Categories > Games > Final Fantasy 7
Guilt Repeating.
These are the things I will regret.
Years in the making, a mission stamped as urgent. Confidential. Find and capture the last remaining Ancient. Propriety is no longer an option. This is a matter that requires one be succinct.
It requires the best. He should not be surprised.
His breath feels constricted, trapped in the base of his throat when he reads elegant, typed words. To the point, yet speaking volumes there in between generous margins - 'this is your duty. This is your job. This is who you are.'
Regret means little in the scheme of things.
'This is you.'
These are the things I will regret.
She comes willingly and Tseng isn't entirely sure whether it's because of the little girl or because of him and some underserved level of trust they have developed over years of interaction. And something swells in his gut; churns violently at the notion that it's the latter. That she trusts him.
And it feels worse than simple guilt as his mind meanders on that singular train of thought... while he watches her... watches pink folds vanish into the helicopter's hold.
And she smiles.
It is guilt repeating.
Over and over again and again.
These are the things I will regret.
And her eyes have never been greener, he muses, than after that moment when everything shattered. When he twisted soundlessly; swung with more force than he thought possible against this girl.
Backhand to the cheek.
And her smile disappears then. Her mouth hangs agape.
She is taking him seriously now.
His hand stings. His chest heaves. Adrenaline. Nausea. He has lost control. He has become that which strangers fear him to be. But she thought differently, didn't she?
He can hear taunting words inanimate, miles away.
'This is most certainly who you are.'
"These are the things I will regret..."
And finally thoughts become words and drift while they leave her friends behind. She can hear his words. They do not penetrate.
He is glad.
Bonds are broken. Perhaps it's for the better. She will find freedom. She will never look back.
Silence. All he can hear is his pulse pounding and residual guilt -- the slap of a sound repeating in his head. He deserves nothing less... Dares to look her way. She does not make eye contact, features belying nothing.
She does not understand nor forgive.
He hopes she never will.
These are the things I will regret.
Years in the making, a mission stamped as urgent. Confidential. Find and capture the last remaining Ancient. Propriety is no longer an option. This is a matter that requires one be succinct.
It requires the best. He should not be surprised.
His breath feels constricted, trapped in the base of his throat when he reads elegant, typed words. To the point, yet speaking volumes there in between generous margins - 'this is your duty. This is your job. This is who you are.'
Regret means little in the scheme of things.
'This is you.'
These are the things I will regret.
She comes willingly and Tseng isn't entirely sure whether it's because of the little girl or because of him and some underserved level of trust they have developed over years of interaction. And something swells in his gut; churns violently at the notion that it's the latter. That she trusts him.
And it feels worse than simple guilt as his mind meanders on that singular train of thought... while he watches her... watches pink folds vanish into the helicopter's hold.
And she smiles.
It is guilt repeating.
Over and over again and again.
These are the things I will regret.
And her eyes have never been greener, he muses, than after that moment when everything shattered. When he twisted soundlessly; swung with more force than he thought possible against this girl.
Backhand to the cheek.
And her smile disappears then. Her mouth hangs agape.
She is taking him seriously now.
His hand stings. His chest heaves. Adrenaline. Nausea. He has lost control. He has become that which strangers fear him to be. But she thought differently, didn't she?
He can hear taunting words inanimate, miles away.
'This is most certainly who you are.'
"These are the things I will regret..."
And finally thoughts become words and drift while they leave her friends behind. She can hear his words. They do not penetrate.
He is glad.
Bonds are broken. Perhaps it's for the better. She will find freedom. She will never look back.
Silence. All he can hear is his pulse pounding and residual guilt -- the slap of a sound repeating in his head. He deserves nothing less... Dares to look her way. She does not make eye contact, features belying nothing.
She does not understand nor forgive.
He hopes she never will.
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