Word Count: 1737

Her bedroom on Ganymede was, out of all the rooms and halls that made up the once grand palace, the one place she felt most comfortable when visiting her homeworld.

Of course, it wasn't really her room, was it?

It was a difficult distinction she make. Certainly she'd never lived in that room, though she'd visited often enough to become familiar with it. She'd walked the halls of the palace enough times and explored enough of its wings to find her way back there no matter where she might have started her explorations. Somehow it always seemed to pull her back, much like Destiny City kept her chained to fate. And there was no one else alive who could claim ownership over it now. No one else could venture here, no one else could see what these rooms encouraged her to see, no one else could call this place home.

Even Ganymede herself could not quite think of it as home.

But it had been home once, long ago when her starseed had not yet belonged to her.

Liesel's room, then. It had been his centuries before, whether or not it belonged to the Senshi who followed him.

“When can I go home?”

The voices, like the room, had become increasingly familiar to Ganymede over the years. Sometimes they were all she heard, distant whispers calling her name, welcoming her back to a place she was certain she would be unable to escape. Other times they were accompanied by memories, some of them brief and hazy, some a little more vivid, a little closer to reality, when she could close her eyes and feel things she knew she'd never felt, and experience those moments as if she'd actually lived them.

But they were all disjointed, out of order—the voices, the images—and it was often difficult to make sense of them.

“You are home, Ganymede,” this the voice of an older woman, one Ganymede did not immediately recognize.

She appeared by the table in the sitting room. Ganymede could just make out the vision of a figure in a dark, high-collared dress, a glittering brooch fastened in place at her throat. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe pile on her head, and her expression was as lacking in warmth as the stiff tone of her voice.

“I want to see my mother,” this the voice of a young boy, though Ganymede could not yet see him. The voice came from the direction of the entrance and was accompanied by an impatient rattling, like the handle of a locked door.

“It is forbidden.”

The figure of the woman faded as her last few words echoed in the stillness. Ganymede stood quietly and waited until she appeared again, this time off to the side near the windows. She was an imposing woman, tall and stern, her eyes cold and narrow as she watched over the other figures who had appeared in the room. On the opposite side, a small cluster of women busied themselves with straightening and dusting, sparing occasional glances over the scene.

By the door stood two men. A few steps from them stood a young boy. The first man stood slightly forward, old and weathered in a suit and heavy robes. His thin, wrinkled hands were mottled with age; he had them folded over the top of a sleek black cane. The second man stood just behind him. He was younger, fresher looking, though his hair appeared to have already turned gray, and his expression was dark, severe—disappointed, Ganymede thought. His was the expression of a man who'd expected so much more.

“I want to go home,” the young boy said.

It was the youngest Ganymede had seen Liesel in over two years. He could not have been more than ten years old, a pale, slight child whose fair hair brushed his shoulders. His eyes were the light periwinkle Ganymede had become accustomed to seeing. At the moment they appeared sad and wet, as if he'd been crying. His face was blotchy, his nose red. Quickly he lifted an arm to wipe his nose on his sleeve, which earned him a disapproving frown from both the older woman and the younger of the two men.

“This is your home now, Ganymede,” the old man said. His voice was not unkind, but there remained a distant quality to it, as if he could not allow himself to draw too close—as if to do so would be improper.

“That isn't my name,” Liesel argued, momentarily defiant. “My name is Liesel!”

“You will no longer be known by that name!” the second man cut in, the loud bark in his voice enough to have Liesel shrinking back.

The older man held up a hand to caution the younger against continuing. “Hush,” he said.

When both had quieted the old man stepped forward to be nearer to Liesel, but not so near that they could touch. The old man looked down on him with mild sympathy.

“Tell me what has upset you,” he said.

Liesel sniffed and wiped his nose again. When his face turned up toward the man, he looked hopeful as he responded to what seemed to be concern. “I want to go home. I want to see my mother.”

“It is impossible.”

“But why?”

“Your mother is no longer your mother,” the old man said gently enough, though it was obvious he had no idea how such words, no matter how kindly put, could hurt and confuse a boy so young. “Just as your family is no longer your family. One day you will forget them, and you will realize your importance to this world.”

“I don't want to forget them,” Liesel said miserably.

“You must,” the old man told him, “for you must never see them again.”

“But I want—”

“It matters not what you want,” the old man said. “You are Sailor Ganymede. You have a duty to uphold. The monarchy will shelter and raise you, and your people will be your family. You are to be their guide, for you represent everything that allows our world its power.”

“You are the first of the Galileans,” the younger man added. His voice did not come across as harshly as before, yet it remained stern. “Are you not aware of the influence you shall bear?”

The old man raised his hand again, curtailing any further comment on the matter. He had not yet taken his eyes off of Liesel, who continued to look miserable, though his eyes shone with a bit of awe beneath the sadness, as if he were only now beginning to realize who he was and why he was here.

“Do you understand?” the old man asked.

The question echoed and reverberated through Ganymede's mind.

“Do you understand?”

The old man's voice was quiet and raspy, but the tone of it was firm, expectant of the proper answer. Slowly his figure began to fade away as the whispers rose again from the shadows.

“Ganymede... Ganymede...”

The other figures, too, faded into nothing—the old woman, the hovering maids, the younger man by the door who never once looked on with approval or pride. Liesel was the last to disappear from view, staring with that look of mixed sadness and awe. Finally he swallowed and nodded quickly, then was gone.

“Do you understand?”

Of course he didn't. He was just a boy. Even Ganymede could not comprehend the old man's meaning. She knew nothing about Liesel's role in his place, only suspected that it had not been a happy one.

“Ganymede... Ganymede...”

“Lord Gehrig has died.”

Though the images had drifted away, the voices lingered, but with no memories to accompany them, they were little more than a jumbled mess.

“You must be proper, discrete, obedient, and cordial at all times. You are to be impartial. You must not show favor to anyone.”

“I have a gift for you...”

“Do you remember our mother, Liesel?”

“Come. Sit with me. We can talk a while. I've wanted to meet you so very much.”

“You know my name?”

“You are the king's representative. Your behavior reflects upon our government as well as our world, and you would do well to remember that.”

“Yes, I know your name. You an I share a name, did you know that?”

“They've kept me mostly on my own all these years. It gets dreadfully boring.”

“Your have your mother's charm and your father's wit. You bring your family great pride.”

“When will you stop allowing these people to control you?”

“I am not a puppet!”

“The government's interests are my interests. I am Sailor Ganymede. I serve my government and my people.”

“I respect you as Liesel. I care for you, not for Ganymede.”

“Another gift? You really are becoming quite sentimental.”

“I'm not supposed to tell anyone my real name...”

“When have you ever served your people?”

“I wish you would be kinder to him, Albert. He's only a boy.”

“I vow to always remain faithful and true for as long as I live. And after... until the end of time...”

They stopped as suddenly as they'd come, the voices drifting back into the past along with the memories.

Ganymede stood in the middle of the room, breathless. She looked around, seeking out another ghost, another image, another memory, anything to explain what she had seen and heard, but there was nothing but emptiness, just a sitting room and the bedroom beyond it, with an old, ratty, dust-filled carpet, and furniture that had seen better days. The paintings on the walls were faded and dark, the light fixtures no longer suited their purpose, the balcony overlooking what once had been a garden too damaged to safely support her weight.

The sky was dark, too, and strewn with stars, the rooms overcome by shadows and the red glow of Jupiter above.

There was no longer sunlight, and the sky was no longer blue. There was no life in this place, no happiness.

But once it had belonged to her, and there was a part of her that thought it belonged to her still.

It was part of who she was, who she'd been—and, perhaps, who she would one day be.

“Ganymede... Ganymede...”

“And after... until the end of time...”