| Subtleties |
Disclaimer: characters used in the entirety of this work of fiction are © Square-Enix unless otherwise stated
Format: I'm trying a minimalist approach, mostly because the content of this story came to me through a collection of imagined scenes and images that were driven almost entirely by emotion in my own experience. Each chapter is meant to be a fragment, a moment, that will lead to a progression and collectively create a larger image. I acknowledge that perhaps this is pretentious, but also that it was not intentional.
Inspiration: life, and also a wonderful rendering of a more 'modern' Auron created by 'Kenu', entitled 'Realistic Auron' on Deviantart(dot)com
Context: (AU) Auron is a reclusive, and philosophical artist nestled in an urban environment -truly a man surrounded by many. Yuna is simply a young woman who lived a secure and insignificant childhood in the eyes of her father's closest (yet estranged) friend, and who now, is troubled by the level of her own importance. This story is about longing that is never satisfied, feelings of inadequacy, and love that is never realized or allowed to begin. [onsided Auron/Yuna]
Constructive criticism is welcome.
[1] Guardian
On the day of the funeral, she is not there and her absence is not entirely forgiven only because it is not completely understood. The mourners here knew her father and speak kind words, but they will cry tears that are later overcome and then go about their business. It is not that they are insensitive; it is just that it is safer to leave the dead where they lie. But Yuna is only sixteen and has not learned how to grieve, being far too young to remember her mother's death, and now, finding herself completely alone. He knows the feeling.
For that reason, he visits the graveyard everyday and waits. Sometimes the wind rustles the leaves and the sky is still a bright summer blue, and none of this matches the solemnity of this place. Sometimes the flowers resting beneath the headstone have changed, and sometimes they have been left to wilt. The seasons will change, and people will go about their lives, but Braska will still be dead. He is certain she knows this and is reminded of it every day.
When three weeks have passed, there are red tulips on the ground, and one in her coupled hands that she cries into. She is sitting on the grass behind the tombstone with her back bracing against it; she is turned away from the inscription, physically distanced from what it is because she cannot reconcile the reality with her heart yet. When Auron approaches her, he notices that she is in her school uniform and he can guess that she has tried at pretending to go on as normal. But for her slim fingers once steepled in prayer, but now slackened in her grief, he can tell that it has not worked.
And for all of the promises that he has made that must be kept, he pulls her up by these very same hands, and says 'Stay with me.' Yuna cries into his chest, over his heart, and does not refuse.