@desorcieres says, “tell me how to make it better.”
“A little late to be tryin’ to make up for lost time, ain’t it?” He snaps back, still a bit bitter, seeking solace when he can seize every moment of it. In this instance, he took to stepping out onto Cid’s balcony. Desperate and in need of cooling off after one particularly heated argument between him and Cid. Ah yes, he always did cherish their lovely little talks-- and about how useless it was now to hear Cid carry on about the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if I had onlys’.
Seifer is sick of dwelling on the past. Sick of people dwelling on the past. He’s never looked back-- never wanted to sit too long on those little imagines, those ‘what ifs.’ Even so. Questions had arisen that compelled Seifer to now stand outside on the balcony and ponder on a few things.
But those moments to ponder would be tabled for a time when Seifer has adequate chance to brood. In private. He didn’t realize that Matron had been outside. Had she overheard this conversation with Cid--?
“You really think I can provide a simple answer for that? You can’t change fate, so there’s little else you can really give me to make things better here, Matron.” Bitter. Unnecessarily bitter. His words are spat at her as he paces, shifts his weight from heel to heel with each turn. He’s an animal trapped in his open enclosure. The freedom is there, just over the edge of the balcony but it comes at a price. The freedom is there, in the front gates of Garden but it comes at a price. The freedom is there in starting a fire and watching it all burn away but alas--
For every action he were to take to make his life better -- comes with its price.
