Final Fantasy VII, Hojo, and Lucrecia, belong to Square Enix, not me, and I sincerely
apologize that the only stories I seem to be able to write are angsty ones.
She lay docilely on his examining table, hands folded over her swollen belly. Her body
was wracked with the urge to shiver; that table was so damn cold. She felt like one of his
specimens, stupid and helpless and blind, the dull fluorescent bulbs leering in her face.
Though, in way, she was just another experiment. She was blind, blind to the man's
faults and true intentions. Blind to her own. She had been so proud and idiotic; she had played
right into his hands. She had sought love, and deceived herself into believing he would have it.
She realized too late that the man was not capable of love, and that all he needed was an
illogical, besotted subject with a fertile womb.
But, ah, it was beyond her now. There was nothing for her to do but accept the
punishment she deserved for her rashness. She would let that God-forsaken child live inside of
her, but, try as she might, she could not love it. It was created out of malice, greed, and stupidity;
it would be the sin she would carry for eternity.
Pop. The chemical oozed into the syringe, clicking ominously. He held it up to the light,
turning it over and over, so delicately it was nearly a caress. The bastard was smiling, she
thought. It couldn't be his child without his divine intervention. He turned towards her, not even
bothering to hide that unpleasant little smile.
"Ready?" he crooned to her.
She swallowed. "Yes."