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FFVII - The Cold Morning Breeze: An Afterword of Vincent (Book One)
12.19.02, 17:47:21
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Post #1 (permalink) |
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______________
The Cold Morning Breeze
Prologue
Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear? 'I love you' is always a quotation. You did not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words and worship them.
Jeanette Winterson
The cold, sweet morning of that crimson touched city, blossomed as my eye looked onward and watched. It was that feeling, of slow, but sure healing... That cold wind wouldn’t linger here much longer. The once black sky finally released its assemblage of magnificence upon that once shallow land, I could only remember to be as Midgar.
But this was the Picturesque Midgar, not rough or bland; dead and malicious. It was a fitful home, my home. A place much more gorgeous than a coffin, for me to bask in sorrow and pain. Here, and now is where I belong, not in a coffin, just here.
Where the implosion of a company, replenished a city of lost dreams, of slums and mansions. This was my Holy Land, my temple and forever-dwelling place.
This was my home, amongst the flowers where no place else could be more bountiful. This was my ground, and my love.
This was my Midgar.
_____
That glorious morning chill sent a sense of relief again, in the common sequence of things, it seems. Just about when that sun rises over those hills that stood behind those endless plains of green. A surge, a huge engulfment of wind, whose only purpose was to send that beautiful cold through my fingertips once more, those blistered fingers that still could feel that sudden shift of wind, only to then touch my face, just like always.
It was for months now, that wind would always put that willingness to work just one more day, and then again to continue on the day, which followed after that. It was like warmth to me, but instead meant to only keep me aware, alert, and ready for that constant foe. That replicating force of lacking stratagem would never grow in intelligence, but within numbers.
Yes, monsters, the foe that man did create. Now, even with those reactors destroyed, and the lunatic experiments of Hojo’s or anyone else dealing with mako fusion, now and forever prohibited, throughout the land of where the Lifestream would flow, rivulet to rivulet; monsters still appeared everywhere. Without any evident reason, just still alive, and apparently vindictive.
Yes, vindictive, and very much truculent. Like the previous bellicosity of their natural visage wasn’t enough, as if we delighted in the contentious hell they would proliferate. Hence my blistered fingers, and my scarred back and face, all examples of imp brutality. They’d usually hide within the sewers of the city, now having an expedition crew gallantly marching through that revolting green water, with scarcely infested rats to accompany them. I, on the other hand, deplored at that disgusting escapade of human refuse, searching for my kobold, hardly ever victorious.
I chose to be more effective, more useful, and not as servile. Yes, my job was to hunt, and kill monsters (again, not so depreciatively as the Crusading Plumbers-I appreciate that redeeming quality of air). It was to protect my home, a place I am quite fond of. I watched the streets, patrolling like an officer, especially among the rebuilding sites where such large beams of healing could be seen, and those brave workers working blissfully in the morning’s breeze, that I love so much.
It was common to see one, menacingly prowling around the city, yet today, not so much. For months have pasted, now becoming slower, favorably slow. Not fast, and harsh while dolefully awaiting the next strike of pointless imps; the next move on that philosophical chessboard.
I wasn’t going to wait for them to move first.
Feinting anything off alone is hard. But with numbers, that is to do this job with much ease. I was a leader of a team, a nameless force. We never thought of one, strangely never thought to, since we hardly knew each other, something like a name is hard to fathom with a myriad of strangers. There is some commonality between them, they each are fighters, so determined, that without a leader, they’d end up killing each other. Odd? Yes, they are, but I admire an ardent heart.
Lusus Naturae, that is what they are, and forever will be, the abomination of the Planet. But, ridding the world of such unorganized terroristic threats had been somewhat primitive; a simple sentence, really. Seek, find, and kill- yes, simplicity in the most violent way. Now, that was the true purpose of that forceful blast of wind, just to remind me, while it would slightly push, always be ready-for anything.
At least they were, that was apparent as the stars that could be seen clearly within the vast openness of the firmament. Yes that now visible sky could actually be seen in Midgar, even better by my home.
It was the building where the Shinra would work continuously, always bathing within that corpulent amount of money. Yet, it didn’t feel extravagant or luxurious at all. Since the Meteor incident, the building was thought to be ruined, which it was. It was a architectural disaster, probable to topple at any moment, at any time. But, the demolition workers, in their lassitude, left it to fall in its own gravitational inclination or collapse. They are still trying to predict the time of collapse, still unknown. So, in my current homelessness, I decided to take advantage of this massive shelter, only to think of it as nothing more, but as shelter.
As you could see, I do not possess a greedy heart, only servility exists. That, as you could predict, not very lucrative or even pertaining to prehensility. So, within that room, which was the top floor is that elevator, still functional, and if ever to fail; I’d take the stairs, anyway. The red carpet, whose vibrant color faded with the coloring and covering of dust and debris, still scattered in every direction of its territorial limits. The smell, when entering, is stark with a still dwindling amount of dust, still on the endeavor of gravity. The gravity would pull it gently from the ceiling plasters, which over them, contains those little fragments of dust, and ash accompanied by anything that dwelled within that room over the past few months, miscellaneously composed.
Next was that staircase, with those marble stairs that was once prestigiously fabricated by carpenters, only now falling apart. Each step was originally fused together with the metal undercoating, but now the adhesive was no longer strong enough to hold each marble board; there only remained the steel undercoat, now collectively attracting dust and airborne materials.
Yes, it was dark. And it was just that, dark. Though the vivid chandler that held those small, but intricately designed crystal droplets (I have affectionately called them). They’d only light with the coming of that fiery blaze relentlessly rising and falling, unremittingly entering the still solid glass windows, directly touching the crystal chandler. Ultimately creating that magnificent glory of light through the quartz, bouncing back on, and off each other. Then creating an avid display of coloration in every direction-yet not so blinding.
There was beautiful taste in the rich, yet greed causing the downfall of overly immoral gluttony, otherwise known as Shinra. There were things that were reminiscent of that monopolizing business, like the painting of the late President, a name I fail to recall. He was smiling, as if proud, yet showing that slight hint of gluttony, in more ways then one...
His smile devilishly embroidered upon that painting. His eyes were strong, yet exhibiting some other story of vagrancy, but not by residency, but by establishment within his own heart, like he was trapped, trapped within himself, and forgotten. The border was ostentatious, beautifully conceived in gold and silver; twisted together like ripples of water, touching each other in harmony: yet not becoming heterogeneous, like white and black.
Next to that painting, is the much younger president, his son. I could remember him only once, only watching him follow directly in the imprisoned man’s direction of leadership, and only to fall by his own creation; just like his father. I’d usually think about it, slant my head, and whisper, How sad. Then listen to the echoes of my voice, creating a copious crescendo of voices. All whispering in unison, how sad.
I’d simply think to myself. Truly, that was an understatement. I would occasionally forget the word ‘huge.’
The bright light of that continuance of luminosity and fire would then usually get my attention, bringing me back here. To where I first spoke. By how? Haste and legs, of course! Why? To start my day early, for I always woke to see that morning, and every other morning that followed.
I had come to love the morning, as well as the night. Only to smile at it, while blissfully touching the passing breeze of every fateful morn, only to again feel that chill, once again giving that sense of relief...
Yet, that sweetness and enjoyment would soon diminish throughout the day, only to put me back in my home. But, that moment is the moment I would have to work for, time doesn’t flow as easily for the children that would play outside, within the long streets, either in rubble, or just newly rebuilt.
I lived for those children, and someday die for them too. It wasn’t a sad thought for me, to be remembered by those little men and women of Midgar, to be remembered. That thought was worth living, the only reason for living. Except that beautiful morning, and that starry night.
Starry night... The city could be so dark, so empty, so silent. Not now of course. It was filled with men once of past riches, and of once meager salaries. Yet, no one was a pauper, as hard as it was to believe. Even the once snooty nobles of Midgar could only be thought as gentlemen, according to its definition. ‘A man of independent means who does not engage in any occupation or profession for gain.’ Yes, that could describe almost every man that lived in this city. They were charitable.
They believed in community, and so far, I could only see it working. But, it was strange, perhaps even to a higher degree, eerie. How could such kindness exist? In such a once distasteful city, how could such a reform occur?
Everyone in the city could answer that, dolefully. Only remembering the past so accurately, remembering what they were. Blithe and zealous in their own distorted way of life, not caring for anybody but themselves, even in the slums, but mostly in the rich sectors of Midgar-the ones that don’t exist anymore.
Foreigners would commonly approach citizens with such interest. Either creating another smile, or causing a laugh, or giggle. Still, compliments no matter how great or small, could rebuild the city, they learned that on the day of Meteor. They learnt it.
They remembered it.
The prostitutes, the paupers, the children, their fathers, the mothers, and the brothers; all their hearts came together. Not like destroyed buildings, whose support no longer exist. They became a bastion, a one person.
All working together, rebuilding their home, the only home for them. Each one, either with a hammer; working determinedly on their own shelter, or someone else’s. All awake to feel that glorious breeze one more day, either swirling through their shirts, or against their peaceful smiles.
Just like me. Easily satiable, by that cold, but warm wind, gently passing by, spreading it’s delightful appeasement to the contiguous. Blowing anything, and everything into some joyous rhythmic beat, not by sound, but by emotion.
It was appreciation, manifest and proudly displayed. Something quite rare in the once existent Midgar. It was hope in its brightest appearance. Not by works, but by personality. There was no more pain, by words or of hunger.
Just happiness, at least for now.
Sometimes I’d wonder upon that gleeful breeze, would this last? Would a city ravaged by guilt and destruction have the same mentality years from now? I’d usually think it, over the city, on this rooftop that I sit before now. I was watching my friends, my home eagerly go on, time never stopping for them, and them never stopping for time. And yet again, that breeze did come by...only slightly pushing, reassuring me to not worry...
We cannot change the future.
Only make the here and now, worthwhile...
She’d usually say that, as I’d wonder, or ask the question to that answer. The brunette strands, much longer now, lengthy and beautifully youthful, would do this swift and swirl movement. Like the morning breeze, she’d just appear by my side, to only grip my hand and say that song, without even singing.
I love you, my Valentine. Don’t forget it. That was her greeting every morning, just a few moments after that breeze... Please Vince, don’t ever forget. She’d ask that of me, constantly, aggravatingly. Like every ‘I promise,’ wasn’t believable. Like I had lied to her, and again, and again. She knew I wouldn’t, but she wouldn’t except that, nor would she except anything else. There was no comforting her, she was the only worried person in Midgar.
She was never without worry, and I loved her for it. Another way to show me her love, I supposed. She’d sequentially kiss me after the two sentences of apprehension, then put her arms around me. So softly, so small. I’d turn to hug her, the smell of the monster infested plains would rise in my nose. The smell of speed, fast and furious speed would arise from the silky hair, only to be touched by my metal claw.
Just always remember that I love you, okay? Is that hard, Vince? I’d comfort her to the limit of comfort. Something I could only leave to what you’re imagination. As I’d let her go, it was those eyes, those eyes of brown nectar that only wanted me to hold her again, on that rooftop, looking onwards to the future, feeling that passing breeze.
You remember that I love you, too. The sun and the moon could only relate, in incessant harmony. Each one, complimenting each other’s territory of firmament, in a constant relationship, only to be thought of as love. Except, she was the sun, I was the moon. She was the dominant reason for breathing, for she was my breath.
She and Midgar, both queens of my heart.
Princesses of my soul.
_________
“I will always remember,” her voice fell silent in that stillness only to be known as she fell back to that place, where she came. Heaven opened its arms for her, as I screamed in utter agony.
“Don’t leave me! Please, don’t leave me!!” But her eyes rolled back, as she exhaled her last breath. “Yuffie! Oh no! Yuffie!!” Those eye’s dim brown light died within my arms, grabbing her so hard, sobbing so much.
“Come back, please come back.” I was whimpering, the plains had already echoed my roar for return, but there wasn’t any.
She wasn’t coming back |
Last edited by Macrocosmic : 12.23.02 at 16:54:55.
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_____
Chapter One
Death devours all lovely things;
Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness - presently
Every bed is narrow.
Edna St Vincent Millay
Sweet lips, like chocolate they were, so soft and gentle. Lusciously filled with the taste of nectar, similar to those eyes I adored so much. They purged my body with that silent feeling of peace, once more letting me realize that truth, the only truth.
That I loved her.
No one could take us apart, in death or by distance. We’d always remain truthful, wholly dependent on one another-never to let infidelity’s hold take grasp. I would let it happen, like it was possible, but she did. Not by a man, sadly not by a man.
But by death.
Yes...Death. That word, that pestilence. She had no other choice but to go, and leave me behind. Holding her body, screaming for one more breath.
But there was none, only that loud, terrorizing silence. So loud, so strong. I could not sustain the pain that the silence brought. So I filled the silence with noise...
Screams upon screams, roars upon roars. The city watched me mourn in prolonged sorrow, for I never left that moment of lamentation.
For Despair is what she had left me.
____
Ù
She left the rooftop, leaping straight down with ease, as if a cat. She was like one, so small, yet so strong in her legs, for more than one obvious purpose. She was a jumper, and once a very frequent runner. Her days of thievery have been over for months now, she was kind, yet not so energetic as the past would only wish to not recall. She was a calm women, something had changed within her, she hadn’t told me about. I could see that more manifestly.
She was aplomb in all things, except in me. Quiet but quite a conversationalist, she was the only women to intrigue me so. And now that she had given her past life away, denounced her past as a ninja, only to be with me. She was a lover, the lover of my soul. All that could be said in an instant by her consistent pronunciations of love, always looming around, as if like a hunter.
Similarly, they were her arrows, the ammunition of her rifle. She would say that, over and over again, ‘I love you, Valentine.’ Love, I jumped to that sound! Sweet and simple, unabridged and belated.
Yes, belated. Why do I say that? She loved me before we even really knew each other. That was the sad thing. She knew my love for her could last for an eternity, yet she wanted to wait. For what? I wish I knew, but past interactions with women could only help me so far, so I decided to wait. Wait because of what? I didn’t know, perhaps because of her uncertainty, whatever that you could think of, every problem and obstacle...from my past love to the previous universally threatening force, obstacle upon obstacle; impediment causing more anger, frustration and every little thorn that lied upon that rose of happiness.
Every little obstruction, preventing us to even consider us. Yes, we loved each other, but that is besides the point, that main acme of lovers was only if destiny allowed it so, which afterwards permitted very transparently.
I had decided to help rebuild that lost city, once deranged and cruel. Where children would die by street corners and men and women would raise their child in riches, only to become what their past generation was, haughtiness personified. To laugh at a table, with the gut of a ocean, and speaking of the devilries he had once done.
I was disgusted at the thought of Midgar destroyed. Would it be just chaos? Politically and physically? Or would there even be any remaining citizens, still loyal to their home, wrecked and forever scarred? Those two thoughts, both covered by the negativity of my reluctance to change.
That was another encumbrance to me, change. Things change, I know that, but accepting it was never my strengthened aspect of life. Lucrecia was my past, Yuffie was my change, my permanent change. Yes, I forgot of Lucrecia, my past life, my once beloved.
Now, only to be thought of as the original past. Now, Yuffie was the beginning of my future, she wasn’t a lascivious fluke, or even somewhat licentious. She was an undeviating aspect of my life, even if slightly considered harmonious or congruous, she had to fit within that last vacant puzzle piece. It would be then that I would find and eternally contain that peace within existence. That complete love embodied within that person, and with the other. I was that person.
The other was Yuffie.
From the cognizant choices I had once made, they had all changed the vivacity of my life, and what was left of it. Yet, she was the citadel of my vivacious future, lead by her, triumphantly marching onward, leading the many people that I could be. The parade of personality, both naive and erudite; a varied many, molding the heart of a vampire.
She pared me into the man that I am now, not entirely disparate, but enough for her satisfaction, no, her enjoyment. She’d love me no matter what, just as I had loved her viraginous nature. So ardent, so sensationalistic, it was an impossibility for me not to love her!
She was my total opposite, which in turn created a volatile nature within my dead heart. Care once had existed there; yet died with time. Something that dare not wish to recall upon, my disastrous past. I could never do as such, shame her to the point of rejection. In fear that she would? Verily, for the truth would set her free.
Free to close that rose, shutting me out, and release those thorns.
I would never tell her, those mountains knew, so did those plains of green. The breeze knew, pushing me that morning to just tell her one more understandable, but lurid clandestinity. Would she be reasonable? Or incomprehensible? I would occasionally promise myself when thought; I’d tell her someday.
I would repeat that sentence, but the bold word would always stand before the neighboring words, stating proud, but threateningly its being. Someday, is that wrong? I wouldn’t tell her immediately, something that I have been wary of because of my past cognizance.
Best I’d leave it as that, ‘someday.’ It didn’t sound as wrong as it once did. For I have been holding this truth for so long, it has become a common instinct. Holding truth, that is. Until that one moment where she would beg. Pleading with me for an answer, for the actual truth.
Would I hold it then?
Only time could tell.
__________________________________________________ _____________
With that jump from the rooftop, only reminding me of that past she could only wish to forget, she bid me goodbye. Just to that field of endless pleasure, that plain of green, that could spread until the end of infinity. She was like those cougars, running with strategy and a weapon, no longer the arrow of the Ninja, but the Arrow. A rifle that had lost its simplicity with the touch of a mechanic. It was once my gun, my treasure, only to become the property of my lover.
Which she was very fond of.
She was so proud of it, to the silver gleam, to the preciseness of its fire. It was a light machine, contrasted to the previous weapon of obligation. She enjoyed it, usually patrolling the other side of Midgar, light on the amount of the cannibals, children could only refer to them as.
Sephiroth’s henchmen, the locust of wheat; these names were among the most trite. It would be usually heard in midst of a crowd, either gathering for rations or Midgarian Council. Midgarian council was the gaudily named meetings of Midgar, primarily to discuss rebuilding methods and plans, other use would change over time. They’d be even more extravagantly assembled when these occasions arrived, only to then strike. It was very rare to find anyone dead, though it did happen.
It would be religiously exemplified like this: the child (in most cases) would lie by the monster, eaten slowly by that snarling beast, only to have the father shooting it dead, or leaving like a lone wolf, only to die another day.
The mother would run to the child’s aid, believing to be still alive; finding the cold body, eyes still opened while the chest had already been pilfered, disturbingly quick and hollow. The depression that lied within that chest would only be accepted by the father, fatal.
“May the god that be within the firmaments that could only be hallow! Don’t take my child!” She was screaming, panting, as if running for miles for something so valued, so powerfully important to her life, only to find it gone. To find it destroyed.
To find it...dead.
The sight of blood would signify that; I’d cringe at the sight. The mother, now weeping, holding the child’s face ever so tight. Her mouth had been open for such long periods of time, as if trying to breathe, only to realize; there was no longer any purpose to do so.
The father, trying to persuade her to let go. But she wouldn’t; She couldn’t. I was so relevantly distraught, for them, and as in the future, for my lover.
As the citizens, watching in horror at that picture. Only to call there children hither, both plebian and noble; while I’d stand and watch the children come close to the mothers of Midgar, while some other children would remain absent, until found by a gentlemen in a horrendous state.
Or by even more horrid beasts, wanting a meal of flesh, either putrid or still palatable.
Yet, I sadly most admit, I can be much worse. Like the few nights before this one, a night that Midgar would never forget. The construction and deconstruction of the towering levels, establishing the difference of the slums, and the plate was scheduled to be destroyed. This architectural achievement would be taken apart, only to expand outward, rather than grow upward.
It was a celebration, the town could only think of it as that. The finest wines to the cheapest dews of alcohol were ordered, even the guards were drunk.
Yuffie could only think of protecting the drunkards generously, obligating me to assist...
“I just don’t get this. Why do this now? When these demons are so desirable for blood? Is there any sense in that?!” She’d explode with that pestering topic on mind. Their actions were detestable, I could only agree.
“What about the children? What about them?” That question would rotate itself around her words, always breaking that silence of the night with: ‘what about the children?’
She was the bringer of death, holding the grip of that gun so tight. The moonlight was the only source of light, her only aid. The gun reflected that light like a mirror, hence, the reason of bestowing it to her.
That green overcoat, covering the silky material that she wore as a skirt; long and versatile, perfectly adapted for her continuous movement, fast and slow. The moon would only glisten in two things, the gun, and the round blue stone she wore around her neck. Always glowing a different color than what originally colored, but only when the intensity of the moment would have a sudden change. It was glowing a bright red now, only to be reflected by the pistol.
She saw it; calmly moving her index finger to the trigger, pulling it up with speed, not haste. I looked to her face, releasing the hold of my gun; her eyes darted back to me, wondering.
It was that look, the look of understanding. Only she could see what I had seen.
I see it.
Then bang, two shots. I jumped with that agility only the young could possess, reaching for her hand. There they were. She gave me her hand as I gripped it tightly. She curled herself within the pit of my chest, legs dangling within the air’s bewilderment. Bewildered air? Only I could fool such an element. The bullets target had been acquired, but not killed, she knew that much. What she had not known was of the speed of the locomotive that was panting from behind her at an atrociously disastrous speed.
The walls that stood close together in that alley were my only means of staying airborne, by jumping of one, onto another. Flipping with that acrobatic skill onto the next jump, while still airborne.
She had known of this ability, but hadn’t gotten use to the jerking of each twist I’d make. I quickly sheathed my one rifle that I had grown accustomed to, while attempting to hold her with more force, I failed.
She plummeted down like that destructive force Midgar could only hope to heal after, but the outcome of that fall would not even happen. For I jumped downward to grab her, still trusting me, and yes, very much gracious. I grabbed her hand, pulling her up flippantly unintentionally. I was like that squirrel that she’d watch ever morn, while I’d wait for that cold morning breeze, excessively jumping rooftop to rooftop, while she’d watch while each plaudit would follow every trick. No one was clapping for me.
I reached my last barrier of bricks, pushing myself off it, towards the nearest window. She saw my next move, retrieved her cased pistol, and shot the window five times. The wind that followed the swift jump shattered the glass before my entering, as she let go, landing with ease.
She amazed me. For my landing was harsh, for momentum still followed me, causing the huge crash between plaster walls. The few seconds, I lost my awareness from the severity of the impact. She laughed at my position, helping me to regain thought.
“How did you know? How do you always know!” Her demands would be replied with an austere explanation, and smile. “That simple, huh?” Yet my chance to answer was replaced with the scream of a child.
It was high, at the climatic height of a child’s voice, otherwise clearly caused by fear.
She didn’t respond-there wasn’t a chance to do so anyway. Her mind could only think of how to get there before the most horrid outcome might occur. She ran, with the momentum of the mountain cougar, jumping straight out from the window, only to land by a simple spin of gravity. Otherwise recalled by the ninja of Yuffie, still able and quick.
I regained my posture within the moment of noticing movement on Yuffie’s part. She would inevitably need me, either to save her once more, or to comfort her when all could seem lost. We jumped in unison, like the birds taking flight, only she was that dove, white and without iniquity. Instead I was that hawk, full of wisdom, yet past so mysteriously shrouded that men could only see me as the demon of night.
I jumped with that speed once more, only to use the helm of my gun to grab the windowsill while flying within air’s grasp. I slid down this time, only to see her agility outweigh my own. She was already at the corner. I jumped into that road, were the two attackers lied dead. Whimpering, as I shot it once more, now dead.
I ran as fast as my legs would permit, down the alley, around that blind corner, only to see her aiming, both hands on the gun’s handle.
She said something, small but perceptible by my ears. Fire-three.
I watched in awe as the huge blast of fire exploded from the pistol’s barrel. Before it lied a little girl, while a hog, an enormous hog only to be classified as monster, his teeth were covered with that unwanted color, red.
The bullet was a bombardment of flames, only eating at the corruption that could only have the heart to do such cruelty; something desperately trying to survive, only now to see its last meal.
It had disintegrated within that flame, that flame of fate. Her bullet was the only relief she could feel in that moment, that instant of sheer realization of abhorrent destiny; the destiny of a child, the end of a babe.
She cried for days, whenever referring to or even suggesting that loathsome night. She’d lie with me, crying in that chair where I’d sit in the home I had acquired. She couldn’t sustain herself, only relying upon my comfort, where as I always there.
“I would have died for her... I could have been there...” Her statements always hinted at that desired reply, the sobs and sniffles followed by the embracing that could kill a man, emphasized on it. The tragedy of one, befell upon another. Only left me wishing for something... Something that wouldn’t last...
For nothing ever does...
________________
“Yuffie!!!” Those mountains still rang the same voice, and those sobs as I drowned in my own tears. “How could you do this to me!!”
Yet no answer, only those sobs, followed by even louder sobs that the plains would echo in ever slope, in ever crevice. Only to prove my plot even more real.
The grass blew back and forth as everything turned to gray, leaving me to die with the aching desire for my lover.
Now only a corpse among the cold morning breeze. |
Last edited by Macrocosmic : 12.23.02 at 15:17:49.
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Author's Notes
_________________
[color=burlywood]Chapter Two
To fear something is to make it stronger
but to fear nothing would only tear this world asunder.
That face she wore, burned in my mind, like a carving of stone-never to change. She died, and killed something that I couldn’t live without. My life could only be filled with this ubiquitous hatred for life; for the love of my soul, that half of Vincent, died.
“Why?” I cried, the voice of a maimed heart echoed throughout Midgar, to the ends of the Planet. The world lost all limits, all purpose. Death was caught in it’s filiopiestic act - that horrid tradition of ending life to someone I held so dear. Not like those children, to which I could pity the maternal women that curled to the sight.
No, it was my love, my desired love, my inamorata, now dead and silent; hair still flinging with solemnity, back and forth. They were like the spider’s web, each strand of it, torn by that cold morning breeze.
The amorous love that could only gratify my own heart, whose own interests indulged within my own, my true lover, now dead. Whispers upon whispers, words upon words, the wind spoke the truth within my ear. Words of comfort, that didn’t comfort, to pamper my sorrowful heart, yet not making any difference.
She left me, only to die by loneliness, bitterly.
___
Ù
The mantle of that sky, so clouded and devoid of sunlight had seemingly halted construction and deconstruction. It wasn’t bizarre to stop work for a cloudy day, since that was their drive, to see another cloudless sky with that blaze of light, traditionally rising and falling to their work. The morning symbolized work, which today it was a glorious one, but that soon disappeared with the sudden embargo between two significant partners. The sun would give sunlight, and the planet would returning in trade a harmonious day. Yet, the sun, in its lethargy simply decided, and declined; like a child, seeing the sunrise, only to grumble, and smother himself gently with that propping pillar, assisting slumber, softly.
The men had begun to commute about that sky, disdainfully; some praised the sun, promising compensation for its coincidental laze. I watched from afar, still waiting for that breeze of a cold morning, yet it didn’t come. I stayed there, waiting for that wind, yet it never blew that gust of reality my way.
Something else would.
The only comfort that existed now was knowledge, knowing of her existence. I relinquished my last stance of relief, and rose to my feet. The cloak made that sound of falling clothing, but being held in place, like drapes. It was recently given to me by that ‘puppet,’ that manipulated salvation, the Cloud.
The idolized warrior, the man of many lies, taken into truth. It was he that gave this cloak to me, as a gift. For what? For my company, I presume, for helping them to protect what they loved so much, especially that Tifa. That gorgeous woman, whose fist was forever legendary, but they weren’t the same people. None of us were. The world could only think of us as warriors, defenders of this planet. Intermixed with Pain and Joy, such varied emotions that could make a villain, and create a Cloud; to let the heartless live, and to kill a now dead, last child of a people, which are again extinct. That range between death and life, good and evil is worth dying for.
But not worthy to be commended.
They all agreed on that, the unworthiness. For we, a band of terrorists did this not just for good, but for the evil. We had said things that night, after the saving grace of Lifestream, all we could do was stand, and speak.
Barret, yes that old Midgarian; he still lives here, I routinely see him in the streets with his daughter following close behind.
“We did it, y’all! We gone an dunnit!” He had said, so joyously. That speech of his was, indeed, rather curious, and annoying at times. It was as if he hated the common language, only to ridicule it with his own mispronunciation of its words.
“Yes, sir. We finally did it. The Planet’s safe, and ev’rbody knows it.” Cid agreed. “The heroes can go home.”
“Not all of us...”Tifa said. We all knew of what she was speaking of. That young woman, whose past could be ranked with Cloud and Tifa’s to be the most sad. Such twists had become known of her beginnings, after the clipping of her wings. She was the daughter of Gast and Iflana, killed by Hojo and his henchmen. Her lover, died to that same blade, that blade whose existence lies within the bowels of our minds. She died, only to be reunited with them all, that last Cetra, the child of Ancient.
“...We have to stop thinkin ‘bout it, Tifa.” He reply with that solemn voice, giving reverence to the dead, wishing such things hadn’t been so...dismal. It wasn’t dire, for exciting wasn’t what this was. That red jackal had whimpered over those nights in that city of Ancients, everyone did, unusually Yuffie. She had never released tears of mourning, let alone tears at all. She sobbed there, continuously saying, “Why?”
I didn’t sleep that night, nor did I want to. I went to pay my respects to that place where she sank into the blue bottom, that place where she could find peace, underneath it all. I was only acquainted with Aeris, never truly knowing of the kindness she had, radiating her charitable heart.
But, I knew her before.
A past to not recall, a past she and I had once buried under the dirt of forgetfulness. That secret, never to be remembered was of a younger time...
I will speak of it one day, but not now.
She was there, dreaming a sleep no man would disturb. But I wished to say goodbye once more, seeing her face. That was the ostensible reason for the plunge, only to see her one more time. Swimming vigorously through the lake’s most common attribute, water.
The moon gleamed through the water, giving light to where it was much needed. The heart of the lake was quiet, the wind didn’t rustle the waters, just the gravity the planet held. It was a serenade of silence, favorable and scenic for the moment.
It was then that I saw the bottom, even more so, felt it. The face was wearing that smile her father had loved ever since birth. Within those moments of the past, I felt that hand of generosity once more, just as she did before. It was this way when locating the body, eyes closed, hair still flowing with the current, back and forth; like Yuffie’s hair within that cold morning breeze...
I retrieved something I had held for many years, something she could only remember. A simple locket, a locket that her parents wished to give when of age. I knew of the extremity this belated gift of the parents, especially Iflana.
‘So she’d never forget...’
Her face reminded me of her so much, I left a tear with her in that lake of eternal rest. That blue water made no distinguishing mark of the tear even existing, but it was there, she knew it too. She was the scrupulous maiden, that child, that little girl; always remaining in the hearts of all who met her.
Cloud’s face could explain that clearly, telling of a certain love they had shared, not so easily found. “She’d be proud...”
I was standing besides that old pilot, smiling, think of that baby, so lovely and beautiful. The pulchritude that she had once displayed, and the comeliness she will forever hold. I’d chuckle to the thought, sincerely thinking of her flying once more in joy, never to look down.
To just continue smiling...
“That she would. We did this for her...”I replied, the silence didn’t follow though.
“We did this for everyone, Vincent, including ourselves. We can’t say we did this for one woman, for vengeance.” Red XIII said, the tame beast stood sat upon the metal floor, porous and cold. The ****pit had that stale air again, crew still working at the controls but not as serious or tense anymore, trying to overhear the conversation.
Yuffie just stood there, so did everyone else, either against something or sitting, neither happy or sad, just empty of emotion, or concentrated only on one.
The emotion was regret in its most beautiful form, each member contributing to that silence with calm regret, a silent rue.
“Can we?” Cait Sith questioned, the cat holding himself upon his puppetry. He fooled us all, yet we kept him. The puppet was something only Cloud could relate, everyone would sadly agree.
“She wouldn’t want us to... We can’t. What would that make people think?” Yuffie’s voice was a somber voice to everyone; the crew, the Avalanche, herself. They all could just nod to her decision, her juncture between a girl to a woman.
Tifa noticed the change, too.
“Just accept anything they give us...but don’t forget about Aeris, okay?”
“Promise?” Her voice faltered to the sudden shift in the air, looking towards the main window, only to see a destroyed Midgar. “They can’t handle the truth right now, sometimes the truth isn’t good.”
“What will we say then? They already know who stopped Meteor, we can’t just hide--we don’t want to.” Cloud questioned with a serious tone. Never looking at Midgar through that screen of glass, only at her. Tifa had already left the conversation, only holding her hands to her bosom, pushing her hands together, curled as if in prayer. Then came the tear of remorse, then a hand to wipe it away, hiding the pain of death, the destruction one man had done.
For her home? No. For her people? No. For life? Yes, and hated the man who almost obliterating it’s definition. “Just tell them what they want.” She turned around from the blazing fire, like a premonition of more pain. She looked in Cloud’s eyes once more with an answer, truly honorable, yet reminding.
“It’s not about us anymore. Unworthy or worthy, they are human, just like all of us...”
Barret began to smile at a thought, a saving grace, how sweet a sound. Like a juice, a mixture of heavenly dew intermixed with the delights that this world could offer, and generously given, yet refused by a young woman, whose mind could very yet outrange my own...
“She woulda wanted it. Lets give ‘em what they want.”
For Marlene, for humanity’s sake, he’d occasionally think. How do I know? He would tell me, in that place of Midgar where the sun would shine the brightest- far away from that cold morning breeze, for reality was something he wasn’t dotingly loving of. He only loved that fantasy life, with his daughter growing without the worries of poverty, or nobility. No range between standards or blood, for they all were the same, worthy or unworthy, for they all are just human...
Like me.
Like everyone else who walked this land, we are the bane of Subsistence; a simple parasite. We cause the infection of hate, of dismay, and destruction. Yet, we bring such wonders to the Planet, for the Planet is us. From the highest butte, to the lowest plains that this world has; it has been touched by humanity, with that cold morning breeze following them. Causing wars, and keeping peace, the breeze that I’d feel each morning, the breeze that the people of a destroyed city would turn to greet was that unpretentious breeze. The shifting wind of the Planet, telling us, reminding us, pushing us to continue on.
That is what the breeze did that day; the day of Meteor. That first push was that colossal mountain falling to break the union the planet had with its people, that single thread of fate only needed to be touched for chaos.
Sephiroth exaggerated this, bringing the damnation of Space to the Planet once more. He wished to summon a beast whose intent was to kill him included, but he failed. That breeze still blew within the hearts of Avalanche, within the midst of a Cloud.
Only to push the Clouds once more...
Barret would speak to me on days like this, telling me of his life before this peace, discreet sometimes, other times very elaborate. They would be of his wife, his old town, his best friend whose reputation with the group could only be thought of as insane.
“It be like this day. The coal would be our life, not hurtin’ anybody. Eleanor, Marlene... They’d be waiting for us...me and Dyne, while we work.” The pause he’d take was because of the pain, the hurt of remembering. That porch, that wood porch, where Barret would usually sit, these days. Like the men of old, veterans and grandfathers, people who’ve seen the world, only to now dream of it while that breeze would come by It would push the porch-roof, letting the small noise awaken the elder again; he‘d wake to this noise, as if clamor. He would look around from habit, and try to fall back into that dream, only to feel the cold morning breeze, and smile.
“They’d be waitin’ for us, by the porch-just like this. She’d was my life, her, and Marlene. They were the ones keepin’ me goin’. And she’s what keeps me goin’ now.” Not perpetually, but intermittently because one day, that young child would die, for everything must end, but when she does, he will to. It would be then, in the splendor of death, that he would be, everlastingly pleased. For he would be reunited with his love, forever.
But now, he would only limit himself to that chair, still smiling to his daughter and to all of Midgar, but I knew of his unhappiness with life, only to wish him something better. But that was all I could do, wish.
That was what I’d do every morning, when sojourned to my home. I’d stand by those windows, beyond that glass chandler whose reflection of light could eradicate the shadows of where light couldn’t usually reach. I would occasionally cover those arduously designed minimized mirrors with a sheet, apparently once drapery. And while I’d think of the miserable loneliness one could feel, Yuffie would be there to hint of her belonging, to me.
But for how long? I’d ask the sun and the moon. Day and Night, to last night, to the very present place I now stand upon. What does the future hold for me? What benediction, or curse had that cold morning breeze wished upon me? The gloam of the stars would give me no assistance, nor would the clouds give me any shade or gossip. We cannot change the future. Only make the here and now, worthwhile... Those words would repeat within my mind, incessantly, but soothingly.
They were cacophonies, my thoughts of a desirable future. They were inveterate occurrences within my mind, constantly attacking at the predicted time because of habitual confrontation. Chronic- that is the word, repeating in thought, never ceasing, always causing the emotion Yuffie had come to understand.
Worry.
I would bask in worry every morning, for a vast amount of reasons. For Yuffie, for Barret, for Midgar...all these things kept such a tight grip on my mind, to the very point of momentary insanity, but I believed in that wind, the breeze of the cold morning to push me onward, continuing into life, yet only to have me fall with grief.
For my worry was the least of things.
______________________
“Mr. Valentine!” The voice could be heard from the rooftop, how had they known were to find me? It was masculine but small, and vaguely familiar... Castolf, the youngest member of my Prevention Squad, about seventeen. I walked to the side of the rooftop, which belonged to Yuffie, for it was Yuffie’s home. The sunlight was still bright that morning, with clouds walking over the horizon, and some already over it.
“Castolf, Good Morning to you.” I said naturally, but his voice was very quaint, as if something was wrong. His brown eyes told me something cryptic, for he was afraid to even mention the problem. He was looking up from the stone street that could go on for miles, smiling unconvincingly. The slightly velvet cape, padded with a fabric no arrow could penetrate, whipped to the side as the wind pushed by. A strong smell of shock came with it, causing that horrid fear again.
Worry.
“Good Mornin, to ya sir. How’ve you been?” He said softly, only to the affects of the wind. I couldn’t understand him, and attempted to jump down, I did, landing on both boots. He moved to the side, as if fearful, but I assured him. “I won’t jump on you.” He laughed with that hint of fake enjoyment, something was definitely amiss. I came closer to him, hair now blowing wildly in that fragrance the wind carried.
The street was now noticeably bare, no construction crew for a cloudy sky, and no children out so early. Only the passing leaves of fall, miscellaneously scattered with different shades of leaves. Some piles of leaves next to houses, while a rake lied beside the pile.
It was a cold morn, ever since that last sally of wind, and Castolf wore a tunic of black and brown; a coarse material not meant to bring much warmth. “Why would you jump on me, Sir? I didn’t think you would anyway!”
“...Okay. You’ve made this too obvious.” His face suddenly changed, giving me the answer I wasn’t so sure of. “What’s too obvious? There’s nothing wrong!”
“Really?” I questioned sarcastically, finding the slight humor, and smiling to it. “Yes! Really!”
“Then why are your eyes twitching? And you’re gripping your hands really tight. Something is wrong, so just tell me. I won’t kill you.” He didn’t find that assuring, I’m sure. But, he didn’t answer, just continued to persuade me into believing everything was fine, but it wasn’t.
“Just tell me, Castolf. If you don’t, I’ll just find out anyway.” His eyes were suddenly serious, and again, afraid. “...something’s wrong. Wrong with the neighboring cities... They’ve put a halt on trading, and some of the roads are blocked. Kalm, Mideel, and I’ve just heard about an invasion in the Cosmo Canyon.” His voice was shaking now, breathing slowly, as if trying to remain calm.
What was happening? “There’s going to be a meeting tonight, and they want you to attend.”
“Wait, wait. This is going to fast. Are you trying to tell me we are going to war? This might be a rumor, don’t worry about it. People are quick to start gossip, don’t worry about it. I’m not.”
Silence, and fear was what Castolf was feeling and doing. “Is that all?” Another outburst of wind again. “No. It isn’t, Sir.” Now it was utterly quiet.“Then what, Castolf? What is wrong?” He stepped back, and shifted his body to the left, then to the right. “I’m really sorry. She didn’t see them coming. I really tried to stop her, but she went anyway. Please believe me, I tried to help, but the monsters, and the soldiers were to strong...even for her.” I didn’t understand at first why he had told me this, but then I thought...
“Is this about Yuffie, Castolf?” We cannot change the future. Only make the here, and now worthwhile...
“Vincent, I tried so hard, I tried so hard...” Water glistened within the lashes of his eyes, never dropping, just showing me how serious he truly was. My heart needed conformation, you cannot hint of death. I grabbed him by the shoulders, tightly gripped.
“Stay with me, Castolf! Is this about Yuffie?!” It came out like a roar of lions, now I see his reluctance to tell me. He was crying now, sobbing like the children that would occasionally scrap their knees. “Yes! It’s Yuffie! They killed her, with Sheryl and Marlene!! Yuffie tried to protect them! But the monsters were helping the soldiers!”
“Where!? Where are they? Are any alive?” Tears were now forming in my own. Only make the here, and now worthwhile. She isn’t dead, that can’t be. But I had never seen him cry before. Sheryl was his sister, he would find anything like this humorous, not death.
The tears finally dropped from the lashes, down on his face. The sun made that evident, as the last ray of serenity fell upon me, leaving me alone, shaded under those clouds with that cold morning breeze still passing by.
“Outside of Midgar, I don’t know how they left, or why.” Stop sobbing, please just stop sobbing. I continued to think that, trying to hold my own brokenness within myself.
I pushed him aside as he screamed for forgiveness, as if he did something wrong. “Oh please!! Please forgive me! I tried to get there as fast as possible!” Marlene? Marlene, Barret’s daughter? It couldn’t be, not her; this can’t be happening. “Vincent! Please!”
We cannot change the future. Only make the here, and now worthwhile.
“Stop it! You didn’t do anything, stop asking me for something I can’t do!” I started to run, like the panther that resided where we found Yuffie. So strong and swift, covered within that black fur, giving them the camouflage of night. But I had no camouflage, no illusion to hold the pain I was suddenly given. So many questions piled themselves, like the leaves that stood next to most houses, incomplete and scattered. Just like my heart.
An eruption of anger, a surge of bitterly composed thoughts came through my mind, my heart. I was giving roars after roars within ever crevice, rift, and puncture my heart had. Assiduous dissonance had plagued my very voice, for I was yelling words of unspeakable meaning. Words of grief, of pain in its most solid form. They were words that death could only cause.
The stones of the road would change colors, as if to the urgency of this day. To gray, then to brown, then to numerous coloration of miscellaneous characteristics. I was running on the rain of tears that fell from my eyes, creating a bow of color.
It was the distortion of heat, a caustic mixture of anger and concern, of questions and presumed answers. I was dying within myself. As I made my last turn to the great gate of Midgar, that was now closed. I saw nothing that lied beside it, but a primitive watching post. And besides that vigil of security was three men, who had noticed my arrival and face. The stone road was gray now, as if depicting what lied beyond those gates...
My Nightmare. |
Last edited by Macrocosmic : 12.26.02 at 19:28:45.
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Author's Notes
_________
~Chapter Three~
Part One
In the end of things, both trivial and determining. Life changes with every decision,
so choose the right one.
Blair E.
He stood there like the lone warrior I had met long ago, standing with the stature of wise men, as if knowing of the pain this world had put restraint upon. But then the tear of loss fell down from his ever-watchful eyes of omnipotence. It was the supremacy that he wore like clothing that made this moment so quaint, for I cried before him like the child that my kin could only remember...
I was ashamed, for all my efforts could be said within one sentence. A sentence that only signified failure, cold and dry.
I tried.
I tried. Like it wasn’t of importance, like some frivolous matter that an infant would scream over. No, I lamented over this! My goddess, my father, my friend, and innocent girl now dwelled within their own form of death.
And all I could do was to cry...
__________________________________
It was strange, of wandering interest that I, in that sensation of boredom began to write. I don’t know why I wrote this, but it just revealed itself through the little moments of hearing that clank again. Yes, it was Vincent again. Y’know, the guy I call Valentine. It’s the thirtieth time, or maybe it’s the thirty-fourth... Whatever, that’s beside the point. Well, I guess that’s how he greets me (I’ll never figure him out...), probably why I love him so:
“The clank of a lover’s greeting awoke me that morning, that Valentine of mine. The sound of footsteps, sluggishly walking upon the rooftop could only be from he. Who else would walk freely onto property, and in such an odd fashion? Only him, that dark angel that the gods that watch over me now, bestowed unto me. That lover of mine; only such his smile could be so sweet! The darkness that was, only to be now replaced by the light of a lover’s innocence. My heart beats on because of that assuring knowledge, for his essence is eternal“.
“Even if I am not.”
I don’t know, every time I read it over, I stare at my hands. Why? Who the hell knew I could write that! Such eloquent, so beautiful--wait. Oh, no it’s okay. Never mind, I just keep on reading it over, and then I think I find something wrong, but it isn’t...
Why am I telling you this? Do you even care? Uh! He’s still walking up there...
I’ll write more in you when I get back, I promise...
The book closed, the pen was carelessly eased onto its leather case. Another clank, then another. “Oh damn,” the day has begun. The bed had been her asylum, still thinking of that little girl; suffering from the malediction that guilt placed upon her soul. The malign nature of a beast, still remembering the exuding blood from the chest. She was crying surreptitiously, so Vincent wouldn’t know of this torment, not of the bale death could inflict.
Or did he?
She’d wonder how much he had known. She did an astounding act of satisfaction when before him, repeatedly telling him of what she loved, which was he. I love you, my Valentine. All these words of relentless love, totally unabated by the restraints her heart made, were indeed true. But, they were extemporized just to hide the tears by changing the conversation. First the ‘I love you’ and once to the point of marriage! For when she’d think of that little girl, the joy that Vincent had brought would immediately expiate, but nervousness and timidity would remain.
Only leaving her with the tears, like now.
They were disheveled sometimes, especially after a nightmare. But at this moment, they had exuded because of the misery she constantly felt. The tears that sang her woes thrice, speaking of pain and misery with ever drop, would be her last. She knew that today, for the anguish was too hard to bear.
It was the malentendu of the situation; the mixture of emotion that drove her to tears. It just wasn’t her fault, yet every voice she heard, every execration from the parents of that girl, still resided within her mind. Never leaving, only releasing their toxin of guilt.
“My child! My child!! You horrid girl, you left her alone to die!” The woman screamed profanities Vincent winced at, warning her husband to watch her closely. Yuffie, who was the victim of pointless anger would continue to repeat her words of apology.
“She died because of you!” Her voice emphasized on the ‘you’ with a loud scream, “how could you just let this happen!! She did nothing to deserve this!” Yuffie accepted these accusations with total agreement, never defending herself, only listening.
Now it was the bed for her, and the tears of unremitting sorrow. All previous alacrity disappeared when the child screamed, and only existed in the memories of those who cared. Now the plaster walls heard the screams of the dismal, the wooden floor had now already taste those tears of hurt. This wasn’t the Yuffie that Vincent had once knew, for he knew nothing...
For she was an illusion of joy, and the adherent of guilt. Two people, only one reality.
Clank. He was calling her intentionally now, wanting some response or indication. She placed her feet before her, and stood on the bed in that white blue gown of silk; her hair fell with every movement she made, shining the light the window held. She gripped her fist, smiling once more, and stood on that bed. She then hit against the ceiling three times, then jumped straight down on the mattress.
She was smiling, the smile that could only remind you of what she once was. A smile reminiscent of that thief whose joy was contagious, yet it dissolved as the day would continue, only to be replaced by the malfeasances of humankind, and abnormalities only to be known as monsters.
The previous slumber had indeed insisted the opposite affect on Yuffie, actually inflicting weariness; another obstancy, another problem. As she stood, the floor seemed to deepen, to move farther away from her feet, causing her fall to that cool, wood floor. She let out a small cry, fearing the proximate pain of impact, but she caught herself, luckily.
“Whoa...” She let out thankfully, what was wrong? The sensation was of intoxication, as if she had drank. Wait, did she? She couldn’t remember, wait... Yes, she did. That would explain the malodor (vaguely of alcohol), and why she lacked depth perception. But when? And where?
I’m sure you know why...
“Oh yes, Sheryl!” She giggled, “the crazy girl.” Crazy girl, indeed. She was like Yuffie of the past, so enthusiastic, so friendly and somewhat crafty. She had that thief mentality, something Yuffie could relate to. Sheryl had lived in Midgar since birth, raised in a home whose wealth could buy half of Midgar! She was humorous, but insipient about what the world truly consisted of.
The blonde haired woman, only to the height of Yuffie, was gorgeous. She was actually a member of the Midgarian Council, very responsible, but far too kind to be a politician, or so Yuffie thought. The reason of her drinking was because of her pointless depression, and Sheryl wasn’t the person to let something be, chiefly when it was Yuffie.
“Yuffie?” The knocking was as vociferous as she was, but Yuffie tried to ignore it. Don’t look under the mat, don’t look under the mat. “I found the key, and I’m coming in!” Oh damn it! She was crying again on that bed of white sheets, the plaster walls and the cold wood floor witnessed it, again.
She could hear the footsteps, slowly made on that cold floor, echoing in every corner of the living room. Why, Sheryl!? Why now? Can’t I just cry in peace? Such words wouldn’t even uttered with her around, they were best kept unspoken, or a look of shock followed by a ‘how could you say that’ speech would’ve unstoppably begun. Please Sheryl, don’t make me beg! Another footstep, then another, and so on. Then finally, on the tenth step came a halt; Yuffie heard breathing.
“Didn’t you hear me knocking?” If only I had been sleeping. “Hello? Are ya still alive? Hello!?” First came that, then a, “Yuffie! I know you’re awake, now sit up and stop being a *****!” Then came the profanity: Is there a god? I mean, what the ****!? Then the acceptance, oh well...
And a question never to be answered.
...What did I really expect...
“Oh my god, Yuffie. If you think you’re sleeping in--again, you are so wrong.” Did I forget she was ditzy? A carefree women, who also was insipient, innoxious, and (a not so complex word) dumb. A dumb side that showed quite rarely, but was obviously existent--Yuffie would agree. But that didn’t take decrease the level of enjoyment she shared with her, for childish stupidity onl | | | |
