Sad song on the radio, plotting out plot lines and an unhealthy doze
of loneliness.

Not beta-ed, 30 minutes of work and feedback very much appreciated
and wanted (please, don't make me beg)

Disclaimer: paramount owns all characters portrayed (although I do
plan at stealing the cage they're being kept in one day) I just
write, and write, and write, get the idea ;)

Rating: PG


I grew up an only child; smothered by my mother, adored by my father
and although I had many friends I was always considered deficient,
an outcast; due to my half-Human heritage.
The first vivid memory I have is of my mother and grandmother
arguing after a bimonthly meeting of the Thirteen Houses.
I was weak, polluted, unworthy.
I realized at a later age that that didn't mean my grandmother
didn't love me, for she did, but it was the belief of the Houses
that they were to keep their bloodline pure.
But at five years of age and with little comprehension of the
emotions I sensed around me I ran to my hiding place in the rose-
garden, determined never to move again until my father found me and
lured me out of hiding with the promise of hot-chocolate.
Of course.
My grandmother apologized and wrapped me in a mental blanket of love
to assure me. I forgave her then, but as it is with all painful
memories, I never forgot. Unfortunately she passed away before I had
a chance to understand the explanation she gave me.
It wasn't long thereafter –perhaps a year and a half, which is a
short time, looking back—that I was sitting at school when suddenly
I felt as if my heart was being torn in two. Ignoring the teacher's
order to stay inside I dashed out the classroom and ran home.
I found my mother in the garden, her expression blank and her mind
shielded to keep me, and everyone else, from sensing anything.
Without explaining the pain I felt she sent me back to school.
It wasn't until a few days later, when I found her packing my
father's belongings, that I began to understand what had caused the
emptiness I felt. Being as young as I was I asked my mother why she
was packing Daddy's things, thinking how upset he would be when he
found out all his possessions were gone.
It was the first time I ever saw my mother cry. Sensitive to
emotions as I was I climbed into her lap and cried along with her,
not knowing why, but feeling her pain and sadness as if it were my
"Something very bad has happened Little One" she said finally
between sobs "Daddy won't be coming home again." I yelled at her,
accusing her of lying and ran to my hiding place, waiting for my
father to come and promise me hot-chocolate.
Only he never would.
My mother changed then; she became even more protective of me and
threw all her energy into raising me as a perfect Daughter of
Betazed and I did everything in my power to please her, hoping it
would make her happy again.
Life settled down again and remained quiet for a while and although
my mother wasn't as much fun as she used to be, she seemed happy for
the better part of each day.
Then I reached the age at which Betazoid children become telepathic.
I knew that, despite having been empathic since birth, my mother
still harbored hope I would become telepathic. When it became clear
I wouldn't she loved me no less.
The other children, and the other House members, found my lack of
telepathy a reason to bully and disdain me. I spent most of my time
in the garden, wishing I had someone to talk to, someone who could
understand how I felt: someone of mixed heritage as well.
I often asked my mother why her and Daddy hadn't made another baby,
but she never answered, always turning away in grief over my
father's death and so I stopped asking.

Now I know that my father's death was only part of the reason for
her pain. Now I know that my wish had been granted long before I
even made it.
And now I feel the same anger I felt when learning of my father's
passing. The same hollowness in my chest, even though I never
realized it existed until I found the answer to my childhood wish
deep in my mother's mind.

My wish, my equal, my sister.

Just as I imagined how my life would be, had my father lived, I now
find myself wondering how my life would've been, had I known Kestra.
All the lonely days in my youth, wishing for someone to understand
me wouldn't have happened. I would've had an older sister, someone
to look up to for guidance.
I wouldn't have been my mother's only heir and I doubt she would've
been as difficult about the choices I made had Kestra been there to
make them first.
I'm aware of how selfish I'm being, but I've wished for a brother or
sister so often that it is hard to grasp the fact that I had a
sister, even if only for a short while. And it hurts that I have no
memories of her of my own. It hurts to never have known her; just as
it hurt me when I had to coax my mother into telling me about her.
It hurt her more, I know, to be forced to remember, to relive the
Had it not been deadly for her to suppress the memories she had I
don't think I could've brought myself to force her to remember, to
hurt all over again.
But I came so close to losing her and if that had happened I
would've truly been alone and that frightens me more than anything
else. Losing my mother. Of course I'll lose her one day and unless
she has another child I will be the last Troi, but she has many days
ahead of her.
Many days to smother me, many days to embarrass me, many days to
patronize me, many days to embarrass the captain, many days to
fascinate Data, many days to amuse Beverly.
Many days to be impossible, and thank the Heavens; many days to
remember her lost husband and daughter and to tell me about them.