Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 7
Tatters of Crimson
0 reviewsHe knew she would die with him anyway. Rated PG because there's nothing really bad about it. Yuffentine Drabble-based.
0Unrated
Little break to get the juices flowin' from OASIS for right now. Drabble with probably a popular plot, but I can't help it. This is just something I feel like doing. :P I think the odd thing is that I got inspired by watching the Christmas Special of 'The Office' tonight. Very funny episode.
Disclaimer: I do not own Vincent and Yuffie. If I did, then I would be rich and wouldn't be bothering. They belong to Square Enix and Tetsuya Nomura!
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Tatters of crimson swishes as it turns, only she could watch, storm cloud eyes steadily loosing focus of the things around her.
The husk scent of the tattered piece is something she would miss the most, she is sure. Maybe it is the ruby stones will be what she will miss. The mind can only register a few things, she suppose. The golden arm; a sign of the past refused to let go, the sign of why he must leave. Or he would kill them both.
The inner beast turmoil is sown in the fabric, clawing its way to the unruly raven, begging for release, something he can ignore no longer. A matter of pride? Nobility?
He knew she would die with him anyway.
A million things closes tight, a million little secrets clawing away at her throat, begging for release, much as it did for him. She wants to speak, but her throat only silences the roars up, slowly choking, suffocating her. She wants to scream to Leviathan, scream to the gods that rule her fate, scream at him, but she can only stare at his graceful, silent steps, forever echoing in her mother's garden. Only it is never supposed to echo here. Never.
He's taking his time. The inner secrets that could only be passed by the light breeze, the reminder both will never forget. The sacred times of her life mixes with the worst of her memories, mingling with the salty tears that finally break free. She knew that her heart will be buried soon.
/If only she could hate him./
But she understands. And she feels. She feels her ribcage slowly breaking piece by piece, matching the rhythm of his steps. Is he going slow or is this how it always been? She was never one to think about the little things. One of the many things that is so different between the two.
That is probably why she sacrificed her heart for him. He saw the person that no other saw in her. Not even herself. Maybe she was fooling herself with that thought, but she knows, deep down... they weren't much different from each other.
Pair of wine eyes stare at her with the longing that she knows is no different from in her own. She parts her lips to speak finally, but the only words that come out are not far from her own feelings, but never could truly express the truth; the one thing she could never, never, truly say; yet, the sentence would never speak out. When she tries, the throat closes again, she knew she was too stubborn, so she speaks a phrase so overused, so overrated, but somehow, it holds the same weight:
"Thank you..."
The slight nod of her elongated face and tatters of crimson gracefully turns back, making its always graceful entrance. She knows that would be the last time she would smell the gunpowder, last time she would see the beautiful pale skin, the last time she would the unruly ebony hair that she loved to run her skinny little fingers through, the last time those scarlet red eyes would ever grace her to view, and, she knew, then, that she would never get over her only true lover, Vincent Valentine. With that thought in mind, her storm cloud gradually hardens into ice.
Those three words echoes painfully in her mind, timing away like the old grandfather clock that Cid insisted on keeping. The new feeling washes over her as her heart beats drums out its last pulse and her ice eyes close shut, gradually falling to her knees. "Never forget," she whispers vainly, lowly that the passing servants don't notice her silent pray, "You're welcomed here anytime."
The tatters of crimson gradually left her view, their silent bond burying with the lover's heart, cascading as a helpless shadow in the noon sun...
Disclaimer: I do not own Vincent and Yuffie. If I did, then I would be rich and wouldn't be bothering. They belong to Square Enix and Tetsuya Nomura!
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Tatters of crimson swishes as it turns, only she could watch, storm cloud eyes steadily loosing focus of the things around her.
The husk scent of the tattered piece is something she would miss the most, she is sure. Maybe it is the ruby stones will be what she will miss. The mind can only register a few things, she suppose. The golden arm; a sign of the past refused to let go, the sign of why he must leave. Or he would kill them both.
The inner beast turmoil is sown in the fabric, clawing its way to the unruly raven, begging for release, something he can ignore no longer. A matter of pride? Nobility?
He knew she would die with him anyway.
A million things closes tight, a million little secrets clawing away at her throat, begging for release, much as it did for him. She wants to speak, but her throat only silences the roars up, slowly choking, suffocating her. She wants to scream to Leviathan, scream to the gods that rule her fate, scream at him, but she can only stare at his graceful, silent steps, forever echoing in her mother's garden. Only it is never supposed to echo here. Never.
He's taking his time. The inner secrets that could only be passed by the light breeze, the reminder both will never forget. The sacred times of her life mixes with the worst of her memories, mingling with the salty tears that finally break free. She knew that her heart will be buried soon.
/If only she could hate him./
But she understands. And she feels. She feels her ribcage slowly breaking piece by piece, matching the rhythm of his steps. Is he going slow or is this how it always been? She was never one to think about the little things. One of the many things that is so different between the two.
That is probably why she sacrificed her heart for him. He saw the person that no other saw in her. Not even herself. Maybe she was fooling herself with that thought, but she knows, deep down... they weren't much different from each other.
Pair of wine eyes stare at her with the longing that she knows is no different from in her own. She parts her lips to speak finally, but the only words that come out are not far from her own feelings, but never could truly express the truth; the one thing she could never, never, truly say; yet, the sentence would never speak out. When she tries, the throat closes again, she knew she was too stubborn, so she speaks a phrase so overused, so overrated, but somehow, it holds the same weight:
"Thank you..."
The slight nod of her elongated face and tatters of crimson gracefully turns back, making its always graceful entrance. She knows that would be the last time she would smell the gunpowder, last time she would see the beautiful pale skin, the last time she would the unruly ebony hair that she loved to run her skinny little fingers through, the last time those scarlet red eyes would ever grace her to view, and, she knew, then, that she would never get over her only true lover, Vincent Valentine. With that thought in mind, her storm cloud gradually hardens into ice.
Those three words echoes painfully in her mind, timing away like the old grandfather clock that Cid insisted on keeping. The new feeling washes over her as her heart beats drums out its last pulse and her ice eyes close shut, gradually falling to her knees. "Never forget," she whispers vainly, lowly that the passing servants don't notice her silent pray, "You're welcomed here anytime."
The tatters of crimson gradually left her view, their silent bond burying with the lover's heart, cascading as a helpless shadow in the noon sun...
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