General Note: I'm only going to reformat my fics so much when this site is the one at fault. So if the formatting is weird, please check out my profile for more info. Thank you.
A/N: Originally these were supposed to be a series of normal ("normal") one-shots, maybe 1000 to 2000 words in length, but I ended up going all experimental and revamping the format. So this is now a series of drabbles, exactly 300 words apiece (I've never given myself a word limit—I thought I'd try it at least once). They start in-game and follow chronological order.
Obligatory CYA: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, nor The Sandman.
Final Fantasy's Seven Endless Movements
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:one for sorrow:
Desire's Kiss
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The sky is black as pitch. The moon is new. A figure slinks around sleeping Wutai like the shadow of a cat. She has forsaken robes and tea for armor and weapons, and refuses to regret it. Even if she is the only daughter and only child of the ruling house.
Tradition has been dying for years, already.
She wants freedom, from both her father and her country's current state. She wants the Wutai of decades past.
She wants to see Shinra in flames and rubble. She wants to see Sephiroth impaled on his own sword with her hands on the hilt. She wants revenge, she wants honor, she wants heirs yet unborn to grow up knowing their home is as free and strong as it ever was. She wants them to know that while others, while Lord Godo himself, gave up and surrendered their culture and pride, there are those that wouldn't. She wants to live in a country not shadowed by shame and defeat and tourism.
She wants glory for Wutai, and she will be the one to bring it. In any way she can, no matter what the cost—to her, but preferably to others.
At the outskirts, where the land stretches and the farms begin, she spies a figure near the edge of the trees, collecting something in a basket. In the pre-dawn dim glow, she can't tell if it's an attractive woman or a downright gorgeous man, but the person looks and smiles, mouth curling like smoke from an expensive cigarette. She—or he—raises finger to hushed lips and winks with tawny yellow eyes.
The youngest surviving Kisaragi of Wutai grins slyly, turns away, and continues. She sets her mouth, absently catches the drifting fragrance of peach blossoms in the air, and feels strong.
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