By Vera Priscaleth
Rating: R [suicide, angst]
Summary: Vincent, the Shinra Mansion, dreams... And excessive angst. How does Vera Priscaleth do it? She exaggerates, she's damn good at it.
Notes: Well, fuck it. I can't write you people the VincentxAeris you want. I can just make this fic how it suits me and only me. So I made it angst. Really excessive angst. You might throw up, you might just REALLY REALLY hate it. So leave, if you don't like angst.
Disclaimer: Vincent etc. are owned by Shinra, this story by moi.
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Laughter. A smile. Giggling. Flowers. Beauty.
Vincent woke up. It was 3.a.m. and the Shinra Mansion was empty and quiet. Time was fifteen years after what people had started to call The Great Gathering, meaning the gathering of Lifestream to Midgar. Cloud Strife had saved the Planet ...or so some said. The real hero, or heroine more like, Aeris, who summoned Holy, was only a legend nowadays. A myth. Teenage girls loved the Aeris-myth, but even so, not many people believed Aeris had once existed. Vincent lived alone in the Mansion. Its dark corners whispered words from his past, but Vincent ignored them. He gasped and felt like he was choking. His body was covered with cold sweat. He shivered. It was silent.
'I'm weak. I submit to my own dreams', he thought angrily and got up. But he hadn't seen a nightmare. And that was the worst part. It was a dream, where he, of all people, was happy.
'Why?' Vincent asked as he walked to the window. The glass was covered with frost and you could hardly see through it. The icy cold wind blew in as he opened the window. He felt something sudden strike his bare chest. Vincent gasped from the pain and looked down on his chest, where it ached mostly. Scars. Two ink-blue scars on his chest. Vincent touched the other one with his fingers, and felt a cold lightning go through them. He walked to the bed. The corners began to whisper unknown words again.
"Your solitude is your only path to death, Chaos.. Your only path.." the corners whispered. Vincent hated it everytime he could make out the words the corners whispered. He hated it so much. He thought about his dream. It's like he had had it before. Multiple times. The same flowers, the same laughter.. It was all so familiar.
He crawled into bed and felt the sheets warm his icy scars. He closed his eyes. "The end.." the corner echoed. Vincent ignored it.
Light figure, standing in front of him. Shining field, full of colours, full of light. Voices. Sweet taste.
Vincent woke up again. The scars had turned red. They weren't burning, it was blood. Vincent wiped the blood out. He wasn't bleeding, it was just.. He didn't know what it was. He heard laughter again. That laughter. Vincent looked up. 'Halucinations.. this has to be' he thought as he saw the figure from his dream, standing on the doorstep. A young female character smiled and put her finger on her lips.
"Shhhh" she whispered and giggled. Then she disappeared. Vincent's body trembled. He felt something kill something else inside of him.
A small shot of the dreaming past, a girl too beautiful to be his own flashed before his eyes. Slowly he sat up, leaving the sheets of blood stains. Vincent walked downstairs, into the basement, unlocked the door.
The heat of death surrounded him, but he cared too little to notice it. The library was full of dust, scattered books on the floor and he picked one up. "Potions..." the corners whispered. It made Vincent shudder, but he still took the bottle from the counter. Deadly liquid steamed as he removed the cork.
Just one sip... It'll all be over.
Tears of joy. * * * ** * * * ** * * * *