Sometimes it's like I can still hear her voice....
WHAT IS GRIEF, WHAT IS LOVE — WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THIS VIOLENT FERVOR WHICH HAS TAKEN ROOT IN HIS CHEST, ROOTS WHICH HAVE TAKEN UP RESIDENCE AT THE BASE OF HIS SKULL, PULLING, REACHING, SHATTERING? & had she herself not been a god shattering star? the penultimate foe of the all - knowing, dark cloaked & mystifying, blade piercing between the third / fourth vertebrae so that evil might revel in the loss? had it not been their hand holding the blade ( witnessing slow descent, plunging from the silver skies like meteor itself ) & now still suffering the dark flame slowly acquiring the bits of their body they cannot control? what is the truth of it — if there is any truth of it — that the planet's protector might have died for some abominable sin committed by the one who had promised to protect her?
on the other hand, what could tifa know? what could she do, if there was anything to be done? the girls could never laugh together again — they could never hold hands in the market place & pester cloud for extra gil so that they might buy something special, always a secret, always whispered in the sweet language of girls, tender - sweet & always chaotic. cloud never asked to join them — despairs at that, a little. he's always longed for companionship in the way that they showed it, choosing to hold hands, kiss one another upon the cheeks, yearn for proximity & closeness in the ways that they could — having sleepovers & making the most out of this foul adventure. despairing still, they should have asked. they should have joined just once. they should have asked to share in the mercy of girlhood, stirred in the fatal abyss of acceptance, instead of tonguing at the strangling fruit offered to them by a cruel prince.
cloud turns away from tifa — closes their eyes & relaxes into that imaginary touch ( aerith gainsborough's cold, bloodied fingers close around their throat & cradle the lump in it, soothing & haunting & beautiful now as she always has been. ) no matter how hard he tries, he can't get the words to come out — choked up by refusal, by indignation, by circumstance, because he wants to tell tifa the truth but can't. ❛ she's … still here with us. she'll always be part of us. she'll always be one of us. ❜ it's the closest that he can come to being honest — though if he were to reach into his pocket, his fingers would curl around the foulest materia & a handsome voice made of molten silver would pour freely into his mind, encouraging him onward. sometimes it sounds like aerith, sometimes it sounds like the monstrous flower which has blossomed in the flesh of all those who had received Her gift & sometimes it sounds like sephiroth, like a childhood memory, water tower daydreams & suffocating ambition.
unlike themself, they crawl into tifa's space & peel off their sad mourning veil, flushed cheek against her shoulder — skin neither hot nor cold, but dewy, tear - stained & ruddy, but for what reason, they'd never disclose. it isn't enough to miss aerith, token of her presence pressed against his cheek when he tosses & turns trying to sleep, stomach aching at the abandonment, chest burning at the realization, horror - haunting nightmares at the precipice of his mind, he has to hear her even now. ❛ dilly dally, shilly shally. ❜ & all other nonsensical things she used to murmur slip from penitent's mouth, leak freely into the air as cloud echoes what she's murmuring soft & sweet against the shell of his ear. cloud really should mind their space, but they're so cold, so tired, battle - worn & ready to collapse at any moment, now anchoring rock. their fingers find tifa's in the night & they hold onto her for dear life, afraid that if they blink for too long, they'll dream of their failure again. ❛ she's waiting for us to catch up … to meet her there, at the end of the world. ❜
amandla
snowghoul
jacobvanloon
turnnoffyourmind
baratheonpilled
