Kuja isn't pleased with this reply, turning her head slightly to one side, her examination of this other critical. Whoever this is, it looks and sounds like Zidane, but what it says makes little sense, not if it is Zidane.

What trickery is this? "Yes, the Gardens begin to shift, uneasy." She pauses.

"Zidane?" But the slight hopefulness in the question is matched by an equal measure of despair. Zidane is gone, of course. Likely dead, as she will be, whenever she leaves this place.