Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII orHurt, by Nine Inch Nails.
The black rose had extra thorns. He liked it that way. The rain spattered down from the inky clouds, slowly churning the dirt around him into mud. As he held the midnight rose, a few drops of crimson joined the puddles of mud at his feet. The sharp pain that echoed through his fingers quickly faded as the wounds healed over.
With his black cape about him in the shadows of Nanninkurt, a little town just outside Kalm, theo nly thing one could see of this monster was his glowing red eyes. Those eyes were windows into a soul of destitute nothingness. No pain, no anguish could penetrate into it. No joy or exhuberance could sneak past the veil that contained his essence.
Vincent wasn't depressed, or happy. He wasn't anything, really, except when the pain hit him. In that moment, when his nerves were alive with light, he knew what it meant to be whole. But the sensation was over even before the pain, always.
Vincent suddenly gripped the stem of the rose hard, the thorns tearing into his palm. He took his other hand and gripped the bottom of the stem harder, and pulled down. His fingers and palms both had deep gouges that bled profusely. It took mere moments for the injuries to fade, leaving no trace except the blood.
Vincent felt something. His eyes narrowed. He was angry, angry at what they took from him. Angry at what he allowed them to take. And then he was running, his sharp fingernails digging into his arms. He was fast as lightning, running out of Nanninkurt andi nto the wild countryside. His nails tore at his clothing, leaving it in shreds as he wrought deep trenches into the flesh of his arms. When those healed, he ran faster, kicking up mounds of wet mud as the rain came on harder. The pounding rain and clapping thunder covered his anguished cries.
He moved on to his abdomen, pulling pieces of skin and muscle off of himself, the physical agony palingi n comparison to the sweet torrent of pain rampaging in his soul. As the pieces fell away, they shrivelled, the life-giving blood fleeing from them into the brown soil.
He fell to his knees, racking sobs and screams wrought from the cyclone of feeling tearing at his very being. His body repaired itself, slowly but immaculately. He shook on his knees, stripped naked above his belt line. The rain coursed down his skin, being met by the red tears weaving down his face.
He cried himself out and collapsed onto the ground, somewhere outside of Kalm. Slowly, the tsunami of emotions receded, and left him with the desolate loneliness. But there was a reeking sadness to it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flattened black rose.
The tiniest of smiles graced his face as he was comforted by the old, familiar sting.
He tried to kill it all away...but he remembered everything.