Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just.
Thomas Jefferson
NOMAD presents
a FINAL FANTASY VII Fan Fiction
AN ANGEL BURNED
a RUG CENTRAL production
The house was old and run-down; her mother, always able to look on the bright side, called it and teased that at least she would have a hard time knowing how much of the damage her daughter had just caused in her play. The once ivory-white walls were dulled to a near-grey, and the carpeted floor was a mottled patchwork of different shades of bluish grey, testifying to generations of wear that no cleaning spell could hope to reverse.
But it wasn't so bad. The house's windows gave an excellent view across the long-barren Great Salt Lake, which would keep the little girl entertained for hours, especially when some other kids were playing around on airbikes or there was a launch for Selene, the city in space. And the video terminal would keep her mystified by sights of faraway lands and tales of legendary heroes. And so she grew up never really wondering why she was never allowed to step outside.
Of course, she would occasionally sneak out during the long days when her mother was out — and had neglected to lock the door. She never went far, and always moved about with caution, so that no one would see her come or go. She didn't really know why; probably due to some instinct inherited from her mother. She always seemed to have this air that someone was watching her; she denied it every time the little girl asked her, but the girl was as sure as a girl of eight could be that her mother was hiding something. Or hiding from something.
It wasn't uncommon for her to dream about being able to go outside, to have friends and adventures like the shows on the terminal. She always got sad after dreams like that. Sad, and scared. Scared that everyone would hate her, that for some reason they would all want to hurt her. But she never shared these dreams or these feelings to her mother.
Usually her mother would come home from wherever she went in the daytime with a smile, swooping her up into her arms with a How's my girl? or Come here, my little angel! All smiles, she would head over to the stove and ask what she wanted for dinner — already pulling out the ingredients for a Gysahl stew, as the answer is always the same. They would talk about what the little girl has seen on the terminal, or her mother would tell stories about Selene, which the girl could never get enough of, and her mother never seemed to run out of.
Today, she was running a bit late, and the little girl was getting hungry. Not for the first time, she was eying the stove with a mind to try once more to start the thing herself. She didn't like going near the thing — the heat conjured memories of being surrounded by fire, with people shouting at her from all around — but hunger was beginning to override her reservations.
She never got the chance to face the stove. Just as she had nearly made up her mind to brave the fragmented memories, the door faded open, and her mother swept through. Her customary smile is gone, replaced by a shadowed face masked with grim seriousness as she ran straight to the closet.
Sarina, get together all of your things you can carry, were the first words her mother spoke to her, as she withdrew a shoulder pack from the closet. We're going away for a while.
The little girl mearly blinked. What was happening? Why was her mother acting so strange?
Where are we going, Mama? she asked, not moving an inch.
Her mother cast a glare at her. Please dear, I don't have time to explain. Just get your things together. Hurry.
She was stunned by the uncharacteristic harshness of her mother's admonition. Why was her mother being so mean to her? She hadn't done anything, had she? Her vision blurred, and she fought the urge to burst into tears. Are...Are you mad at me, Mama? she choked.
Her mother paused from stuffing her belongings into her pack, and her expression softened. Of course not, dear, she said, rushing over to her daughter and kneeling down to her eye level. Resting one hand on her shoulder, she stroked away a tear that had begun to creep down the little girl's cheek. Sarina, you have to understand that what's happening has nothing to do with you. This is not your fault, and I had so hoped that you would never have to be put through this again. A shadow passed over her face, and she averted her eyes. But sometimes there are things that I just have to do, for both of our futures. Someday, I hope you'll understand.
The little girl gazed at her mother's pained expression, unable to comprehend a thing about what was happening, or why, or what was making her mother act this way. But she nodded.
Where are we going, Mama? she repeated.
Far away, dear, her mother said, getting up and returning to the closet to withdraw a white-feathered sleeveset. It had been there for as long as the little girl can remember, despite the fact that she had not once been cold enough to need it. Someplace where we can start a real life for a change. Here, put this on.
What happened in the next few moments would register to the girl only in a blur, but would be clarified countless times in her nightmares for years to come. The door faded open, and three white-clad figures — two men and a woman — burst in. Her mother spun around, then froze with a terrified look on her face.
Sorceress Kailen, said the woman, Come with us now, and we can avoid any unpleasantries. She saw the little girl standing frozen before the stove, having still not budged. Get her, she ordered to one of the men.
A wave of energy erupted from her mother's hands, piercing through magenta shells to throw all three intruders against the wall. Stay away from my daughter! she commanded, her voice cracking.
The three strangers reacted instantly, and what followed was a display of power that threatened to tear the very house apart. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, the sleeveset held by the girl's mother literally exploded, sending feathers, many now charred and black, raining down on the little girl who stood in the corner, screaming herself hoarse. A sickly burnt odor filled the room.
To a young girl who had barely stepped outside the doors of her own house, the horrors she was forced to witness were all but unimaginable. She was likely saved from complete madness only by her failure to truly comprehend the battle that was playing out in front of her. In the end, she was the only one left standing; all three of the strangers lay prone on the floor, as did her mother, fallen against a wall and coughing blood.
she screamed, running to her mother's side, gripping the woman's torn clothes and attempting to pull her to her feet.
No, dear, her mother moaned, feebly motioning to the door. You must...get away. I can't let you live...as I have.
Why, Mama? the girl queried, searching for words to vocalize the whirlwind of feelings and thoughts that make it impossible for her to think.
Her mother reached up, attempting to stroke her daughter's cheek. Sarina...you can't stay here any longer. My...little angel...please don't let this...happen to you....
Her eyes fluttered closed, even as a whispered escaped from her lips. Her arm tried weakly to push the eight-year-old girl away, then fell limp.
The little girl was still trying to get her mother to sit up, when a strange violet glow appeared in the woman's chest. Before the girl could react, there erupted a blinding flash, and the glow became a lightning streak of energy, plowing straight into the little girl. She screamed as she was thrown backwards, and for an instant her entire body went numb. She lay where she fell, moving robotically until she managed to regain control of her nerves. As she stood, an odd tingling spread through her body.
She staggered back to where her mother lay, and tried once more to get her up. But it was no good; the woman's chest no longer rose or fell to show her breathing, and her eyes remained closed and still. Even the little girl who had only seen death on the terminal knew on some level that her mother was gone. With tears welling up in her eyes, she turned and ran, past the bodies of the three white-clothed strangers, out the door and away from the remnants of her life.