(Before you read this- The song "The Mystic's Dream" is by Loreena McKennitt, from her album, "The Mask and the Mirror." Track 1. The song's really beautiful and disturbing, and so are the other tracks.

-And that most of the characters in this fic don't belong to me.)

The Mystic's Dream

All for the love of you

***

Serenity. She hadn't felt like this in a very long time. It's something long gone, maybe back into the silent fantasy realms of her childhood. She heard a woman's voice in the room next to hers, singing to a child to allay the phobia of nightmares. She smiled and let the notes of the lullaby wash over her as the last threads of melancholy started to vanish. She picked up her hairbrush, idly running it through her hair, the gentle pressure on her scalp soothing her more, looking at the luminosity of the full moon. In the other room, the voice had stopped singing, the child probably quieted down and asleep.

She stopped brushing her hair. Tomorrow- what about it? Back to her real life, to the deaths and unhappiness she must deal with, that she had caused. For now she could only smile and feel tranquility creep back into her heart. She looked up, saw the lens of her eyeglasses silvery in the moonlight, seeming to taunt her. She closed her eyes and thought, I'm doing all of this for you. Why?

***

Morning already? She stood up from the comforting embrace of her bed, the peace in her heart gone, ready to spill blood. She walked into the bathroom, took off her clothes, stepped into the shower stall. The cold water ran over her. She ignored the liquid iciness, staring at the tiled floor, counting the tiles, trying to organize her mind. She inhaled and exhaled sharply, finally cutting off the flow of water. She grabbed a towel and dried her hair, the fabric scratchy to her skin. She dressed herself quickly. It's routine, after all, the same buttons to fasten, the same notch of the belt. She braided her hair and twisted it into tight coils.

She looked in the mirror, saw a different woman staring at her with accusing eyes shielded by the lens of eyeglasses. "You're not yourself anymore," she whispered. She saw the computer screen blink into life; dark green letters bathed in light scrolling by until a picture forms- his face. She tried to ignore him, staring in the mirror again, daring to meet her own dark eyes. She saw the blue orb of Earth floating in the darkness, his turquoise eyes. She fingered the cold metal of her pistol in the leather holster and smiled.

"I'm ready, sir."

It's all for you.

***

She walked out of her room, two soldiers following behind her. A little red-haired girl was playing ball in the corridor, too engrossed in her solitary play to acknowledge them as they pass by. The ball beat a constant tattoo on the carpeted floor, like a muffled heartbeat. The little girl threw it into the air, with ghosts for playmates, failing to catch it as it fell. It rolled to her feet, kissing the tips of her boots. She stooped down and handed it to the little girl, smiling a little.

"Here it is," she said. The child smiled at her brightly and murmured a shy, "Thank you, ma'am." She ran away, ball clutched to her chest, giggling at some unheard, private joke. She smiled after the girl and continued walking. Something bothers her, but she couldn't understand it.

"You like little kids, too, huh, ma'am?" a soldier asked her tentatively. He's expecting me to snap at him, she thought. She kept on looking straight ahead, at the dark paneled doors before her eyes.

"If you have a bet with your companion there, yes, I do like children a little. Doesn't everybody else? I'm not a complete ogre, if that's what you're thinking." Suddenly she remembered the child's blue eyes. They had seemed familiar; for some bizarre reason, she knew that she had seen them before. She felt as if she's lagging behind schedule, as if time's leaving her, so she picked up her pace. The two men hurried behind her, hands on the butts of their handguns.

I can't do this.

And I shall kill again. I must. This is how loyal I am to you.

She saw the little girl again, holding a woman's hand, wheedling the woman for something she was not willing to give. Probably her mother, she thought. How fortunate she is. Her mother loves her. She stared into the little girl's eyes, a sudden realization exploding throughout her mind. How can it be? She has eyes like yours.

***

Kill, she screamed to herself. Come on, do it. If you really love him, you'll do this. Behind her she could hear voices arguing with each other. The meeting had started. She's looking at herself, an introspective mirror-image- a woman standing beside a table, holding something in her hand, feeling it tick against her fingers. It's an elaborate time bomb embedded in a compact. She felt foolish carrying this around her. She doesn't use a lot of make-up, so why this? Maybe because nobody will think that she's the one who had planted the bomb.

But must I really-

Just do it. Just plant the goddamned thing and get out of here. Nobody else will know what you did, except for those soldiers standing outside. Nobody else will know that the OZ did it. Hell, you're falling behind schedule. Just do it.

She didn't hesitate anymore, her movements quick and deliberate to compensate for the lost time. She walked out of the building, feeling relief. In a few minutes everything will be over, the end heralded by the sound of falling mortar and clouds of dust. She stood outside the building, looking at its bleak ashen face, wondering, What's going on now?

"Excuse me, miss," a young girl said, walking up to her and showing the compact in her hand. The girl's deep blue eyes smiled up at her. "I think you left this."

She felt the rush of blood to her head, grabbing the plastic box from the girl and flinging it into the window of the assembly room, heard the fragile cry of breaking glass. She fell, the ground shaking as the bomb exploded, smelled the falling pulverized cement. The young girl's alarmed screams, people yelling. She turned to the two soldiers restraining the young girl from running into the building, her blonde hair disheveled, blue eyes filled with hatred and…tears? She herself couldn't cry anymore. She turned her back, the young girl lashing out at her.

"Let her go," she said. She felt guilt as the girl threw her a look laced with malevolence. She tried not to be shocked at what she had done.

I can't believe I did this. I shouldn't have done this. I'm sorry, Relena Darlian. I'm sorry. I don't know how many people have I killed before? How many more are going to die? How many ghosts are going to torment me now?

None.

***

She ran, sweat streaming down her back, trying to stop the van as it sped away. She blocked their path, finally throwing herself out of the way as the vehicle charged, shrieking, towards her. Two men helped her stand up, asking in worried tones, "Are you sure you're all right, ma'am? Are you sure? I think you need to be checked over."

"No, I don't. I'm okay." She watched the back of the white van as it moved away, feeling frustration and defeat, failure, the guilt no longer there. "I think he's not going to live," she said, walking out of the alley, away from the stench of refuse and disappointment, pieces of paper and glass crushed underfoot. Rats scurried away before them, their large beady eyes glassy and mocking. You lost, you lost, ha-ha-ha, they seemed to laugh, running over her feet. She kicked them away from her. She wanted to sit down on the dirty ground littered with garbage and cry like a little girl, her hands holding her head. She had failed.

***

Your lamps will call me home

***

The little girl was waiting for her by the door of her room, bouncing the brightly-colored ball, tossing it again and again for her imaginary playmates to catch. "Hi, lady," the little girl said with a grin. She was taken aback. She didn't know what to say; watching the ball hit the floor. She smiled at the girl, sliding her key-card into the slot.

"Hi." She finally responded. The girl giggled and looked at her with the too-familiar cyan eyes glittering with mirth. "What are you doing here?" The little girl frowned, clawed at the carpet with the tip of her shoe. "Are you alone?"

"I was thinking you could help me, ma'am. You see, my Mommy's not here and I locked myself out by mistake, and then I lost my card. I couldn't get in. Could you help me, please? I'm afraid of the clerk at the desk. He looks mean and he doesn't smell good. I mean, he smells like, like rotten butter. He would have smelled nice if he takes a bath once in a while."

She almost snickered at the child's description, remembering the scowling man and his clumsy movements, the almost unnoticeable rancid smell. "Very well. I'm checking out anyway. I'll talk him into giving you an extra card. I think there's a fine, though." She smiled at the girl again. "What's your name? You look oddly familiar." The little girl laughed and caught the ball in mid-air.

"Me? I'm Mariemeia Barton, and I'm five years old. Thank you." She recited a familiar litany. Maybe all parents have their children memorize their names, ages, and the phrase thank you, she mused.

"Barton? I've heard that name before. I don't know. Let's get your key, and I think I'm late for my flight." She walked down the hallway, the little girl reciting some nursery rhyme behind her in a soft, singsong voice. She remembered it as one from the many archives of her childhood- Ring around the Rosies. It was a rhyme dedicated to the dead and to death.

"You look much, much more prettier with your hair down and those ugly things off," Mariemeia remarked suddenly. "And hey, what's your name?" The ball fell and rolled to a sudden halt. Mariemeia picked it up and looked at her.

"I'm Anne."

"Pretty name. I don't like mine. It's too frivolous and too long. Some people can't even pronounce it right." She threw the ball again, the rubber sphere cutting through the air. She started to recite the nursery rhyme again, counting as the ball threw itself down. "Mariemeia Barton. One, two, three, four, five. Ashes to ashes we all fall down."

She watched Mariemeia, the guilt back again, the mordant taste of failure. "Ring around the rosies," she started to chant along with Mariemeia. She started to laugh, tranquility settling back in her. "Pocket full of posies." She stopped talking, her voice suddenly caught and jailed in an unseen cage. A young girl was walking towards them, her large blue eyes angry, the ribbons in her hair drifting silently behind her.

Relena Darlian.

"Ashes to ashes, we all fall down!" Mariemeia finished with another laugh, with the characteristic happiness of children, all too happy to be alive. "What's the matter, Miss Anne? Did you see a ghost? Did you, huh? Did you?"

She followed Relena's movements with her eyes. She thought she could smell blood and the smell of falling mortar, the garbage in the alley. She shook her head, smiling a little at Mariemeia's disappointment. "Maybe some other time," she said. Relena ignored her, didn't recognize her as her father's killer, or sense the invisible blood on her hands. She raised a hand to her face and tried to push back strands of her hair, absently toying with her earrings.

"Yes, maybe some other time."

***

All for the love of you

***

"What you did was foolish," he said, voice chastising and slightly patronizing. "You could have been killed, you know."

"But I wasn't." She looked out of the window and saw a field of stars, human souls on their way to heaven, or so her mother said. If I had died yesterday, and if I still have my soul, would I be one of the stars now? The darkness spread itself before her, vast and swollen, reminding her of loneliness. She turned back to the monitor. "As I said I didn't die. I'm on my way back there." he stared at her through the screen, as if only that piece of glass separated then from each other and not the miles of cold stars and emptiness. She smiled. He appeared to be leaning towards the monitor, holding a scarlet rose in his hand.

"For you," he said, bowing. "I'm waiting for you. Hurry back to me. Don't blush, but you know you do look more beautiful with your hair undone and you glasses off." She laughed a little and shook her head.

"And so they said."

"They? Who are these "they"? Are these "they" going to steal you away from me? I'm jealous. Maybe I should just marry you to keep you at my side."

"Sir, shut up," she muttered, trying to avoid a grin. He looked at her, eyes staring straight into hers. She cringed a little and smiled uneasily. A flight attendant was giggling nervously behind her hand, teacups balanced precariously on the cart, grease-stained dishes piled up to hide her name tag. She shot the young woman a glare and turned back to the screen. "Sir, will you please go and ask someone for a cup of strong coffee? You've been drinking too much champagne again."

"Am not. I love you so much I don't want to let you go. Will you marry me?"

"Stop joking. Someone might hear you and take it-" she started to protest. He cut off her words with a wave of his hand, as he always does. He smiled at her and kissed the rose, offering it up to her.

"Take it seriously? Well, my beloved Anne, I am serious. So will-."

She turned off the monitor, resting her head against the cool glass of the window, the light of stars immersed in a noiseless silver rain. "Shut up sir. You're drunk," she murmured. She felt sad; there's another ghost out to haunt her, another spill of blood tainting her hands. She remembered Mariemeia and Relena and their innocent blue eyes, one pair laughing, the other burning with tears of hatred. She felt sorry for both of them, for herself, for all of them. She felt tears run down her face, warm, like the summer rain embracing the earth. She wiped them off with the back of her hand and thought again, But I'm doing all of this for you.