The day Zack dies, Aerith returns to her house in complete silence, soaked pink dress clutching her in distress. She answers her mother's eyes with a quiet murmur—"he's dead"—and Elmyra doesn't need to ask who or how she heard. She knows. There's the kind but firm direction for Aerith to change before she catches cold, and later the teakettle's whistle calls her down for a cup of warmth. Aerith stares more than drinks, and the dregs are cool when they slide down her throat.
The first day after Zack's death, Aerith wakes up, opens a closetful of pink promises, and goes back to bed.
The second day, Elmyra takes her shopping for new clothes. The focus is on colors: blues and greens and yellows and off-whites, even purples. She used to love all these colors—no, she still loves them. But when she puts the dresses on, she can't recognize herself. She buys a few anyways. She'll get used to them.
On the third day, Aerith makes her rounds in a blue dress. Over a dozen people comment on the color change, whether to compliment her or to ask why, and even more give her curious glances. She answers them all with a smile and a flower and goes home with an empty basket. She's not sure her heart made the return trip.
The fourth day, she eyes her pink wardrobe and ponders who she'll give what. Then she pictures a bonfire, and carefully shuts the closet.
The fifth day, she ties up her hair, looks in the mirror, and then yanks the ribbon out, stuffing it in the trash. Outside, she sells her flowers while wearing a white dress, letting her brown locks tumble down, laughing at the looks she's getting. She feels like a completely different woman. It's liberating; it's frightening. Back inside, she nearly cries at the emptied garbage, and tears pry free when Elmyra mentions—almost offhand—the ribbon is on her pillow, and she better take care of her valuables. The older woman takes both the crying and the hugging that follows with comforting hands to rub out the tremors in her daughter's back.
The sixth day Aerith puts on a pink dress. Her hair is tied up with his ribbon, but not before she puts her first mother's materia in the tresses. "I was trying a new look," she tells everyone, "but it didn't fit me." Because for better or worse, Zack has made her who she is—and she'll never believe knowing him was for the worse.
And on the seventh day, she rests. Reclining on a pew, she talks to the hole he left in the roof of her church. "I'm not going to water the flowers, so you know," she tells him. "I'll let the rain take care of that." Then she closes her eyes. She's not sure she's giving a smile, but she feels closer to one than before.