Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, locations, or items of Final Fantasy VII, they belong to Square-Enix.
Prologue
Decisions, Decisions
"A little piece of paper with a picture drawn
Floats on down the street until the wind is gone
And the memory now is like the picture was then,
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again"
----------Forgotten by Linkin Park
Dawn broke in the quiet village of Nibelheim. Birds sang their songs, adults rose from their beds, children rubbed the sleep from their eyes in preparation for a brand new day. The simple joys of life permeated the very air in the small hamlet. Yet as the laughter of small children began to ring through the valley the town was situated in, one person was alone. One person still feeling the same sadness he had carried with him for a great many years.
Deep in the bowels of an old, run-down masion, this man stood. In the dank basement levels the old manor where sunlight had never touched. Where emotions such as agony, despair, and fear hung in the air like an impenetrable fog. Every movement of air carried with it the long faded screams of the victims who suffered here.
The dark man stood in the doorway of a small room. Laying on the cold stone floor were several walnut coffins. Heaped in a corner were the bones of those who never made it through their torturous stay in this place of prolonged death. In the center if the room was a single open casket.
(My casket,) the dark man, Vincent Valentine, thought longingly.
Pale-skinned, tall, and thin, the gunslinger wore an expression of indifferance as normally as his black shirt and pants. Raven black hair framed a pale face with eyes with irises as red as the blood that flowed through his body, as red as his scarlet cape and headband. The chisled features of his face, hidden by a tall crimson collar, were not scarred as they used to be many years ago. His scars were instead on the inside.
For countless days since he returned from his adventures, he had stood here. He only left to eat or rest. It seemed he had reached the most critical choice of his life. For days he had contemplated his decision.
(Should I go back?) he thought.
He wondered whether he should return to his coffin, to atone for past sins. If he were to simply fade back to his self torment, he could save others from himself. To return to his nightmares, his only reminders of what he had done to the person he loved most. Since leaving here he could no longer remember the smell of her perfume, the soft sound of her voice, the happiness that always seemed to shine from her eyes.
"Lucretia..." he wispered softly to himself.
In thinking of losing her, he had lost what really mattered. He lost sight of what she wanted for him, for the world. He would have died for her, and technically he had. In thinking of her, he remembered how much she wanted to help the world, how much she wanted everyone around her to live to their fullest.
In the silence around him, he made his choice.
There would be no going back from this point. He would live his life, whether he live forever or a few more days. To dwell in the past would never return her to him, never take back what he did.
Vincent held up his left hand. In the dim light of the doorway, his golden prosthetic hand and arm reflected the light at odd angles. He examined the length of it. He flexed the clawlike fingers of it into a fist. This arm would never again be a symbol of his defeat to the deranged Professor Hojo, but a symbol of his defiance.
With strength possesed by no normal person, he thrust his clawed hand into ceiling just beyond the door way. With all his strength he pulled. With a great rumble slowly crescendoing into a steady roar that lasted several seconds, the ceiling came down. The many tons of soil and rock buried the room and dust poured into the narrow passageway.
-------My Vincent/Yuffie piece is finally getting started. I'd like to thank my best friend Zen -Xegara for his support and insights into the Final Fantasy universe. Please R&R.
Prologue
Decisions, Decisions
"A little piece of paper with a picture drawn
Floats on down the street until the wind is gone
And the memory now is like the picture was then,
When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again"
----------Forgotten by Linkin Park
Dawn broke in the quiet village of Nibelheim. Birds sang their songs, adults rose from their beds, children rubbed the sleep from their eyes in preparation for a brand new day. The simple joys of life permeated the very air in the small hamlet. Yet as the laughter of small children began to ring through the valley the town was situated in, one person was alone. One person still feeling the same sadness he had carried with him for a great many years.
Deep in the bowels of an old, run-down masion, this man stood. In the dank basement levels the old manor where sunlight had never touched. Where emotions such as agony, despair, and fear hung in the air like an impenetrable fog. Every movement of air carried with it the long faded screams of the victims who suffered here.
The dark man stood in the doorway of a small room. Laying on the cold stone floor were several walnut coffins. Heaped in a corner were the bones of those who never made it through their torturous stay in this place of prolonged death. In the center if the room was a single open casket.
(My casket,) the dark man, Vincent Valentine, thought longingly.
Pale-skinned, tall, and thin, the gunslinger wore an expression of indifferance as normally as his black shirt and pants. Raven black hair framed a pale face with eyes with irises as red as the blood that flowed through his body, as red as his scarlet cape and headband. The chisled features of his face, hidden by a tall crimson collar, were not scarred as they used to be many years ago. His scars were instead on the inside.
For countless days since he returned from his adventures, he had stood here. He only left to eat or rest. It seemed he had reached the most critical choice of his life. For days he had contemplated his decision.
(Should I go back?) he thought.
He wondered whether he should return to his coffin, to atone for past sins. If he were to simply fade back to his self torment, he could save others from himself. To return to his nightmares, his only reminders of what he had done to the person he loved most. Since leaving here he could no longer remember the smell of her perfume, the soft sound of her voice, the happiness that always seemed to shine from her eyes.
"Lucretia..." he wispered softly to himself.
In thinking of losing her, he had lost what really mattered. He lost sight of what she wanted for him, for the world. He would have died for her, and technically he had. In thinking of her, he remembered how much she wanted to help the world, how much she wanted everyone around her to live to their fullest.
In the silence around him, he made his choice.
There would be no going back from this point. He would live his life, whether he live forever or a few more days. To dwell in the past would never return her to him, never take back what he did.
Vincent held up his left hand. In the dim light of the doorway, his golden prosthetic hand and arm reflected the light at odd angles. He examined the length of it. He flexed the clawlike fingers of it into a fist. This arm would never again be a symbol of his defeat to the deranged Professor Hojo, but a symbol of his defiance.
With strength possesed by no normal person, he thrust his clawed hand into ceiling just beyond the door way. With all his strength he pulled. With a great rumble slowly crescendoing into a steady roar that lasted several seconds, the ceiling came down. The many tons of soil and rock buried the room and dust poured into the narrow passageway.
-------My Vincent/Yuffie piece is finally getting started. I'd like to thank my best friend Zen -Xegara for his support and insights into the Final Fantasy universe. Please R&R.