Disclaimer: Don't own FFVII. Don't own "The Difference". Square's and Matchbox 20's respectively
PORTRAIT OF REGRET
Eyes that glitter like jewels, hair that flows like black satin, skin like powdered snow. He grieved. He had come to be good at it. He wore sorrow as others wore velvet, sadness flattered him like the light of candles, tears became him like jewels. He had not cried in so long, though his mind was numb with the sorrow of the loss.
The name fell from tainted lips with startling regularity for one whose tongue moved so seldom to form words. The mind, filled with demons and other nameless terrors of the night, fluttered around the memories like the tattered covering of a birdcage in the wind. Occasionally the shield aginst dark (against light?) would fail and a rush of sweet nostalgia would course through the mind like a raging river, consuming all other thoughts that dwelt there. Not a river, perhaps, but a glacier, for through the intense cold he could never quite feel as he had all those years ago. He could remember, yes, remember the tingle in his belly or the pleasurable chills that ran down his spine, but somehow no matter how desperately he clung to the memories, he could not feel again the fierce ache in his chest when he had seen her, thought of her. All that was lost somewhere in the bottomless chasm where a soul must once have glowed. Now it was nothing but a frigid wasteland.
Still, he assured himself he loved her. Loved her with all his heart and soul. (It was entirely possible. Nothing remained of either, he knew.) The nightmares and the demon had seen to that. No feeling stirred the blood of Vincent Valentine, only the knowledge of what he should be feeling and of how he should respond to that. He could still feel rage and hatred and bitterness, but those fed the demon as surely as speaking its name did. But it became ever harder to speak as though he felt pride at an achievement or amusement at something as foolish as Cait Sith's fortune telling dance. Vincent had forgotten how to laugh. He knew how to make it happen; of course he did - you just forced the air up your windpipe in a series of short, sharp bursts of sound. But somehow he could never actually bring himself to /do/ it. It would be... disgraceful. A betrayal of her. How could he possibly laugh when she was gone? How could he laugh when he had failed her so badly? He could not, and therein lay the problem.
Had he still been in that nightmare-filled slumber, it would not have mattered. But now on this quest, on this /ridiculous/ hope that he could somehow remove the stamp of his guilt, they feared him for this silence, for this strangeness, for the monsters that provided the bloody and evil backdrop to his mind. Even the kind-hearted Tifa was afraid of him. Barret and Cid always spoke civilly to him - they were too uncomfortable around him to /swear/, for the love of God! Cait Sith kept away from him; he knew Vincent's dislike of spies. Aeris... he had failed to protect her, too. Cloud was indifferent to his presence, but he was always uneasy, afraid of the monsters lurking behind Vincent's slim frame - like Nanaki, he could sense them. Yuffie thought him boring, depressing and creepy. She had to hide a shiver whenever he looked at her.
Which, he admitted with some shame, was more than on occasion. Her childishness and her incorrigible innocence, so like that of Aeris, made him feel an unprecendented urge to protect her, despite that she was well able to care for herself. It seemed he always caught himself absently stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye, just to reassure himself she was safe. Every skipping step, every stir of the misplaced blond highlights, every slice with the Conformer he had memorised. Every high, obnoxious giggle, every sly wink, every scowl, every suggestive comment... but it was not wise to think of such things. She feared him, as did they all, and he had no right... no right at all to taint her with his presence. He was more than a little unwilling to expose himself to her sharp tongue and puerile humour, not to mention her fiery temper. The bright, cheerful ninja girl could not be allowed to fall into shadow, and he would not pull her with him...
So the cloth covered the gilded cage on the pedestal and he closed the windows so that the wind could not disturb it again. He didn't need this confusion, this ambivalence, before he faced the man who might have been his son and attempted to atone for his sins by destroying him. Cloud ordered them forward and Vincent obeyed as the Turk he had once been. The darkness was closing in around him once more, pulling and pushing at him like cruel children. Vincent drew the Death Penalty from its holster and held it loosely in his human hand. After this battle there could only be Hell or the nightmares.
A/N: Not the most cheerful thing I've ever written... snippets seem to turn out that way. This was mostly inspired by Vincent moping around in my mind and "The Difference" by Matchbox 20. Lyrics are below.
slow dancing on the boulevard
in the quiet moments while the city's still dark
sleepwalking through the summer rain
in the tired spaces you could hear her name
when she was warm and tender and you
pulled her arms around you
there was nothing but her love and affection
she was crazy for you now she's
part of something that you lost
and for all you know
this could be
the difference between what you need
and what you want to be
night swimming in her diamond dress
making small circles move across the surface
stand watching from the steady shore
laying wide open and waiting for
something warm and tender while she's
moving further from you
there was nothing that could make it easy on you
every step you take
reminds you that she's walking on
every word you never said
echoes down your empty hallway
everything that was your world just came down
it just came down
day breaking on the boulevard
feel the sun warming up your secondhand heart
light swimming right across your face
you think
maybe someday
maybe someday
PORTRAIT OF REGRET
Eyes that glitter like jewels, hair that flows like black satin, skin like powdered snow. He grieved. He had come to be good at it. He wore sorrow as others wore velvet, sadness flattered him like the light of candles, tears became him like jewels. He had not cried in so long, though his mind was numb with the sorrow of the loss.
The name fell from tainted lips with startling regularity for one whose tongue moved so seldom to form words. The mind, filled with demons and other nameless terrors of the night, fluttered around the memories like the tattered covering of a birdcage in the wind. Occasionally the shield aginst dark (against light?) would fail and a rush of sweet nostalgia would course through the mind like a raging river, consuming all other thoughts that dwelt there. Not a river, perhaps, but a glacier, for through the intense cold he could never quite feel as he had all those years ago. He could remember, yes, remember the tingle in his belly or the pleasurable chills that ran down his spine, but somehow no matter how desperately he clung to the memories, he could not feel again the fierce ache in his chest when he had seen her, thought of her. All that was lost somewhere in the bottomless chasm where a soul must once have glowed. Now it was nothing but a frigid wasteland.
Still, he assured himself he loved her. Loved her with all his heart and soul. (It was entirely possible. Nothing remained of either, he knew.) The nightmares and the demon had seen to that. No feeling stirred the blood of Vincent Valentine, only the knowledge of what he should be feeling and of how he should respond to that. He could still feel rage and hatred and bitterness, but those fed the demon as surely as speaking its name did. But it became ever harder to speak as though he felt pride at an achievement or amusement at something as foolish as Cait Sith's fortune telling dance. Vincent had forgotten how to laugh. He knew how to make it happen; of course he did - you just forced the air up your windpipe in a series of short, sharp bursts of sound. But somehow he could never actually bring himself to /do/ it. It would be... disgraceful. A betrayal of her. How could he possibly laugh when she was gone? How could he laugh when he had failed her so badly? He could not, and therein lay the problem.
Had he still been in that nightmare-filled slumber, it would not have mattered. But now on this quest, on this /ridiculous/ hope that he could somehow remove the stamp of his guilt, they feared him for this silence, for this strangeness, for the monsters that provided the bloody and evil backdrop to his mind. Even the kind-hearted Tifa was afraid of him. Barret and Cid always spoke civilly to him - they were too uncomfortable around him to /swear/, for the love of God! Cait Sith kept away from him; he knew Vincent's dislike of spies. Aeris... he had failed to protect her, too. Cloud was indifferent to his presence, but he was always uneasy, afraid of the monsters lurking behind Vincent's slim frame - like Nanaki, he could sense them. Yuffie thought him boring, depressing and creepy. She had to hide a shiver whenever he looked at her.
Which, he admitted with some shame, was more than on occasion. Her childishness and her incorrigible innocence, so like that of Aeris, made him feel an unprecendented urge to protect her, despite that she was well able to care for herself. It seemed he always caught himself absently stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye, just to reassure himself she was safe. Every skipping step, every stir of the misplaced blond highlights, every slice with the Conformer he had memorised. Every high, obnoxious giggle, every sly wink, every scowl, every suggestive comment... but it was not wise to think of such things. She feared him, as did they all, and he had no right... no right at all to taint her with his presence. He was more than a little unwilling to expose himself to her sharp tongue and puerile humour, not to mention her fiery temper. The bright, cheerful ninja girl could not be allowed to fall into shadow, and he would not pull her with him...
So the cloth covered the gilded cage on the pedestal and he closed the windows so that the wind could not disturb it again. He didn't need this confusion, this ambivalence, before he faced the man who might have been his son and attempted to atone for his sins by destroying him. Cloud ordered them forward and Vincent obeyed as the Turk he had once been. The darkness was closing in around him once more, pulling and pushing at him like cruel children. Vincent drew the Death Penalty from its holster and held it loosely in his human hand. After this battle there could only be Hell or the nightmares.
A/N: Not the most cheerful thing I've ever written... snippets seem to turn out that way. This was mostly inspired by Vincent moping around in my mind and "The Difference" by Matchbox 20. Lyrics are below.
slow dancing on the boulevard
in the quiet moments while the city's still dark
sleepwalking through the summer rain
in the tired spaces you could hear her name
when she was warm and tender and you
pulled her arms around you
there was nothing but her love and affection
she was crazy for you now she's
part of something that you lost
and for all you know
this could be
the difference between what you need
and what you want to be
night swimming in her diamond dress
making small circles move across the surface
stand watching from the steady shore
laying wide open and waiting for
something warm and tender while she's
moving further from you
there was nothing that could make it easy on you
every step you take
reminds you that she's walking on
every word you never said
echoes down your empty hallway
everything that was your world just came down
it just came down
day breaking on the boulevard
feel the sun warming up your secondhand heart
light swimming right across your face
you think
maybe someday
maybe someday