My Dear Doctor,

Another letter in the space of days? How do I manage such feats? You're shocked, I know. So am I, but then there is little to occupy my days (save idle conversation), so letters to you are a welcome distraction.

Another fine evening (always, I use the term loosely) has passed at the institute, and on top of the usual cavalcade of monstrosities, we now are gifted with the undead! Truly, I hope the rumors are true and Landel has managed to be eaten by one. I would love to Cure him of his malady.

Unfortunately, speaking of Cures and their Glorious Properties, two companions of Dias seem to have come under the same affliction I hope has killed off Landel. I make no move to cure them, lest the spell backfires and kills them both. I would like it very much if Dias didn't skewer me like a piece of poultry in that instance.

I am incensed with Master Luxord, though it is simply pride that has me riled. I know that, and still wish to smack the smarmy grin off his face in righteous anger. Perhaps this shall pass, perhaps not. I know a man without a heart would think little of lying to a person. I doubt it even crosses his mind when he does it. It appears I need to better guard myself against that kind of man.

Or any kind of man. Nor do I wish to be treated as though I need to be protected! I am not some fae princess who breaks if touched! Certainly, I've dirtied my hands with the blood of more men than any maiden my age, and have done so willingly. I know it pains you to think of my duties on the battlefield, Dear Doctor, and forgive me for reminding you so. But is it not the truth? Eventually, one of these men will step too far, and I shall be forced to throttle him for the sake of my honor.

And the longer I remain here, the more attractive that option appears to be.

Today is Sunday, according to their calendar, and visitors come. I wonder who shall appear for me this time, if any do at all? Will it be dear Noah (who, even if he's disappeared again is still a buoy of sanity in a sea of stupidity)? Or someone else from our homeland? I hope, Dear Doctor, that I never meet you here. To do so would certainly break my heart. Perhaps if it is indeed Noah, he will bring me roses again. The ones from last week have already wilted, sadly.

Always Yours,

Celes

Dear Doctor del Norte Márquez,

My continued imprisonment here has been a double-edged sword. We both know how well I take to being cooped up in any one place like some hen chocobo. Though I was let outside today (gasp and rapture, dear doctor, gasp and rapture), I took little pleasure in anything but enjoying some fresh air. There are still many things left to be done, and too many things still left off in the way side.

The last night, I nearly had an aneurysm looking for the Brigadier General, whom you've not had the pleasure of meeting yet (though I dare hope you do not, simply because it would worry me to see him capture even you). He's someone I think you'd enjoy talking to, honestly, being a kind and surprisingly charismatic man. I've become his Creature, and yet do not chafe at his orders.

You would be surprised to know how degraded my abilities are here, I become weak as a kitten even after a few spells, and it's been years since that has happened. Quite infuriating.

I'll write you again soon, though I hope you don't mind that these letters do not get to you. Knowing you may someday see them, even if it is through another, means much to me. Take care of your health, my dear Doctor.

Always and Faithfully Yours,

Celes.

Day... what is this day, now? I can hardly recall. Eighth? Tenth? It matters not, I suppose.

Yesterday's... events seem to have shaken my proper reserve. If they could do that to Noah... I'm being silly. Of course they could have done that. This damn institution can do whatever it pleases and it is just so infuriating to be powerless. Even at my fullest ability, I was under their control. No better than Palazzo and his bedamned Slave Crowns.

Triad forbid that the good doctor ever learn of its use. I dare say we'd not have a wave of new patients, but rather a wave of easily malleable amnesiacs, much like the Magitek Witch, Terra Branford. As useless as newborn kittens, though that seems to be the choice of people here. To be useless, stupid or an abhorrent combination of both. I would train them if they were so certain that running off and getting themselves killed was such a fabulous and ingenious idea.

From now on it will be quite important to keep these thoughts to myself. It appears I'm becoming quite a cynic.

-C. Chere