Author notes: Am not quite sure about the ending so if you have any ideas on how to improve, please, don't hesitate. Disclaimer: All belongs to square enix
Dr Cid turns over another page in his book but his eyes see past the worn-out pages. He is reading a tale from a different book.
And, happily, he listens to the voices of the house. Delicate singing flowing down the corridors sweetens the summer air. Ecstatic shrill cries from upstairs as one young pioneer becomes the hero in his very own adventure. Outside birds whistle contentedly while the trees peacefully sigh.
This is his world but very gently the binding is beginning to unravel. Pages are blown away like those dead autumn leaves and chapter by chapter he loses everything. Without its song the house is sour, after all, roaring arguments have no rhythm.
Missing the tune of his mother's voice, the young pioneer ran away. Cid knew his little boy, Cid knew he'd come back. Two hours later he did. The young pioneer had never looked so small. Rain imitating imprisoned tears as it ran down his small sullen face. Gathering the small child in his arms Cid promised he'd protect the boy. He was to be the big, friendly, dutiful knight...his little boy's hero.
So Cid ploughed on and very soon he took a new lover. Once again the house sang but father and son heard two different tunes. The song became Dr Cid's very life span but his son recognised this sirens cry and realised he had no armour, no weapons to protect himself with. He had lost his father.
Cid knew his little boy, Cid knew he'd come back. So he waited for the small figure to appear at the door again.
The book had died and now the silence was cold. Cid would never be warm again. He shielded himself with his new metallic friends – the machines that chanted and crooned in labs below, their tuneless cries slithering down endless corridors.
"You are not alone, Cid,"
they reassured him. "Forever, we shall be friends."At
first he had pitied the boy – he was too young to understand his
father's plans. As months sank into years the door remained upon,
forever waiting, forever hoping that one day the music shall return
and Cid could read a new book.
But it was the boys fault
Cid was trapped in his wintry cavern – he had betrayed his father's
loving trust. Yet, the door still remained open, awaiting the
youthful vigour the house desperately missed.
As
the fairy-tale withered so did the house. Every night Cid listened to
the walls groan in pain.
"You're old Cid. Your youth has slipped through your fingers and it's never coming back."
Tired of the pitiful moaning Cid eased himself out of that once grand chair and made towards his lonely room. As always he paused at the front door, staring at the idle lock. He was old, old and hollow, an empty book cover. He wouldn't let it bother him no more.
"It would not do to let a thief into this distinguished household," he mused.
The lock clicked.