paint on a canvas.
She doesn't want to paint him, but sometimes the need bubbles up in her and spills out.
She's seen the others a few times. The others who were there. Who should understand. They don't have the problem she has. Maybe it was because she was so young. Maybe she just expected her entire life to be the way it was after the fall and when they killed him.
Now, all she tastes is air, all she feels is pins and needles. She can't even sleep because she's too damn bored.
She can't remember the color of the sky or the grass, but she can remember the exact blood red of Kefka's smile and the golden yellow of his hair. He has destroyed the world, he has killed two thirds of it's people... And he has taken away the last joy Relm had in her life.
She cries as she paints him, she stabs his canvas with her paint brush, and most of the time, she burns them so she can kill him again. Some part of her still believes that killing him is possible.