Introduction: Darkest Nights is a tale told in the world of Final Fantasy VIII. It contains strong language, violence, and scenes of a sexual nature. If this isn't what you want to read, or you don't think you can handle that sort of thing, I'd recommend choosing another story from the list. This is not for the weak of heart. As part of a side-project I am undertaking, the story will be set out, and explained in differing sides and views, so as it comes to completion, the pieces fit neatly together.
Thank you for you time.
- Prologue -
"You've had enough," came the voice of the barman.
The drunken man looked up from the empty glass, shooting a glance at the owner.
"Don't look at me like that. It's gone midnight and you have a home to go to."
"Just one more," he stated flatly, a slur to his voice.
With a long drawn out sigh, the barman relented. Taking the bottle of liquor from under the bar, he poured a sizeable measure into the empty glass and watched as his only patron downed the gold liquid in one swallow.
It had been three years now, give or take a month, he realised, that Squall had frequented his establishment. He was always the first one to enter, and the last one to leave. He spoke very little, and responded to the barman's attempts at conversation with stony-faced looks and idle remarks. It seemed just wanted to be left alone to drink.
Everyone else who visited the bar seemed to understand this, and stayed clear of him. Leaving the aging man to his barstool and glass, which he stared into whilst rubbing the scar on his face.
"See you tomorrow," he slurred, placing a handful of notes on the counter and pushing himself from the chair.
"Aye, lad. Go home and get some rest," the barman told him.
Steadying himself against the counter, he waited until his vision stopped spinning. When he gained some semblance of balance, he began his usual stagger towards the door, and into the cold night air. Shivering, he pulled his faded leather jacket around his chubby frame, and turned up the collar to protect his neck from the biting wind. He hated winter.
The journey home did not take long. He had bought a house just on the edge of Dollet. It was a short walk to both the town centre as well as the beach. Small, convenient and out of the way. Just what he needed.
Fumbling with his keys, he tried to find the right one that would fit the lock. Before he could do so, the light from the hall was turned on, and the door opened. A woman stood in the doorway.
"Squall… is that you? It's past midnight," she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes.
Squall shut his eyes and steadied himself against the door frame. The alcohol had gone to his head quicker because of the cold, and it made his balance worse. The sudden light from the hall did not help his cause. He opened his eyes once again.
It was Ellone. Dressed in a black tank top and knickers, with a dressing gown over the top. Squall watched as she shivered and drew the thick flannel gown around her body tighter. She looked at him for an answer. He gave her none, and moved past her into the house, pushing the door shut as he did so.
"Have you been drinking again?" she asked, following him down the hall. The question was self-evident. She could smell it on his breath. "You shouldn't do this to yourself!"
"Shut up and go away," he grunted in response, pushing open the door to his bedroom and staggering inside.
"Squall…"
Ellone watched as he shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Pulling aside the blanket he half-fell into the small cot bunk. She watched balefully as he reached out and touched the framed photo on the bedside table. Sadness touched her heart.
"Close the door and go to bed," Squall slurred once more from the bunk, not even bothering to look in her direction.
Ellone sighed and closed the door, returning to her own room.
It didn't take much to break a person, she thought. For some it was the drug addictions, others, debt. You could lose your legs, or your sight could fail, and day by day you'd end up as a shell of the person you once were. It wasn't fair. Life never was, her mind answered. It was true and she couldn't argue with the fact.
Her Uncle Laguna had once told her that time was the only thing that could heal a broken heart. She'd been patient and understanding. She'd tried to help whenever she could. But as the months turned into years, she felt as if all her efforts were in vain. Maybe sometimes hearts could not be mended.
"Rinoa, why did you have to die?" she whispered, turning out the light and going back to bed.
