Chapter One- Cloud
The corridor was dark. The door at the end were heavy oak, once polished, now scratched and dull. The stained glass windows were faded, colourless, and one was shattered beyond repair, cracked with pieces littering the wide grey steps outside. Inside, a small patch of light was cast on the black marble floor. There was a thick layer of dust over everything.
The floor, skirting board, a small table and a broken lamp, were all slightly grey and furry. Doors led off on either side. Double doors, single doors. Cupboard doors. Niches in the wall which once held elegant statues, and now were home to spiders and their gossamer webs. A circular opening at the end, with a broad staircase covered in mouldy red carpet that opened into a landing on the 3 room second floor, then curved away, to either side, leading presumably to a third above the high-ceilinged first.
That was all that could be seen from the hallway, the doors were shut, brassy handles now also dust coated. Behind the staircase, there was shadow. A single door was set in the wall, where nobody would see it unless they chanced to stray behind the main stairway. A pale figure slumped against it, knees up, head tilted back just beneath the handle.
He- it was a man- was wearing loose black pants, with deep pockets (his left hand was in one) and chunky combat or hiking boots. Their top was blue, collared and sleeveless, and they had a broad belt, and wrist and shoulder armour. Their right arm, pale and bare, trailed loosely down to the ground where it was limply curled around the hilt of a huge sword.
Two small indentations near the grip, which glowed dully, empty. The blade itself was a decent length, which was not unusual, but was almost impossibly wide. It resembled loosely a gargantuan butchers' chopping knife. Their neck was tilted back, revealing pale, taut skin that arced gracefully up to a firm chin, with prounounced jawbones, and large, shallow eye sockets, with close-lidded eyes. Tousled ash-blonde hair spiked in an ungainly way across the back and top of his head, slightly squashed as he leaned against the door, and fell in bangs across his face and neck.
His eyelids fluttered, then opened. Shockwave-blue eyes regarded the shadows, pupils widening rapidly to adjust to the dimness of the nook. Above and in front of him, the lower side of the staircase was visible, making him feel queasy, as if he were on the ceiling looking down on stairs. As he stood up, this feeling was quickly relieved as one of pain took its place when he hit his head on the door handle.
A slight wince, then light footfalls, raising minute puffs of dust as he circled around, hand now clasped tightly around the sword. He whirled to the left as he came out, expecting to see someone on the stairs. No-one. The corridor was empty, there was only he. And dust and carpet mould, to befriend the shadows. A beam of light at the end of the corridor drew him to it. Just a thin shaft, snaking through the hole in the begrimed window that hit the floor making it gleam blackly in contrast to the dusty gray of the rest.
He stepped forward, passing through the beam, and then blocking it completely as he bent over slightly and put his face up to the hole. Outside, he could see a long gravel path twisting gently down to wrought iron gates. On either side, there were tangled weeds, dead trees. A once beautiful place, now fallen to ruins.
It felt strangely familiar, the gardens, the hall. But he knew he had never seen it before. Anyway, where-
"-Am I?"
His voice sounded out, too loud in the stillness. Only then did he notice, that apart from the birds beyond the gates, there was no sound. He winced. The echo was muffled by the dust. He reached for the handle, but then stopped. He didn't know why, but he was inclined to linger in this place. He didn't want to leave, at all. He shook his head, blond hair sweeping across his forehead in the motion.
"Who am I?"
His voice was a mere whisper this time, an audible reminder to himself that he had a voice. That felt familiar. Had he asked it before? He slid slowly down to sit on the floor again, and lowered his eyelids, sitting in the same position as before, eyes shut again.
"Who.. What am I? Human. What... what number am I?"
That didn't make sense. He pushed the question away. Concentrating on the bigger things first. Meaningless babble could wait until he was less confused.
"Where am I. Who am I. What a muddle. I should go outside and lie down, watch the birds in the blue, and the clouds."
One eye snapped open at that, and looked upwards, at the door.
"That. That is my name. Cloud. What a funny name... I wonder why I was called that. I must have had a funny mother."
He shook his head, almost violently this time as the other eye opened. His hair bounced around, and he stood up. He knew he was rambling. He was too confused. He turned away from the front door, and to the first door on his right. A single door. Wood, plain, dusty handle. Nothing interesting.
"I am Cloud Strife"
The corridor was dark. The door at the end were heavy oak, once polished, now scratched and dull. The stained glass windows were faded, colourless, and one was shattered beyond repair, cracked with pieces littering the wide grey steps outside. Inside, a small patch of light was cast on the black marble floor. There was a thick layer of dust over everything.
The floor, skirting board, a small table and a broken lamp, were all slightly grey and furry. Doors led off on either side. Double doors, single doors. Cupboard doors. Niches in the wall which once held elegant statues, and now were home to spiders and their gossamer webs. A circular opening at the end, with a broad staircase covered in mouldy red carpet that opened into a landing on the 3 room second floor, then curved away, to either side, leading presumably to a third above the high-ceilinged first.
That was all that could be seen from the hallway, the doors were shut, brassy handles now also dust coated. Behind the staircase, there was shadow. A single door was set in the wall, where nobody would see it unless they chanced to stray behind the main stairway. A pale figure slumped against it, knees up, head tilted back just beneath the handle.
He- it was a man- was wearing loose black pants, with deep pockets (his left hand was in one) and chunky combat or hiking boots. Their top was blue, collared and sleeveless, and they had a broad belt, and wrist and shoulder armour. Their right arm, pale and bare, trailed loosely down to the ground where it was limply curled around the hilt of a huge sword.
Two small indentations near the grip, which glowed dully, empty. The blade itself was a decent length, which was not unusual, but was almost impossibly wide. It resembled loosely a gargantuan butchers' chopping knife. Their neck was tilted back, revealing pale, taut skin that arced gracefully up to a firm chin, with prounounced jawbones, and large, shallow eye sockets, with close-lidded eyes. Tousled ash-blonde hair spiked in an ungainly way across the back and top of his head, slightly squashed as he leaned against the door, and fell in bangs across his face and neck.
His eyelids fluttered, then opened. Shockwave-blue eyes regarded the shadows, pupils widening rapidly to adjust to the dimness of the nook. Above and in front of him, the lower side of the staircase was visible, making him feel queasy, as if he were on the ceiling looking down on stairs. As he stood up, this feeling was quickly relieved as one of pain took its place when he hit his head on the door handle.
A slight wince, then light footfalls, raising minute puffs of dust as he circled around, hand now clasped tightly around the sword. He whirled to the left as he came out, expecting to see someone on the stairs. No-one. The corridor was empty, there was only he. And dust and carpet mould, to befriend the shadows. A beam of light at the end of the corridor drew him to it. Just a thin shaft, snaking through the hole in the begrimed window that hit the floor making it gleam blackly in contrast to the dusty gray of the rest.
He stepped forward, passing through the beam, and then blocking it completely as he bent over slightly and put his face up to the hole. Outside, he could see a long gravel path twisting gently down to wrought iron gates. On either side, there were tangled weeds, dead trees. A once beautiful place, now fallen to ruins.
It felt strangely familiar, the gardens, the hall. But he knew he had never seen it before. Anyway, where-
"-Am I?"
His voice sounded out, too loud in the stillness. Only then did he notice, that apart from the birds beyond the gates, there was no sound. He winced. The echo was muffled by the dust. He reached for the handle, but then stopped. He didn't know why, but he was inclined to linger in this place. He didn't want to leave, at all. He shook his head, blond hair sweeping across his forehead in the motion.
"Who am I?"
His voice was a mere whisper this time, an audible reminder to himself that he had a voice. That felt familiar. Had he asked it before? He slid slowly down to sit on the floor again, and lowered his eyelids, sitting in the same position as before, eyes shut again.
"Who.. What am I? Human. What... what number am I?"
That didn't make sense. He pushed the question away. Concentrating on the bigger things first. Meaningless babble could wait until he was less confused.
"Where am I. Who am I. What a muddle. I should go outside and lie down, watch the birds in the blue, and the clouds."
One eye snapped open at that, and looked upwards, at the door.
"That. That is my name. Cloud. What a funny name... I wonder why I was called that. I must have had a funny mother."
He shook his head, almost violently this time as the other eye opened. His hair bounced around, and he stood up. He knew he was rambling. He was too confused. He turned away from the front door, and to the first door on his right. A single door. Wood, plain, dusty handle. Nothing interesting.
"I am Cloud Strife"