cascading through slightly-parted windows, unleashed after those long, dark hours of slumber, sunlight splices the cottage-house in strokes of brilliant white light. he had insisted that the curtains be drawn during the hours of the morning, for the sun shines so brilliantly that it does nothing but warm the house, but aerith instructed they stay open for sake of the plants inside, and he's long learned not to engage in any arguments with her; somehow, she always wins. he will confess that it does seem to animate their home, bringing forth life from even the most deadened aspects within. that is spring, he surmises; a sea of green persevering after the long winter, the motherly caress of gaia's westward breezes after strong lashes of winter winds. scents of that old, winter rot intermingling with the planet to produce fertile soils, from whence daisies and lilies grow, from whence life unfurls, despite it all.
they carefully duck their head as they enter its confines; the early hour brought forth opportunity to complete a few long-standing jobs, enough to fetch fresh goods for the day's meal. sephiroth steps through the cottage, traversing through the living room and setting a basket of goods unto its table. inside of it lies ripe apricots and pears, asparagus and beetroot, the taste of spring itself; near the accumulated produce rests a pack of eggs nestled neatly inside, and freshly-sliced cuts of chicken and pork. his head lifts, noting a lack of aerith's boots near the door. gone again. hearing rustling upstairs, she slinks towards the foot of the stairs, calling, “ i'm home. i've come with gifts, too. ” dexterous hands make note to remove their sheathed sword, leaning it near the adjacent wall. “ aerith appears to have snuck off elsewhere, i see— a shame; she's going to miss out. ”
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