Deviation Actions
Literature Text
"You are leaving."
She had not expected him, or perhaps she had -- in a way. Of all the people that have came to form this strange circle she would -- sometimes in the depth of the night when there was only her and her mother -- call family, he is someone she cannot read.
It is much like a piece of puzzle
that she may turn in her hand,
learn its shape
& familiarize herself with its texture
but have yet to find it with places
for this piece of puzzle is forever changing
& she has no time left
even when she had wanted to.
So she will meet him on her ground, with arms folded behind the small of back and both shoulders straightened; with a smile on her lips, how she will turn, leaving a dawn's promise and seeking instead his night.
It was nearly funny, how he looked.
Her red bat, forced by them from its cave.
A walking tragic, really.
"Yes."
Fighting against the urge to tongue the inside of her cheek, she concluded, and much too amiably for the recognition she saw in his eyes. With him, there is no need to tell a lie, although, she had hoped that like the rest of them, he had taken the dishes she made. A particular spice shown by her mother in her youth had made them extra more succulent.
Still, he was a Turk once
& did she not know -- too well
-- how a Turk's mind work?
Saving for that one time,
sometimes she can still feel his palm on her cheek.
"I am leaving." Step by step, she trod, drawing her face away from the night. Not because the night is frightful -- the red in his eyes reminded her of good wine and gentle poppy -- but more so because there is a day ahead and she wants to feel the sun on her cheeks. "Did I ever tell you of my church? Well, it is not a church now, not entirely.", and how she would grin, there. Twice already that people had felt from above. While she does not feel like calling Cloud, or Zack an angel, the thought alone is to be cherished.
There are peace in quiescence.
Beneath whispering canopies,
she found her embrace.
Upon the big boulder,
shaped almost like a turtle with a flat top,
she climbed --
once,
twice.
Then she turned.
"You don't have to go.", he said.
Ah, but you see, my crimson knight.
Both you and I know too well that is not possible.
So, there, she will distract him. Words and promises deemed as sweet as as a whisper from soft daffodils, her leaflet green a warm recipient of his cardinal hues. "When this is over,...", she began. "...you should come and visit. I grow flowers there. Have you ever seen a rose, Vincent?" To her question, he had not answered. Eyes of the shade as ripe as red burgundy would shift briefly beneath cascading charcoal bangs where chin mildly tipped forward. She knew it was not an answer. The jaded gleam in his eyes said he was still recalling.
Something in life, after all, require time.
His acceptance included.
He knows what she has long accepted
-- there will be no field trip to her church,
at least not one with her.
This is a journey she needs to make alone.
"I'm going because there is hope yet. I'm going because there is something only I can do. I'm going because there are roses in my church that I would like to see bloom across Midgar's ground as much as in other parts of the world." She did not mentioned the children she had helped looking after when their mothers were working, nor would she mention how she had observed then Ifalna as the spirit that is her mother moved across the church's floor. "I'm going because I must."
Even as she was raising a hand to tuck back her hair, the warmth permeated from the sun on her back told her she should leave soon. How mischievous was the mother's touch. Aerith found a single leaf in her hand.
A mother's blessing.
I will be strong.
There, would she offer an upraised palm.
Slender digits would curl in on themselves,
leaving only an index extended
which she later used to beckon him close.
There, would she trace a hand down his cheek
and down
to beckon the troublesome maroon cowl from his face,
a mother's blessing entwined inbetween her dainty digits.
She was more prepared this time.
There, would she lean down,
her knuckles resting lightly against his cheek
as her first was sealed,
their joining concealed behind a mother's green
-- a kiss chaste and simple
.... yet, right somehow.
She has always long wondered what it's like.
She simply wished she had the opportunity before.
Zack.
"Take care of my roses for me, Vincent."
She would say as she tucked her earthen blessing into his crimson band, and there, then, how she would smile because this meant not as a journey to her end. As she nudged him back -- her hand on his shoulder -- what she caught in his eyes would tell her she could always count on him.
He, who is the end.
"Take care of them."
