This is my sequel to Beyond the Metaphor of Mirrors. This chapter is written with thanks to DJxscribbles for asking me for another chapter when I wasn't intending to do another one.

This is from Yuffie's POV.

Disclaimer: I own the plot. Nothing besides that.

Broken Mirror, Broken Reflection

"Vinnie!" I called out. "What's a metaphor?"

He looked up from his book. I could see in his eyes that he was surprised to find me reading, which is so unfair! I can read! His surprise faded as he saw that it was manga. Hey, manga are books too!

"It compares something to something else without using like or as. Such as 'he worked his fingers to the bone.'"

I wrinkled her nose. "That ones boring! How about… I loved the emo guy as much as anybody could love." He just shrugged.

"Are mirrors metaphors?" I asked suddenly, the question popping into my head. He glanced up, startled. He pondered the question for a few moments before answering.

"I suppose they are. They compare one thing to another. In this case, you to your reflection."

I grinned. "Then you, Vinnie, emo guy, need to look beyond the metaphor of mirrors."

That was the first time I told him I loved him.

"Come on Vinnie! Let's go get lunch!"

A half smile brushed his lips for just a moment before standing, and following me as I led the way out the door.

I remembered the memory fondly. It was one of the ones that stood out in sharp relief against the jumble of others. The next one stood out in stark relief as well.

Those haunted eyes were as cold as ice.

The last time I told him I loved him, it had been raining. I was so glad it was. I hoped he wouldn't see the tears streaming from my eyes. I knew he could hear the sobs I was trying to hold back, and the hoarseness of my voice though.

"I love you!" I'd screamed, trying to get him to stay.

Futile.

He'd turned back. "I'm sorry." I'm sorry. That was all that I had gotten. A year together, and just, 'I'm sorry.'

"Why?" That was the last- the only- question left between us. After this I would cut my ties with the man who had broken me. He didn't even have the nerve to answer me. He had just continued to walk away. I tried and failed miserably to hold back the sobs as they rent the air.

Like harsh bullets.

I would forget about him. He had frozen me. He had broken me. Left me nothing but a reflection of my former self. A reflection from a broken mirror. A reflection cast by the broken mirror of metaphors.

I shook myself out of my reverie.

Haunted eyes.

I wasn't even there anymore. I could see others' lips moving as they talked, but my world was silent. The only thing I could hear was the swish of clothes,

So like his cloak.

And the sound of a gun being fired.

Bang.

Each time a gun was fired, I looked up, wishing, hoping, praying, dreading. I wanted him to walk through the door. I wanted to see his black hair tangled for once from all his travels. I even wanted that stupid cloak!

The red one, the only one he owned.

But I didn't. I didn't want him to ever come back. I wanted him to stay away, and live his days filled with pain for what he had done to me. I wanted him to die, while praying every moment for him to be alive.

That was when it had begun.

It was all a dream.

I had woken up in the middle of the night. There it was. A hideous, black monster standing at the foot of my bed. Small black mini-monsters crawled all over its skin, and it had a tiny hole, small streams of blood trickling out, where its heart should be. I grabbed for my shuriken, but it rested a clawed hand on my knee. It felt familiar, like an old friend. But its touch hurt. Every fiber of my being screamed out in pain, screamed for me to run. Except for my heart. It longed for this… this pain, this hurt. I smiled, tears streaming from my eyes.

Inner demons are the worst kind.

"I think you and I are going to be very good friends."

Especially when you accept, and befriend them.

The next day was the first time I cut.

It had never occurred to me before. To take the pain inside away, I make pain outside. Simple, really. Every time I cut, the monster crowed with glee.

Just take the pain away.

It took almost a year for me to notice it. Every time I cut, the hole in the monsters chest got bigger, and bled more. It didn't occur to me that the hole was my heart for another month. Every time I hurt myself, I slowly killed my heart. When I realized that, I was so… happy.

Insanity takes a swift hold on those with nothing left to live for.

Every time I hurt myself, I destroyed the thing that made me hurt. And, eventually, when my heart was dead, I would stop cutting and never feel anything ever again.

When your heat is dead, your mind is dead as well.

One day I didn't feel like cutting. I was lying on my bed, wishing for death, when the monster appeared. It was angry: I could tell from its aura. It grabbed my knife, and began slicing me to bits. I cried out. This wasn't the good pain I was used to. This was bad pain. This just hurt on the outside.

It wouldn't stop.

Not until I grabbed the knife from it and drew it harshly across my wrists.

I waited to bleed dry.

I waited to die.

Why do inner demons attack? When you die, they die as well. Maybe they're suicidal, and want to have left their mark on the world.

Somebody found me. I can't remember who, nor do I care. They bandaged me up, and made me go to a doctor. For three months I was stuck there. After the first week, it all blended together into a mix of tests, and pills, and pain.

Is it really helpful?

They wouldn't let me have a knife, so the monster hurt me instead.

I wanted it.

I didn't want it.

I loved it.

I loathed it.

And I detested being this weak.

Was that why he left?

It was here that I realized that the only one who could see the monster… was me.

During this ordeal, they let me know the date that I would inherit the throne of Wutai.

Do they really want a queen so bent on self-destruction?

When they finally let me out, I had three more suicide attempts. Somebody condemned me to life each time.

And then… he came back.

Why did he bother to come back when he's already broken me?

According to somebody- I can't remember who- their names and faces have all blended together- said that we needed the information he held. I couldn't hear them, so I had grown quite good at lip reading.

Was the information why he left?

We fought Bahamut. I couldn't concentrate the whole fight. I wanted him. I hated him. I loved him. I despised him.

Please save me.

Would he be able to save me?

He was the one who broke me in the first place.

I shook my head, humorless and hate filled laughter bubbling out of my lips. He wouldn't. I didn't care.

As soon as the battle was over, I supposedly went materia-hunting. All I wanted was a chance to talk to him.

Even though I hate him.

He had predictably followed me out of the city and into the forest.

To break me again. But you can't break what's already broken, can you?

"You came back," I accused him.

"Yes." I wanted to scream.

Instead, I asked calmly, "Why?" He didn't answer. It was all unleashed.

The torrent of emotions. Of love. Of hate. Of pain and loneliness so tangible you can taste it.

"We don't need you!" I cried. "We've been doing fine on our own for two years! Two years! And suddenly, when you get the whim, you come back?"

He stepped forward. "I-"

I longer to hear his voice. I ached for it. But the flood of feelings and thoughts inside of me had already been released, and could not be stopped.

I was drowning in it.

"No. Not you. Me. What about me? What about the ninja brat you left behind? How do you think I felt when you left me in the rain? You didn't even say anything! Well guess what. This ninja brat grew up, and is inheriting a throne next week. I'll be married, and ruling a kingdom."

The kingdom would decay in the hands of someone who's already dead.

I inhaled a shaking breath, willing my voice to stay steady.

"And you could've been part of it! All you had to do was look at me! Look at me! Was that so difficult?" I screamed, the scream ripping my throat to shreds. He didn't answer. Of course. He never answered me. Not even in my insane, half-awake dreams. I opened my mouth to speak again.

"Listen to me!" he screamed back. My breath caught in my throat. His voice… so wonderful… so glorious… so hated. But I couldn't stop the flood.

"No! No! No! Don't talk to me, don't speak to me, don't look at me!" I dropped to my knees, mind not comprehending anything anymore. I knew he could see the scars. Many were old, many were fresh. I wanted him to see them, and see what his leaving had done to me.

"Where were you?" I cried quietly, throat burning from all the screaming. "Where were you when they came?" Tears streamed from my eyes, just like the last time.

I couldn't stop them.

I felt him grab my shoulders, holding them tightly. "They who? They who?" I pointed behind him, and felt something in me snap.

"Them."

Inner demons will kill you if you give them the chance.

He could see it. He could see it! His eyes widened in horror.

"Do you see it? Do you see it? It came after you left, that's right, it did. And it's been hurting me, looking for you!" I crooned softly. I was insane, and I knew it. The realization brought me comfort. Maybe the monster would finally kill me, and end my suffering.

My pain and insanity had taken a corporeal form.

He drew his gun, and shot the monster in the head.

When you attack inner demons, you attack the inside of whomever they belong to.

I screamed as pain ripped through me. It was the most unbearable thing I have ever felt. It was as if my head were being split open.

I wished it would.

Vincent pressed his gun against my head. I smiled through my tears, happy that it was finally going to end.

"So long. I still love you, you know. You just couldn't see that." I saw his eyes, and for the first time, saw the hidden love that I had missed.

All of this had been for nothing.

But it was too late now.

Too late.

I knew that after this, he would kill himself. Maybe, hopefully, we would go to the same place. But the insane always went to a different place than the sane.

The question is, were either of us ever sane to start with in the first place?

Was I ever even here?

Were we ever even real?

I closed my eyes, happy that the last sound I would ever hear was the sound I had associated with him for so long.

That meant Vincent. That was Vincent. My Vincent.

A gunshot.

Bang.

That's Yuffie's side of the story. Vincent wasn't the only one who suffered. Review, please. Once again, many, many thanks to DJxscribbles.