Mistaken Identity
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Beams of pale moonlight bounce off of occasional snowflakes as they trickle down slowly from rare clouds. Vincent watches the streets below from the top of a building, a gentle breeze pushing his hair to the side and making his crimson cape flutter in the same direction. Every breath sends miniature clouds of fog from his lips as the moisture from his mouth condenses before him. He doesn’t feel the cold, but he remembers what it is to be cold, the wind chilling down to his bones, teeth chattering, and cheeks reddening as blood pools to warm them back up. He hasn’t felt cold since... the incident...
A familiar sight flashes in his peripheral vision and Vincent turns his head for a better look. He takes in the sights of that familiar sword, as well as the classic uniform once worn by an old friend—a bit surprising, as he remembers Cloud choosing a different wardrobe during the battle with Deepground. Vincent gathers his legs beneath himself again and, in a fluid motion, performs a graceful backflip followed by a quick fall to the pavement below.
“Cloud Strife... you died your—...” and then his eyes took in the rest of the figure before him. Definitely not the face of the man he believed it to be. Vincent makes a move to turn away, muttering out a quiet apology as he turns to leave.
