Whenever she thinks about the name Yuffie, she pulls up a list that reads maturity and materia and mother. This is what she knows about herself.
She will never be able to hear Vincent without feeling an odd tug in her chest and a sigh catch in her throat. She continues to hear apologies and understated sarcasm and a solitude that drips all over the place until everything is silent and still and cold, while she nods and smiles at whatever new topic has been chosen.
She reads a poem-myth about a beautiful, thoughtless woman who unleashes sorrow and evil on an infant world, and wonders if her name was Lucrecia.
Whenever he thinks about the name Vincent, he pulls up a list that reads Lucrecia and Hojo and Lucrecia's son and anyone ShinRa chose. This is what he knows about himself.
He will never be able to hear Yuffie without wanting to shake his head and smile. He continues to admonish her for being so young and for being not young enough and for constantly getting into trouble and making him save her. And he thanks her for all that too, while he walks away from whatever new topic has been chosen.
He watches a dog bite Yuffie when she offers it a treat and notices the same disdainful look in her eyes that she gets whenever someone mentions Lucrecia.
Whenever she thinks about the name Lucrecia, she pulls up a list that reads the truth and my son and release. This is what she knows about herself.
She will never be able to hear Vincent without having to fight back her tears. She thinks about the man he used to be and the man he could have been and the man he is now. How she destroyed him once and how he still looks on her as his salvation. And she has no respite because, in the confines of her prison, she is the only one whispering, and a new topic is never chosen.
She sees Vincent studying her with the same probing hunger that she remembers, and notices that he is being watched, unaware, in the same way by the girl he calls Yuffie.