I Cried Myself to Death

By Chris Herrin

Disclaimer: I don't own kingdom hearts...period....or any of the chapter titles

This is yet another story I needed to start

Chapter 1

Illusion of Safety

It was nineteen years ago, on this day. How I remember it well. I was young then, a young teenage girl, product of an age where bravery and honor were mocked, where trickery and deceit were as commonplace as the shoes on my feet.

I had drifted through life not knowing, not learning; merely hoping for the end. I did not have the courage to end my life myself: but how I hoped for it. The end of the monotony of everyday life, of waking up every morning to the same light, the same sounds, the same feeling; the same world. I was exhausted in a way I can only describe as that feeling when you can't go on, and I felt the urge to just stop and fall down, never getting up, letting time whisk me away to some faraway fairy tale place.

War was common in my childhood, the warring nobles and peoples of surrounding countries always threatening us, fighting us, yet they had been divided then. Oh how simple life was; yet I found it impossibly complicated. I guess that is just the nature of a teenager, am I wrong? Another war was said to be coming, this one larger than the others. Apparently the neighboring states and kingdoms had finally decided we were too different to exist. I don't know for sure. But who does know for sure? Who knows what drives their enemies? Their foes?

I cannot even pretend to understand what drives myself, let alone any other man or woman. As I walked through the streets the men and women of my homeland mocked and chuckled, explaining that the neighboring countries were thieves and scoundrels: that they could never break us. How wrong they were. But were they completely wrong? Even now, I can look around, and is this not the same place? The very same? Have we really been broken? Am I not still the child of my age, the product of a world where love was but another legend said to be silly and childish?

I met him when I was sixteen. I had been spending my time outdoors more and more, tiring of my life indoors. It was winter, and I had been walking through the park, down by the river, watching as my breath floated away, free. I was all wrapped up in winter dress: long pants, a large winter coat, boots, gloves, and even my old crimson scarf. The one my mother gave me when she died.

She died five years earlier, back when death was as normal in everyday life as seeing the sun come out behind the clouds. But back then, we had thought we could not be touched by the plague that threatened our people. But we were wrong. She came home one night, feverish and flustered, and collapsed, right there in the entry hall. I was but a small girl of eleven years, not fully knowing what was going on. I remember my father sending me to my room, and I, being the obedient child I was back then, did so.

Then I remember my father coming in a few hours later, eyes red and dried out, seemingly spent and used, as I had never seen them before. He trembled as I looked at him with my large, round, childish chocolate eyes. Then he came over to me, taking me in his arms, telling me everything would be fine, he'd take care of me, he'd always love me, and my mother was now in a better place. What better place is that father? Did you have that answer?

He told me he'd take care of me forever, yet three years after my mother, he too, was taken by death. He was killed in the 3rd War of Sanguid. It was a few weeks after he had actually died, when I got the news.

He had left me in the care of a friend of his, another nobleman. He had taken care of me perfectly, yet the love was not there as it was with my father. I remember being upstairs, writing a letter to my father, when I heard a loud knocking on the front door. I hurried down the stairs to the entry hall, being energetic as I always was.

It was then that I saw my father's friend, the opened door showing me two soldiers. They had grief stricken faces, and deep black circles under their eyes. This is war, and I'm sorry, their eyes screamed at me. My father's friend had held me through the night, him trembling and crying himself, but I never let one tear drop. It was like in that one moment I saw the men's eyes I had understood what had happened, and that there was no reason to cry. He would not come back.

I walked down by the river, my crimson scarf tucked tightly around my neck, when I saw a most peculiar thing. I saw that under one of the many bridges over the river, their seemed to be a hole, somewhat looking like a sewer. I was brave, I would like to say, but I see now it was just foolishness. I decided to explore. I walked slowly and went underneath the bridge, walking carefully on the frozen river, feeling the snow melt against my cheeks and it was speckled in my hair.

I walked into the tunnel and I heard a noise. It sounded like something slicing through the air, but it was as I drew closer, that I heard and saw what it was. It was a man, tall, a mane of long brown hair coming down past his shoulders, rough and unruly.

He was unshaven, having whiskers on his face. I had on a pair of black pants, and was slicing a sword through the air. He had no shirt on, but I saw a shirt and a black leather jacket over on a rock.  He was a very built man, and I blushed immediately.  My eyes immediately scanned from his built abs to hig chest, and his large, muscular arms.  It was then that I noticed he was staring at me. His eyes were large and round, so deep a green I could have lectured the greatest artists of the age on the many hues of green. His face was grim.

It was then that I noticed how truly cold I was, that I was turning blue. I thought of turning to leave, trying to make it home, but I knew I was too far from home to walk home alone.

He walked over to his shirt and jacket. He slipped on his white shirt, small and white. Then he put on his jacket, and it was then that I saw the emblem on the back of it. It was angel wings. Oh how lovely it looked, inside this snow tunnel, the white around him making him look nearly as a demonic angel, come to me in a dream.

I had fainted, and when I came to, I was in my bed. My caretaker, Peter, sitting over me. Looking with intense eyes at me. Caring eyes. He had been my father's friend since childhood: growing, laughing, and playing with my father. I was as precious to him as his own daughter had been, before she too, was taken by the plague.

It wasn't until later, once he allowed me out of bed, that he told me about the man that had shown up at his doorstep the night before with me, unconscious, in his arms. His name was Squall Leonheart, and he was twenty seven years old, but no one called him by his name anymore. Since the death of his beloved sister, Rinoa, he had changed his name to Leon. He was the son of General Leonheart, the most powerful man in the military.

After that, Leon and I spent every moment together. We walked among the trees, through the seasons, the wars. He was older, wiser, and quite a fighter.

I was nineteen then, thinking of love and marriage, especially with Leon. I had thought that he would never see me in the same light. Lately his words and conversations had all been about love, and been about his care for me.

It was later in that year that he became romantic with me, showering me with gifts and poetry, kisses and caresses. It was a time I shall never forget. One which I will remember till I appear before those pearly white gates.

Yes...those pearly white gates. How I had longed for them, yet loathed the thought of them.

Oh how I long for them even now, after all of this. I long to go up and see them, and scream and scream until I can't feel my voice.

Why didn't I know it would happen?

Why did it have to happen?

Questions I shall need to answer for you....but oh, have patience...In due time....in due time...

Alright that's it, the ending paragraph is messed up because I wrote it at a different time and I was out of it, but I knew I needed to post. PLEASE OH PLEASE OH PLEASE tell me what you think. Thanks.

-Chris