A Locked Up Secret
(A/N: A bit of fluffiness for those who managed to endure the utter
tragedy of my Love Not Often, consider this as a sort of alternative
ending – Lots of hugs! B xx )
Where fears and lies
Melt away,
What's left of me...
-Sanctuary, Utada Hikaru –
---------------------------
It was a long process, she mused to herself.
It was pretty tiring too.
The water was tough to claw through when she felt weak and tired, but
the surface when she broke it yielded sweet air and her lungs drank deep
of this euphoria, missed for too long. Her arms, fatigued, crumbled from
beneath her and in a sodden heap, her cheek hit the dirt of the bank and
she lay there, just breathing as her eyes attempted to focus on the
distance, on something rational.
What was that thing called?
That's right, that's a rock... the floor was under her, the sky was
above and she was there.
She smiled.
--------------------------
It took her a while to remember what her legs were for.
She'd tickled the soles of her feet until feeling had flooded back into
their numbed places, and then patted her hair dry as best anyone could
without a real definable source of light in the murk that had accosted
the city under the cover of night. Her clothes were just wet – through
and through, spattered with what looked to be mould. She made a note to
get herself a new dress, and then marvelled at remembering the word.
What little things amazed her!
She tried speaking of course, it was her first most natural instinct to
talk when she overbalanced and went face down in the dirt after an ill
advised attempt to walk; but her vocal chords were useless after the
sleep and she couldn't sing a single note, let alone coax words into
being her friend. Tongue withstanding, she simply shrugged it off and
concentrated on trying to remember if she ever wore her hair up or down.
It seemed more likely her hair was worn down; for there was no
instrument to hold her hair back from her face, nor was there any reason
to indicate that it had ever been worn up for her hair lay so deathly
straight when it had dried off.
The next quandary was if she was sick: her stomach was painful yet she
had no wound mark there, only smooth flesh with a faint flash of white
across her ribcage where something happened once, but each time she
tried to concentrate on it, it slipped away, so she didn't focus too
heavily on it. It was probably important, but chasing it around the
slowly illuminated darkness of her mind would only end in frustration
and fruitless nothingness.
After scouting around the city which was curiously devoid of life, she
found that the strange sensation was hunger and the dryness that made
her throat tighten was thirst. So with eminent practicality that she
thought she once prided herself on, she took charge of her own mindless
wandering and hunted for berries and fruits. How, she could have said
for certain, which were poisonous and which were not, she didn't know.
Chewing over the apple with the faintly browned skin from the late
summer fall of apples, she decided that she must have been a gardener of
some kind. Probably a good one. The awful looking boots on her feet bore
marks of prongs and deeply ingrained dirt scuffs. The knee area of her
dress was worn too, as if she knelt down. Her heart decided it; she was
a gardener of some kind. Perhaps a botanist, they were always paid quite
well.
Paid? What was that?
Sighing, she tossed the core to the animals and glanced about the area,
the small shell bench she sat upon and soaked up the rising sun over the
city and she estimated she had been sat there for a good hour or so,
trying to track herself down from the fog of her life. It appeared she
wasn't too bad at telling the time either, which came as a bit of a
pleasant surprise, let alone that she could judge and know what hour it
was.
Feeling inexplicably pleased with herself, she picked herself up and
then decided she had lingered at this strange place with the glowing,
magical trees and the vast shell houses sprawling over a complex city,
for far too long. Looking at the furthermost house where she had awoken
and collapsed, she rubbed her ribcage and shivered at the thought of all
that water. It felt like she should be afraid of the water, but what a
ridiculous notion that was. Hydrophobic, she knew that was what the
psychiatrists called it, but she'd be damned if she knew what a
psychiatrist was. It sounded pretty painful to be one, if she admitted
it.
Gathering up her little stock of berries, she turned with her hair like
a cloak around her and set off into the grand unknown, stepping lightly
with trackless ways into the forest and tilting her head at the strange
sights. The forest exuded a sense of sleepiness and there was something
about it that she should remember – hadn't she come to this place before
but never gone further? She was unable to be certain.
After a couple of hours, she was forced to pause and rub the growing
blisters on her left heel – this walking malarkey wasn't all it was
cracked up to be, she mused ruefully, it just ended with all her muscles
hurting and these boots weren't exactly hiking material. Hiking, of
course, being the term for long distance walks usually up steep mountain
sides but she was just as ready to apply said term to a breezy wander
through a Sleeping Forest.
Aha! The Sleeping Forest; that was its name!
She snapped her fingers in a most satisfactory way and then carried on
into the forest, humming the sleepy song of the city that had joyously
cried out when she rose from the depths.
There was a town on the other side where people were intent on grubbing
in the dirt with their bare hands. It looked pretty disgusting actually
and she almost reached for a handkerchief when she realized that she
didn't have a jacket or a pocket on said jacket to tug anything from.
That's right; she used to wear a jacket didn't she? No wonder she was
cold! Well, what a thing to steal from someone!
"I-i-i-it's a ghost!" one of the purple clad people shrieked and she
tilted her head, as with a look at her pale face, they all went
screaming and running for cover, some of the screams about the Planet
finally having had enough of their meddling.
What on the Planet was a Ghost?
Was that her name?
But every time she tried to approach one of the workers they'd simply
throw their hands over their head and quiver, babbling away in sheer
panic. So with a sigh, she gave up and sat down to eat some of her fruit
whilst the foreman of the dig watched her with wide, disbelieving eyes.
But it was sunny and she didn't mind. She liked the sunshine, she
decided, it felt good. She liked it a lot on the journey before after
all.
A journey?
That's right; she had been looking for someone, for something, hadn't
she? It was all because of what she was that she had to undertake such a
dangerous path and look where it had gotten her; a stolen jacket, mouldy
dress and completely ruined vocal chords from lack of use.
Frowning over this, she kept trying exercise noise from her throat.
The white flash of flesh on the smooth peach of her natural skin tone
was an indication that something had been marked about her, but what,
she wasn't certain. There had been faces too, people she knew, people
she had loved.
Her eyes glanced hungrily over the faces of the workers and with a
flicker of disappointment, found not a single familiar face among them
and bending her head so they would stop staring at her like she might
combust, she continued eating, fully intending to ask them directions to
the only place she knew to go to.
Her home.
------------------------------------
"Get your elbows off the table," she sighed for the seventh time.
Cid snatched his elbows back, and then sprawled back in the chair,
blowing smoke rings into the air.
Tifa hated that, his lazy attitude and how he just tried to act like he
didn't have a damned care in the world, but she was getting so good at
her poker face, the blank and bland mask she used to great effect now,
that she could circumvent the nastiest of her most open tirades fairly
easily.
Her small apartment was cramped from a visit by Cid, Vincent and the
eponymous Reeve. They each had their own strange little quirks about
them; Cid languished with ease in his chair, cigarette cocked on his
lips on the verge of dropping out and sending them all up in ironic
flames. Vincent acted as little more than a stone pillar to one side of
the room, decorating a wall. Reeve however, adorned his chair with rigid
formality, hands on the table and folded together.
She'd given them all a drink, as that day was quickly approaching when
she knew they'd be having that little get together. They'd all crowd
about the remnants and ruins and congratulate each other, bang each
other on the back and pretend to be pleased with themselves and
everything they'd accomplished.
But in the intervening years, Tifa had become a little callous to the
ways of her fellow man and her friends. She'd watched them all from her
distance she maintained, trapping herself within the obligation of
living and trying to forget the pain of her past. It had made her bitter
in a sense, more cynical and back to the girl that a gentle little
flower would recognize as the one that needed attention from the very
moment she had been taken away in a chocobo led cart for a night of
unspeakable horror at the hands of Wall Markets top lecher, the Don.
She knew that whilst Yuffie pretended to love getting more
responsibility, it was slowly crushing the idealism out of the young
girl, the very idealism that had driven her to try and conquer the world
for the sake of her nation. She knew that Cid built machine after
machine in the hope of recapturing his life as a pilot, but was slowly
finding himself more and more grounded. She watched as Vincent was
consumed further, day by aching day, the demon within him eating away at
his soul. She even watched as Marlene grew up and saw the world through
eyes ten years too old for her.
The world had become grey and hard, and she had changed like a chameleon
to fit.
"So, where are we holding it this year?" she asked, if only to break the
uncomfortable silence that had befallen them all.
Cid shifted on his chair, rolling his blood shot eyes from a night of
drinking hard, to Reeve who cleared his throat before speaking in an
elegant accent which was completely different to the one the stuffed mog
Cait utilized; "We thought we might hold it in the Botanical Radiant
Garden this year."
"The gardens?" Cid scowled, "Damn, no smoking then."
"It'll do your already dead lungs some good," Tifa shot back.
He huffed at her and stubbed out the snub end of his current ‘smoke' and
immediately went rummaging for another one. She scowled at his motions,
and then flicked her attention to Vincent who was opening his mouth to
speak. It was rare to hear more than two words from the gothic dressed
man.
"It has been three years now. I think the Garden is the best choice, it
reflects what little good we have managed to accomplish."
"But still..." she glanced down.
"We know, and we're sorry to dredge up the pain but..."
"No. Its fine, you know? I think I have to stop being such a cry baby
about it. Three years and more now, after all." Damn it, was she going
to cry? She sucked in a cool breath of air and then smiled with a tilt
of her head, that fake little mask she had perfected over intervening
time.
"As long as you're okay with it." Reeve said, doubt in his voice.
Almost atop him, Vincent queried coolly, in a voice made of gravel and
velvet, "Are you really okay with it?"
She glared at him with a side-cut of her eyes, but didn't say anything.
That seemed to be all the response he wanted from her and settled back
into brooding against the wall he had chosen as his place to rest. Her
eyes slid down to her lap where he hands were clenched about the whiskey
glass so hard that it should shatter.
She'd spent a while immersing herself in the unhealthy past time of
drinking despite all prior knowledge she had of alcoholism as a bar
hostess, but the alcohol had only dulled the pain briefly and left her
sick and weak each morning with a hangover she couldn't exactly called
the best medicine for the ache in her heart. She'd tried to get out and
spend time with people, but man or woman who crossed her path, nothing
had sparked her interest. She still spent her time, almost breaking her
neck to see when she thought she saw a glint of pink in the sea of faces
and people. Instead, she ended with only more cracks on her resilient
heart when it was betrayed by no one being there.
Just ghosts of her memory.
When she'd been back once to visit Midgar, after the destruction and
before the crimes of the badly planned ‘Reunion' of Sephiroth, she
thought she'd seen the ghost of Aerith, flickering by the flowers she
loved beyond all compare. But as quickly as light betrayed her, it stole
her away and she was left cold and alone again.
And no, she revised; she wasn't okay with this meeting.
She wasn't okay at all.
But she did it because it was routine and it was all that kept her from
throwing her sanity from the window.
Tifa sighed, looking back up at the misfit trio, "...alright..."
-------------------------------------
The boat ride took a week or so, the world seeming to fly faster on the
water than when she revolved the earth with her own two feet. The
locals, after calming down some, had given her directions to the small
working port on the beach with something on their faces that came close
to adulation, or awe. In some cases they had carried it to the extreme,
trying to pamper her. They'd let her wash in a hot bath and even found a
worker who had spare dresses at hand that just about fitted her, if a
little loose across her slender hips.
The dress wasn't exactly bad, she remonstrated with herself as she
looked it over with an idle peruse of her eyes; it was a far cry from
the mould covered thing she'd crawled up and walked around in! It was an
airy affair of lace and pink cloth that whispered on her skin. It came
with a stitched bodice, halter necked with frilly lace and with a wide
skirt that flooded out from her legs in an a-line shape most
flatteringly, only helping to show how painfully her waist was slim, her
undernourished and waif like figure.
But despite her fatigue which crept up on her with the pains of waking
from a long sleep she was unsure she would wake from, she felt restless.
The world skimmed past and briefly she wondered did the world turn or
did she? Which was the one moving? Was she simply stationary as the
world whizzed past at incredible speeds, spraying salty water in its
wake?
But at night her dreams were strange and she woke up, covered in sweat.
Once she had wept tears that should belong in the ocean, salt marked on
her smooth cheeks. She couldn't say for certain that night what had made
her weep so much, but the sense of devastating loss struck her as deep
as any wound could ever go.
There were faces in her dreams; but they remained dominated by three
people, each with different emotions attached to them in the most
confusing way. The emotions had taken their time in coming to her by
name, but she was finally at peace with those images. The blonde man who
held a large sword and whispered that he wished to die for his sin,
wished to die because it was his fault – she attached a sense of fond
despair but also the greatest hope. The taller man with silver hair and
snake-like eyes sneered down at her, something trying to reach out to
her almost lovingly and from this she could only feel deep seated
revulsion and horror.
The last was more confusing to her yet, a girl with long dark hair and
such sad, beautiful eyes stared up at her helplessly from a lake of
glass or perhaps crystal and in her tears she saw herself reflected,
pale and distant as the far flung moon. But the girl she could attach
words to, the most motivated ones; of love, friendship and courage. Such
brave courage that she almost cried again when she thought of those
tearful eyes.
Days passing on the water, each day brought better command of her vocal
chords to her. Her voice sounded thin and pained, as if she was trying
to remember what her accent may have been, or if she even had an accent
at all? Was she once sweet spoken or was it a husky, throaty murmur that
turned heads? Was her tone calm or hasty?
She couldn't remember, but the words were there slowly but surely.
On the sixth day she spotted the beach finally, standing towards the
prow of the ship and holding onto a line that was attached to the upper
workings of the mechanical boat. Overhead birds flew, shadowed by the
presence of a vast flying ship, high up in the sky and leaving jet
streams of smoke across the eternal blueness.
In wonder she watched it pass over, cupping a hand to shade her eyes and
blinking away the tears that the sun dragged up from her drought ridden
eyes. "Airship," she faltered slowly.
"Think I'll ever go for a ride on it?"
That's right. She had wanted to fly high up, but the closest she
recalled getting were fireworks, dying fire blooming in the sky and
looking down at the world with a sense of sorrow, with a sense of
growing detachment from everything she should love or hold dear. Was
that when it had started? Was it only halfway into the reason why she
didn't remember anything?
"I want to meet... you..."
That was the truth.
She didn't know herself at all, she was a stranger with a familiar face,
familiar actions, but cheerfully she resolved that soon it would all
become clear to her. So when the boat docked at a small new looking port
town that smelt of the morning tide and what came back to haunt on it
(the rubbish that sailors threw overboard was pretty disgusting) she
thanked the crew profusely for their help. Everyone seemed afraid to
speak to her, like she would shatter and everyone seemed to know how she
was, but how they knew this kind of stuff, she would never guess.
Hitching the bag of supplies which kept steadily growing with each
stranger who knew her by face or name, gestures of goodwill, the girl
set off down into the hinterlands of this strange new place, or familiar
nameless one. There may have been monsters, but she didn't see any.
Monsters?
That's right, she reminded herself as she paused to stand under the
midday sun, there were monsters that roamed the land. The tragedy of a
two thousand year curse on a race that died.
Were they really all dead?
"Probably not," she mused. But how did she know that? How did she know
about the curse of the monsters?
Still amazed by what little came trickling back to her, day by day, she
finally came after a week of walking to the strange place she knew only
as home. It was an ugly sprawl, a blot on the landscape, but with the
ugliness came a weird kind of attractiveness and peace that seemed to
swallow her up from the inside.
Struts of metal stabbed through the ground, wound about with tufts of
grass and trees. Where there was soil flowers bloomed and with tears in
her eyes, she murmured without knowing why: "The gardens did come to the
slums then."
But what slums? Why would she know if they lacked gardens or not? Were
the slums some kind of strange botanists club? In which case then, she
might have been a part of the slums at some point.
Traversing the metal spars and broken rivets, welded struts and beams,
she came to a rundown little church where inside she found a pool of
water. There was no one else around, which confused her, because it
looked bizarrely well tended for something so out of the way. But not
questioning her good fortune, she knelt and drank deeply of the water
which refreshed her right down to her socks. With every mouthful, some
of the fog in her mind slowly lifted.
This church used to have flowers in it. It was beautiful once, she
decided, it was beautiful still of course, but once there had been no
pool of water. Scuff marks bore tell tale signs of battle and hard won
causes, but right in the centre of the water she reached out a longing
hand. She could almost picture herself knelt there with a blonde man in
pain, covered in debris and blood.
"I knew this place, once upon a dream," she sighed.
The exploring took a few more days, so she made this church her ‘base
camp' so to speak, setting up in one of the discarded ramshackle places
in the back. Her wanderings took her past signs which ivy clung to with
fervent affection and when she pulled it back, a woman who had stolen
her face was knelt with the words ‘Loveless' printed next to her boldly.
That was a play.
She knew it was a play, once a long time ago; she had stood on this
street corner. She had stood here in a pink dress and called out to
those who passed by, begging them to take notice and maybe if they could
dig a little deeper into their pockets, spare a gil for the girl who
sold them blooms that would not die like fire.
Her eyes looked up as if drawn. There was a ruined tower rising high
above this deserted city, high above the other towers and pockets of
wildlife clung to it. She shivered: there was something about the tower
which stole away her breath and made her inside feel cold. But there
used to be people there that she did know well, that she almost called
part of her life.
Then on the third day of exploration she came to a cottage like house,
strange and offsetting the madness of the carbon steel world that was
being eaten at by flora each day. Its roof had caved in at some point,
scattering straw everywhere and leaving the inside furniture beyond any
hope of salvation. Off to one side, there was a garden filled with
flowers still growing strong. Her ears picked up the distant call of
someone and she turned, but found she was still alone.
"Dinner!"
She had lived here once.
...this was home.
------------------------------------
The girl sat on the small slide, crying into her balled up fists which
rubbed at green, green eyes – the kind of green which others may have to
use contact lens to achieve. Her dress was a kind of greenish blue and
had a short length to it, but her childish knee boots with the floral
design were sturdy. The playground was empty and devastated as if by
some accident or just general neglect from everyone who came through,
from kids to junkies.
"Why are you crying?"
"I don't know who I am," she cried into her hands. "I don't remember
anything."
"Nothing at all?"
"Not a thing!" She lowered her hands, sniffing a great amount. At the
foot of the slide stood a young boy dressed in blue, tilting his blond
haired head up at her with eyes of a bright, bright azure. Next to him
was a girl who despite her young looks was simply stunning to look at,
with long dark hair and wide dark-reddish brown eyes. She smiled up at
her.
"How long are you going to cry about it then?"
"I..." How long was she going to? She had better things to do after all.
Sheepishly she lowered her hands, bending her head in defeat as her
cheeks coloured a suspicious red, hair falling down to cover her face.
"I'm just all alone."
"We're here, aren't we?"
"..."
"Why don't you come down from there?" The girl was walking forward with
her hand extended up to her. She looked down at the hand and then
tentatively reached back for it as she slid down the curve of the pink
slide, the elephant's nose depositing her neatly into standing.
When she was standing, she let go of the hand and stared into the face
of the fully grown woman and man who had moments before been children.
They looked back at her, almost as if waiting for her to come to the
realisation that was slowly floating about inside her.
When it came to fruition she finally broke into a smile that felt like
it had been lurking inside of her for so long and with a delighted
laugh, put her hands behind her back in what she knew was habit and
leaned forward, still beaming.
"...I remember..."
--------------------------------------
It was a flood of memories she couldn't stop. As if simple contact in
the dream with the two people who afforded themselves a positive place
and influence on her life, her soul and her heart had brought back
everything, she surrendered to the sweet agony of remembering...
It had started all so long ago, hadn't it? On that far corner of the
world where the tower rose up high and she scurried from street to
street, trying to scrape a living whilst trying at the same time, to
avoid being found. Of course she had been found eventually, but they'd
come for her.
They'd come for her and that was enough.
Together, in a blur of action that fled past her blinded eyes they
thrust themselves from the city that housed the evil of her nightmares
into the world, into the place where she could hear everything finally
and understand it without straining hard to do so. It was there, whilst
travelling with the blond man and the dark haired girl that she had come
into contact with the snake eyed demon.
Harder and harder, they fought onwards, and faces then slowly coloured
themselves in. Smiles on the face of a girl dressed like a ninja, sweet
rasping sound from a man cloaked in darkness, the light in the shadowy
street from the cigarette of a man in goggles. Each one she could pick
from a crowd without hesitation and say, ‘These people, they shaped my
life'.
But with each passing day, she knew she would have to leave.
And she did.
She took the demon to his showdown of Fate and there, whilst he assumed
he had triumphed, she had actually found the keys to unlocking the
secret of Holy. There, in the sallow days that came after, she took up
the cause even when she should have been sleeping and taken care of
everything. It was that which had caused this town to be turned into a
botanists delight, filled with flora and fauna of every type. The energy
of the planet, the Life Stream, it came with its own side effects of
natural growth and repair.
Then came harder issues, such as finally patching over the cracks she
had left behind unwittingly, helping others to finally see what it meant
to live and to die, and better yet, to die for a cause.
Then, when had it been when she had woken?
"I'll be back, when it's all over."
It was all over, really over. There was nothing left to harm anyone
anymore. So she dreamed of the world once again and was given her
recompense from a Planet she had put everything on the line for.
A last chance, you might say.
It needed someone to look after it, it kept saying. It needed someone up
there who had half a clue about anything. So she had asked it if that
meant she was to go home, and all it would say, was "The journey back
will be painful and hollow."
So she came back, but without memories. Holes still in her mind. But
acceptable ones. She knew how to walk, she knew how to eat, and she was
happy and whole and knew that with time, that it'd all come back to her.
Because she wasn't a person who was easily pushed down.
She knew what it was, to live and to die.
----------------------------------
Tifa was bored already.
The journey to the Radiant Garden had consisted mostly of Yuffie and
Barrett re-establishing their old routine of bickering like cousins over
the last doughnut, whilst Cloud had washed his hands of the whole
business, hurriedly stepping up to be close to Vincent. Not that Tifa
could precisely envisage their conversations; it would no doubt run to
silence and the occasional look at each other. Stimulating.
The committee had been more than gracious in accommodating them, fawning
to the point where Tifa wondered if Red was going to bite their legs
hard, had they not caught the growing look of distress on the fire
wolf's face and made an exit, stage right, pretty sharply. So with her
hands tucked under her armpits, she made her way slowly up the stairs
into the wide seating area of lattice work iron chairs painted lead
white and the boxed flower beds that edged about the wide lawns and
sweltering pockets of heat where the more tropical flowers grew.
It was when Vincent put a hand on her arm that she stopped and looked at
him quizzically. He lifted a hand, "Listen."
She frowned and tilted her head, listening to the sound that filtered
through the air, the voice was sweet if a little sore on a couple of
notes but the song was sang with such enjoyment that she couldn't help
but smile as she heard it. Clearly the others felt so, smiles breaking
through as one by one, those behind her closed their eyes to hear the
notes shatter on their senses.
"I watch you fast asleep,
All I fear means nothing...
And you and I,
There's a new land.
Angels in flight...
My sanctuary, my sanctuary
Where fears and lies melt away...
...what's left of me..."
The song was beautiful and haunting, but she turned a look of
displeasure onto Vincent, "I thought you guys had cleared this. There
shouldn't be anyone here."
"You're right, there shouldn't be," he shrugged.
"So we'll just ask them to leave nicely, I don't want any interruptions,
not today, not of all days."
"Tifa, it's a garden after all, might be a tender, y'know?" Barrett
tried reason. Tifa had long since learned that ‘reason' was just another
way of trying to wheedle her from her stubborn mindset, which on the
whole, was usually the right mindset.
She pointedly looked at him, and then across at the others, "So, you're
saying we just let them sit on our little gathering? Come on, today is
special."
"Special, only cu-" Barrett didn't have a chance to finish his sentence
as Cloud threw him a dark look to rival Tifa's.
She said nothing, looking away instead with an unsteady clearing of her
throat. She remembered when she had shown Cloud that diary and he had
asked her why she would keep such a thing. Then when he'd read it, his
whole face seemed to crumble with denial. It had taken him a long time
to accept it, she supposed, but at least he was talking to her now. He
said that he didn't blame her. How could he blame her for just falling
in love? She had about as much control over that as she did about the
fact she was almost as tall as he was, or that she liked to make bad
jokes or even that she could hang a spoon from the end of her nose as a
party trick. It was just a part of her.
"I know," she sighed, hugging her arms about herself, "So all the more
reason, right?"
"We're not arguing with you, Tifa," Yuffie said soberly, glancing up
from the small lift of tithes she had been forced to bring as part of
her duty to her country, especially as her father was slowly trying to
rein her in as a suitable ruler, "Just saying to consider the other side
of the story."
"What's there to understand?" Okay, she knew she was being unreasonable
but she couldn't seem to stop herself. At least she didn't pout, she
condoled herself. Pouting would have been the absolute end of that
argument.
"How about instead of arguing about this, we just go inside and have a
word with them? Come on."
Cloud, like always, took charge of their squabbles and slowly walked
ahead of Tifa, brushing her shoulder just a little. Not coldly, just
awkwardly. So he was still awkward with her and her revelations. But she
bore it all with good humour, as best she could, and with a sour look
for Barrett who raised his hands defensively, she wandered inside after
Cloud.
The Gardens were well named – radiant as a sunrise and over flowing with
life. It was almost verdant and alive with the very sensation of growth,
or expectation and she found herself being caught up in the song and the
natural scene once more.
No, must remain grounded, she admonished her inner heart.
But the song was so beautiful, she thought it might break and she'd end
up back on the booze, trying to kid herself that she was alright, just
coping fine and not cuddling that scrap of a diary whenever she could.
Because then she'd be no better than Cloud, and a hypocrite, all in one
go. Completely unfashionable of her to be so. After all, there was room
for only so much angst in their little group of misfits.
She bounced from Cloud's back, lifting her hand to her chin and glaring
at the back of his head: when had he stopped? And just what was the fool
man pointing...at...
Tifa followed his pointing finger at the expression of awe on his pale
face and she too felt the bottom drop out of her heart and any words
filled with venom she was about to deliver with usual flair for the
language.
Because sat at the desk was a ghost, a complete impossibility. She wore
her hair down and was forever pushing strands behind an ear, hand
creeping up now and then. She sat on the edge of a flower box, feet
curled about one another as her legs lay properly as a lady would sit,
hands otherwise folded in her lap. The dress was different, darker pink
with lace ties and ruffles and a much more moulded bodice to it. But the
voice which broke her heart was the same, just dulled a little from
disuse and when she finally noticed them, she turned to look at them and
smiled, closing beautiful green eyes to do so. It even set that familiar
dimple in her cheek.
"Surprise!" She said softly.
Tifa didn't know who moved first, but she knew she was the first one
there to gather the girl into her arms and hug her fiercly, hug her
until the end of time if need be. She kissed her cheek, her hair and
trembled with the sudden rush of broken hearted wailing that came
surging from nowhere. Then the others were there, crowding around with a
buzz of joy, the first real joy she had heard in years from all of them,
and the vision in pink was laughing, taking it all in her stride with
unruffled calm.
When they managed to break away to let her breathe, Tifa still held her
hand, staring at her face in disbelief. "How... why?"
"Didn't I say once, I'll be back, when it's all over?" There was a laugh
of silver, "I was just never very punctual."
"But... but how?"
"The Planet works in mysterious ways. And I think... when Cetra die,
they migrate. They move to another place. That's all well and good, but
where would I go? I'm the last, you know." She said it as if reassuring
herself of these facts, "The last one, all that's left. I think it
doesn't want to be lonely, if I must migrate on. I think it still needs
me to get it through the problems it's faced. So... I was asked to come
back."
"To... the Planet?"
"I think so. There was a song..." She hummed a few bars and Tifa checked
her tears: it was a musical piece she had been playing on the last
anniversary of the girl's birthday. "...sounds pretty. Makes me a bit
sad to hear it. I don't know why though. Maybe that'll come back to me.
I remember some things, I don't remember others. But that's alright... I
know enough."
"O-oh?"
"I know what it is, to live, to die... to love and to lose."
Tifa looked across the faces of the others, shining with tears, then
back to the girl in pink. She smiled softly in some distraction, going
on, "I heard you all. I heard everything. I know you all, of course. I
just have a slight problem."
"What's that?"
"I can't remember my name, Tifa," she laughed.
It was infectious. Pretty soon everyone was chuckling, breaking the
nervous air that had invaded and then Tifa was wrapping her arms about
the girl, laughing too as she whispered, "It's Aerith. Aerith
Gainsborough."
"Oh," Aerith murmured, kissing Tifa on her cheek, "I thought it was."
-------------------------------------
It took a couple of years for everything to really settle into place,
but when it did, their lives were so settled that it didn't matter. It
was filled with love and friendship and the day finally dawned that had
left Tifa jittery for days, nervously tugging at her collar and then
trying to smooth out her hair. She wore a black dress, sparkling in the
light flooding through the window, it spilled to the floor emphasising
that she was shadow, that she had once been choked by the blackest of
all despair.
Everyone watched, from row to row, across the world perhaps, who knew?
Who really cared? There were flowers and the sweet music she had written
for the flower girl alone. Outside the building there was only bright
sunshine and not a single drop of rain yet in the sky burned a bright
rainbow, was it a sign of the Planet listening too?
Her eyes moved to look across at Aerith, clad in a similar dress to that
of her own, a floor length white dress which enhanced her slenderness
and made her look absolutely stunning. Her hair was bound away in a
difficult looking braid, tied with flowers of white. About her neck, she
still wore the thread-necklace but this time, no hand crept up to grab
it and she was smiling back at Tifa.
The world held its breath.
Aerith simply said, "...I do."
-The End-
(( Or... is it? Mwahahaha... :D ))
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