crimson_beloved
A Lotuss Tears & ScaRR coalescence ~
crimson beloved: the untold story




crimson beloved

part I : frosted wings
by ScaRR

It was winter.

She almost marvelled in the sheer loveliness of dappled snowflakes descending upon a pristine blanket of white, which lavishly enveloped the placid terrain before her.

Drawing back the lustrous curtains, she observed a rousing blizzard as the snow began to buffet more tumultuously, and fragments of ice crystals were insinuatingly gathering at the scaffolding edges of the Shinra Inc. Building.

She was an ethereal beauty, her flaxen hair gracefully stroking her shoulders, her doleful prussians mesmerized with an almost child-like curiosity as sleets of rain flailed against the glass in a deluge of snowstorm.

But she still hated the snow.

It seemed powerless as she sought refuge in the warm fireplace by the luxuriously-furnished chamber, thrashing furiously in a futile attempt to benumb her.

It wasn't always so comfortable in winter, she remembered.

She once hated to see the last leaf perform its dying dance before fluttering to the frosted ground, knowing that it wasn't long before she was going to spend many an embittered night in suffered desertion. She had a choice, she was well aware of that. She could ensue the advice of most desperate, shivering street-scums and head to the infamous Don's for harborage and love.

Love? Love seemed to be a particularly misused word to her nowadays. Love wasn't a vulgar tumble on the sheets for a couple of gil and some retreat from the cold, love wasn't an exchange of chastity for material aspirations.

Love wasn't what she was born with.

She knew her mother never loved her, and it broke her heart. Sometimes she wondered why a despairing prostitute didn't kill her baby before giving birth to some unwanted child, but she knew that she managed to crawl from the miserable ghettos of the Sector Two slums and secure a decent job in the upper world.

A common maid at the influential and prestigious Shinra Power Company, and she was satisfied. She suspected her beauty was an unnecessary yet significant advantage, but she chose to believe in sheer luck.

And maybe it was also luck that the Head Commandant of Shinra Military Force decided to barge into the executive lounge.

"You. What are you doing here?"

Coarse and barbarous as he was, she bowed meekly in conventional respect.

"Cleaning, Sir."

He traced a scornful streak at the nearest mantelpiece and scrutinized his spotless finger with a grudging approval. "You've done your job, girl, stop wasting time with the fireplace."

"Right away, Sir." She promptly withdrew the duster from the sofa, a twinge of besetment unsettling in her heart. She always thought of General Heidegger as a pompous bastard, and his haughty demeanor towards her only served to inflict a harsher revulsion.

"Get changed and hurry to your chambers. The president's cocktail will commence in a few hours, and he will not tolerate any form of tardiness."

She nodded briskly and ushered out of the room, suddenly realizing that she was to be needed at her quarters in preparation for the night's company banquet.

Steel-capped boots clicking upon the polished corridor, she headed swiftly to the 42nd floor, hoping she wasn't too late just yet.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dark crimson was indubitably his most suited colour, he mused.

A wry smile greeted the mirror as he straightened his immaculate suit and beamed affably at the reflection before him.

He presumed a dashing stance, which faded as a withering blossom did when memories of his rejected proposal wrenched through his deceiving stance and clouded his mind's eye.

It seemed only yesterday when he made the biggest fool out of himself.

Marry me, Lucrecia.

He felt a sudden embarrassment, a twinge of scorn for his own faltering attempt. He couldn't remember sounding more foolish, or more impetuous.

He should have known better.

I'm sorry.

She was sorry. She was always fucking sorry. Sorry for dilemmas that she wasn't responsible for, sorry for scientific experiments gone awry, sorry for refusing him.

But he took it with such grace, such nonchalance, she enchanted him with one of her beautiful smiles that almost seemed to gratify even the most disconsolate anguish.

But his heart remained unmoved. Her simple apology went unheard, drowned in the throbbing wretchedness of his heartbroken spirit.

He knew she loved Hojo, the son of a bitch psycho whose presence repulsed even the most adamant hearts with its despicable vileness, and refused to acknowledge the astringent jealousy that knotted the chains she wound around his heart.

He wasn't jealous.

He shouldn't be. Of course he was a better candidate than some deranged maniac, and if that bitch chose to spend the rest of her miserable life with him, then he wished them all the best in their pitiful lives together.

Somewhere in his tormented mind, an unpretentious cry of protest tore at his nerves.

You love her. You love her so much it spurns your false hatred.

"Fucking bullshit." He strode out of his suite in obnoxious denial, knowing that despite his vehement refutation, perhaps he really was jealous, after all.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



"You're still smarting, aren't you?" Charcoal eyes met sable as a condoling hand grasped his shoulder reassuringly.

"Thanks for reminding me." A sullen expression overcast his forced chuckle. "By the way, how's our new recruit doing?"

The ebony-haired Turk barely grimaced, the slightest of a crease wrinkling his smooth forehead. "You're changing the subject again, Sir."

"Spare me the formalities, Tseng. You know we're much better of as confidants." Vincent gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"In any case, I think it would a better idea to expel all pent-up dissatisfaction -"

"I'm fine, really-"

"-than hoard an increasing anger in that broken heart of yours." Ignoring his blatant interruption, Tseng paused and thrust him a skeptical gaze. "It really wouldn't do for my boss to lament in self-pity, you know."

"Because it's my job."

"True to your principle, Vincent."

"It's not a principal," He cast a hasty glance at the polished surface of an elevator, catching sight of a melancholy twin, stark raven bangs shrouding his misted eyes. "The Turks don't have a principle."

With a heavy heart, he trudged unenthusiastically through the huge brass doors of the function room, his partner only a close step behind him.

to be continued