you can create a song simply with your body

Humans are swift. Humans are strong. Humans are ceaseless.

Fiora's body is all of these things, but it's not human. It doesn't sing with the magic of being real, and fresh, and alive, and free. She feels it even when Meyneth has taken control - perhaps especially when Meyneth has taken control, because then the guilt she feels only redoubles.

It is my fault that I am like this. That you are like this. That we are like this. It is I who have weighed you down.

Meyneth could have chosen anyone for her vessel, probably. There are plenty of other Face Pilots, some Machina and some half-and-half, like she is. Fiora doesn't know that Meyneth has chosen a foil to Shulk, to Zanza, to Egil and Arglas, and perhaps if she did - when she does - she might not feel so guilty...but wouldn't she?

My stupid mistake that saddled the Machina with one more failing body. My rashness, not quite anything the same as courage, that made the attack on Colony 9 so bloody as it was. My selfishness that let Mumkhar on with his revengeance path of pride.

"Yes, it was you, wasn't it, Fiora?" Meyneth's voice breaks the silence of the hangar, but also doesn't.

"O-oh. Guess I forgot that you can hear me."

"Even if I cannot hear you, I can feel when you become sluggish. When your sorrows have weighed you down."

"Yeah..." Mentally, Fiora draws her knees in to her chest (of course, in the real world she's not even sitting down to be able to do so), and then quickly recoils them back out, struck sick with the memory of her death.

"But that never happens to you, Meyneth. You're always so strong." So powerful. So wonderful. If Fiora could lay chin in hands and just watch, or cheer out for all to hear, she would. Whatever it is that Meyneth is fighting for, she does it so well. Awe-inspiring, indeed. Not even Dunban had ever done anything quite like it.

"I? I am simply doing what I must to effect what peace and change I can before Egil drives this whole world to ruin even faster than the apocalyptic, if not so apocryphal, turnabout he fears."

Indeed, Fiora has heard the whispers about Zanza. Her memory of Prison Island is only hazy, but she knows that the danger he brings is very real. If it weren't, Meyneth would never fear him. So why does she fear Egil?

"But you...you made him, right? So why won't he listen to you?" Or rather, that's probably why Meyneth should be just as sorrowful. It would make sense, wouldn't it?

"Well." The goddess's next words are measured, but only just. "Does this Dunban ever listen to you?"

Fiora laughs, brighter than she feels inside. "He's my brother, so I don't quite know what you mean by that."

"Nothing that odd," Meyneth replies smoothly. Reassuredly? No, reassuringly. "Just that our loved ones don't always listen to our voices when they call out in reason."

Calling out in reason. Shulk...he told me to get back. And now look what I've gone and done.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"For making you put up with...me."

"I mean no offense, Fiora, but having your human body here is a tremendous help. We need your friends on our side."

Of course. The human body is what makes me...well, you know. Human. It's the only part of me that's actually alive. Right?

"I didn't mean about that." Suddenly she feels particularly dull and listless. "I meant about having to lug around this Machina frame."

"Oh?" Meyneth's tone quirks up. "Did you think I minded that? You do remember that I made the Machina, after all - you just told me so yourself."

And they're not all so rebellious. So it's a little rude of you to be bemoaning the very part of yourself that has come from the goddess you admire so much, don't you think?

"I guess you're right," Fiora sighs. "So I'm sorry for being sorry, but it still doesn't change the fact that you're Lady Meyneth, and I'm just half-dead Fiora."

"You seem very alive to me," prods Meyneth. "Or don't you feel it?"

It's not like she's had all that much chance. Being smashed against a pillar by Mumkhar's Face Unit - yet again - had definitely not been a euphoria of physical manifestation. Nothing to do with him ever would be, of course. And yet...

Mumkhar had seemed to revel in the new state of his body - he had even said so, fool that he is, and Fiora blinks back her ears to study him in their shared memories.

"He is...vile," Meyneth admits. "But he moves with all self-possession. Though it would never have been an example that I would have chosen, it does serve our point."

Our point. We move together. "Do you not see? It is no weight but a physical one. If you were heavier as a human, it would not change who you are. It would not change how beautifully you can sing."

Can we move faster? Can we sing as one? "It is not just me in your body, Fiora. We are here together."

Of course. I can feel when you are sluggish, when your sorrows serve to overwhelm, she had said. And Fiora feels Meyneth's power. They are not isolated from each other. They could not be. Yes, they are together. They couldn't but be.

The conclusion is wonderfully simple and far more than just sensible, and Fiora is about to resound her agreement, but just then there is no more time. Egil takes control of Face Nemesis, and they and the Mass-Produced Faces move on the party from Bionis.

The motion is stilted. It does not sing; it does not come from within. And when it comes time for the pair to rebel...of course. Of course, antecedent to consequent, and question to answer. Do you not see? I am with you, my lady. Of course I do.

Fiora and Meyneth, together, are swift. Fiora and Meyneth, together, are strong. Fiora and Meyneth, though inhuman, are both forever ceaseless.