she always told me that the blood inside her veins weren’t blue, but it was he.

{ speak, memory }

revantdailes:

    But she hadn't wanted him to be here. Four years of denial, verily it took its toll on capitulum and self so resolutely. A despondency befalls her as vision finally settles atop one frame almost too familiar in a distance not entirely far enough. And yet she's a master of besmirching a mien that knows how to withhold itself; a visage that's now a connoisseur of eliciting a façade unto all who durst look upon it. So she doesn't weep, even though this terrible catharsis hammers away at her heart ahind one roseate breast; she feels almost...sick to see him. That plethora of emotions felt over nigh five years time doth hitherto resonate--worry, sorrow, anger, jealousy, pity, self-deprecation....Lo, what a mess she is now. A paradigm of humanity all subsides then, she's well aware that he's been here a while, at least; there was that whole...battle, wherein his presence had then shocked her, too.

Had he been there for Meteor, too? Surely, she would have recalled such. Alas, even a ghost's memory canst itself wane, fade in time under duress and the like--an ex-boyfriend was, forsooth, the last thing she was worried about when calamity struck. In fact, the majority of the time she was with the pseudo-SOLDIER, everything about him seemed to shift into fleeting reverie.

                              I want...to meet you.

       Aye, this was the Promised Land spake of by ShinRa and the Cetran peoples--behold its verdant glory, uphold all facets hither and thither evermore. 'Twas dutiful of this pink paladin to escort stagnant souls into this seraph gated realm, aid them on perchance their most important journey thus. But she hadn't helped him, however; mayhap he had entered earlier than even she, vagabond whisperer unto all dead hearts and kith.

She did not regret dying.

                                            What she regretted was more sublime than that.

'Twas not with malice nor intent, nor did she willingly forsake her friends, yet oft it felt as though this was the reality lived out. Because of her stubbornness, the puffed up idea that she could defeat Sephiroth--or at least stall him whilst the others rested. Ah, but what! wielder of Holy at one point--alas, no longer! A shield, didst thou think it? Some such item that couldst thy life salvage? Spurned was she who dared to pray, to act so callous and rashly--make promises that would never be fulfilled, desires that went the same. For woe unto she who loses this that was commended, bonds to those who were more than friends and even true blood family.

     How now, even the ephemeral breaths squandered atop Gaia's loam again felt far too meagre to suffice, to subdue an ache amid cadaverous contours and spectoral gait. She yearns to go back, though one she wished to meet with again stands afore her once more. 

       ❝I guess this is why you never wrote me back, huh?❞ Just how long had he been up here, then? It--it almost saddens her to ponder the idea; to think of him so lonesome for four or five years up here {though perhaps 'tis nary bleak if old comrades too are sought out in the midst of this ethereal palace}. And she can't bear to stare at him much more; eyne drop to misty loess yonder, 'neath the soles of roan-tinted boots hence dost now she look. ❝I was scared that...y'know. That you'd--that something like this had happened. It took me about a while, but I made up stories, hoping for a better ending.

      Sometimes I'd just imagine that you were on a super secret mission, and couldn't tell anyone about it

--or that ShinRa had given you a job somewhere that there was no cellphone reception, and that I kept sending my letters to the wrong address.❞ She's perfectly capable of talking someone to death, even at the absolute worst of times. A duality of chestnut strokes furrow, highlighting consternation enfettered by her countenance thus. Don't cry. Please. 

               ❝But the one I told people was that

you'd found someone else.❞ It was the most convincing at times. There was always a fragment of her that could not believe him to be so obdurate about the matter--lest he be so great an actor, he had even fooled her. ❝I thought I wasn't what you were looking for, I guess, because I wasn't...because we weren't...you know.❞ Sudden repose hindered any further colloquy hailing from Cetran lips; it pained her to so much as think about this sullen past, one which had seemingly died when she had. 

            ❝I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking about this.❞ 

And that's her breaking point. Thoughts, which were not so much forlorn and forgotten memories as she would have hoped, were again divulged upon an unwitting Ancient--so suppressed, damaged, and feared were they; a history she didn't want to solicit, nor express, even whimsically discuss often with the closest of companions.  

               I'm--I'm all alone now. 

She hadn't even told Zack of her heritage; why the Turks had followed her around, why Tseng lurked at the church's door every so often, and why there were cameras hinged on each corner of the dilapidated domicile.

       So the dam breaks; a few tears come out, but only a few--hands quickly shield both ocelli from any onlooker. ❝Zack, I...

I'm so happy to see you again.❞ It's then that she allows herself to see him forthwith. A plural of verdant doth seek out myriad memories in his figure alone; she can offer but a smile, a silent one at long last. Something of a laugh, and dactyls didst abate all weary water wept by she who canst speak naught for what seems to be an eon. 

             ❝Please--I want to know the story. I don't care how long it takes. I want to hear everything you have to say. Besides,

                                               I think we've got plenty of time.❞